#xoxo try again later

[foxyatlas]

I haven't seen this in fanfic before, but my current poly configuration is:

For context, everything is completely consensual and fun. Me and The Wife(TM) just really like to bond over teasing our shared partner.

this is my favorite love triangle resolution it's always so funny. yeah this is my wife. and that's her wife, my best friend mike.

[marinehero]

He point blank refuses to have Shanks as his son in law and if that means he has to kill an Emperor or kidnap the leader of the Revolution then so be it

[marinehero-a]

      Parentage, role, and background has never played role in how Garp treated someone. What he sees is what he takes. It doesn’t matter if someones a janitor from G-5 or one of the Five Elders, Garp would’ve been happy to walk by without blinking if he weren’t stopped. He measures a person by their actions and their desires, what that person is now is what ultimately matters to him.

     And in the same vein, its part of why he vehemently disagrees with blaming a child for the sins of their lineage or those that they live with. He thinks its idiotic and has shown vocal distaste about it time and time again. It doesn’t matter if its a child of a celestial dragon, of a criminal, or of the pirate king. Kids are kids. They can still choose their own fates, can still commit their own crimes, if they insist. But to blame them for something they didn't even do? It makes absolutely no sense.

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 2

In which you spend the weekend in Miami as Max's personal guest.

Warnings: smut at the end ;) Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k words (whoops) plus social media posts

Part 1 Master List

(a/n: holy shit you guys absoltely blew up part one (its sitting at 1.7k notes last time i checked in under 3 days??? like WHAT???) so here's the much requested part 2. LMK if you want a part 3! Also going to try something different with the tag list tonight, so bare with me as I figure this out!! xoxo)

You play with the hem of the cornflower blue sundress, nerves ratcheting up another notch when the car pulls into the race track. After you had wrapped up filming the podcast two weeks ago, Max had taken you out to one of his favorite London restaurants where you had spent the next nearly five hours talking about everything and nothing all at once. The only reason you had left was that the staff of the restaurant had started cleaning up around you, literally sweeping up under your feet and turning off the music as you had lingered over the last bits of your dessert together. 

The next day, Max had needed to go back to Milton Keynes to spend some time in the sim ahead of Miami weekend, unable to stay in London with you despite every bone in his body screaming that he didn’t want to leave you. It was weird, almost scary, to him how much space you took up in his thoughts so quickly. He didn’t usually get attached to anyone, much preferring to remain aloof and independent but in the two weeks that passed since he had seen you, he was unable (or unwilling, depending on who you asked, honestly) to think of anything else. The way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you seemed to hang on every word that came out of his mouth simply mesmerized him. 

So now, here you were, two weeks later, moments away from seeing him again. Because while Max was down bad and trying not to blow this, you were also completely smitten with the Dutch driver. You had spent hours editing the first and second part of his episode yourself, something you hadn’t done in years, because you insisted you wanted to keep the integrity of the interview under your total control. Your video editor had seen the way you spoke about Max and just nodded, knowing that there had been something that sparked between you and him and that there would be no arguing about it with you. 

Max is in the garage when he gets the text from you that you’re in the parking lot waiting for him. As luck would have it, he’s just finishing up with some engineering meetings so he’s got some free time. He replies instantly, telling you to wait in the car for him and he’ll be right there. 

“I’m running out for a bit, GP. I’ll be back before FP1.” 

“I mean, you’d better be. Who else is going to get in that car? Horner?” 

Max chuckles, clapping his racing engineer on the back before slipping out the back of the garage. 

Max’s heart stalls when he sees the car you're in, nerves suddenly twisting in his gut. You two had been texting back and forth constantly since he left London the morning after you met. Evenings had been spent on FaceTime together when you could manage, but with your busy schedules it hadn’t been enough for Max. The relief he felt knowing you were less than 100 feet away had him swaying on his feet a bit. 

You knew Max was coming to meet you at the car but it had been a long drive from the airport, so while you waited you decided to stretch your legs. Max watches helplessly from a distance as the rear door on the SUV swings open, your bare legs making his mouth go dry when you hop out out of the car. 

It’s almost as if you sense his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze caressing your bare skin like the touch of a well known lover. It takes you a moment to recover when your eyes lock with his, the look on his face practically a billboard for how excited he is to see you. A wide grin spreads across your face when he starts towards you, heart tumbling down through your toes as he jogs your way. 

“Hi.” He breathes, stopping just short of gathering you up in his arms like he truly wants to. Despite how close you’ve grown over the last two weeks, Max reminds himself that it truly only has been two weeks and he doesn’t want to come on too strong. 

You look up at him, eyes sparkling with delight at finally being in his presence again. “Hey you.” You croon, nearly unable to stop yourself from throwing yourself into his arms. 

This kind of behavior was as out of character for you as it was for Max. You’d been burned by men in your life that were supposed to be there for you, love you, and protect you and so those walls had been put in place high and strong for years now . Something about Max made you question those defenses, wondering if he was going to be the one to stick around long enough to tear them down. While you tried to remain calm, objective, and aloof it was utterly impossible to act that way when you were around him. 

“How was your flight?” Max stuffs his hands in the pockets of his shorts, nerves turning the tips of his ears pink. He wants you in his arms so badly but didn’t want to push you away, didn’t want you thinking he had only brought you out to Miami this weekend for one thing. Because he hadn’t. He had simply wanted you by his side. 

“Well I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to fly commercial ever again, so I’ll be sending you the bill for all my private flights from now on.” You wink.

“You can use my jet whenever you want, schatje.” 

Your stomach does the same involuntary flip it does whenever he calls you that. At first it had been timid, slipped in at the end of a sentence almost like it was an afterthought or unconscious desire to claim you but as time goes on, Max settles into calling you either that or liefje more often than not. 

“Don’t tempt me.” You grin up at him, knowing that he fully means what he says. He’d absolutely let you use his jet whenever you wanted, all you had to do was ask. 

“So, your timing is really good.” Max nearly reaches for your hand but chickens out at the last minute, settling for just walking you back towards the car that sits idling behind you. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I actually have an hour and a half break before I have to be back for the first practice session so I thought I could take you over to the hotel, get you settled in. I booked you your own room, of course and thought you’d maybe like to take a shower or a nap during the first session and then I could have an intern get you so you can watch the sprint quali later this afternoon.” 

Your heart warms at the earnest look on Max’s face. The fact that he’s gone ahead and thought all of this through for you, clearly wanting to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of all while you’re sure he’s overwhelmed with work, softens those well built walls arond your heart a bit more. 

“A shower and a nap does sound good.” 

Max smiles down at you, those blue eyes of his taking in every inch of your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “Good. Lets get you to the hotel then.” 

“Lead the way, Maxie.”  

yourpersonalinsta posted a story

story replies: user9029 girl drop the diet and workout routine plsss yourdad baby girl, i love you but put some clothes on >>>yourpersonalinsta love you too dad! maxverstappen1 are those my socks??? >>>yourpersonalinsta my feet got cold while you were gone playing with race cars. >>>maxverstappen1 i was literally working! and how'd you get into my room??? >>>yourpersonalinsta a lady never reveals her secrets, maxie ❤️ >>>maxverstappen1 i was right, you are trouble >>>yourpersonalinsta i prefer the phrase 'joy to be around'. pls hurry though back. i'm hungry and i may die of starvation in the next twenty minutes if you don't feed me. >>>maxverstappen1 do your fans know you're this dramatic??? >>>yourpersonalinsta why do you think they're my fans?

The rest of Friday blurs together in a watercolor wash of heat, and people, and sounds that you’re utterly exhausted by the time you tumble into your bed late at night.

Alone, thank you very much.

The wine that you had drank at dinner with Max and a few other drivers has heat pooling low in your belly as you watched Max watch you all night. You had wanted to invite him back to your room, but something kept those words from slipping out all night and Max had been the picture of respectable, simply dropping a kiss on your forehead before wishing you goodnight at your hotel room. 

Saturday’s sprint race is just as busy and loud as qualifying had been and by the time it’s over, you’re exhausted, hot, and sweaty. You’re over the moon when Max pulls off the win in the sprint, throwing your arms around his damp neck the moment you see him after his media duties are completed and he finds you waiting for him in front of Red Bull's hopsitality. 

“That was amazing Max. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. You make it all look so easy.” You gush.  

“It looks like you’re my lucky charm now, schatje. Won’t be able to win without you.” 

You smile, cheeks aching a bit at how much you’ve been doing that this weekend. You’ve fit in so well with everyone it’s almost spooky, like your presence was expected and welcomed in the garage, slotting into Max’s world with uncanny ease. 

As you follow Max back to his driver’s room that’s tucked away in the back of hospitality, his hand reaches for yours almost unconsciously. When his fingers twine with yours, the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach this week take flight yet again. If this is how you react when he reaches for you, you can’t imagine how you’re going to handle when he finally kisses you properly. 

The hallway is quiet and long, with Max’s room at the end of the corridor. You’re only about half way there when a sudden wave of nausea washes over you, stopping you in your tracks. “Woah.” You whisper, free arm bracing against the wall for support. 

Max turns to you in an instant, his handsome features a mask of concern. “You okay?” 

You blink a few times, trying hard to fight the impending fainting spell you can feel yourself hurtling towards. “I..ummm…I think so?” 

Max all but picks you up in his arms, ushering you the short distance that separates you from his drivers room. “Lets get you sitting down. Have you eaten today?” 

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “Not since breakfast.” 

Max frowns, “That was hours ago, liefje.” 

The room is small with just enough room for a couch, massage table, and closet but it does the job, serving as a quiet respite from the mayhem of the paddock. Max gently leads you over to the navy blue couch. “Sit. I’m going to get you some water and food. The heat in Florida is no joke.” 

You nod, already feeling a little better now that you’re sitting down. Max is gone for several minutes but comes back absolutely laden down with so much food, you can’t help but laugh. “Max, I don’t know who you think I am but I am not a 300 pound body builder.” You say though your giggles. 

Max looks a little embarrassed but just tuts at you, placing the plates (of which there are three) down on the table in front of you. “I didn’t know what you liked. You had fish at dinner last night, much to Lando’s dismay, but they’re cooking salmon tomorrow, even though I asked for some today for you.” 

The way your chest squeezes at his ramblings has nothing to do with the headache that’s forming between your eyes and everything to do with the man sitting next to you practically spoon-feeding you a roasted beet and goat cheese salad. You obediently open your mouth when he lifts the fork to your lips, only rolling your eyes a bit at his fussing. “I am an adult, Verstappen. I can feed myself.” You grumble between bites. 

“I know but just humor me.” 

You roll your eyes again but open your mouth, the beet and goat cheese salad actually tasting really good. 

“Good girl.” He coos, setting your thighs squeezing together on their own accord. 

Your eyes flicker up to his at the praise and something passes between you two, a little spark of heat igniting there in the small room. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper after a few more bites, tension hanging thick between you as you're tucked up together on the small couch. 

“Don’t be.” He insists, pushing a bottle of icy cold water into your hands. “I’m just glad I was here to take care of you.” 

“Me too.” You breathe, acutely aware to how close his body is to yours.

The urge to kiss you overwhelms Max, and it's not the first time this weekend this has happened. He’s been fighting the ever strengthening desire to just sweep you up and haul you back to his hotel room since you first stepped out of the Range Rover yesterday afternoon. Truthfully, he’d been wondering what you taste like ever since he’d walked into that recording studio in London.

He couldn’t explain how or why but your sudden appearance in his life seemed like some cosmic shift under his feet, his entire existence adjusting to this new normal of being in your orbit. He’d spent the last two weeks listening to all five years of your podcasts, even finding some old work you’d done in college and with each episode he found himself falling further and further into a rabbit hole that he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to climb out of.

Max falls silent then and so do you, a comfortable quiet settling over the room. The spark that had ignited so innocently just minutes before begins to smolder into something that has the energy between you two shifting. Like the entire reason for you being here this weekend had led up to this very moment. 

You break the spell first, leaning in just a fraction closer to Max like he's is the magnet you’re elementally obligated to be attracted to. But Max is equally compelled in his desire to finally find out what you taste like so he closes the gap between your lips and his, mouth grazing yours with the slightest pressure. It starts out as a timid thing, unsure of if it should exist in such a charged atmosphere. Once it gains its footing though, the kiss lengthens and takes on a life of its own. 

You sigh into Max’s mouth like it’s a relief to finally have him kissing you. Max lifts the tips of his fingers to your chin so he can tilt your head upwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss to a more heated pace. Your fingers grip at his Red Bull polo, desperate for something to hold on to while the taste of Max races through your veins. 

Something akin to a purr rumbles in the back of your throat when Max’s hands sift through your hair and it grows a little hotter when he tugs on the ends, forcing your head back so the slender column of your neck is fully exposed to him. You try not to cry when his lips leave yours, unhappy with how you can’t taste him fully anymore, but that disappointment quickly evaporates when he trails open mouthed kisses towards the enticing hollow of your throat. 

“I’ve been wondering what you taste like since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Max murmurs against your heated skin. 

Your head spins at his words. So it hadn’t just been you that had felt the spark that first day. “Max.” His name is a reverent prayer on your lips, urging him to never stop touching you. 

Max thinks he could go the rest of his life without winning another race and he’d still die happy because he’d finally kissed you. “You drive me mad, liefje. I am utterly consumed by you and I have no idea how you slipped this far under my skin so quickly.” 

The words send shivers skittering down your spine and you find yourself leaning into his touch even more, heart hammering wildly against your ribcage. 

A sharp and sudden knock sends you leaping out of Max’s arms so quickly, you nearly fall to the floor. “Holy fuck.” You whisper, hand flying to your lips like they’ve been burned. 

“Christ.” Max breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah?” He calls, voice a strangled mess. 

“Uh…” The hesitation in the person’s voice told you that they knew they had interrupted something. “Max, Christian and GP wanted to go over a few more things before quali.” 

Max touches his forehead to yours, letting loose a breath to steady himself before he can answer. “I’ll be there in five.” He grumbles and you can hear the shuffle of feet retreating moments later. 

“You are going to ruin me, schatje.” Max murmurs, even though he has a feeling he was already ruined. 

You chuckle, rubbing your fingers over your swollen lips. You had never had a first kiss like that, ever. The way your body simply melted around Max like warm butter had your center turning molten. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You joke.

Max just shakes his head and chuckles before his face pulls serious again. 

“How are you feeling? Do you want to stay here and rest or come with me to the garage? I could have an intern take you back to the hotel?” Max lifts his hand so it frames your face, concern flickering across his features. Your chest constricts in the most delicious way when he pulls your hands into his lap. 

“I’m good. I think your kisses may have healing properties actually.” You flirt, gazing at Max from under long lashes. “If I’m not too in the way, I’d like to stay with you.” 

It crosses your mind then, a quick rabbit of a thought, darting across your consciousness that you’ve been so independent for so long, so bent on not relying on anyone for security or safety, only to have the entire rug of your resistantance ripped out from under you. It’s a gooey and warm feeling that you hope isn’t just a flash in the pan, although your gut tells you Max is the real deal. 

You hadn’t given yourself this freely to anyone in so long, panic grips at your throat for a moment, the desperate need to flee suddenly choking you. Just when the panic of what’s transpiring here threatens to pull you under, Max’s cool blue eyes yank you back to him where you belong. 

“I think I’m going to like having you by my side.” His breath fans out over your cheeks, pulling you further out of your tumble.

Max stands, sensing something shifting deep within you then. He saw something pass behind your eyes just then, the delicate shiver of hesitation. He’d been expecting it. No one who was as strong as you were got that way without having a story to tell. He knew that and had known this moment would come. What he hadn’t expected was to watch you pull yourself back from that precipice of panic. It had been a stunning thing to watch, even if the act was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But the way he watched you catch yourself spinning and knit yourself back together without so much as a whisper of a breath made him want to shield you from whatever had caused you the heartache to begin with. 

He holds his hand out to you, which you gladly take, and leads you towards the door while knotting his fingers up with yours. The nerves in your stomach settle with his touch and it sort of scares you, how well this man can read you so soon. This had been the last thing you had ever thought would happen when the man you were falling for walked into your life just 2 weeks ago. 

yourpersonalinsta posted

198,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbull racing, and others yourpersonalinsta omg miami if this is how you introduce yourself to a girl, i can't wait to see how the first date goes! super proud of @/maxverstappen1 for winning the spring race today. next up: quali. user992 girl is auditioning to be the next WAG in the paddock >>>user020 seriously thirsting for nothing but clout this weekend maxverstappen1 told you you'd bring me extra luck this weekend >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ >>>user0093 oh this is interesting user9392 the fact that she was such a genuine fan of the sport before and now she's AT her first race as Max's guest all because of her podcast. i just... >>>user223 now i'm crying, thanks. redbullracing so fun having you in the garage today! excited for sunday! >>>yourpersonalinsta thank you for having me!

There was just something so enticingly attractive about watching Max race on Sunday that had you feeling embarrassingly needy for him by the time he got you back to his hotel room that night. As you had watched him on the podium that afternoon, you just knew how messy you’d be below him later that night.

“I think your performance this weekend has earned you a reward.” Your rasp, voice a husky whisper in his ear as you glue yourself to him in the elevator that evening.

Max cocks an eyebrow at you while his fingers grip at your hips. “Oh yeah? And what would that be, lifeje?”

“Why don’t you take me back to your room and let me show you.” You lick at his neck, savoring the taste of sweat and champagne that clings to him despite his shower at the track earlier.

Max’s groan is enough of an answer and when the elevator slows, signaling your arrival at his floor, you follow him out into the quiet hallway, giggling when he playfully grabs a handful of your ass.

You had tried to convince yourself the entire drive back to the hotel that this wasn’t how the night was going to end. It was too soon, you thought. This was the first weekend you had spent any time with him and you didn’t want Max to get the wrong idea about you. And then he had spent the entire drive back to the hotel with one hand inching higher and higher up on your bare thigh. His thick fingers traced random patterns on your tanned skin, until the very tips had slipped just under the hem of your dress and all thoughts had eddied right out of your head.

Max, meanwhile, had been thinking of this moment since the second he had climbed out of the car. He didn't want to push you but the need to learn how you sounded when he was buried deep inside you was was out of control.

The moment the door snicks closed behind you, you're shoving Max against the wall, utterly desperate to get your mouth on him. Sinking to your knees in front of him, hands trailing down his torso. Your fingers drag over the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, long nails sending a shudder down Max's spine.

"Let me taste you, Max." You moan, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

"Please." He begs as he sinks his hands deep into your hair.

You have to stifle a gasp when you free his thick cock from his boxers, pushing the soft cotton down to his ankles along with his jeans. He's already desperatly hard, dick all red and angry with arousal, practically begging you to take it in your mouth.

Max can hardly believe the sight before him. You down on your knees for him, lips mere millimeters from his raging hard-on, was probably the prettiest sight he'd seen in a long time. When you first wrap your lips around the tip, tongue darting out to taste the salty precum that he's already leaking, it takes every ounce of control Max has to not sink deep down your throat.

"Holy fuck, baby." He shudders, fingers gripping your hair even tighter. Max would be lying if he said he hadn't played out this exact scenario several times over the past two weeks, only it had been his own hand fisting his cock instead of your lips.

All you do is hum in response, the vibration of your voice sending sharp new shivers bolting down Max's spine. One hand snakes up his toned thighs, enjoying the thick muscles bunching and flexing as you take him deeper down your throat. Your other hand, however, trails down your own thighs, dipping below the hem of your dress to find your own already ruined panties wet with the arousal Max has already drawn from you.

"You like touching yourslef while you suck me off, pretty girl?" Max's voice is all gravel as his hips snap towards you, forcing you to take him even deeper into your mouth.

You look up at him, eyes watering, thick lashes matted with tears and smile the best you can with your lips wrapped around him. You continue your work, head bobbing up and down on his length, enjoying the way his dick is slick with your saliva, a bit of it dripping down your chin as you take him even deeper. You swear you could spend the rest of the night down on your knees with how good Max feels and tastes in your mouth, your own fingers buried deep inside you. The release you've been wanting all week starts to build and Max begins to feel it too.

Max knows he's not going to last much longer and he doesn't want to come quite yet. Gently he pulls you off, chuckling at the mewl of protest that slips past your lips when he pushes you off of him.

"Max." You whine, wanting nothing more than to swallow his release down your throat.

"Get on the bed, lifeje." He orders.

You scramble to your feet, disappointment at not making him come with your mouth quickly replaced with the anticipation of what you know is coming next. You've tried so hard to resist the fact that you've wanted this since the moment you saw him Friday afternoon but as you lay down on the bed and watch Max stalk towards you like a lion after his prey, all reservations evaporate into thin air. You know deep within your chest that this is what's supposed to happen right now.

"Dress off." He commands and the thrill of being ordered around flashes through you.

You follow his directions before laying back on the pillow, watching as Max reaches behind him back to strip off the sweaty team kit you hadn't bothered taking off before sucking his dick. A sudden wave of vulnerability sweeps over you as Max stands at the foot of the bed, eyes raking over your bare frame.

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on." Max murmurs, sensing your hesitation at being so vulnerable in front of him. He doesn't want you to be nervous, needing you to know how utterly obsessed he is with you. It staggers him when he thinks about how deeply you've dug yourself under his skin in such a short time. You've barely spent longer than a few days together and he's already so deeply lost in you.

"Do something, Maxie." You beg, squirming under his heated stare.

His weight is heavy and delicious when he finally covers your body with his, notching his cock just outside your dripping core. Max reaches down, letting out a heated moan when he feels how wet you are for him. "You are soaked for me, gorgeous girl. God, how did I get so lucky? Have you been like this all fucking day, schatje?"

"Been desperate for you all fucking day, Max." You breath, your hips lifting up off the bed in a needy search for the friction you crave.

"Lets see if we can get you some relief, yeah baby?"

When Max sinks into you for the first time, you can't help the desperately needy whine that escapes from your mouth. His name is a prayer on your lips, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. The stretch of his cock burns in the most delicious way. "So full." You cry as Max's hips meet yours when he slides into you completely.

Max doesn't quite understand how you're so blissfully tight and wet and warm all at the same time but he thinks it's the best feeling he's ever experienced. His head drops to the crook of your neck as he buries himself in you to the hilt, the base of his dick grinding against your clit. "Fuck, you're to tight around me baby. How do you feel this fucking good?"

You and Max fall into a rhythm, the only sound in the room are the quieted sighs slipping their way from your lips before Max can steal them from your throat. The friction is amazing and before he can quell it, Max feel the lick of fire coiling at the base of his spine, telltale sign that he's about to spill. “Won’t last much longer.” He pants, lips falling to suck at the skin at your neck. 

Max struggles to keep the pace up, diving into you with long, slow strokes that fill you up and empty you out over and over and over. Sweat forms on his brow that was tipped down in concentration and you have to resist the urge to lick it off. Every stroke deep into your pussy fills you up so fully it's almost too much. Too much sensation, too much heat, too much fullness. You can’t help the whines that slip from your lips but Max only encourages them by chanting your name over and over. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos in your ear as your muscles tense beneath him. “You’re doing so good for me, taking it all so good.” 

The praise is almost too much. “Don’t stop.” You beg when his fingers dip down between you to find your clit as he continues to stroke into you. Stars erupt on the back of your eyelids. “Holy fuck. Max.” You manage to bite out.

“Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my dick, please baby.” Blinding need consumes Max's entire existence, his full attention focused on the way you clench around him over and over.  

That’s all it takes. The command sends you hurtling over the edge, right into a spine tingling orgasm. Your body goes rigid for a moment under Max's weight but as quick as it starts, a boneless languid feeling sweeps through you as the endorphins flood your system. Your own climax has pushed Max over he edge and he comes hard, groaning in your ear as he rasps your name. 

Max collapses on top of you and you relish the heavy weight of his body on yours. Much too soon, he rolls off and you whimper, instantly feeling empty without him inside you. Max gathers you up in his arms though, the heat of his body quickly warming your chilled skin. Your hand settles on his chest, right over his heart, which is still racing.

“Jesus Christ, shactje.” Max finally breaks the silence, giving my hip a squeeze as he nuzzles into my hair. “You really are going to ruin me.”

maxverstappen1 posted:

838,291 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1: another great weekend with a good haul of points! Thank you Miami, you were good to us. On to the next! user2992 uh, max? care to explain that second photo >>>user92928 is that who I think it is??? yourpersonalinsta had so much fun with you this weekend! can't wait for the next one >>>maxverstappen1 ❤️ >>>user0221 EXCUSE ME. user0022 i ran into them late Sunday night at the hotel and let me tell you...there's nothing PR about their chemistry together. >>>user9288 i fucking KNEW it user05543 anyone else see @/yourpersonalinsta's dad in the likes!?

yourpersonalinsta posted

231,209 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, charlesleclerc and others yourpersonalinsta after this weekend, i think i can consider myself officially a red bull girlie. blissfully excited i got to see a MV1 podium AND sprint win! thank you for letting me into your world @/maxverstappen1. can't wait til next time ❤️ maxverstappen1 gonna need you at every race now that you're my lucky charm. user9282 'thank you for letting me into your world' YOU EXPECT ME TO ACT NORMAL AFTER THAT CAPTION MA'AM??? >>>user7623 kicking my feet and giggling and i'm not even @/yourpersonalinsta omg redbullracing you're welcome in the garage any time!! >>>user9935 even admin has a crush! >>>maxverstappen1 @/user9935 i mean, how can you not??? >>>user9935 omg hi king. glad you know how amazing she is! don't hurt our girl, k??? >>>maxverstappen1 i would never ☺️ (liked by yourpersonalinsta)

maxverstappen1 private stories

story replies: yourpersonalinsta god i look good in navy >>>maxverstappen1 no more ferrari red for you, sweet girl >>>yourpersonalinsta miss you already 😢 >>>maxverstappen1 i know. i'll see you soon, promise >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ danielricciardo excuse me but WHAT THE FUCK >>>maxverstappen1 : 🤭 charlesleclerc oh she's got you using the lip biting emoji. it's over, pack it up boys. MV1 is officially off the market. >>>maxverstappen1 accurate though

@shelbyteller @martygraciesversion381 @anilovessadbooks @formulaal @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[lovebugism]

do something with king steve who secretly likes female/shy/reader

hope u like it xoxo — the one where king steve keeps his best girl a secret (shy!fem!r, secret relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

“Boo!”

You jump when a figure appears suddenly behind the door of your opened locker. They’re wearing bell bottoms and a sparkly clip in their strawberry curls. Carol Perkins giggles when her attempts to scare you work. Tommy Hagan follows just behind her, laughing louder until his freckled face scrunches together.

The only reassuring thing about seeing both of them together is knowing Steve isn’t too far behind. He’s got his tongue in his cheek, and his arms crossed over his chest, visibly unamused.  “What are you guys— three?” he scoffs, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows.

“Yeah, three inches deep in your mom,” Tommy retorts with a boyish chuckle.

Carol squints her made-up eyes at him. She deadpans, “That’s not the comeback you think it is, Hagan.”

You turn to Steve with a panicked glimmer in your eye. You’re so used to being the butt of all their jokes that being in their proximity now fills you with something close to ice-cold dread. You peer at the boy beside you with pinched-together brows, knowing he’s the only one who cares about you past cheating off your homework.

“What’s going on?” you wonder quietly, for only him to hear.

Steve grins, brows raised and eyes twinkling. “My house is gonna be empty tonight. ‘Cause, you know, my dad’s got a work conference or whatever, so… No parents. Big house—”

“A total recipe for disaster,” Tommy interjects with a laugh.

“You’re throwing a party?” you ask, voice trembling. There’s little more that scares you than crowds — well, crowds and loud music and drunk people. Parties were never your scene. Steve knows that better than anyone.

He corrects you quickly, stammering over himself because he never wants you to feel uncomfortable. “No! No, not a party. It’s gonna be lowkey. Just a— a get-together, you know? Just the four of us.”

“Ooh,” Carol croons from behind you. “So no priss?”

“Shut up, Carol,” Steve snaps.

“I’m just used to you following her around like a lost puppy, that’s all.” Carol and Tommy laugh about it together. ‘Cause that’s all they’re really good at — making stupid jokes and cackling like supervillains.

Steve rolls his eyes with an annoyed huff and turns his attention back to you. You take it from him wholly, every ounce of his focus. 

There was something ethereal in your vagueness — in how softly you spoke and how pretty you looked when you weren’t even trying. You’re quiet and mysterious and hidden. Steve desperately wants to be the one that deciphers you.

“Are you in?” he asks in a low, honeyed tone.

Your gaze falls to the tile. “I don’t know…” you murmur.

“C’mon,” he croons and steps closer to you. His sneakers enter your vision until you look up at him again, peering at him from beneath your lashes. His grin is pink and pretty and lopsided. “Don’t leave me with these assholes all night.”

“Dick,” you hear Tommy scoff from behind you. He sounds much further away than that ‘cause all you can see now is Steve. And his pretty hair and his pretty eyes and his stupid pretty smile.

You cave instantly. 

You never really stood a chance, anyway. Not with the way he was looking at you.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble and turn back to your locker. You switch your English textbook for a History one and cradle it in your arms. Steve grins, knowing he’s forgotten his on purpose just so he could sit next to you all period.

“Good,” the boy hums.

“We’re finally wearing Wallflower down,” Carol muses, giggling to herself.

Tommy knocks you too hard on the shoulder. “You’ll be one of us in no time,” he grins.

You grimace as they walk off down the hall. That’s the last thing you’ve ever wanted. The thought of there being an ounce of similarities between you and them makes your stomach ache.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Steve tells you, smiling quietly when you nod. 

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and passes you a folded-up piece of paper. He doesn’t look back at you when he follows his friends down the corridor. You don’t open it until he’s gone.

West wing chem lab, he’s written in chicken scratch. Come find me. 

—————

The hallway at the west end of the school is dim and empty. The floors are untouched, and the lockers are sparingly opened. The air is thick and noticeably stale. You open the door to the old chemistry room with a high-pitched squeak that sounds like something out of a horror movie.

Steve waits for you in the dark classroom, lit only by the natural sunlight streaming in through translucent curtains. He sits at a table in front of the window and toys with the burner at the end of it. He turns the thin blue flame on and off and on again, silently wishing he’d plucked a cigarette from Tommy before he left.

His honey eyes flit to yours when you walk into the room. He grins at the soft smirk on your bitten lips. “What’s that look for, huh?” he teases, turning off the burner and sliding off the desk.

You shrug. “Nothin’…”

“I missed you.”

You scoff when he wraps his arms around you. His wide palms smooth over your back. “You just saw me.”

“It doesn’t count when I’m with Tommy and Carol. I need you all to myself…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs lowly, ducking down to kiss you. His plush lips lock with yours, tasting of nicotine and chewing gum — a near-lethal concoction. He smiles against your mouth when you melt further into him. He parts from you with a gentle smack.

“They’re starting to like me, I think,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over his chest. “Tommy and Carol.”

“I think so, too.”

“It’s awful.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” he concurs, grinning wide when you giggle.

“But, you know, maybe we wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” you stammer, gaze falling when it becomes too hard to hold his. “If they don’t think I’m, like, the lamest person on the planet.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s why you don’t want them to know about us, right? ‘Cause you’re King Steve, and I’m… fish bait,” you conclude with a forced laugh.

“No,” he answers instantly. “What? No. That’s not— That’s not why.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want them to know about us because they’re assholes,” Steve confesses. “I mean, they were awful to Nancy when we were together. ‘Cause they’re miserable, and they hate when other people are actually nice. I just don’t want them to… ruin anything, that’s all…”

You muss with a rogue thread at the neckline of his sweater and smile quietly to yourself. “I thought you were scared because you accidentally fell in love with the Wallflower instead of the Prom Queen.”

Steve scoffs. “I didn’t accidentally fall in love with you, first of all.”

“No?” you murmur, brow quirking in disbelief. 

“No, it was very intentional.”

“I don’t believe that,” you argue with a lighthearted chuckle. You think it’s easier than saying, I don’t believe you because there’s no way you love someone like me because you want to.

Steve’s palms squeeze your sides reassuringly, like he can hear all the mean thoughts swirling in your head. “Well, you didn’t make it any easier on me,” he tells you, a crooked smile tugging at his pink lips. “You started talkin’ all smart in Ms. Click’s class, and I started melting.”

“That’s when you knew you liked me?” you scoff. “After I gave a presentation about geopolitical tensions in China?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, licking his lips with heavy eyelids. “See what I mean? That’s hot.”

“God, you’re such a boy.”

[actualredleader]

I Keep Forgetting To Post Here augh but! Got to work on A/C/M so my name in TV credits part 2 - the country remix edition is Existing now which is still crazy to me. Plus I have a gig working at an all lgbt adult summer camp thing next month with my irl friends so very excited for that too. We love seeing it all happen <3

[avocado-writing]

cutman

turns out I’m gonna keep being horny for hugh jackman. had a crush on him when I was 10 and I guess that hasn’t changed almost 20 years later. anyway here’s a fic where he’s in a cage fight and you’re his cutman xoxo

pairing: wolverine x reader

rating: explicit

cws: blood, injury details, smut (dirty talk, semi-public sex, rough sex)

The bell rings and Logan staggers back to you, the roar of the crowd meaning you have to get close in order to be heard. You grab ahold of his biceps and manoeuvre him into a chair. He goes without complaint, any effort to resist having to be reserved for the actual fight itself. Opposite him, the other guy goes to grab a glass of water and you are once again reminded of his sheer mass; he’s twice Logan’s size and built like a fucking freight train. He catches you watching and hits you with a greasy smile, and you turn in disgust back to your lover. 

“How you holding up, honey?” you ask Logan, quickly glancing him over, getting a grunt in reply as he tries to refocus. He looks pretty bad. Bruising is flowering on his face and there’s a nasty gash on his forehead which is bleeding freely. You know he’ll heal up quick on his own, but you still get to work - pressing the ice-cold enswell to the worst of the spreading purple and dabbing at the blood with an epinephrine-soaked cotton swab. 

You’ve been called the best cutman in the business. This is true, but the fact your primary patient can heal himself up is probably a bit of a bonus too. For Logan, you’re mostly here to soothe; soothe and observe. 

“Okay, you’ve fucking got him, Logan. He’s weak on his left. He keeps trying to lead with his right hand which isn’t his dominant, I think he’s holding back because you’ve fucked his shoulder. If you don’t let him distract you, you can finish him off. You hear me?”

He focuses up at the smell of chemicals, eyes hazily locking in on you. Silhouetted by the grimy lights of this place, his vision not quite sharp yet, you have the hazy glow of a halo around you. An angel sent for him. The closest to heaven he’ll ever be. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, a bloodied hand coming up to caress your face. You smile despite the smear of red he leaves on your cheek with his fingertips, clasping him close. You press a kiss into his palm.

“What did I say, handsome? Stay with me.”

“Don’t let him distract me. Go for his left.”

“Atta boy,” you say with a grin, one which Logan manages to mirror despite still feeling slightly concussed, your praise like a shot of adrenaline. You surge forward to kiss him and he meets you with enthusiasm. He’s drunk on the moment, on the fight, on you. You can taste the copper as your tongue slides against his, the roughness of his beard scraping your cheeks. The crowd cheers leerily but you both ignore it. You and him, that’s all there is, the pinprick of your existence in this vast world. 

“I fucking love you,” he growls against your mouth. You nip at his lower lip, catching it for a second between your teeth in a promise of what’s to come later. 

“Finish this guy off and take me home, Logan. I’ll fucking die if you’re not inside me tonight.”

When you pull back you will be wearing his blood as lipstick, warpaint; a reminder that you belong to each other. 

He snarls, half-feral, and you think he might just take you there in the cage, in front of everyone who’s come to watch him fight. But the bell goes again to signal the start of the final round, and Logan staggers back to his feet instead. 

He doesn’t even get you home. 

When the fight is won and you’re hoarse from cheering his victory, he drags you into one of the dingy little bathrooms. It’s dark and definitely not soundproofed but the two of you don’t care. You run your tongue along that delicious vein in his bicep, tasting the salt off of his hot skin, and he grips your thighs so hard you know that he will leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. 

“Mark me up, Logan. Let everyone see who I belong to, baby.”

“Fuck, such a dirty little mouth,” he growls, but you can hear the gruff chuckle in there too. He lifts you onto the sink like you weigh nothing, tearing at your belt and jeans so that he can get proper access to you. He’s rock hard, cock straining in his hand as he pulls himself out, and you wonder if he’s been this turned on since before the last round. 

Usually you’d sink to your knees and encourage him to fuck your throat, let him bring you to tears before he made it up to you, but he has no such patience now. He needs to sheathe himself in you, find your tight heat and bury himself there again and again. He’s about to push inside when you grab his forearm. 

He looks up with a glint of worry in his eye. You know, just for a second, that he thinks he’s hurt you. He’d stop if you asked him to, sweet little puppy. Instead you give him another ferocious kiss. 

“I wanna turn around. Wanna watch you fuck me.” You nod to the dirty mirror over the sink and he makes a deep noise of agreement in the back of his throat, manhandling you so you can brace yourself on the porcelain. 

You moan as he fucks inside of you with one vicious push, throwing your head back to reflect the long line of your neck. You see mirrored the dual look of feral desire and total adoration in his face as he fucks you like he’s been challenged to make your legs stop working. Holding on the best you can, you watch his injuries from the fight heal slowly, wounds stitching closed by themselves, bruises receding from purple to brown to nothing at all. It’s that sort of regeneration that makes him beg for you to draw blood when you bite him as you fuck, just to leave the proof on his body a little longer that you’ve been there. That you’ve loved him. 

“Fucking love you, Logan,” you cry out as he slams so hard into you he threatens to break the fucking sink. He leans over and grabs you by the hair, moving your face so that he can kiss you with more teeth and tongue than lips. You love it. 

“Mine,” he chokes. You wrap your little hands round one of his, bloodied and rough. 

“Mine,” you echo back, sinking your teeth in. 

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon needing to hold you after a bad day.

The tiny apartment was completely silent as Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside, head hung low and shoulders tense. Lights were turned down, tv was off; you were most likely already asleep by now. It was late, much later than he had told you he’d be back, but he had been struggling with the weight of his thoughts again today and had barely made it in. He would have let you know that he was going to be late… it was just…he couldn’t find the will to even shoot you a quick text.

It wasn’t like him to be concerned about who knew where he was or what he was doing, choosing to distance himself from everything and everyone that could potentially catch a glimpse of him cracking behind the mask, but right now all he wanted was to get back to the place he called home before he fell apart and the world would swallow him whole.

As quietly as he could he set his things down beside the door and continued on through the flat, catching little bits of you everywhere: your shoes lying scattered by the wall, the blanket you’d just been curled up in tossed haphazardly in a bundle on the sofa, a mug on the coffee table that had the remnants of your drink stuck to the inside. Scattered bits of you everywhere across his life as little reminders of what he had that waited for him here and for the first time all day it felt a little easier to breathe to know his angel was close by.

Passing near the kitchen, Simon spotted a piece of paper with his name scribbled on the front waiting for him on the countertop, your familiar handwriting obvious to his eye. He picked it up and unfolded it.

Hey baby,

I really tried to stay up, I promise, but you know how work has been kicking my ass lately. I thought maybe I could just take a nap until you got in, but I was worried that if I laid down I wouldn’t wake up, so I thought I’d leave this here for you to find. Didn’t want you to think I forgot about you. Just wake me when you get in, alright? I don’t care what time it is, I want to see you!

Love you.

P.S. I left some dinner in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet. We can reheat it and eat it together. XOXO 

Christ, what did he do to deserve all this?

Always looking out for him, always making sure he had a place back in the real world whenever he came home. He held that piece of paper between his hardened fingers, the note more significant than it should have been after the type of day he had. You were the closest to heaven as he could get, more than he ever thought he would get to have and that’s why it was you he was trying to break down that wall to come to for comfort. 

His sight flicked to the fridge where you said you’d left him something; he was definitely starving, but just the thought of the effort it would take to eat right now was too much and the knot that rested in the pit of his stomach made him too nauseous anyway. There was something that would fill him far better than food could and he knew just where to find it now.

Moving on to the living room, he set himself down heavily on the couch and began to remove his boots and the outer layers of his clothing along with his mask, stripping away all the bits of his life as the stone cold sniper now that he was safe here in his little sanctuary. Stripped bare until he was down to his boxers, Simon gently crept towards the back of the apartment hoping he would make it to the bedroom before this feeling took him. 

Closer and closer he walked towards the other half of his heart.

The door stood slightly ajar to invite him inside and as he stepped up to it, he caught the hushed, rhythmic sounds of your breathing as you slumbered. It sounded so peaceful that he could have stood there in the dimly lit hallway and listen to it all night long. Just a few more steps, barely any distance left, and he would truly be home.

The room was completely dark save for the small crack in the curtains that let in just a bit of light from the streetlamp outside, helping him to find his way through the maze of darkness. As those brown eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Simon turned his attention to the bed and his heart skipped a beat. There you were: the outline of your body silhouetted under the covers, your head buried in your pillow, all cares left behind as you slept.

No sound did he make as he crept to the edge of the bed and lifted the sheets so that he could climb inside and up against your body laying in the center. One strong arm slipped up under your pillowed head while the other wrapped around your waist until you were encircled and he pulled you slowly so that your back rested up against his chest. His body molded into yours still warm from being wrapped up tight.

You stirred awake gently at the feeling of that familiar large body suddenly laying beside you. “Hey you,” you whispered sleepily, a smile on your lips as your eyes fluttered as they worked to open. “Tried to wait up, but I got so tired I had to go lay down. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you.”

Only silence greeted you as a response. No chuckle at your predictability, no picking remarks about how you couldn’t even stay up to see him, just the sound of labored breaths in and out as he lay there in the darkness curled up against you.

Silence only meant one thing and you knew it well.

“You okay baby?” you asked, but again there was no answer. Only the squeeze of his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter to his chest gave you any sort of reply as Simon’s nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his eyelashes brushing over your skin.

It was clear just from the silence that he was far from okay, that he must have been bottling this up for God knows how many hours so that the world would not see that he was not always the tough, put together soldier he was supposed to be. But he could not hide it from you...he didn't want to hide it from you.

You heard him inhale deeply, trying to capture as much of your scent as he could until it filled his head: your natural musk mixed with the smell of the sheets and added hints of shampoo and body wash. That comforting scent that belonged to only you that he couldn't ever get enough of, the one that helped to relax his troubled mind. Instantly the tension he had been carrying like a boulder upon his shoulders all day finally released him from its stranglehold. 

Gentle, exploring hands tentatively went up under your baggy shirt, one of his old worn ones you loved to wear to bed to keep him close even when he wasn’t there, as he just wanted to make contact with all that delicately soft skin. He traced over curved paths he knew by touch alone: it was soft, it was familiar, it was safe and his heartbeat slowed as the ache in his chest dissipated enough that he could finally talk.

“Bad day,” he whispered finally, warm breath against your shoulder. "Really fuckin' bad day... again."

You rolled over in his arms until you came face to face with those sad auburn eyes, moved by the shame in his tone. It broke your heart that each time he had one of these days he felt such guilt about it, as if he simply should have been over it all by now, as if he wasn't human, but you were not about to let him overthink the struggle. There was nothing to be shameful about.

“I’m sorry baby. These things just happen, you know, but its alright; we'll get through it together, ” you said quietly, fingertips gently running over the line of his eyebrow, down his cheekbone and further to his jaw in soothing circles.

Together.

Simon closed his eyes and eased into your hand as you traced patterns across his temple and through the cropped sides of his hair, letting the vile, churning thoughts rummaging around in his brain to fall away. No one else could ever see him like this save for you, no one else's touch he craved more than anything to bring him back into himself after the day had brought him down so low. 

He brought his hand up and placed the tough palm over top of yours to hold it firmly against his cheek as if to make sure that all of this was real, that you were not simply a mirage cast by his broken mind. 

“You’re home now, baby,” you reassured him as he took deep breaths in and out with his eyes closed, only wanting to feel you. “It’s gonna be okay, I got you.”

Home, still such a strange word for him.

Wherever you were that was home. Not a place, but a person, one who made certain that no matter how far he drifted she would always pull him back in. Simon had never had such a tether before, but fuck did he need it. He could feel it like medicine running through his blood, when you held him he could feel the chemicals rush to soothe the gaping wound in his heart.

Pulling your hand off his cheek, he brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the surface before leaning in to give one to your gentle lips. You embraced him back with such tenderness as if to remind him of that promise you had made to each other that neither of you would have to traverse the hell of this world alone.

“Home,” he repeated the tender word in his gravely tone, letting the emotionless second mask fall away. "I hope ya know... that you are my home, sweetheart."

You smiled. "You're mine too, Simon."

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Bein' near ya is the only fuckin' thing that seems to help quiet the shit in my 'ead these days."

Pulling him back in, you gave him another kiss. "Then get nice and close," you said softly as you squirmed up under him more, setting his arm back over you.

Securing his arms around you again he moved over top of you so that his head rested against the middle of your chest, ear pressed in against your sternum to listen to your heartbeat rhythmically thump inside. With his hand still inside your shirt he drew his fingertips along your bare hips, not wanting anything more than your company tonight. 

Your calming fingers ran through his short hair and over his scalp as he counted the beats of your heart until he melted into your body. Discussion could happen later if and when he was ready, for now this was all he needed. However long he wanted to cling to your torso, you’d let him.

You were his life raft, pulling him back in and no matter how far he drifted and it was because of you that for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like he was going to get lost.  

[yuwuta]

YUUTA OKKOTSU’S DECLASSIFIED JUJUTSU TECH SURVIVAL GUIDE (AN APPETITE HAUNTING THE HEART)

❝i know this tastes too good to be healthy. the more it melts, the sweeter it gets, so take my heart out because i need all of you.

*this is yuuta okkotsu’s fool-reviewed plan for navigating all things curses, sorcery, and love. 

pairings. okkotsu/reader

content, warnings. canon-adjacent, reader has a cursed technique, friends to lovers, smut (uhh... no triggers i think? other than implied virginity loss on yuuta’s part), mentions of violence/curses, possessive/intrusive thoughts... he starts of kinda sweet and weird and then just gets... weirder and worse lol, so mostly yuuta being... yuuta &lt;2

notes. jujustu tech is a college not a highschool, yes i brought naruto in this, i believe in sasuke slander only from a place of pure love, real sasuke ridicule will not be accepted xoxo

word count. 12k i told you i could yap about him all day

playing. candy/baekhyun, untouched/the veronicas, cream soda/exo, lacy/olivia rodrigo, pure honey/beyoncé

#1 — Do NOT touch Maki Zenin’s tools (but if you do, the cute girl who hangs around Inumaki might help to patch you up).

Yuuta hadn’t meant to piss off Maki. He was trying to be helpful, but Yuuta learned the hard way today: do not touch Maki’s cursed tools, at all, for any reason whatsoever. He intended to hand it back to her, but she was prompt in assuming that was part of an attack, snatching it from under his grasp and giving him a jab on the wrist with the dull end of the stick. If the beatdown he’d endured during training put Yuuta on his deathbed, then that hit was the final nail in the coffin.  

The crack! sound of his bones made everyone pause their sparring, and Gojo winced the loudest, “Ouch! That one had to hurt, kid!” It was also Gojo who gathered everyone to stand around and look down at him clutching his wrist in pain, before making the executive decision to appoint you as Yuuta’s caretaker.  

“This is definitely something you can handle!” he cheered, patting the top of your head, “Take our dearest Yuuta to the infirmary and patch him up, please and thank you! With the way Maki’s been kicking him into the ground, those cuts are sure to get infected sooner rather than later. The two of you can join us for dinner when you’re finished!”  

Yuuta tried to refute, on the grounds of “No—no! I—ouch—this really isn’t worth using any kind of cursed energy over!” Which was quickly met with a mischievous raised eyebrow from his teacher, “Oh? Are you insinuating that my precious student doesn’t have the skill to fix a simple fracture?” That prompted Yuuta to spill a flurry of apologies, none of which were coherent, and ended up with him trailing behind you sheepishly to the infirmary with a broken wrist, several bleeding wounds, and probably early heart failure.  

Now, Yuuta sits with his feet dangling off of the edge of the examination chair, shivering from the chilliness of the room, and all of his nerve endings rattling at the realization that this is the first time that he’s been alone in a room with you since you’ve met. He winces, first at the sting of disinfectant into his wound, and then internally—mostly out of embarrassment—because his outward reaction made you pause your actions to question if he’s okay.  

Okay is relative, he thinks. In the grand scheme of things, he’s okay. Concerning his current injuries, he’ll be okay eventually. Concerning this… whatever this is he feels for you… maybe not so okay.  

“Sorry,” he stutters, too loud for the atmosphere and proximity of your bodies to each other, and, so, he winces again, cheeks staining red to match his embarrassment, as if he or you needed any confirmation of it. He doesn’t mean to be a difficult patient, but he has an adversity surrounding hospitals and medical care, and that alcohol really does burn, and you’re really close to his face, and—and you giggle a little, but Yuuta hears a chorus, instead; warm, spring-like, with violins and a piano and cellos strumming in perfect harmony, and the buzz of bees and butterfly wings flapping the melody.  

“You apologize a lot,” you tell him, a kind smile on your lips. You step forward, just a bit, as you peel off the band-aid adhesive and gently press it over the bridge of Yuuta’s nose. It’s Hello Kitty themed. It makes him want to scream.  

“Yeah, uh—sorry about that!” Yuuta apologizes, once again too loudly. He scratches at the back of his neck with his left hand, and his eyes go wide after a few beats, “No, wait—I didn’t mean to apologize again. I just... I, uh... thank you. That’s what I wanted to say. For helping me, you have my sincerest thank you.” 

Yuuta dips his head to bow, and when he raises it again, you’re blinking at him owlishly, and he thinks he’s really done it now. You must think he’s a freak, if you didn’t already. He thinks you’re gonna tell him off for being pathetic and a weakling, but instead you laugh again—that precious sound that pauses Yuuta’s world for the better.  

“You’re awfully formal. There’s no need for that, or to thank me. We’re friends, afterall,” you reassure him, “Even if Gojo did force you to be my practice dummy.” 

It’s his turn to reassure you, his uninjured hand moving from his neck to shake frantically in front of him, “It’s completely okay,” he does his best to give you a smile as warm as the one you give him. It probably doesn’t work, but he tries anyway—he’s always been an awkward smiler, too wide-mouthed and toothy, “You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you.”  

Your face seems almost solemn at his declaration, and the panic instantly kicks in again. Yuuta scrambles when his words play back in his head, “I’m sorry, was that weird? I meant that I trust your judgment. You can, uh, fix me up however you best see fit—or just leave it! I’m sure it’ll heal on—”

“You’re awfully self-sacrificing, too,” you cut him off with a laugh, your usual warm nature clicking back. Yuuta shrugs, feeble; you smile wider, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I keep staring, and I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable.” 

“Not at all! You don’t... make me uncomfortable, I mean. You could never,” Yuuta rushes, curling back into himself after his outburst, “You... it always feels really nice when you’re around. I can’t explain it, but everything is calmer.”

Your eyes flutter across his face, before you turn away from him, “I can tell it makes you nervous—I can hear the changes in your heartbeat,” you tell him, opening the cabinet to return the alcohol to its rightful place. You must also be able to hear his thoughts, chiming in just as Yuuta continues to wonder if his heartbeat is really that loud, “It’s part of my technique. I don’t mean to intrude on your heart.” 

Is it an intrusion if Yuuta left room for you? If he wanted you to be there? Was it crazy to think that he’d give you his heart to hold and trust you to take care of it, even though you’d only met a few months ago? Maybe it would be easier if he let you squeeze tight enough to put him out of his misery already.

Luckily, you keep talking before he can say something stupid like that out-loud again. 

“It’s just that... you remind me of somebody that I used to know. You’re kind like him, and you both share a well-intentioned recklessness, too. I see so much of him in you that it’s hard not to stare sometimes,” you admit, turning back to face him, and gingerly taking his wrist between your hands. When your hands start to glow, Yuuta can feel it—your reversed cursed technique is warm on the surface, but chilly underneath, like a heated blanket on top of perfectly cool sheets. 

“I don’t mean to say that you’re just a replacement,” you continue, slowly rotating your hands over his injury. It stings a little, then soothes, “I’m just still in awe of how nice it feels being around you. It feels strangely—” 

“Familiar,” Yuuta interjects, “I understand. You feel that way, too. I think... that’s what I meant before.” He understands your words perfectly because you remind him of someone precious to him, too; someone he used to and still loves alot. “You—it makes me happy, that’s why I seem so nervous.”

It seems as though you understand him, too. His heart sings, and you can probably hear it, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind so much now. What he feels for you is consuming, maybe concerning, but knowing that you know what it’s like to love like him brings him an odd sense of comfort. Maybe he should be jealous that you’ve had someone to love that much before, but he’s not exactly in a position to talk. What matters is that you can hear him and feel him—his heart and his love and his sad and his happy, and it doesn’t push you away. 

It makes him want to burst. He owes you a thank you for putting something so precious in his life. He owes you an apology, for ever doubting that you couldn’t handle his symptoms. He should have realized that you can handle his love.

“You feel really warm, too,” he blushes, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand, “And, uh, not just because you’re holding my hand.” 

The twinkle in your eyes turns into confusion, then surprise when you look down to see that the hand below his wrist had moved to rest underneath his palm instead. His wrist was well healed by now, and you’d been, effectively, massaging his skin and muscles with your technique for the latter duration of your conversation without realizing it. 

Yuuta couldn’t tell when it went from healing to hand holding, but he’s not complaining—and he doesn’t think he could have stopped it either. Another quality to your technique that he couldn’t understand was how your energy felt sticky, flowed like honey; how it managed to run into broken crevices and bruised dents with a mind of its own. Even if he’d wanted to pull his hand away—and he didn’t, he absolutely did not—he wouldn’t have gotten far from you. He never wanted to be. 

“You already have calluses on your palm,” you note, dispelling your healing energy, holding onto Yuuta’s hand only by want now, “You train hard. You’ll catch up to Maki and Toge, quickly, but not if you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Yuuta almost chokes when you rotate your wrist so that your fingers are aligned. Your hand is so much softer than his, warmer than his, and maybe he’s idealistic, but your fingers seem to slot perfectly between his when you curl them. 

“I’m not always going to be around to fix you up,” you warn him, “So don’t go around pissing Maki off too much, alright?” 

Yuuta can feel the heat from your body flow through him. From his palm, up his arm, down into his chest, and everywhere else. It doesn’t feel real. You’re holding his hand, you’re smiling at him, you’re right there and you’re so bright and beautiful, so Yuuta doesn’t know why his thoughts are so gray and dangerous; you wouldn’t hurt him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, so why can’t he stop thinking about keeping you like this—of stitching your hands together forever to keep you by his side, or letting this heat consume and burn you both. 

Yuuta shakes his head to wiggle those thoughts away, but to you it seems like he’s saying no to staying off of Maki’s radar. When he realizes it, he nods too reverently to make up for it; surely looking like an idiot, and then to top it off, he squeaks, “I—yes, ma’am!” 

Another foolish outburst on his end, perhaps, but it makes you giggle, fills the room with springtime for a moment, so to Yuuta, it was worth it. “Good,” you nod, release his hand and beckon him off of the chair, “Come on, we should go eat before Panda takes all the good sides for himself.” 

Yuuta follows you back to the dorms with his stomach already full of love, love, love. He loves you, and you can hear, and see, and feel exactly what you do to him, and you don’t run. Yuuta thinks maybe you should, even though he doesn’t want you to. Surely you know what he did to Rika when he loved her. 

Rika seems to like you, actually, if the humming of her voice in his head as he takes his seat at the table next to you is any indication. He can vaguely make out some of her words as you pass him the dumplings—warm, kind, loyal. He agrees. Pretty, too. No disagreement there. 

In such a short amount of time, you’ve shifted Yuuta’s ethos for life. He wanted to die to be with the person he loved before, and never quite understood why Rika would stop him, why she would want him to suffer in this life alone; but maybe this is what Rika was always trying to tell him; that his love was not lost and buried with her, but flowing towards you, his heart, a beacon for you to locate. 

You’d mentioned that he reminded you of someone you knew before, that you couldn’t see anymore. Yuuta doesn’t know what happened to your person before he came along; he can only hope that you’ll allow him and his heart to be a vessel for your love someday, too. He won’t disappoint you. He won’t let you let go of him. 

It shouldn’t be hard. You already have his heart in your hands. 

#2 — Gojo is more than a teacher. He is also the school event planner, once ranked Diamond in Overwatch, and is the only person blacklisted from any and all kitchens on campus. He also gives pretty good (sometimes questionable?) advice. His eyes are kind of scary.  

You’re there when he and Toge are nearly decimated by the Grade 1 curse in the abandoned market. He still doesn’t understand much about sorcery at this point, so seeing people like you and Toge in action is awe-inspiring to say the least. Yuuta knows that Toge is nothing short of amazing, but he can’t help but to be drawn into you, you, you—your energy, your fighting style, the seemingly never-ending applications of your technique. Cursed energy in and of itself is still a foreign concept to him, so perhaps it’s that seeing you use the reverse of it so effortlessly is even more novel to him. 

He can hear Rika strumming in the back of his mind, an indistinct itch and hum that sounds vaguely like laughter at his self-justification. He chooses to ignore her. 

After, while he’s still buzzing with the tingly warm sensation of your technique after you’d patched him up, Gojo finds him, and Yuuta, unable to keep up a façade, pours all his anxious, worried, inquisitive feelings about his mission on the table. 

“The way that (_____) can heal wounds... is that something I can learn?” Yuuta questions his teacher, eyes tired but genuine and earnest.  

And Gojo, all knowing and absolutely singing at the implications, smiles so wide he’s certain his newest student could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, even through the dark tint of his glasses. “Maybe.”  

He goes on, leaning back into the old loveseat, one leg crossed over his other knee, “You’ll probably be able to learn to heal yourself with reversed cursed technique, but using it to heal others is difficult and rare. Shoko and (_____) are the only people I know who can do it.”

“Is… did she get to learn it because she’s a Grade 1?” He remembers Maki explaining the ranking system for Jujutsu sorcerers. You and Toge were ranked the highest in the class, and amongst the other Kyoto students; it would make sense that you two have learned more applications of your techniques due to your higher placements.

Gojo chuckles, much to Yuuta’s confusion. “That’s not quite how it works—and if it were, then you’d already know because you’re a Special Grade. You don’t unlock new lessons as you move up, you move up because of how well you’ve learned to control and apply your own cursed technique.”

Right. That makes sense. Except Yuuta knows that his classification of Special Grade is a bit of a cheat because he can’t control or apply his cursed energy half as well as any of his classmates. He has Rika to thank for his immediate promotion, not himself or his own skills.

“In any case, if you do learn it, you’ll never be able to execute it like her, that’s for certain. Reversed cursed technique is complicated to learn and nearly impossible to teach. It’s one of those things you truly have to figure out for yourself when the timing is right—I only got it when I was on the brink of death. It’s 100% effective on the person doing it, but only 50% effective when applied to other people by the user,” Gojo says, “Except for (_____). She was born with reversed cursed energy, which is why she has an almost 100% output on herself and others, so she’s extra special. ”

Yuuta frowns. He never expected to do anything half as well as you, but knowing there’s only half a chance that he could, literally, only ever meet you half-way is frustrating. You can save him time and time and time again, as you already have, and all he can do is be a wound for you to stitch back together. 

It must be difficult for you. A similar thought had crossed his mind when he first met Shoko-san, feeling bad for her having to carry the burden of healing others, knowing that she could never receive the same treatment in return. It’s worse for you, though, to be an angel amongst the men on this Earth—it’s not fair that you can give so much to help, and nobody can do the same for you. Yuuta wants to give something to you, he wants to devote himself to you, so at the very least, you have that. If he can’t give you anything else, he can give you himself.

Gojo laughs at Yuuta’s silence, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. “That’s hard for you to hear, huh? Ha! You truly are a lover, not a fighter, Yuuta.”

Yuuta blinks at him. “I, uh... thank you?” He says, even though he’s not so certain that those two things are discernable.  

“Right now, the best thing for you to do is focus on controlling Rika and your cursed energy. That way, (_____) can also focus on fighting, and not healing, when you’re on missions together. The stronger you are, the less she’ll have to clean up after you,” Gojo advises.

He puts his feet back on the floor and uses the leverage to lean over, a bit too close for Yuuta’s comfort. “The only thing you can do for her is to learn to help yourself.”

Yuuta’s eyes go wide. He wants to—he wants to help you, wants to help himself, wants to help others, too. There’s a selfish twang for a moment, the thought of not needing you anymore tugging at his heart, but Rika reminds him that he’ll still want you. 

Then an even scarier thought crosses his mind. “What happens if I don’t learn to control this? What happens if I curse her instead?”

Yuuta trembles at the thought, breathing and heartbeat erratic, his sensei moving back a bit. Rika is there again, reassuring him that he never hurt her, that his love never hurts, that the only person he’s ever truly harmed is himself by isolation of his own feelings. Trust her, Rika demands, she can handle this.

You can. Can you? You have, so far. You don’t run, you don’t push, you give, and give, and give to him; Rika was kind and playful and took and took and took Yuuta’s loneliness and sickness in stride and he still cursed her, seemingly for all eternity. He wants to love and be loved, but not if it means hurting you—isn’t it bad enough that he’s already inept at healing your wounds? Why should he risk giving you more?

“Yuuta,” Gojo calls him out of his thoughts, “I’m disappointed.” 

That truly breaks Yuuta’s cyclical monologue. “I—disappointed?” 

Gojo ticks his tongue, shakes his head and points a finger in accusation, “You should know your fellow classmates better by now. (_____) is not that weak or scared,” he chastises, “You’re so worried about cursing her that you haven’t realized that she is the only person so far to have effectively used her curse on you.”

Yuuta pauses, eyes wet with the awful realization that Gojo was right. You have already cursed him; your technique has already gotten past the barrier of his curse. You’ve cursed him. He never stopped to think that it was possible, worried only about himself. How selfish—he shares Gojo’s disappointment in himself. 

He’s spent so much time loathing his jealous mind and decaying heart that he hasn’t opened his eyes to see you that you’ve found him. You can poison anything he does, and make the antidote with equal ease; how stupidly naive of Yuuta to think that he could be the one to diagnose or treat you better than you could him, or yourself. 

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Yuuta dips his head, and also spares you an internal apology, “I understand better, now.”

“Is that so?” Gojo muses, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes scan Yuuta’s when his head is raised again, that knowing grin creeping back up on his lips. “Well, if you still want to know more about reversed curse technique, or want help learning it, it’s not an entirely lost cause. I’m definitely not the person for this lesson, but, you know who is?” 

Yuuta feels a sense of whiplash from the change in Gojo’s demeanor. Confusion clouds his mind again, and he shrugs, “Um... Shoko-sensei?” 

Gojo makes a loud buzzer noise, complete with crossing his arms in front of his chest in a big ‘X.’ Yuuta frowns again. Is that where Toge learned to do that? 

“Wrong! I’m talking about (_____), obviously!” Gojo claps his hands together, before lowering his glasses to wiggle his eyebrows, “Tutoring is a textbook way to get some alone time, kiddo. You want to spend more time with her outside of class and missions, right?”

“I want to spend all my time with her,” Yuuta confesses, mindlessly. And foolishly, he soon realizes, when he sees that Gojo’s grin has tripled; and he’s quick to flash his hands to correct himself, “No—not like that—not in a creepy way! I just... I want to get to know her better, like you said.”

Yuuta’s awkward chuckles fill the space, and he can feel his insides burning from his cheeks all the way down to his hands. Would he ever be able to think coherently or tactfully when it came to you? 

“So, uh... I... it’s okay if I ask her about this stuff, too?” 

“Some sorcerers don’t like talking about their cursed techniques. But (_____) might not mind. You won’t know until you try.” 

Yuuta nods shallowly. Try. He can do that—if not for himself, then for you; he can try for you. All you need from him is to accept your course of treatment; to love you is to let you curse him, completely. 

“I’m a firm believer that all’s fair in love and war,” Gojo stands, stretching into Yuuta’s space to ruffle his hair. He leans down further, giving him a glimpse of his glowing eyes before sparing him a wink, “So, be a little greedy, and give it your best shot.”

#3 — Social media is the most twisted curse out there. It makes you feel so close, yet is a stark reminder of just how far you are from the person on the other end of the screen. 

Yuuta has never considered himself good with technology. Even before Rika’s incident, he often felt ostracized by his peers because he didn’t have the same interest in or experience with games and cartoons. He had no reason to have a computer or a phone until enrolling at Jujutsu Tech, and there was an evident learning curve in navigating the devices. Toge often snickered watching Yuuta use his smartphone with the dexterity of a senior citizen. 

He only barely set up Instagram and TikTok accounts with Toge’s help, but he doesn’t really get the idea of followers—why would people who don’t know him want to follow him? Why would he follow them? He doesn’t know many memes or jokes and even after seeing them, he doesn’t think many are all that funny, but he laughs anyway. 

He doesn’t have much time to perfect his social media and meme skills, anyway. He’s dedicated to training and gaining mission experience—which pays off when Geto declares war on the school by the end of the year. Yuuta remembers how you returned his phone to him the next day, a few cracks and black, dark spots on the screen, giggling that you’d found it in the rubble, but that even your reverse cursed technique couldn’t fix its scars. 

He thinks he gets the hang of it in the end—the basics of communication and the appeal behind connection with others through it—even going so far as to trade selfies with Gojo sometimes, who always seemed happy to receive them, no matter how much post-exorcism curse gunk Yuuta was covered in. 

He also frequently exchanges texts with you. He much prefers to see you in person, but when you’re stuck for long hours in the ER, or away from campus on your own missions, Yuuta has grown fond of receiving your messages. He always attempts to read them in your voice and imagine your facial expressions to match those of the emojis you send. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of those yet, doesn’t understand what Toge means when he says that not all smiley faces are created equally, so to save himself the trouble, and potential embarrassment, he’s opted to use emoticons instead. Which, if you asked him, has been working out in his favor, seeing as you call them cute. 

Yuuta also uses the safety of his phone screen to implement some of Gojo’s advice; picking your brain about curses, sorcery, and healing via text message for just long enough for you to say it’s easier to explain in person to come to him and teach him in your spare time. Soon these study sessions turn into texts asking to hang out outside of class and missions and work, and Yuuta couldn’t be more elated. The screen he once scorned at seemed to be his one-way ticket to being able to talk to his favorite person constantly. 

But Yuuta never thought it would become his only means of communication with you. He’s devastated when you break the news to him, over half-finished oolong tea and nervous finger-twiddling. 

“You’re leaving?” He echoes, hoping he doesn’t sound too much like a heartbroken child, even though that’s exactly how he feels. 

It’s quiet outside of the tea shop where you two sit, nearing seven in the evening; only the soft sounds of other customers conversing behind you two inside, distant cars on the main street, and the sound of Yuuta’s heart beating frantically.  

“Not leaving leaving,” you clarify, pausing your finger twirling to place one of your hands over Yuuta’s on the table, “I’m still studying, but I’m being sent abroad for a bit.” 

He should be focused on the fact that you’re touching his hand—Yuuta should be happy! Rika still cheers for you in his mind, but her voice is quieter now—but Yuuta can’t. He’s focused on everything else, spiraling about the implications of your words. You’re leaving... going away from him when things are going so well. 

Yuuta was so happy when you taught him the reversed curse technique, even happier when he realized he did have the ability to heal others, knowing it also meant having the ability to help you relieve some of your burdens. That didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to give himself to you, he would if you’d have him—but now he wouldn’t have the chance.  

“I haven’t told anyone else yet—Gojo only told me this morning,” you mumble, “I’m going to miss you all a lot, but we can still text every day! I don’t know how long the time difference will be, but we can FaceTime.” 

It’s not lost on Yuuta that he is the first person that you’ve told about this. It’s another thing to be happy about, another little victory he never thought he’d achieve, but it’s still overpowered by the dread of you leaving him. 

He blinks, placing his other hand atop yours, sandwiching them between his, “How long?” Yuuta can’t read the expression on your face, but you don’t pull your hand away. He’s glad. He didn’t think when he’d done it, but the lack of rejection feels good—your touch always feels good, reverse cursed energy or not. 

“I’m… not sure—a few months at least, maybe until the end of the year,” you admit, squeezing his hand, “There are some cursed objects and scrolls they want me to help recover, and Gojo says I get to work with another Special Grade sorcerer, too.” 

His hands feel so good, so warm, but everything else about Yuuta feels cold, icy with dread and fear. You’re going away for a long time, and he won’t get to see you or hear you laugh or feel your warmth while you’re gone. His sunny days are going away, and Yuuta honestly doesn’t know how many more overcast skies and rain clouds he can take.

And it’s selfish, he knows. He should be happy for you—you were chosen for this mission, for this training; you’re getting the chance to use your skills to help others, and train even further. So, why couldn’t he be happy for you? Why could he only feel a pit in his stomach about the thought of you leaving and meeting some other Special Grade who’s rightfully deserving of their title? Not only had he lost the thing that brought him to you in the first place, but you’re about to find another replacement. Sure, with or without Rika’s curse, Yuuta had become so much stronger, but what’s it worth if he couldn’t keep you by his side?

“Tsukumo is supposed to be really cool, but you’ll always be my favorite Special Grade, Yuuta,” you taunt with a smile. 

Yuuta’s eyes go wide and watery with wobbly lips and flushed cheeked and sweaty palms to match. Favorite. Favorite, favorite, favorite. The word spoken in your voice rings in his head like a beautiful chime, the tones washing over him and erasing all his fear and doubt and insecurity. 

You had called Yuuta your favorite. Sure, he’s still upset when he and the other first-years drop you off at the airport too weeks later, he still cries the first night you’re gone, still nearly breaks his knee trying to jump for his phone the first time that you call; but it’s okay because Yuuta is living off of the temporary high of being your favorite. 

And also, because, in the end, your separation seems to have been inevitable. Not a month after everyone bids you farewell from Jujutsu Tech, Gojo tells him that he’s next on the docket to be sent abroad. He’s happy for a split second, thinking that he might get sent off to Europe where you’re still working with Tsukumo, but then Yuuta learns his true fate: studying under the tutelage of Miguel in Kenya; equal parts away from his classmates in Tokyo, and from you in Barcelona. 

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was a liar and a bitch, because the favorite boy honeymoon comes to an end when Yuuta settles into his new room and makes his first call to you from Nairobi. The feeling and reality of being alone, and even further away from you finally hits him. Still, he relishes in the sound of your voice; fantasizes that when you reach for your phone to show him your new things, it’s you reaching for his hand; dreams of you laying next to him when you fall asleep on the call, and desperately wishes that he could touch you, hold you, kiss you. 

He really wants to kiss you. He thinks he’s probably always wanted to kiss you, from the very moment his feelings for you started to grow; even if he couldn’t discern them at first, he knows now—Yuuta knows that he misses you like he’s never missed anyone before. The grief of losing part of Rika, and then losing his proximity to you merely weeks apart is finally catching up to him, and it’s morphing into a yearning that tugs on his heartstrings and rattles his brain. 

He knows that the rate of growth of his feelings for you hasn’t been steady, but he blames you for that. You’re the reason he loves you so much, the reason he can’t sleep at night, the reason he learns how to bring Rika back—because he thinks of you, you, you, and how he lost Rika once, and he’d be a fool to lose you twice.

Yuuta thinks it’s no coincidence that your cursed technique has the ability to alter him in mind and body. You have so much ownership over him and you probably don’t even know that Yuuta has spent every single moment of his life living and breathing for you since you’ve met. 

And you take his breath away yet again, when he gets to see you in Germany. Miguel is taking him to Switzerland on a classified mission, and you and Tsukumo are on your way to Austria, and by some great miracle, your layovers align. When he sees you waving to him down the long corridor in the airport, it feels like a scene straight out of his dreams. Yuuta spares no time trying to look cool or nonchalant; making a beeline to you, desperate to feel your touch after so long. 

He’s breathless in those ten minutes that you’re reunited. Everything is too short, but he does his best to live in it all. He speaks a mile a minute, cramming in anything he hadn’t already revealed to you in your many late-night FaceTimes, and swallowing everything you tell him. He wants to believe that he’d made the best of what little time he had with you, but the truth is he didn’t. Because while you were smiling and hugging and telling him that you missed him, all Yuuta really wanted to do was kiss you—and if he were a smarter man, a better man, he would have. 

He thinks, for a split second, that you might have wanted to kiss him too—when you rock back on your heels after saying good-bye, hesitating for just a moment, almost expectantly, before your eyes flutter away. He’ll never know, because he never asked, he never tried, he never said—only whispered, pathetically, to himself as he watches the silhouette of you and Tsukomo before you disappear for boarding, that he loves you. 

He almost believes that you hear it when you turn over your shoulder after his quiet confession. Would it have been better that way—if he kissed you, or confessed in the heat of the moment—or would it be taking advantage of an otherwise beautiful moment? Yuuta will never know, and the what if tantalizes him.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens the thread of your messages. He starts typing, then stops. Backspace. Start typing. Pause. Read, re-read. Delete. Groan. 

What’s the point? He can’t kiss you through the screen, and he’ll be damned if the first time he tells you that he’s in love with you is via phone call. He slumps his shoulders, and Miguel gives him a pity pat on the back. Yuuta goes to lock his phone when he sees the gray thought bubbles pop up below your last message and his entire body goes rigid in anticipation. 

[received] 03:27 PM — [attachment: 1 image] — you should keep a closer eye on your things yuuta — i miss you already (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ 

Yuuta’s heart stops when he sees the picture of you in your seat, wearing his white uniform jacket. He doesn’t know when you snuck it away from him, but that doesn’t matter—like anything else, he would have willingly given it to you, and then some. It looks much better on you anyway, and Yuuta pinches his eyes shut for a brief moment, to swallow down the thoughts threatening to swarm his mind of you in his arms, in other clothes, in his bed. 

He opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets the warm, gooey feeling settle into his veins, and moves his fingers to type. 

[sent] 03:38 PM — keep it, you can have anything of mine you want — i miss you more (๑′ ᴗ ‵๑)♥

You heart his messages and let him know you’re taking off soon, and putting your phone on airplane mode until you land. He’s not so confident to send a picture in return, unless you ask for it. Maybe you will, when you’re in Austria. He’ll have to work on his selfies.

He takes another once over the picture you sent, committing the idea of you in his clothes to memory. He knows the messages won’t delete themselves, but he takes a screenshot for safekeeping anyway. Maybe phones aren’t so bad, afterall. 

#4 — Do not kill Itadori Yuuji. Under any circumstances. Even if some days you really feel like it. Also, sign up for a Crunchyroll subscription. 

Yuuta can confidently say that his training abroad was both the most difficult and fulfilling thing he’s ever experienced. He believes that the change he’s endured is mostly good—he’s physically stronger, emotionally wiser, and overall more confident in himself and his cursed technique. One year ago, he would have been content with dying, but now he has more than enough reasons to keep living. He has people who care about him, and who would miss him if he were gone; and he’s got someone he would miss a whole bunch, too, should anything happen to them.  

By miss Yuuta means that he might burn down a small town, might level a city, might flip the entire world on its axis if something were to happen to you. In his defense, he’d go to extremes for most of his friends—but for you, there’s truly nothing he wouldn’t risk.  

He figured that out in his time abroad, too; came to terms with the fact that he’s selfish with his love. He loves too much, too hard, too close, and he isn’t very willing to share. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, anymore, either—Yuuta knows now that the way he loves makes him who he is, and right now, he has the confidence to say that he likes that person, and that he loves you, undoubtedly. 

So, forgive him if there’s a cloud of negative energy the size of a coach bus looming over him at the moment, because since you’ve returned to campus, Itadori Yuuji has been slobbering over you like a lovesick puppy.  

Because apparently, you happen to know Itadori Yuuji—as in, since you were four and he was three, all the way up until your senior year of highschool, when you were scouted by Gojo, who, believes that you coming home from your study abroad trip would be the perfect time to reunite two best friends who hadn’t seen or heard from each other for the better part of two years—all while keeping this little reunion a secret from everybody, including you and Itadori.

A surprise, it certainly is, when the first time that Yuuta and the other second-years see you in months is on the dingy couch in the common room, under a cuddle pile of the first-years. Nobara’s arms wrapped around your left arm, body slumped against your side, Megumi’s long limbs stretching over Itadori’s torso, leaving the palm of his hand resting on your thigh. Far too close for Yuuta’s comfort. The only saving grace is that the jacket he loaned you is also spread across your lap, offering another layer between your body and his palm. And then there’s Itadori Yuuji, squished right between you and Megumi, with his head on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, and your free arm slung around his neck. 

Yuuta should have been relishing in the fact that you were finally home, but all his focus is drawn to the way your position allows Itadori to cuddle right into you, to the way your arm is around his shoulder and your cheek pressed against the top of his head. You two might as well have been in your own little world, and Yuuta hates it. And, as if that’s not enough, the realization that he was not the first person to hug you or welcome you home clicks, and his anger bubbles deeper.  

Next comes dread, that creeps in slowly when you and the first-years wake up, and you and Itadori go on and on and on about how surprised you were to see each other at the airport, how Itadori just assumed that when Gojo said he’d assigned them to “pick up something super special,” that he was messing with them, how you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of your precious, precious kouhai that you’d missed so dearly.

Childhood best friends brought back together through sorcery. Yuuta’s seen that one before, and he didn’t like the ending.

You and Itadori mend the gap in your friendship like two years of no contact was nothing, falling into a pattern that’s so easy and familiar, that it’s painful for Yuuta to watch. The assumption that you’d died, and the knowledge that Yuuji had actually died only served to strengthen your vows to protect each other in the name of your friendship from here on out.  

Yuuta considers putting his own sword through his chest if it means you’ll swear your devotion to him. If he died, would you cry for him? Would you pray over his grave and beg for him to come back to you?—or would you find comfort in those who kept living, find solace in a friend who came back for you and can still hold you in his arms? 

“Tsuna tsuna,” he hears from his left, followed by a mischievous giggle. Toge’s taunting is hardly enough to pull Yuuta out of his cloud of rage, but the blunt end of Maki’s staff is.  

“Will you stop pining so damn hard?” she sneers, whipping the staff back to her side and placing a hand on her hip, “Not only is it pathetic, it’s gonna attract curses like flies to honey.”  

“Why am I the only one getting hit?” He turns to his right to motion to Megumi, who seems to be brooding just as hard. Megumi respects you, but it was easy to see that he was reaching his limit on sharing his recently revived lover with someone else. Maki huffs, “Because he doesn’t have a literal cloud of darkness looming around him.”  

Yuuta sighs, doing his best to reign in his feelings, but it’s pointless once he hears your laughter across the field—light and airy and sunshiney and all because of Itadori Yuuji. 

What were you two talking about? If Itadori were out of the way, would you pledge yourself to Yuuta? Did he ever hold a space comparable to Itadori in your heart—would you let him?

A broken chord strikes Yuuta’s heart when he realizes that Itadori is the person you told him about last year; the person you missed so much, and you never thought you’d be able to see again; the person that Yuuta reminded you of; the person he was happy and eager to be for you. And now, in knowing Itadori, Yuuta thinks that his willingness was beautifully naive—to think that he could compare to someone like this. Itadori is light, where Yuuta is dark; he sees the best in people, where Yuuta manages to come off on the wrong foot always; he perseveres in faith and determination, where Yuuta is fueled by an anxious desire to prove, prove, prove himself to be worth something to anybody. 

He can see how easy it is to love Itadori. It’s easy to cling to faith, to believe in something higher than yourself, to know that someone above can pull you up. Yuuta cannot compete where he cannot compare; he’s a shadow that engulfs you, takes you away from light, a dream that’s hard to wake up from. He could never be bright to you; his best attempt would probably drive you and him too close to the sun, martyred for love in burning flames.

Still, even in all his jealousy, Yuuta comes to the even more sobering realization that making Itadori disappear wouldn’t fix his problems. You told him he wasn’t Itadori’s replacement, but maybe that’s because he could never be him; maybe he doesn’t have to be. Yuuji could never be him, and he could never be Yuuji, but whether Yuuta likes it or not, he and Itadori are two sides of the same coin; and as such, Yuuta has, begrudgingly, grown to feel the same sense of responsibility over the younger boy that you do.

So, even though he never expected that they would both be at the mercy of your hand at the same time in this lifetime, he absolutely cannot kill Itadori Yuuji. Not only would it make you sad, but it would probably make Yuuta even sadder in the end, somehow. What a bother. 

He’s about to get up—to leave, maybe go over there, he doesn’t know yet—but he stops when he hears a calm buzzing by his ear. Yuuta blinks, slowly, shoulders relaxing unconsciously, allowing the larger than normal honey-bee to land on him. He recognizes it as one of your shikigami—and even if he hadn’t, that familiar, cooling sensation that washes over him would have let him know—so, gently, he lifts a hand across his torso, allowing it to crawl onto his finger, and strum its tune.

Yuuta can feel a few more, hear them humming around him, and he closes his eyes, lets the small group of bees flutter around him and all that looming jealousy dissipates from his body. 

Faintly, past the calm hum of the small swarm, Yuuta can hear the call of Yuuji’s voice, petulant, “Aw, no fair. Fushiguro, I want calming shikigami, too! Can you bring out the bunnies? Please.” 

Beside him, Toge and Maki seem bemused by his newly calmed state, then amused when Megumi sighs, stands, and reluctantly pulls his hands together before a couple dozen white rabbits flood the field and hop onto Yuuji. 

The buzzing grows softer, and then quiet. Briefly, Yuuta feels a bee land on his cheek, before it flies away, leaving the smell of fresh pollen in his wake, and when he blinks his eyes open again, you’re there, in front of him with a smile sweeter than anything he’s ever known. 

“Hope they didn’t scare you,” you muse, waving a finger before the last bee hovering around you disappears, “You seemed upset, everything alright?” 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when he’s cut off by Itadori Yuuji once again, with one bunny on either shoulder, and three more cradled in his arms. “Hey, doesn’t (_____) totally remind you guys of Sakura!”  

Maki scoffs, albeit with amusement, as she points her staff at Yuuji’s hair. “If anyone bears resemblance to Sakura, it’s you, Itadori.”  

Yuuji actually makes an attempt to look at his own hair before chuckling. Yuuta flashes a look to Megumi, who looks equal parts exasperated and enchanted. Yuuta doesn’t get the reference, and when Inumaki starts making gestures about how Yuuji is like some Naruto guy and Yuuji screams about how Megumi resembles a Shikamaru, he becomes too afraid to ask.  

You seemed charmed at the end of the discussion, when everybody fundamentally agrees that you’re the Sakura of the group. Yuuta is far less charmed by these comparisons (and it has nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t get one). He doubts that this Sakura person can do what you can do, doubts that Sakura is even worthy enough to be compared to you, whoever she may be. 

And maybe Yuuta goes back to his room to watch several compilation videos about ships in Naruto later that day, but nobody has to know that. From what he’s gathered, Sakura is pretty cool, and even though Yuuji bears the most physical resemblance to her, he can see why everyone agrees that your healing abilities compare well to hers. Yuuta thinks you’re better, and he’s still holding out hope that there’s some other character equivalent for you that Itadori didn’t think of, that Yuuta can, just to prove that he knows you better. He doesn’t fight any comparisons between Gojo and Kakashi, though. That one honestly freaked him out a little. 

If it turns out that you’re Sakura, then he should hope to be Sasuke, but Yuuta thinks this dude is kind of a dick. From the 47 minutes of scattered Naruto content that he’s consumed, he actually much prefers the dynamic between Sakura and Naruto, even if that does equate to Itadori Yuuji having a crush on you, at least you’re out of his league and chasing after somebody else. 

Still, he thinks Sakura would be upset if Naruto actually died, or worse, if Sasuke actually killed him—never mind the fact that apparently he tried to kill her? Yuuta would never do that, but Sakura still seems to like Sasuke after all of that... in any case, Itadori Yuuji must live, and Yuuta must accept his fate as Sasuke reborn. 

Though, to Yuuta’s understanding so far, Sasuke and Naruto are destined to duke it out and if only one of them has to survive, then maybe it’s not so bad to be this guy. Yuuta doesn’t know how it ends between them, but he thinks he could take on Itadori Yuuji if he had to. He won’t because he’s your friend, and Yuuta’s friend now, too, but if Itadori or the curse inside of him acts up, then Yuuta can at least rest assured he can put a stop to it. That’s not something he could have guaranteed a year ago, but now, he can. 

Yuuta sighs, finally locking his phone and shoving his head under his blanket. He’s been knee deep in analyses about Sakura ships for the past two and a half hours now, and he’ll admit Sasuke is growing on him, but not much. His only saving grace seems to be that Sakura is madly, unconditionally in love with him; Yuuta wouldn’t mind having that kind of devotion from you. He turns to lay on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling and wonders: if it came down to saving only one of them, would Sakura pick Naruto or Sasuke... would you choose the boy who’s loved and looked up to you since you were kids, or the boy who sacrificed everything in hopes of gaining enough strength so that what happened to him never happens to anyone else. 

Maybe they answer that in the series, Yuuta reasons. 720 episodes, at 20 minutes per episode... if he devotes about half-a-day to watching Naruto, then he can breeze through it in a little over two weeks, maybe sooner if he uses his weekends efficiently. That’s plausible, and by the end of it, Yuuta is certain that he’ll have the answers he needs—and even if it doesn’t, then at least, he’ll have one more thing to talk to you about.

In the end, Sakura picks Sasuke, Naruto marries somebody else, and Yuuta understands that the two were never opposites, but complements, and that Itadori Yuuji-shaped pit in his stomach dissipates. Still, about three weeks later at breakfast he makes the argument that if anything you’re more akin to Tsunade, minus the gambling addiction, and that gets him rave reactions from everyone, including you, who is more than happy to show him your new slug shikigami as a means of commemorating your new Naruto kin. 

Believe that, Itadori. 

#5 — None of this matters if you don’t kiss her. You have to kiss the girl—or she’ll get mad enough to the point where she’ll kiss you.

The following month comes your indictment into the Semi-Special Grade hall of responsibility. Yuuta vaguely recalls Gojo’s lecture on how people don’t really get promoted to Special Grade—it’s classification you’re born or cursed with, like himself, or Yuuji, or Tsukumo—but, you, of course, defy all odds and expand everything Yuuta knows. Nobody is surprised—Yuuta thinks everyone was among the similar thought that you were undoubtedly unique amongst your classmates, in a way that was different from him or Yuuji. Being born with a body that generates reversed cursed energy instead of cursed energy is deserving of Special Grade status if you asked him; he doesn’t know what pushed the higher-ups into finally acknowledging your skill, but he knows it’s well-past due. And while he’s happy you’re getting recognition for your efforts, Yuuta would never wish to saddle you with half of the shit the higher-ups put him through. 

They better hope that Yuuta doesn’t find out that they’re plotting anything with you, lest they meet the end of his sword.

Part of your promotion entails a dual-degree program that will have you starting medical school next fall. Yuuta almost cries at the thought of you being sent away again, until you tell him that Gojo managed to pull a few strings this time—to fund everything and keep you in Tokyo. 

And even though you’re not licensed to treat civilians yet, you’re already more than experienced with taking care of and healing your fellow sorcerers, which lends Shoko’s promotional gift to be a shiny new office, right across from hers. Yuuta is the first person you invite inside, and he brings you a photo of you, him, Maki, and Toge from last year—honestly, probably the only photo the four of you have together—to christen your desk, and a plaque with your name on it for the door, that he may or may not have fantasized about it reading with your first name and his last name on it instead.

To no surprise, your office becomes a safe haven of sorts. Yuuta would define any time or place with you as a safe haven, but there’s something special about this place. Maybe Yuuta is still leaping from this being the second time you’ve chosen him. He’s the first person to see your office, the first person to sit at your chair, your first official patient when he stubs his toe against the corner of your desk (where he left the first decorative object). Maybe it’s a little far to say that this place has him all over it as much as it does you, but Yuuta likes the sound of that. 

When he comes back from gruesome missions, he’s invited to let himself in, no matter how much blood he’s covered in, and you’ll be there to take care of him. It’s not different than before—not different than even last year when he’d waddled in your shadow to the room across the hall and sat down with heart palpitations while you fixed his wrist—but something about this feels special. It holds a different weight than hanging out in your dorm or cooking together in the kitchen; this office is yours, the things you say and do to him here are confidential, the yearning for and almost-kisses you almost have are for you and him alone; within these four walls, you’re free to curse him completely. 

So, he’s understandably upset when your office becomes a cozy corner for the other students as well. Maki likes to take refuge inside to study alone, Panda and Toge have been caught on more than one occasion attempting to wrap gauze around each other like zombies, Megumi uses your supplies and basic first-aid lessons to prepare small kits for him and the other first-years, hell, even Gojo has been found asleep in your office on more than one occasion. He gets why people are drawn to you like a magnet, why you’re comforting, and welcoming, and a source of warmth for them, but that doesn’t mean that Yuuta likes to share you. It’s much harder to almost-kiss you this way. 

He must have pouted loud enough about it, because shortly after, instead of inviting Yuuta to your office for lunch, you ask him to meet you on the field. Not one to question you, he obeys, and soon, instead he’s met with an entirely new safe haven, sitting criss-cross inside your domain with all your shikigami slithering and fluttering and buzzing about him. A butterfly lands on his nose, and Yuuta’s nose crinkles. You lean in to let it crawl on your finger instead, and don’t lean too far back when you slowly begin to explain to him the intricacies of your domain and how it all comes together. 

It’s amazing, surely. Yuuta listens as best he can, but it’s hard when there’s a halo of butterflies around you, and a symphony of bees buzzing in his ear, and a slug kissing at his hand, and a snake coiling around his body and gently massaging his muscles, and your voice sound so soft and warm, and you look so pretty and, and, and he wants to kiss you again. 

He wants to kiss you really badly. He wonders if that’s part of your domain—honestly, he’d wondered if that magnetic, honey-like attraction he has to you is in any part influenced by your healing nature—wonders if the confines of your space exacerbates the flow of blood to his heart and his cheeks and his—

“Are you listening?” you question, that glowing, addictive smile on your face, “You know I can make the snake bite, the bees sting.” 

God, Yuuta wants to kiss you. He wants to live in the spring garden of your love forever, and ever, and roll around in the grass and drink honey with you, and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. You could keep him here forever, he’d be perfectly content with living his days wrapped up in your curse. 

Yuuta shakes his head to snap out of his daydream, disrupting a few butterflies in the process. “I—sorry,” he apologies, “I’m listening now.”

You hum, folding your legs underneath your knees and sitting before him. Yuuta’s certain he looks slightly ridiculous, covered head to toe in animals and small insects and burning underneath your gaze—wasn’t this domain supposed to help people feel better? Is there no cure for lovesickness that you can use on him—or, at the very least, embarrassment?

“I asked you why you won’t kiss me.” 

Yuuta knows that if he weren’t in your domain right now, he would have fallen to a sudden death. “I—I, um,” words, Yuuta, words; a bee lands on his cheek, he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” 

That doesn’t seem like the right answer, judging by the twist of your lips. Of course it’s not—because it’s a lie, and you know it, and you know he knows that you know it. How could he be sorry for wanting you, for spending every last waking moment breathing for you, hoping that you’ll end his laborious breaths and pour air into him yourself?

“You know, I brought you in here to make sure that you wouldn’t run or pass out on me,” you confess, reaching out your hand towards him; the tip of your finger barely grazes his cheek as you allow the bee to crawl onto you, “I worry about your heart more than I should.” 

You flick your finger gently, allowing the bee to flutter freely and your eyes to focus back on Yuuta’s, “Right now, in this domain, it’s mine to control. To stop, to beat.” It’s yours outside of here, too; to fix, to break. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. “Why won’t you let me have it, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta gasps, and despite his surprise, despite his extreme lovesickness, despite his dark desires, his heartbeat remains steady, his body remains perfectly tempered and cool, his voice resonates clearly—all because of you. 

“You’ve always had it,” he confesses, “Always. From the moment I met you.” 

He can’t read your expression. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the power struggle here; domain aside, you can hear everything about him, sense the slightest physiological change in him, alter any one of his bodily functions at your whim and Yuuta doesn’t know what goes on in you. Would it be wrong to confess that he likes it; that this feels like you having him, that he likes knowing you can take him? 

“I thought so, maybe,” you enlighten him, “Last year with all the calls and texts,” you lean over and set free a butterfly from his shoulder, “And then in the airport,” then guiding the snake to coil around your arm and around your torso, “And then I thought maybe you’d have said something when you were jealous of Yuuji,” this time your hand touches him, a feather-light touch to his elbow, “But you didn’t, and I was beginning to wonder if I was hearing your heart beat for someone else, instead.” 

Yuuta grabs at your hand erratically, “No—no. Never.” 

He’s senselessly in love with you, and if it weren’t for your healing hands, Yuuta’s certain his ribs would have cracked from the pressure of his happy heart by now; but then again, maybe he should ask you to let it break—let that fracture serve as an entry point for you and yours, to prove to you that it beats for you and you alone. 

“So then what is with you? You have a habit of giving girls your heart and not kissing them, or asking them out—is it always straight to marriage with you?” 

It’s torture hearing that word fall from your lips. He doesn’t have time to even begin to process it. Yuuta’s eyes flicker to the smile on your lips, the slight tilt of your head. He says something he shouldn’t, “Would you be opposed to that?” 

“I’d like a kiss first,” you tease, “Would you give me one?” 

And how could he ever deny you anything. There, with a harmony of beautiful insects and warm sunlight, Yuuta finally, finally, takes the last move forward to kiss you. It’s everything he wants and exactly as he’d imagined—he can feel the rush in his bones, the want in his stomach, the love against his skin when you fall into him. 

It’s one kiss, and another, and then Yuuta can feel your tongue against his, greedily falling into the rush of you. He’s everywhere, hands on your neck, lips on yours, body stradling yours when he carefully leans you backwards; Yuuta has you, and you have him, and he won’t let this moment go to waste. He pulls away for a moment, only a moment, to take in your kiss-swollen lips and commit this vision to memory. He’ll have to take another visual photograph outside of your domain, when your bodies are free to breathe erratically and equilibrium is broken so you and truly, truly, feel all of Yuuta’s love in earnest. 

He wonders if it’s the effect of your domain that prevents his nerves from running haywire when you take off his shirt, when you let him take off your pants, when you have your hands on his chest and his on your hips. It must be. Yuuta knows for certain that otherwise, he’d be a blushing mess of fumbling limbs and stuttering words. 

Still, Yuuta thinks, domain or no domain, he wouldn’t let this moment pass him. It’s not nerves when his hand brushes over your clothed clit and he hears you moan—even if it had been, that would have been the antidote to his poison. Lust, pressure, possession wash over him in excruciating waves. He wants more. He wants you. 

Impatience when he adds pressure with his hand, bliss when you buck your hips to add more of your own, greedily grinding against his fingers. Yuuta kisses you again, swallows your moans and feeds you his own when slips his hand past the barrier of your underwear, and he feels your warm, wet cunt against his fingertips for the first time, and when he pushes two fingers into your heat, he thinks he could cum right then and there, from this alone. 

“Yu—Yuuta, more,” you plead. Your hand on his neck, fingernails scraping into his skin that should leave a mark. They probably won’t. He’ll be sure that next time they stick. 

And Yuuta, unable to deny you anything, obeys. He curls his fingers inside of you, thrusting gently at first, and then with more confidence—and warning, when he hears you snarl about not teasing. Ironic, he thinks, as he watches your lips fall open, since you’ve had him strung along since day one. 

“I wanna—wanna cum with you inside,” you moan, a sound that Yuuta promises to commit to memory. Later, when his brain is working better, and the coil in his stomach isn’t so tight, and you’re not clenching around his fingers. 

You’re greedy, and Yuuta’s never realized it. You suck him in and still want more, and you must know that he’ll give it to you. It should serve as a warning, you have the high-ground to take him any which way you want—for a fool, for granted, for yourself, for nobody else; so what does it say about him that it only spurs his arousal, that it makes him impossibly hard and he can feel himself leaking from the thought of it. 

“I want that, too,” he reassures you, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, because you’re perfect for him, “But I want this first. Give me this first, please. Please.” 

He thinks you might cry. The rational part of him knows you can regulate it, that you probably won’t; the sick part of him wants to see it, wants to know what it takes to make you lose control. 

You call his name like a prayer, once, twice, and on the third time, Yuuta can feel it as much as he can hear it. He can feel the moment that your walls clench, and your eyes screw shut, and your body convulses around him. You���re beautiful, irreverent, and Yuuta thinks that being responsible for this is the greatest achievement of his life. 

He wears your orgasm with pride, raking over you as you blink your eyes open to him again. You’re lucid too quickly, he really is going to have to take the time to enjoy this somewhere less controlled later, eagerly wrapping your hand around his wrist and forcing them to his mouth. Yuuta groans when he tastes you on his tongue, nothing short of euphoric, and he’s sure to taste every last drop. 

You smile, and then laugh—an almost inaudibly giggle that has Yuuta smiling back reflexively. Like always, he follows your every move and succumbs to all your whims when you lean up to kiss him, and then coax off his pants and underwear, and line the tip of his dick up with your slit and pull him in, again, by the neck to bite at his ear, “Come on, Yuuta. Give it to me.” 

An order, a promise, a plea—Yuuta vows to fulfill them all, determined and spell-bound when he sinks into you. He can only imagine what it feels like for you, but for him it’s warm, wet, soft, snug, sticky—like honey, like a bee drawn to sweetness. It’s good, too good, Yuuta doesn’t know how to last when you feel this good. 

He can feel you everywhere, around his dick, your hands on his back, your breath on his cheek, your skin against his. He feels stuck to you, stuck in you, mind, body, and soul as one, unable to differentiate him from you, from you, from you. 

“Fuck,” Yuuta stares, carefully swiping a thumb over your browbone, conscious but not in command on how deep he’s thrusting into you, “You’re so—fuck, I love you.” He wants to hear you say it back, he needs to, he has to. He can feel it again, stomach in knots, and nerves on fire, and skin sticky, and Yuuta has to know—“Please, please. Do you love me, too?” 

You stutter, only from the rock of his hips into yours, reaching for his face and cradling it between healing hands, “Of course I love you, Yuuta.” His mouth opens, wobbly, and tears flow over his eyes—briefly, Yuuta thinks that it’s cruel that you’d let him cry; that you have command over every function in his body and that you’d let him cry, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He’d probably have cried regardless, because hearing you say that you love him is a rush comparable only to burning tightness in his gut right now. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours when you finally let go together. Yuuta can feel you tight around him, when he cums; and an unfiltered harmony of moans and skin on skin when he lays on top of you, sinks into you. Your hands don’t leave his hair, and Yuuta finds bliss in your affection, in being in your arms, in being yours. 

He doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, he doesn’t know if physical time passes in your domain, but it doesn’t matter. He’d stay here forever with you, let you use the full extent of your prowess to eat his heart out as sustenance, bleed for you to quench your thirst. He’d be everything you need and more; he’ll make sure that he’s all you want when it’s done and over. 

[amirasainz]

Do you know the video.of the little Asian girl crying because the school gave her so much homework and the dad comforting her?

Could you do one where it is Lewis and his little daughter. She arrives later to the race week with her Nanny and is crying because of homework. Lewis comforting her while also trying to hold his laughter. Can you also add George and the Mercedes team (maybe they are in a meeting?)

Thank youuuu❤️❤️

Ok, so because I am getting a lot of Lewis daughter requests, I finally gave her a name. Hailey Hamilton (super cute in my opinion)

Enjoy reading and send some requests

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

A father's comfort

The early morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Mercedes team headquarters, casting a warm glow on the sleek, modern meeting room. Inside, the air was thick with the tension of strategy and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Lewis, flanked by Toto and George, was deep in conversation about the upcoming race weekend. They discussed tire strategies, car setups, and team dynamics, each voice blending into a symphony of high-pressure motorsport.

Suddenly, the meeting room door swung open with a loud thud, cutting through the serious atmosphere. All heads turned as a small figure burst into the room. It was Hailey, Lewis’s four-year-old daughter, her face streaked with tears, her bright pink backpack bouncing against her back. Her eyes widened when she spotted her father, and without hesitation, she ran straight into his arms.

“Daddy!” she cried, burying her face into his chest, her tiny body trembling with sobs. “I don’t want to do my homework! It’s too hard!”

Lewis’s heart melted as he enveloped her in his strong embrace, a protective barrier against the world’s worries. He glanced at Toto and George, whose expressions mirrored his surprise but quickly transformed into amusement. The rest of the team members looked on with a mix of sympathy and barely contained laughter.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet pea,” Lewis said softly, holding her close. “What’s all this about homework?” He could feel her small frame shaking with every hiccup, and he fought to keep a straight face, finding it hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Hailey pulled back just enough to look up at him, her big brown eyes shimmering with tears. “I have to color two pages and remember a poem, but it’s too many things! I don’t want to!” she whimpered, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Homework can be tough, can’t it?” Lewis said, trying to soothe her with gentle words. “But I bet you can do it. You’re so smart, just like your daddy.” He glanced over at Toto, who nodded in agreement, a smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor.

“I can help you with the coloring later, Hailey,” Toto added, leaning down to her level, his voice warm and inviting. “And the poem, too. What’s the poem about?”

Hailey sniffled, her little face scrunching up as she tried to remember. “It’s about a butterfly… it flutters and flies,” she mumbled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“That sounds beautiful!” George chimed in, crouching down beside her. “Butterflies are so pretty! Maybe you could draw a butterfly for your coloring pages. We can make it the biggest and best one ever!” He flashed her a bright smile, trying to distract her from her tears.

Hailey looked between her father and the two men, still clutching Lewis tightly. “But I just want to play! I don’t want to do homework!” she cried again, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I know, love,” Lewis said gently, his heart aching for her. “But what if we make a deal? If you finish your homework, we can go for ice cream after the race. How does that sound?” His voice was soothing, and he brushed her hair back from her forehead, trying to comfort her.

“Ice cream?” she repeated, her eyes lighting up slightly through the tears. “With sprinkles?”

“Of course! And chocolate sauce, if you want it,” Lewis promised, laughing softly now, his heart swelling at the sight of his little girl. “But first, we’ve got to tackle that homework, alright?”

“Okay…” she sniffled, her voice softening as she glanced around the room, taking in the chuckles from the team members who were trying unsuccessfully to maintain a professional demeanor. “But it’s still so hard!” she pouted, climbing onto Lewis's lap as he settled back into his chair.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” he said, holding her close. “We can color one page together first, and then you can practice the poem. I’ll even help you memorize it! How does that sound?”

Hailey wiped her eyes on his shirt, her face lighting up just a bit at the thought of doing it with him. “You’ll help me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course, Hailey. I’m always here to help you, no matter what,” he assured her, holding her tighter. As he spoke, she rested her head against his chest, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Daddy?” she murmured sleepily, a hint of a smile appearing as she felt safe in his embrace.

“Yes, love?” he replied softly, gently stroking her back.

“Can we read a story after?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper now, fatigue washing over her.

“Absolutely. We’ll read as many stories as you want,” Lewis promised, smiling at her. “But first, we’ve got to get you to finish that homework, okay?”

Hailey didn’t respond; instead, she let out a small yawn and nuzzled into his chest, her small form relaxing against him. The room fell silent, the earlier tension replaced by the warm, tender moment unfolding between father and daughter.

The sight of Lewis holding his daughter, her little body curling up as she fell asleep, made the team erupt in laughter, the sound echoing off the walls. Even Toto struggled to maintain his composure, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“I think she’s out, Lewis,” Toto chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’d say we’ve officially lost her to the nap,” George added, unable to hide his smile. “What a way to end the meeting!”

Lewis looked down at his daughter, her peaceful face nestled against him, and couldn’t help but laugh himself. “Guess I’m going to have to finish that homework for her,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “But I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.”

As the laughter continued to bounce around the room, Lewis sat quietly with Hailey, knowing that despite the chaos of the race weekend, there was nothing more important than these little moments with his daughter.

[writersblockiskillingme]

Can you do like a teen hades x reader? Like, can you do something like he has a crush on reader for a while but he doesn't know how to express it?

Sorry if it's bad! This is my first request I've ever done 😅

Unspoken Love | Hades

Pairing: (teen!)Hades x fem!reader

Summary: Hades has been in love with you for a while now, but doesn't truly know how to express it.

Warning/s: fluff, very short fic, reader is considered to be blonde and shorter than Hades, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Here you go, you did amazing with the request, don't worry. Enjoy!

It was so infuriating.

Hades was amongst Uliana's crew when she was treating Bridget. Once again. He was just standing aside, listening to Uliana's threatening as his eyes finally landed on you.

You were a new friend of Bridget's.

Somehow, someway, he found himself staring at you. Your blonde hair was gently flowing as the wind carried it around you. Your eyes, oh, your eyes. They were sparkling with determination as you stared at Uliana's as you stood by Bridget's side. Your soft lips that had somehow frowned along with your eyebrows as you listened to Uliana's speech.

He felt like you were some sort of angel. He had never seen you at the Merlin's Academy before today so that means that you were probably new here. And yet you already befriend Bridget, he thought, finding himself slightly disappointed.

He couldn't deny that he found himself drawn to you in many ways, but your friendship with Bridget was bad news to him. That meant that you were probably a lot like her or even exactly like her.

That meant that you would probably hate his guts, considering the fact that he's a part of Uliana's crew. But also, he had no idea why you had such a strong effect on him. He just saw you! He doesn't even know who you are!

But, Gods... he found himself loving the idea of finding out.

°

As days rolled by and as he saw more of your interactions with people and also with him, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with you.

Your courage, strength, and determination when you stood up to Uliana's bullying.

Your beauty that shined everywhere you went.

Your height that seemed to cause you difficulties every time you tried to reach the books on the highest shelves in the library of the Merlin's Academy.

Your willingness to give help to someone, but also take help from someone when you needed it.

Your ability to not judge anyone before you meet them and giving them opportunity to help you out. Even if it's a villain.

That's how the two of you officially met.

You were in the library of the Merlin's Academy, trying to reach one of the books on the highest shelf, but with no success. Your height was getting in the way. Only your fingers were able to brush against the shelf, but a shelf that was lower than the highest one. You were growing frustrated until you heard the voice behind you.

"Need some help, shortie?" Hades' smug smile was glaring at you as he leaned against the opposite bookshelfs.

"What are you doing here?" You asked him, your voice teasing. "I thought that you would rather die then spend time in here."

"Touché," He pointed as he found himself amused, "However, Morgie forced me to go get some books for him."

"Oh, well," you smiled slightly, "Would you look at that."

A few moments later, when he saw that you were still struggling, he was brave enough to offer you help, and you were brave enough to take it.

Later in the future, there was no way he would admit out loud why he offered to help you. Maybe it was the trouble you were in, maybe it was your helplessness in that simple situation, but when someone from the crew asked him why did he help you, he won't admit that he fell in love with you.

He didn't even admit it to you, even though he really wants to.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@xoxo-h3arts @i-am-fork @a-homosexual-homosapien @snixx2088 @heartsfromcoco @hiireadstuff @cyb3r-st4r @angeliangelo @judgment-days-kid @mitsiell @ratchetprime211 @milo-webp @teti-menchon0604 @pvmkyn-sp1c3 @mystic-mae @leftmooncollector

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Thanks so much for the love for the 1st part of this story 💜 Should I make this full blown story? Just lmk! xoxo <<prev >>next

“Mm. I don’t like the word bye. Tell me you’ll see me again.”

You look at him, surprised that he wants to see you again. Clearly, he enjoyed your company.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” you speak out.

He watched you go up your stairs and go into your house before pulling off. You felt so in a daze, you didn’t know why you felt this way. You replayed the day in your head when you showered.

You replayed it when you were trying to count sheep to go to sleep.

While you were getting ready for school, you had the realization that you were going to see him again. You made your way to the front of your house and opened your front door and Paul’s car startled you. It was so unexpected, you didn’t even have time to pump yourself up.

You walked closer and in front of the passenger side door and you wait for him to roll down the window, which he does.

“Get in.” he says like this like it was a frequent thing that you two do.

You take your time to get in, questions swirl your mind.

“Good morning. Thanks.” you tell him.

He nods in acknowledgment.

“So…you decided to come to school?” you ask, the silence after was deafening but come on, he came to school like it was an occasion.

“Yeah.” he just says and you just shift your backpack that’s between your legs into a more comfortable position. You choose to look outside and watch the trees and street signs fleet pass.

You loved these types of mornings. It was a slight drizzle but it was so relaxing.

“You look nice.” he said with a sentence and you look over, he was actually looking down at your outfit.

“Oh, thank you.” you say, your heart start to race.

You mentally face palm yourself for being so nervous and flattered. “He is only driving you to school.” you kept telling yourself. “He’s only doing a nice gesture.” you said in your head. You didn’t want to get your hopes up and assume things that weren’t like that.

It was ingrained in you to compliment someone back if they compliment you. You look over to see what he has on. Everything was nice. His entire outfit matched with crisp shoes, new shoes that you knew for a fact that recently came out.

“I like your outfit too.” you say and he grins, “Thank you.” He replies in a sultry tone.

You swallow hard. Everything he does is with ease. Cool without even trying.

The school building comes into view. You already take your seatbelt off and say your thanks. Before he could reply you pick up your pace in going into the building. You show your school ID, going in through bag checks, and going straight to your locker.

You get ready for your first class and only bring out what you need before putting your bag and jacket in there. You close your locker door and Paul was there.

“Oh shit!” you say under you breath with a chuckle, he came out of nowhere.

“Before you rolled out, I wanted to know if you did this.” He says to you and an over-folded homework sheet is in display of his hands. “Yeah, I did it. I can teach you, you know so you don’t have to keep copying. What happens when the test comes?” you say.

He glances at it and then back to you. “It’s boring.”

You were about to speak out but your best friend, Kim comes into view, giving you a hug. This makes you smile and chuckle, happy to see her.

You just reach for Paul’s worksheet, knowing he won’t have time to copy it all since the first bell was about to ring. “I’ll just do it.” you tell him and he plainly gives it to you and walks away.

Kim links her arm with hers and once you two start walking, she hounds you. “Why are you doing his homework? Can’t he do it himself?”

“He needed help. There’s no time.” you tell her.

She shakes her head and tells you ,”Be careful. He’s just going to use you just to pass. Who knows if he’s even going to pass this year.”

Your feelings were hurt even though she wasn’t talking about you. It felt like she was though. He wasn’t even all that bad from what you’ve been around. He just wasn’t strong in that particular subject, that was okay, school wasn’t for everyone.

You did complete the worksheet. You wrote it sloppier than your own handwriting, not knowing how he even writes. Plus, the teacher seemed to know everyone’s handwriting.

You two had the same lunch before history. You, Kim, and a couple of other friends put your book bags in the seats you all were claiming before heading to the lunch line. You seen Paul come down a stairwell and you make your way towards him. The paper you hand him was refolded and he stops to look at it.

“I did it. Just changed the answers around a bit.” you remind him. He nods as he remembers and chuck it in his back pocket. You were about to walk away until he says, “You eating lunch?”

You nod and he nods too and follows you. Kim and others were a bit ahead of you in line so you cross your arms and lean against the wall, waiting for your turn to pick out what you want.

Paul’s friends are now behind him, starting up conversation. As the line moves, you feel the fabric of his clothes on you, you pay it no mind.

Once you have your food, pay extra for a snack and juice instead of the milk they offer, you make your way to your table.

“Where you going?” Paul asks.

“To..my table.” you say.

“You don’t want to sit with me?” he asks, it caught you off guard how he was actually perplexed that you weren’t following him and his crew.

You shrug, not knowing what to say, and when you sit down, he slowly sits down at another table just watching you. The look on his face had a look of gloom, not even paying attention to his own conversation.

You try your best to keep your mind on the conversation that your peers were having in front of you. You kept in mind what Kim said. You didn’t want to be used in any way.

You made your way to history and the class dragged on. Paul came in late, lazily puts his homework in the homework bin, sits in his seat in the back of the classroom and goes to sleep. The teacher doesn’t even bother to bring attention to it, they didn’t feel like arguing with him and wanted to get through the lesson.

As the class was filing out, he was still sleep. Nobody wanted to wake him up out of fear. You walk over, shake his warm arm, not too hard to startle him. His bloodshot eyes meet yours. “Class is over.” you tell him.

He looks around, stretch a bit and scrunch his eyes. He gets up and you just make your way to your next class.

When the day was over, you went to retrieve your jacket, the rain from earlier being heavy now. You’re almost down the hallway, “Y/N!” you turn around. Paul dangles his car keys. “You want a ride?”

You definitely did not want to walk in the rain or get on the rowdy bus. You nod and thank him. You two walk in stride and you poke fun of him for sleeping. “I just couldn’t do it. I told you it’s boring.” he simply replies.

Seated in his car, his scent being all over the car, you put your seatbelt on. He yawns and asks, “Do you want to come back over?”

You had no plans on having afterschool plans, the teachers had no mercy and homework was piled up today. “I got homework. I have to tackle it before I feel like I won’t feel like it.” you reply.

“Cool. We can do it together. Plus you said you were going to help me.”

“I said I can help you. Not that I would.”

“Same thing.”

That’s how you two were sprawled on Paul’s bed, that he didn’t bother to make up. He even changed into his house clothes, which wasn’t much since it was loose basketball shorts and no shirt. You tried to not stare too much. Just peeked glances when he would turn away. You were only there to teach him some strategies that helped you understand the hardness of your work.

But it seemed impossible, he kept distracting you. Once you went to explain how to get a certain answer, he would rub his finger softly back and forth on the back of your resting hand. That would give you butterflies and it would make you retract your hand, due to nervousness. He found this amusing. It was as if he knew the effect he had on you.

“I want to take a break.” he decided.

“We barely put a dent in.” you say.

He sighs softly and looks around his room. “Want to play cards?”

“I don’t want to play go fish.” you say with a hint of annoyance.

He nudges you, “Come on i’m not playing that.”

You two shared a game of spades. As the game was still fresh, you two organizing your cards from highest to lowest rank, he makes a deal. “If you win, we can go back to our work.”

“Good.” you say and look at your cards.

“If I win…” he starts to say and waits for you to look up. He had a mischievous look on his face that makes you roll your eyes.

“What? If you win, what?” you ask.

“If I win…you have to…kiss me.” he says with an anticipation effect.

You shake your head and scoff. You knew if you two kissed, things will never be the same. That’s all you would have on your mind. You wouldn’t even look at him the same. Plus, this guy seemed to know the game better than you. He did have to teach you the rules after all.

“I’m not doing that.” you playfully say.

He nods his head to solidify that’s exactly what’s going to happen and hums a response. You zero in on the game you two were playing. You wanted to save yourself the trouble, so you were determined to win. It didn’t seem to matter, everything so far was working in his favor. He won trick after trick. You only won one. After scoring, he did in fact win.

You groan while he laughs in satisfaction. Scooping the cards up and puts them back where they belong. You lamely announce you have to go to the bathroom, standing up and make your way towards his bedroom door.

“Uh uh.” he says to you, clearly seeing through your excuse. “I won. So, where my prize?”

“It wasn’t a fair win. Before this game, I didn’t even know how to play.” you say.

“A deals a deal.” He says.

You stand there for a sec, too stunned, because since he did in fact win, you had to carry out the deal.

“What are you waiting for. Let’s get it over with.” you tell him when he doesn’t move. He gets up and is now very close in front of you, nervousness is seeping through your entire body. You’ve never been this close to him before, especially face to face. He hurt so much to look at him because he just had a face that anybody would go crazy for.

“I said you have to kiss me. So i’m ready when you are.” he says lowly and looks at your lips.

You would’ve never thought in a million years that you would be in Paul Lahore’s room, about to kiss Paul Lahote. You suck in a shaky breath and quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. He’s not satisfied and his face doesn’t hide it.

“That was not a kiss.”

“Yes it was.” you tell him.

“No. I want a real kiss.” he says and there’s no signs of him giving up. He knows you’re stalling, so he curl his finger in a ‘come here’ motion to hurry you up.

You slowly inch and inch and you just lay your lips to his. He then takes the lead because he doesn’t know when’s the next time this will ever happen. He wants to make the most of this. Head titled, he licks your bottom lip to get an entry and caressed his tongue with your own. His hand creeps behind your neck and you had no choice but to move forward close up on him.

The butterflies weren’t in your stomach this time, it was in your womanhood and you felt excited, even though this wasn’t your plan. He lets you go with a sensual snack and you’re breathing heavy. His eyes were low with swollen lips and it made you want to kiss him again.

You don’t even know what to say, so you two look at each other for a minute. You turn to sit down on his bed and look at the floor. You felt the bed dip beside you and glance over and he’s still looking at you, searching your face for something.

He opens his mouth to say something but a door closing catches both of your attention. He goes out to greet his father, who just came home from work. While he’s gone for that duration, you feel your bottom lip with your tongue and realize you can still taste him. You just simply can’t believe that just happened.

You get your school work in order and focus back into the academic mission that was originally supposed to transpire. You don’t even know if you can focus again.

“That was my dad.” he tells you.

You nod your head in acknowledgment.

“Can we…finish up?” you ask timidly.

He sits now and actually lets you take the lead in showing him how to solve the problems. There was a sense of tension but you pushed past it to finish. When you two are finished, it’s nighttime and you know you have to head home soon.

“Alright, hopefully you got the hang of it.” you say as you’re stuffing your belongings back into your backpack.

“I need your number in case I need your help again.” he boldly says. Your hands start to get shaky again. You didn’t know whether or not you wanted this to be a frequent thing. Your thoughts stop when he extends his phone for you to enter your number. You take it hesitantly and enter it and give it back to him.

You two make your way downstairs and Paul’s dad is sitting in his designated chair watching whatever is on the television.

You two greet each other and he just puts an arm around your shoulder to steer you out. You surprisingly like this gesture and you wish it could be like this forever. You two get settled in a car and before silence takes over he speaks.

“I want to take you out.”

“Oh..where?”

He chuckles as if it were an inside joke, “I mean.. How should I say this?” he thinks for a moment. The ticking of the turning signal fills the air. “I want to always do what we did. I like it. And I like you.”

You don’t trust your voice, you don’t even know what to say, so you just nod.

Your house comes into view and he says, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning okay?”

“Okay. Thanks again.” You opened the door and before you lift yourself out of the seat, you turn to him and say, “I think…I like you too.” you say.

He gives you a smile that lets you know he is satisfied with your answer.

As you lie in bed, you were right. That’s all you kept thinking about. It got to the point where the night felt like it was dragging on. All you wanted to do was sleep it off but it seemed impossible. Every time you closed your eyes it seemed like you were reliving it over and over again. Your mind started to travel to different directions, thinking of what would happen if you two kept going and didn’t stop. All of the tossing and turning made your pillow warm and flipped it over to retry sleep.

The next day, you were a bit tired from getting only 4 hours of sleep. You tried not to think too much of your outfit, even though you couldn’t get out of your head of how he told you when you looked nice.

You said goodbye to the remaining people in your household who haven’t left yet and made your way outside. He was there as promised, with the engine running. You get in and tell him good morning.

He greets you back but more importantly he leans over and kisses your cheek softly with so much affection it almost seemed out of place for his hard exterior. Your face feels hot and a small grin creeps your lips.

You two make small talk and then you start to yawn.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you couldn’t wait for the day to already be over so you can jump in your bed and take a nap.

“Up thinking about me?” he asks cockily.

You roll your eyes playfully and don’t say anything. He just snickers at your reaction.

He pulls into the school lot and you already have your seatbelt unbuckled, he places a warm hand above your chest to hold you in place for a second.

“Not so fast.” he teases. You look at him in confusion and he makes it his duty to kiss you again. It was unexpected and it wasn’t a quick peck. He held your chin with his index finger and thumb.

After he pulls away, with you trying to catch your breath, he walks over to your side on the car door and lets you out. You walk in stride with him and he has an arm resting around you, pulling you close. People look of course but with him, it doesn’t feel embarrassing.

He walks you to your locker and patiently waits for you to put your belongings in there. He never brought a backpack. You don’t know how he survived this long doing such thing.

Kim comes into view but slowly decrease her speed in walking when she sees who’s with you.

“Hey Y/N.” she says to you awkwardly.

You say hi to her as if it was the most normal day.

“I’ll meet you in class.” she simply says and makes her way.

Paul walks you to where you needed to go.

Whenever you’re out of class, he’s right there. He holds onto you as if you’re going to run away if he lets go. You’re so absorbed in his company that you don’t even meet up with Kim and your other friends. You get your lunch together. He steers you to his table, not trying to repeat the same thing that happened the previous day.

Kim looks at you with a ‘what are you doing’ expression look on her face. You give her an apologetic look and Paul sit you down super close next to him. His friends sense the new company but they don’t say anything out of line because Paul is giving them all a look that could kill. He keeps one hand placed on the outer side of your thigh.

He softly makes conversation with you. Each vibrational wave of his voice raising hairs on the back of your neck, suddenly paying attention how attractive his voice is.

In history class, he’s sleep as always.

The day is over and he doesn’t even have to tell you that he’s driving you home. As the school is out of view, he’s not driving in the direction of your home.

“I’m tired, I want to take a nap.” you tell him, completely wiped from the school day. Mentally cursing yourself for not getting enough sleep.

“You can sleep with me.” he says.

You’re nervous again. Walking with him through his house and you sit on his bed while he changes out of his school clothes.

When he comes back in the room, he pulls his covers back and it looks enticing, looking like you’ll get the best sleep of your life from it.

“Come on. I thought you were tired.” he says impatiently.

You take off your jacket and place it in the chair that it’s in room and lay on your side. He lays down after you and pulls you to him and kisses you once more. When he’s done, you turn to get some sleep and buries his face in the back of your neck and you two drift happily into slumber.

[junkissed]

on the nose

member — minghao x f reader  genre — smut, fluffy ending word count — 6.2k synopsis — you're too shy to be on the nose about what you want. luckily, minghao's got you figured out... he even likes the fluffy tail, too. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, established relationship, nicknames (bunny, baby, love, honey, good girl, etc), unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, pet play, lingerie (bunny costume), teasing, begging, anal plug, oral (f receiving), not quite ass eating but close to it, breeding kink, creampie, filming during sex, praise, little bit of manhandling, overstimulation, spanking, hair pulling, biting, marking, squirting, generally rough and messy sex, and then it does a total 180 and it becomes really soft and gentle i'm sorry i can't help it this happens every time it's just who i am, pls lmk if i missed any there's a lot nksdjfsfh notes — requested by anon for my 🐈 1k event — thanks so much to @onlymingyus and @highvern for helping me brainstorm <3 this was a challenge to write tbh but i'm glad i decided to finish it. if you enjoyed and want to see more like this please lmk how you liked it with an ask or a reblog! i always want to try new different things and feedback on this would be super appreciated :)) hope you enjoy this my slutty little bunnies mwah xoxo

you've been waiting for this day for weeks.

“hi baby,” minghao says warmly as you walk inside the house and slip your shoes off, setting your bag on the chair by the door. he wraps his arm around you to pull you in for a kiss before he turns his attention back to the boiling soup on the stove. “there was a package for you when i got home.” he nods his head towards the living room. “it’s on the table.”

“ooh, it’s my new hat!” you squeal and race across the room. “it's finally here!” you tear into the plastic like a wild animal, taking it out of the package and holding it up to show him.

it’s a knitted white beanie with white floppy ears hanging down from the sides of the hat. you pull it on over your hair, repositioning it so that the long fabric dangles at your shoulders. “what do you think?”

“you look so cute, baby. i love it.” he grins and moves closer to kiss you again. “though you know i’ll love anything you wear.”

you scrunch your nose at his reaction, but minghao must mistake the disappointment on your face for joy, because he leans down to kiss the tip of your nose before letting go of you and moving back towards the stove. “dinner will be ready in a bit, love. i’ll let you know when it’s on the table.”

you take off the beanie with a soft sigh and fold it up as you walk to your bedroom, not wanting to get it dirty before you’ve even had a chance to wear it anywhere. it's unreasonable to think he'd get it immediately, you know that, but you can't help but wish he'd have been just a little bit more excited at the sight of your bunny ears.

the soup is already done and minghao is waiting patiently once you come back out of your room changed into your pajamas, and by the time he’s got you pinned beneath him in bed later that night drawing pretty little moans from your lips, your bunny fantasies are the furthest thing from your mind. laying on your side as you listen to his gentle snores, you sigh and close your eyes, leaving it be. for now.

you wait a couple days before you try again.

“have you thought about what you’re gonna be for halloween?”

minghao looks up from his laptop sitting next to you in bed. “not really,” he chuckles. “it’s only april. why, did you have something in mind?”

you purse your lips, trying to seem casual. “i was thinking of being a playboy bunny. don’t you think that’d be cute?”

“mm… cute isn’t the first word that comes to mind,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile. something flashes across his eyes and you hold your breath, hoping for the reaction you want this time. “we can look for costumes closer to october, yeah?”

you start to frown at his answer but quickly catch yourself, hiding your dismay with a smile. “good idea. hey, i’m gonna take a quick shower before bed, m’kay?”

he nods, and you lean over to give him a soft kiss on the cheek before standing up.

but this time he doesn’t miss the way your expression falls, his brows furrowed as you walk out of the room and close the bathroom door with a quiet click. he knows there’s something you want, something you’re not happy with, but sometimes it’s so hard to get you to tell him what’s on your mind.

he closes his laptop and sets it aside on the bedside table, crossing his arms over his chest in thought as he hears the shower water start to run. if all you’re willing to do for now is drop hints, then he’s just gonna have to start paying better attention until you feel like opening up. he’s not exactly a mind reader, but he’s figured you out before and he’ll do it again.

the next time it comes up, you don't even mean for it to happen.

you're walking through the mall, hand in hand as you stroll past boutiques and shops. something in one of the windows catches your eyes, and you tug on minghao's hand to go inside. he follows your gaze to the display of frilly white dresses, the wire rack wrapped with pastel garlands for their spring sale.

a sales lady with a cheap rabbit ear headband walks over and greets you with a smile, quickly launching into a memorized script about new items and clearance sales. you subconsciously squeeze minghao's hand and he pauses to watch the way you look at the woman as she talks, trying to see what you're looking at.

and then he notices something, and things start to click into place. you say something to the woman that he doesn't hear before she nods and walks away, and he sees your gaze lingering on the little cottontail tied to the belt loop of her jeans, bouncing with each step.

“you like these?” he asks curiously, running his hand over one of the dresses you'd been eyeing earlier.

“hm?” you ask absently and whip your head back around, your attention clearly drawn elsewhere. “oh, yeah. they're cute.”

well, he may not be a mind reader, but he has a hunch that the reason you wanted to come in this store wasn't to look at the clothes.

he has the chance to put his theory to the test later that night when you're straddling his lap, hands gripping your ass as he pulls you up and down along his cock.

he decides to try it, under the guise of dirty talk in the heat of the moment, and he's so casual about it you'd never suspect a thing. it already doesn't take much to get you fucked out in his arms, so when he slips it in between curses and moans you'd never be able to guess that he's been thinking about this all afternoon.

he groans as you grind down against him, waiting for the perfect opportunity. “bouncing on me so good, like a little bunny,” he says, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust that makes you fall forward onto his chest.

like a magic word you instantly clench around him, whimpering loudly as your hips stutter and fall out of rhythm with him. he sees your eyes squeeze shut as you struggle to keep going, blatantly ignoring his words and pretending they don't affect you like he knows they do.

he lets himself grin at your reaction and thrusts up into you again, making you whine again as the tip of his cock presses into the spot that has you falling apart for him.

“hao! fuck, fuck, i'm—” you barely have time to moan out a warning before you're cumming, your body trembling against him from the strength of it as you gasp for air.

when you finally come back down he does everything he usually does, nothing out of the ordinary. he kisses your forehead and cleans you up and tucks you into bed beside him. he files this new little piece of information away for later and doesn't bring it up again.

for a while you start to think it was probably just an accident, a slip of the tongue when he wasn't thinking. he says a lot of things when he's inside you; he doesn't always have to mean them. but you should know better by now not to underestimate your boyfriend when he's got an idea in his head.

days go by and both of you pretend like it never happened; you because you're embarrassed at how much it affects you, and minghao because he has bigger plans up his sleeve.

everything seems perfectly normal until one evening when you come home from work and he's waiting for you at the door, wrapping you in a hug as soon as you step inside.

"hey, baby,” he smiles, his hands resting on your waist. “got a present for you."

your cheeks warm. "but it's not my birthday or anything?" it's not uncommon for him to spoil you with gifts, but he never makes a show of it. he just hands you things like you've owned them all your life, little surprises popping up without explanation like the necklace with your birthstone on it or the box of chocolates he'd known you were craving.

"it doesn't need to be. just something special i want you to have." he runs his hand over your forehead, tucking a strand of hair gently behind your ear. "it's in the bedroom, if you wanna go take a look.”

you give him a suspicious look and pull away, slipping your shoes off and leaving him by himself. he doesn't follow you down the hall, just standing in place and folding his arms with a satisfied grin once he hears squeals coming from the bedroom.

the house goes silent for a moment, and then he sees you poke your head out into the hall. “minghao?”

“yes, baby?” he grins teasingly as he leaves the living room, meeting you in the bedroom where he finds you standing next to the bed. you raise an eyebrow at him and point at the pretty white lingerie set he'd laid out for you. 

the thin lace stands out laying atop the dark bedsheets, accompanied by a pair of fluffy white wrist cuffs and a headband with soft floppy ears similar to the one worn by the lady at the store the other day but clearly much higher quality; maybe even custom or handmade. the finishing touch is a thin, white leather collar with a bow, and he can't help but smile as he surveys his layout.

“what is this?” you draw his attention away from the setup, and though your tone sounds accusing he can tell how secretly thrilled you are despite the way you try to downplay it. 

“i told you,” he smirks. “a present.”

now it's your turn to cross your arms at him. “and why is it here?”

“because i thought you'd like it,” he says in a low voice, moving closer to you. “don't you wanna be my little bunny?”

you yelp in surprise but then sigh, finally giving in. “how'd you figure it out?”

“you're easier to read than you think, my love,” he chuckles. “i know you too well.”

“you don't… hate it?” you ask shyly, lifting your eyes to meet his gaze.

he wraps his arms around you again. “of course not. you know you could've just asked me, right?”

you scrunch your nose and pout. “i was nervous you wouldn't want to. or you'd think it's stupid.”

“you know i'd do anything you want, love. it's not stupid to me.” he leans over to press a quick kiss to your lips. “now, will you get changed for me? i can't wait to see my cute little honey bunny all dressed up.”

with a reluctant but excited squeal you push him out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him so that the reveal will be a surprise. minghao grins at the way you try to hide your enthusiasm, leaning against the doorway as he waits patiently.

finally you open the door just a crack and poke your head out, hiding your body behind it nervously. “ready?” you ask.

he nods, and with a deep breath you pull the door open all the way. you give him a little spin, the ears flopping against your hair as you show off the outfit. he smiles proudly as he joins you in the room, his fingers falling to your waist and backing you up against the bed.

“you look adorable, baby. just like i imagined,” he says in a husky voice, and you bite your lip shyly. “do you like it?”

you smile, and it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. he'd buy you a million outfits and lingerie sets if it means he gets to see you like this every day. “i love it, hao. it's perfect.”

he sits down next to you at the edge of the bed and lifts his hand to pet your head, smoothing down your hair between the ears. you shiver in excitement, and it only makes him more eager to get started, his pants growing tighter every minute.

“i have one more present for you, mkay?” he leans away from the bed and pulls out an object from the dresser drawer. your breath catches in your throat when you realize what it is, a shiny silver plug with a round little white tail at the end that makes your heart race. “can’t be a bunny without a tail.”

you bite your lip and look at him, and he puts his hand on your thigh when you don't respond verbally. “is that okay?” he says gently, but your quick nod reassures him.

he stands up from the bed and quickly strips off his clothes, and you watch with lustful eyes as his cock slaps against his stomach, almost drooling at the sight. once he's ready you let him flip you over, kneeling down on your hands and knees with your ass readily pushed up in the air. he slips a finger under the seat of your panties, pulling them carefully to the side as he reaches over to grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand beside the bed.

you shiver as he pours the cool liquid over your ass before rubbing the toy against you to coat it. once he's satisfied with it he starts to drag the metal upwards, and you jump involuntarily as he presses the end of the plug against your hole. “mm— it’s cold,” you whine as he teases you with it once more before pulling it away.

“but it won’t be for long.” he chuckles at your reaction and rubs his free hand across your lower back soothingly, and you lean your hips into his touch. with a grin he bends down and presses his lips gently against your ass cheek, and you moan when his teeth graze your skin. “just relax for me, baby, that’s it…”

he begins easing the toy past your entrance, just a little bit at a time until it's fully enveloped inside you. you've played with plugs before, but somehow the stretch is like nothing you've ever felt. knowing that this time you've got a cute little bunny tail attached sends a new wave of desire throughout your body.

with one finger he carefully pulls your panties back into place to cover you up, admiring the fluffy tail that protrudes from your hole. it really does complete the outfit, and he smiles at his own thoughtfulness, proud of his handiwork.

you wiggle your hips to test it out, adjusting to the feeling of its weight stuffed inside of you. minghao's hand comes down hard on your ass and you yelp, bucking away from him in surprise. immediately you feel his hand gently touch your stinging cheek, rubbing small circles to massage the pain away. "fuck— sorry. don't know what came over me." he says, voice gravelly. "you just… you look so fucking good right now, baby. you make such a cute bunny."

your face flushes as the initial shock fades, and you push your hips back towards him encouragingly. "it's okay. you can do it again, if—if you want."

he grips your waist and pulls you against him, and you whine as you feel his hard length grinding into your ass. "if i'd known you'd like that, then i would have bought the matching paddle with the ears and the tail too," he groans. "this is why you gotta speak up, baby. gotta tell me what you want so i can give it to you."

you bite your lip and bury your face into the pillow, ears burning in embarrassment, but you quickly lift your head again when you feel his hand leave another sharp smack on your ass. "mm, mm, don't hide from me now, love." he tsks in disappointment, his voice laced with fake sympathy. "you wanna be an obedient little bunny for me, don't you? well-behaved bunnies get rewarded." 

you start to answer, but he runs his cock against your clothed pussy and your head falls back down into the pillow instinctively, letting out a muffled string of moans. his tip teases you, pushing the lace into your wetness and back out again. "what was that, baby? i couldn't hear you."

you scrunch your nose and raise your voice, though it still only comes out as powerful as a squeak. "i said, i'll be good!"

he grins and squeezes your ass with both hands before he pulls your panties off all the way, tugging them down your legs until the thin fabric bunches up at your knees. he drags his cock over your dripping entrance again as you clench around nothing.

“hao,” you whine softly. you tilt your hips backwards to try and push him inside, but he leans back out of your reach. 

“be patient.” he runs his hands along the curve of your ass, bending down to come face to face with your aching cunt. “think i’ll eat this pretty pussy first instead. is that what you want, hm? give me a nice view of your cute little bunny tail while i make you cum all over my tongue?”

you whimper in reply, hiding your face in embarrassment as you lay on your stomach with your ass pushed into the air, proudly displaying your glistening arousal.

with his hands on either side of your hips he pulls you towards his waiting mouth. you gasp into a moan when his lips latch onto your clit, his tongue flicking at the sensitive spot as his nose prods against your entrance.

he presses his tongue flat against you, licking upwards before pulling away. it was happening so fast, too fast, and you wanted more. you needed more. but you should’ve known better than to think he would give you what you want that easily.

“feels good?” he hums, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“please, hao,” you moan. “need you. please, i’ll be good. just don’t stop.”

he scoffs lightly, his face next to your cunt but still too far away for your liking. “and why should i do that? are you gonna behave next time and tell me when you want something?”

“mhm,” you nod weakly. “i will. promise. please, minghao—”

“that’s my good girl. now just let me take care of you, hm?” he presses his lips against your ass in a kiss and you whimper when he begins sucking, hard enough that you know it’ll leave a bruise later. once he’s satisfied he sits back up to his knees, reaching over to pat your head between the ears of your headband. “don’t you worry your fuzzy little head about a thing.”

you let out another moan at his words, relishing in the way he talks about you. it gets you going more than you could’ve ever imagined, and you love him for the way he’s embraced this so wholeheartedly, falling into the role so easily that you’re cursing yourself for ever trying to hide.

he slides back down behind you, using his thumbs to spread your folds apart to give him easier access as he pushes his tongue into you. you can feel yourself growing wetter every second that passes, coating his lips with your slick as he eats you out like a starving man.

he directs his attention away from your clit, tracing his tongue up until it reaches the underside of your tail and the tip of the plug poking out. just like he’d predicted the metal is warm now, heated by the warmth radiating from your holes.

he smooths his hands over your cheeks, kneading them with his slender fingers and pushing you back further into his face. his tongue darts out to lick around the edges of the toy in your ass, and you can’t help but squirm in his grasp as his mouth wanders between your legs, briefly moving back down to suck at your clit before licking upwards again.

your thighs tremble, feeling so much stimulation in ways you'd never knew possible. he traces his tongue over your pussy, dipping into your entrance before he sits back on his knees. 

“you think you deserve to cum now?” he says, and even though you're facedown in the mattress you can still hear the teasing lilt in his voice. “has my little honey bunny earned it, do you think you've been a good girl?”

you're so fucked out already you can barely speak, but you know he wants you to beg him before he'll actually do anything. so you collect yourself and twist your head to look over your shoulder, bunny ears flopping against your back and the most pleading expression you can muster. “mhm… please? been such a good bunny for you.” you prove your point by wiggling your hips, shaking the little tail plug that sticks out of your ass back and forth.

he groans, hands squeezing your waist tighter. he can tell how much you wanted this, how much you're enjoying this, and who is he to deny you any longer when you've been so well behaved? “mm, alright.” he leans down over your back to kiss your shoulder, brushing your hair and your floppy ears out of the way. “gonna let you cum on my cock now, is that what my baby bunny wants?”

you nod eagerly and let out a yip as he finally sinks into you. you swear you've never felt this good in your life as he starts to fill you up, your walls stretching to accommodate his length.

“so fucking tight,” he groans through gritted teeth when he finally bottoms out, his cock buried in your heat. “clenching so hard, i can barely move.”

“minghao—” you plead out his name, desperately trying to fuck yourself on his cock but his grip on your hips is too strong to let you have even a little bit of control.

he stays still for a minute to give you time to adjust, but that doesn't stop him from playing with your tail and tracing his fingers teasingly along your lower back, relishing in the way it makes you shiver and moan his name louder.

finally when neither you nor him can take it anymore, he starts to slide out of you, groaning at the way his shaft is already coated in your slick. he's not sure you've ever been this wet for him before— and you haven't even cum yet.

it doesn't take long for him to build up his pace, propelled by the sight of your cute little tail bouncing with each deep stroke. he spreads your cheeks apart to watch the spot where his length disappears inside you and groans, an idea hitting him as he digs his fingertips into your hips. “fuck, baby— want me to video this? you look so fucking good taking my cock, wanna let you see yourself.”

your walls clench around him faster than your lips can whimper out a “yes”. god, the thought that later you'll get to watch yourself, kneeling on the bed in your pretty lingerie getting fucked like the slutty little bunny you've always wanted to be? it's your biggest dream come true.

he gradually slows down his pace so he can reach over and grab his phone off the nightstand, fingers fumbling with the buttons to start the recording. he shifts his phone into one hand and uses his other to push down on your lower back, forcing you to arch up more for him. 

his long fingers wrap around your side as he starts to thrust into you again, pulling you backwards to meet his cock with each stroke as he builds back up to a brutal pace. he holds the camera up by his chin to make sure he captures a full view of the scene, your pretty ass pushed into the air as a constant stream of whimpers and whines escapes you.

“look at my pretty bunny,” he pants out, squeezing your hip even harder as he fucks into you, knowing everything he says will be immortalized for your pleasure when you watch this together later. “look at you. so good for me, aren’t you?”

you moan out something unintelligible that sounds like a yes, and he rewards you by fucking you harder. he grins and moves his phone closer to your ass to get a better view of your pussy, close enough to see the glint of metal poking out and the way your muscles contract around both it and him with every thrust.

his eyes rake over your body, occasionally glancing at his phone screen to check the video. after a minute he stops the video and tosses his phone aside, quickly moving both hands back to grip your hips so he has more leverage to plunge into you more deeply. your arms give out from the force and you fall forward against the bed, whimpers muffled by the sheets that you grip so tightly to stay grounded to.

one of his hands suddenly leaves your hips and you feel his fingers tangle in your hair, gasping as he jerks your head up again.

“c’mon, baby,” he says, winding his hand around your hair until it tugs your scalp. it burns but it feels so good, sending a shiver down your spine as he pulls on you. “you’ve been so good for me, don’t ruin it now. you can take it. isn’t that right, bunny?”

“fuck,” you whimper as you strain your neck backwards, your tits pushed against the lacy front of your lingerie as you arch your back. “i can—i can take it. please… please.”

his other hand slides up your stomach, pulling you to sit upright with your back against his chest. if it weren’t for minghao’s grip on you, you doubt you’d have even been able to hold your head up on your own, let alone the rest of your body; his forearm wraps around your chest, holding you flush against his body. you swear he’s never fucked you this hard before in your life, slamming his hips into you so hard you already know you’ll be feeling this for days afterwards, his pace never tiring.

minghao is good at giving you what you want, but you’ve always been able to retain at least a little bit of control even in your most fucked out state. but tonight your head is reeling, mouth hanging open with not a single coherent thought running through your mind. maybe it’s the thrill of being “caught”, of him finally figuring out your secret fantasy and letting you play into it.

your first orgasm catches you off guard, overtaking you with no warning. you double over in minghao’s arms as you writhe against him, clenching so hard that even he can’t keep up the pace. his hips stutter as he struggles to continue thrusting, barely managing to even stay inside of you as your muscles contract and try to force his cock out from your pulsing walls.

“go on, baby, let go for me,” he breathes in a low voice against your ear, holding you tighter to keep you in place. “such a good bunny, cumming all over my cock.”

“cu—cumming!” you manage, and you squeeze your eyes shut as another wave slams into you.

he curses under his breath as he snakes his hand down the front of your body to toy with your clit. “fuck— that’s it, baby. let me have it, give me more. such a good girl.”

you lean your head back against his shoulder with another broken moan, all the tension suddenly leaving your body in a rush. the bed is soaked, his thighs are soaked, your pussy is soaked, but you can't stop. his fingers don't stop either, rubbing fast circles on your clit as you squirt.

after what seems like an eternity of cumming you claw at his fingers on your clit, weakly trying to pull his hand away. “h-hao,” you moan, your voice cracking. “wait. stop—”

his grip on your body loosens and he moves his hand before pulling out of you slowly, his cock still hard and aching and his heart pounding with adrenaline. immediately his tone is softer, keeping his voice quiet beside your ear despite his heavy breathing. “what is it, love, what do you need? can you tell me?”

you lean your head back to rest against his shoulder, your body shaking as you try to catch your breath. it’s hard. you can barely think straight from so much stimulation all at once, your head still cloudy from such intense orgasms back to back, and it takes a long few seconds before you can string together your thoughts. “just… need to slow down.” you find his hand on your thigh and squeeze his fingers with all the strength you can muster. “but don’t wanna stop.”

he exhales and turns his head to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. “okay, sweetheart. just let me know. i’m here.”

he knows he was getting a little carried away, but he wasn’t expecting this to get him so riled up. even after he’d figured you out and put his plan into motion he hadn’t once thought about how he felt, so focused on making sure you’d be happy with him.

he’d spent hours online looking for the perfect outfit for you, pretty lingerie that would be comfortable yet still make you feel as beautiful and sexy as you are to him. if only he hadn’t wanted it to be a surprise, because he kind of wishes you’d been able to see the grin on his face when he’d picked out the cutest little tail and ears to match.

he never considered how much he’d enjoy seeing you in the outfit, maybe even more than you, the lace hugging your body as you whimper and whine so cutely for him. if anything, he knows he's definitely going to get his money's worth out of your pretty costume set, because he's already planning out in his mind the next time you'll get to do this together.

you hum his name softly and it brings him out of his head, looking down at your hazy expression. this is still sort of new to him, but he’ll figure out how to handle it. he’s good at that.

“do you wanna lay down?” he asks, fingers tracing up and down your sides and gently toying with the fabric of your bra as he holds you against his body.

you hum in agreement and turn over in his arms, letting him slowly guide you onto your back as he hovers on his hands and knees above you.

you tug at your ears headband and toss it away, and instinctively his hands begin smoothing over your hair to carefully massage your scalp. “uncomfy?” he asks as your eyes flutter shut, a sweet smile on your face at his soothing touch.

“after a while, yeah,” you say softly, leaning your head into his fingertips. you open your eyes slowly, finding his face just inches above yours. “i’m still your bunny?” you ask a little shyly, watching his gaze.

he smiles and leans up to kiss your nose, a habit of his that now means so much more. “mhm. cutest bunny i’ve ever met. and she’s all mine.”

you can feel his throbbing cock resting atop your stomach, and you sigh out his name, reaching up to pull him down to meet your lips. “minghao…” you lift your hips a little, whimpering quietly in response when he groans from the pressure.

“ready to go again?” he breathes, and at your nod he positions his cock back at your entrance, pushing in slowly. the stretch is easy this time and it doesn’t take long before he bottoms out again, bending over you to leave kisses all over your face as you readjust to him. 

you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer, whining softly as you squeeze his bicep to try to get him to move. even just having him completely still inside of you feels incredible, but you're eager for more, almost insatiable for him. you don't want this to end just yet.

“god—” he chokes out, thrusting once into you so deep that it makes your head spin. “i'm gonna cum if you keep doing that. not gonna last much longer.”

maybe he’s delirious from so much in one night, but minghao swears you clench harder when he says that. you shake your head, trying to pull him even closer. “don’t care. just want you to fill me up, please?”

he lets out another groan, long and low as he pushes his hips in and out in a slow but steady rhythm. “oh, is that what you want? you want me to breed you? pretty bunny wants to be full of my cum?”

between his dirty talk and the feeling of his cock pulsing inside you, your mind goes blank, and all you can manage is a squeak and a nod and a prayer that he’ll figure it out, how badly you want him to do exactly that. despite everything he’s already given you tonight, you’re absolutely desperate for it, and if you could recall words and sentences right now you would’ve started begging him like your life depended on it.

luckily for you he knows you just as well as he says he does, because he adjusts his hips and thrusts deeper into you, his cock angled upwards to hit you just right with every stroke as filthy words spill from his lips.

“gonna fuck you so full,” he huffs, and you stare wide eyed at the sweat dripping down his cheekbones as he pounds you into the mattress. “taking it so well, gonna breed you like my bunny deserves, stuff you so full. my pretty little bunny, always so desperate for me…”

he doesn't stop, his words beginning to ramble as he focuses all his energy on thinking about your pretty eyes and the sweet, fucked out look on your face that he knows you always get when he cums inside of you because he knows how much you love it.

“please… please,” you whimper, your fingers gripping onto his shoulders so tight, and you know he's right at the edge. each stroke fills you completely, and the pressure from both his cock and the plug still inside you makes you dizzy with pleasure.

minghao buries his face in your collarbone, biting down to muffle his groans as he cums. your own mouth falls open in a gasp as you feel his cock jerk against your walls, pulsing with each thick rope of cum he releases inside. his breath catches in his throat and forces his cock deeper, his pelvis firmly pressed against yours as far in as he can possibly go. 

with shaky hands and even shakier breaths, you wrap your arms around him and hold his head against your chest, your heart still racing as you come down together. he doesn't try to pull out yet, laying down on top of you and letting his weight cover you. you whimper softly as you feel his cum seeping out of you, running down the backs of your thighs. 

after a minute he sighs, looking up at you to make sure you're still okay. “was that alright?” he asks, but your lazy grin tells him all he needs to know.

“love, hey.” he tilts your chin to make you look at him, brushing his thumb against your cheek to make sure you're paying attention. “promise me one thing. next time, just tell me if there's something you wanna try. okay?” he says. his tone is still quiet and gentle, but you can tell he's serious. 

as fun as it is to play this game, he'd much rather you just come to him and talk about it, even if you think it's silly or stupid. he knows it's hard to talk about things you want, but he feels comfortable enough to tell you anything and he hopes one day you'll feel the same, without him having to pry.

“mhm,” you hum sincerely, smiling in contentment at the soft feeling of his fingers on your skin. “i will.”

despite your mumbled voice he can tell you're being genuine with him, and he rewards you with a gentle kiss.

you giggle and run your fingers through his hair, basking in the warm, fuzzy feeling that radiates both inside and out. “so… next time you're gonna wear the outfit, right?”

he laughs and kisses you again, happy that you seem so satisfied after everything. “well, that depends on whether or not you've been a good bunny.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

taglist will be in the comments under this fic since tumblr is having problems with mentions, i can't add them as i usually do. if you'd like to join and be notified when i post a new fic, you can fill out this short form here! :)

[tinylilacbun]

You are practically bouncing in excitement, rushing around the house to gather the things you need for the beach, going there wasn't anything new but you still get happy every time you catch Rafe packing a bag with necessities.

Sofia chuckles when she gets a glimpse of you running left and right outside the bathroom door. "Someone's excited." She smiles, in the process of putting on her bikini.

"Good for us. Means she'll fall asleep faster later." Rafe says, packing towels into the bag together with a few of your water ducks that are always neatly organized on the edge of the bathtub.

As he straightens and sees you running past he calls after you. "Baby, come here."

You quickly get to the bathroom, whining when you see him holding a tube of sunscreen, beckoning you closer with a single finger.

"Ah, don't start with that or we won't go at all." He warns you and you begrudgingly approach him with a growing frown.

"Rafe..." Sofia chides him softly. "She's just excited."

"A'ight, I'm sorry." He looks down at you and before you could start whining again he starts to apply the sunscreen on your face, leaning down a little so only you can hear him. "Doesn't mean you don't know how to behave."

You try not to smile but when he taps your nose you can't help but let a giggle slip.

Rafe kisses the top of your head when he's done putting sunscreen on every visible bit of skin of your body, turning you around he sends you off again. "Go and get one of daddy's shirts to cover yourself."

The moment he lets go, you dash off again.

He just chuckles, smirking when Sofia stands in front of him, holding the top of her bikini up and turning around with her back to him. Without anything needing to be said Rafe grabs the straps and ties them together.

Sofia smiles, locking eyes with him through the mirror. "Should we tell her that she put her bathing suit on backwards."

"Before we leave. If she's not waiting in the car already." He smiles back at her, resting his hands on her shoulders, sighing when he hears you shout for them to hurry.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

I : Strawberry Wine

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

the prelude to this series

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: joel fixes your toilet but you can't help but yearn for more time with him. so you invite him to dinner and try to win his stomach? aka love?

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, reader does have anxiety/mental illness that is not fully recognized/diagnosed, mentions of eating food, reader lives alone, reader got MONEYYYY, mentions of joel's ex wife (gasp), alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes, kissing, flirting. all the fluffy stuff <3

author's note: hey...hey.... how y'all doing?? i'm so so so sorry this has taken so long. my life has been crazy for the last like 4 months and I'm finally getting settled into my life again. I miss y'all and I miss writing, so HERE I AM! I'm hoping everyone who wanted me to tag them months ago is still cool with me tagging them 4 months later lol. okay, lemme know what you think xoxo

Joel comes and goes for days. The first day he returns, he inspects your toilet again and tells you he has the wrong tools. You discuss a game plan and by his initial projections, your toilet should be fixed the next day. But when he fails to come by in the morning, you decide to call the phone number on the post-it note he left for you the day before. 

The phone rings and you get an answering machine of a younger girl telling you to leave her and Dad a message after the beep. When the line lets out a long ding, you breathe out the random croak in your throat. 

“Uh, hey, Joel, it’s me. Just seeing if you’re stopping by today. If not, that’s fine, I’ll be home all day today and tomorrow. Okay, uh, bye.”

Hours go by and you find yourself pacing, regretting your decision to leave him a message. What if he gets it and thinks that you’re crazy? 

Ever since you had made his acquaintance, you felt completely reliant on interacting with him. It may be due to the fact that you haven’t socialized with anyone else in months. You were very good at isolating yourself, but lately, it’s been eating you alive being so alone. Now that you had this big house, the silence felt almost too quiet. Joel’s southern drawl and straightforward responses gave a bit of light back to your life. 

Around dinner time, your landline rings. You practically fall over your couch racing to pick it up, hoping it was him. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He grunts through the phone, “Sorry I didn’t come by today, hope ya didn’t miss me too much.”

You let out a dry laugh, trying not to sound too giddy about him following up with you. You were borderline pathetic. 

“No, I just wanted to make sure you were still alive,” You manage to get out, “You are still alive right?”

“Still kickin’, just busy as all get out. ‘M fixin’ to head to your place now if you’re not busy.”

You look down at your pajamas and start to nod. It’s not like he can see you through the phone, but you are reacting to his words like he’s right in front of you. 

“Sure thing, I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

-

“So… It’s really just you here? All by your lonesome?”

He’s messing with his toolbox, searching for the one tool he needs to fix the toilet. You stir your fresh brewed tea, ensuring none of the sugar clumps up at the bottom of the mug. You had offered him some, but he politely declined, telling you that he had a big dinner.

You take a sip, testing the sweetness. “Just me. How about you? Just you and your daughter, right?”

He laughs heartedly, turning towards you from where he’s squatted. You look at him with curious eyes, unsure if you asked the wrong question. He stands up, a wrench in his hand, a smile still spread across his face. 

“Her mama left town with her new boyfriend about 5 years ago. Wanted the city life, not the life I gave her. It’s been just me and her ever since.”

So he’s single. You think to yourself. 

You realize the laugh was probably because of how absurd and new it must be for someone to ask him about his life. He grew up here and you are positive everyone here already knew all about his business. You are a breath of fresh air for him. 

Before the silence becomes awkward, you speak up. “City life ain’t worth a shit.”

“Yeah, she’s different. Won’t speak ill of her ‘cause that’s my bosses’ mama. She sees her now and again. They are just very different.” 

The conversation comes easy with Joel. While the first couple of interactions you two shared were a bit strained, after days of small talk, you realize he’s the truest Southern gentleman you’ve ever interacted with. Polite with a little bite. He never speaks ill of others, except his brother. He loves to pick on Tommy. He seems like an attentive father. He loves to pick at you, always pointing out your Northern tendencies. Your horrible driving. Your accent and your speech patterns. But he’s also very complimentary. A couple of days ago, he remarked how nice your perfume was when you were standing close to him. It made your heart skip a beat. 

And on top of all of those things, he’s very easy on the eyes. 

“That’s mighty fine of you not speaking ill of your ex,” You try to drag out the silly Southern saying, which causes him to chuckle again. You smack your lips before continuing, “Wish I could do the same.”

You are not sure what he’s doing to the tank of your toilet, but you watch him strain to get a piece out of the corner with the wrench he has. He clenches his teeth, turning the piece to the left to loosen it. 

“Exes are exes for a reason,” He grunts, fiddling with some more things in the tank, “I ain’t too hung up on datin’ right now. I got my girl and my horses.”

“And now you got me, your annoying neighbor who almost crashes into your horses and asks you to fix toilets.”

He breathes out loudly, “Yeah, ‘nother pain in my ass. Just what a man needs.”

-

The toilet is fixed too quickly. You had busied yourself with other small cleaning tasks that when Joel finds you in the kitchen doing dishes, he startles you. It took him about 15 minutes to finish the job and you had thought you could at least finish up the dishes you made from dinner. 

“‘M all finished up. Gotta get back home to do some rounds at the stables,” He says as he waltzes over to your paper towel holder. He grabs a sheet and begins to wipe his damp hands, “Anythin’ else for me today?”

You turn off the running water, going down a list of fixes you could ask him to do. You decide it’s probably best to just ask him to swing by another day to help you with other things. 

“No, thank you though, Joel. I am sure I’ll be by to ask for more help,” You chuckle, shaking your hands dry, “I owe you dinner or something.”

As you say it, it feels like all the air leaves your lungs. He’s staring at you and there’s a glint in his eyes. You are not that good at reading people, mostly because you are deathly afraid of being wrong. His eyebrows raise as he leans against the counter near you. He’s so close and in your space, but you try to push the thought of him coming onto you out of your mind. 

“What’do you got on the menu tomorrow?”

His voice is kind of husky which makes your brain draw a blank. You wipe your hands on your pants before crossing the kitchen to check your fridge. You glance through your ingredients, settling for the only dinner item you can conjure up that his southern palette may like. 

“Baked chicken and vegetables?”

He nods, tossing his paper towel into the bin beside you. “Yeah, I've been needing a home-cooked meal. Think I could come over at like 5? Tomorrow?”

You recollect a time when a guy showed interest in wanting to hang out with you outside of work. It had been years and he was not nearly as attractive as the man in front of you. 

You nod slowly, trying not to look too robotic due to your nerves. “Sure thing, cowboy.”

-

You did not know what to wear. You contemplated going into town to see what the local boutiques had but you ran the risk of Joel seeing you out. You didn’t even know if this was a date. 

You settle on a sundress you have owned since high school. It’s the perfect length and while your mind goes to wanting to impress Joel, you also need to be comfortable. 

You cleaned your house, adding some new decorations to your living room walls. You even clean your sheets and make sure your bedroom is vacuumed. 

When the time comes for Joel to arrive, you pace the kitchen anticipating the doorbell. You already had all the food prepped and ready to put in the oven. The vegetables have been cut and seasoned. Everything was just the way you needed it to be. 

Joel gets there 5 after your scheduled time. When you welcome him at the door, his hair is styled and you can tell he put on his “fancy jeans”. 

What you didn’t expect was the bouquet of flowers he had in his hands. 

“Afternoon, neighbor,” He begins before extending the floral arrangement towards you, “My girl said I had to bring you something nice. Somethin’ bout being a gentleman.”

You smile widely, giving flowers all your attention. Even with the fragrant bouquet, you get a whiff of his sandalwood cologne. 

“Nice to see you cleaned up for me, cowboy. Come on in, dinner is about to get put in the oven.”

-

You catch him scanning you up and down when you place the spread of chicken and vegetables on the table. He was in the midst of talking about his daughter and her band fundraiser, but he completely halted when you took notice of his staring. 

You settle into the dining room chair across from him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. 

“She needs more sponsors?” You break the silence, wanting to move away from the sudden awkwardness. 

He swallows, reaching for the serving fork, “Oh, yeah. She needs to reach a certain goal to go on her senior band trip.”

You try to avoid his wandering gaze again, focusing on organizing your plate of vegetables. “Where are they going?”

“Disney. She ain’t never been out of Texas, so she really wants to go.”

You remember all the trips your family said they’d go on to Disney, but they never did. Your father could not stand being around his own children, let alone other people’s children. You think about how he used to complain about your constant questions, all the times he completely ignored you for your brother. You start to spiral, the anxiety creeping up in the back of your throat. You push your chair out from under the table, excusing yourself for a moment. You go to the bar you have set up in the living room and grab the only sweet wine you have. Strawberry. You grab two glasses from the top of the setup and walk back to Joel. 

“Forgot wine,” you mumble, setting a glass in front of him, “You want some?”

He is already picking at his chicken, “Yeah, I’ll take some.”

You are quiet as you uncork it expertly, pouring it into each of the glasses. Joel watches you like a hawk. You can tell he’s trying to read your expression, so you try your best to remain neutral even though your hands are shaking. 

You place the bottle in the middle of the table, making sure it’s easily reachable. 

You finally sit back down, sipping the red liquid. The strawberry flavor isn’t very strong, it’s more like a hint of the berry. You had gotten the bottle from a roadside stand in Kentucky. An older lady who must have owned a vineyard nearby was selling them for $5 each. You told yourself you would only use it for a special occasion. This event seemed fitting. 

Wine always makes you flushed, but you are always a bit flushed around Joel. Even more so when he’s watching you so intently. 

After a couple of sips, you finally rest your shoulders and begin to eat your dinner. 

“I could sponsor her,” you finally say, returning to the previous conversation. For some reason, you felt obligated. Joel quickly retaliates, shaking his head as he chewed on your roasted veggies. 

“You ain’t gotta do that, doll.” 

The nickname rings in your ears. You take another sip of wine. You can tell Joel notices your reaction because he smirks with his mouth full. 

“But I want to, Joel. I’m sure she has worked hard her high school career, she deserves to have fun.”

He hums, but still shakes his head negatively, “I can’t let you just pay for-”

“You can and you will,” You enjoy another bite, smirking at your defiance towards him. He looks perplexed. “So when is this fundraiser? Is there like a dinner or something?”

He finally caves, “This Friday at the school. It’s a dinner and auction. I guess if the kids don’t find their sponsors, some local businesses are willing to sponsor them.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah,” He cuts up his chicken, “I guess you’re gonna come along, too, if you’re givin’ my girl all that money.”

“Does a check work?”

He sits back in his chair, already finishing off his wine, “You seriously don’t have to-”

“What are neighbors for, Joel?”

He nods, “You mean friends.”

You furrow your brows, trying to let your hazy mind find a time when you called him your friend. This was a new development.

“Friends, huh?”

He pours more in his glass, “Well, I’d like to think so.”

The wine is hitting your system and you realize your arms feel lighter. You grab the stem of your glass and tip it up to down the rest of the alcohol. Joel’s eyes are trained on you, waiting for a snarky response. 

“Do friends stare at other friends like that?” You pour more wine for yourself. You realize he’s done eating so before he can respond to your flirtation, you speak up again, “You done with that?”

He looks down at his empty plate, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes friends look at other friends like that, or you’re done eating.”

He grins, “‘m done eating, doll.”

-

You two find your way out to the rocking chairs. They were left there by the previous owners and you could tell they were probably as old as you. 

You had another full glass of wine, sipping it as Joel lit up a cigarette. He admitted it was only a bad habit when he was drinking, which was rare. “Sarah gets onto me when I have even one beer. So this has gotta be between us two.”

You swirl the crystal, watching him carefully take a drag of the stick. “Your secret is safe with me, cowboy.”

He giggles as he lets out a huff of smoke. “I haven’t had secrets in a long time. Guess I’m lucky it’s with the town stranger.”

The statement hits you in the very pit of your settling tummy. You furrow your eyebrows, leaning forward towards him. Your chairs are not that far away from one another, so this is probably the closest you have ever been to him except for that one moment in the kitchen. 

“Luckiest man in Texas that’s for sure,” You muster, averting your eyes. You could not stare into his beautiful brown eyes for too long. “Having the privilege of getting me out of my head. No man has done that in years.”

“What? You not good at letting loose?”

You shake your head, knowing that he did not understand what you meant. You take a moment to inhale, finally glancing up at him again. “I think I may just be cursed.”

“Now, why do you say that?”

You contemplate spilling the beans. Letting your heart fall onto your sleeve after years of shielding it from anyone who looks your way. Your lips part, but no words come out. It’s just the sounds of the cicadas. 

“As soon as something is good, it gets bad somehow. I don’t even get a moment to savor it.”

You feel the statement down to your bones. The last time you felt settled in your own life, the rug got pulled out from under you. You cannot remember a time when you truly felt present in a special moment. You always felt like you were floating outside of your body, watching things happen and never really truly feeling anything. 

You don’t expect him to lean closer to you, “Whatever happened before you got here, you ain’t gotta worry about it anymore. You obviously put distance between you and what happened for a reason. Let this little side of the world be your home now.”

You push your spiraling thoughts away, letting him be right. 

“I’m workin’ on getting settled. It’s easy when you have a handsome cowboy to help along the way.”

It comes out like word vomit. Between the wine and the nerves coursing through your entire being, you can’t help but admit your little crush on the man. You slap your free hand over your forehead, admitting defeat before he can even respond. You knew he would take the comment and run with it.

“You always flirt with your friends, sweetheart?” He was toying with you, which was a good sign. If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t call you such a thing. 

You smile, releasing your face from your hand. His eyes are tracing every curve of your face, a subtle pass that you did not capture quickly enough. 

“Only ones that fix my toilets.”

And then, he kisses you. It happens so quickly, that you don’t fully grasp that it’s happening until you're molding your lips into his. Once your buzzed brain picks up the fact that the man you have been crushing on is kissing you, he pulls away. Your eyes are still closed, your hands still gripping onto your wine glass. 

He huffs loudly and stands up quickly. Once you place your eyes on him, he’s pacing around the back deck stairs, not too far from where you’re sitting. You instantly bite back the urge to ask him what’s wrong, because there’s always something wrong. 

“‘M sorry, sweetheart. I should’na done that.”

He instantly regretted it. The thought made your throat tighten. He continues to walk back and forth, causing a draft. 

“It’s fine, Joel. I’m n-not mad.”

He shakes his head, halting his robot-like movements. He finally looks at your pitiful expression and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t think I’m much of a gentleman, kissing you on the first date.”

You watch as he places his hands on his hips, contemplating his whole life right before your eyes. You realize he is too traditional to see that nowadays, people are sleeping together on the first date. First base is nothing. You rest your glass on a decrepit table next to you and stand up. 

You slowly approach him, trying to catch a glance from him, but he continues to avert his eyes. You grow bold enough to tilt his chin towards you, letting your guard down for a moment. 

“You’re such a gentleman, it hurts,” you whisper, slowly letting a smirk grow across your face. The comment makes his shoulders lower, finally relaxing from such a heated moment. 

“Just don’t wanna mess this up with ya,” He murmurs, only letting you and the nearby fireflies hear you, “I enjoy spending time with you.”

You slowly lower your hand to your side, trying to act casually about the confession. But the truth is you want to run and wake up every cow and horse within a 10-mile radius with a squeal of delight. 

“I like spending time with you, too, Joel.”

He takes your hand as you say it, bringing your knuckles up to his lips. His breath is hot on the back of your hand before he says, “Well now, I quite like the sound of that."

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