#you’ve got the bones of it. but i just don’t think it’s a stretch

[visenyaism]

Genuine question, why do so many people say that Theon has genderqueer or just bi vibes. In my reading I just saw him as an insecure masc cishet man, he never shows any interest in a single man (unlike say, Sansa or Jaime where you can point out the lines where they think weirdly intently about chars of their own gender. Or with Sam there's all this motifing and the repetition that he deep down doesn't want to live by "men's rules", that's not what he's cut out for). I've met Theon-ish boys; all incredibly cishet AFAIK. He dresses nicely but that's not... a gay thing. Especially not in universe.

Is it just the themes? The constant theme of emasculation + Asha taking his place as son + his thing w Ramsey? Because that's a stretch to say the least IMO.

i read it and i knew. but i don’t know how to explain it to you. so i think your best bet is to read it again and pray that it will be revealed to you also

[frogstappen]

𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐯𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐧𝐥

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 3k

you watch max's home race from the red bull garage.

⚠️: description of major crash, some mentions of injury. sickly sweet friendship with a hint of something more. jealous!max, soft!max, cheeky!max.

“Headset?”

“Yep.”

“I got some snacks for you. Where are the –?”

The bag rustles as you lift it. “Pretzels. Got them.”

“And you know where the bathroom is? Out that door, down the corridor –”

“Max,” you push his arm down, “You know who we sound like right now?”

His eyebrows lift. “Who?”

You giggle. “You and GP. Radio, check. Headset, check. Bathroom, check.”

Max sighs, propping a hand on his hip. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just – listen to me, please, okay?”

“I’m going to be fine,” you assure him. “I’ve watched you from the garage a thousand times before.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t been down here in a while. I’m just making sure.”

The track is already deafening. The roar of tens of thousands of bloodthirsty Formula One fans isn’t quite as earthshaking as that of twenty racecars – but Jesus, there’s not much in it.

The attendance in Zandvoort this weekend has reached well over three hundred thousand. Earlier, you stood out front to watch the drivers’ parade with some of the team.

Max lifted his head as the bus turned the last corner and trundled down the main straight. The crowd thundered all around. He caught your eye and, with a smirk, lifted a waggling hand – and you felt your bones vibrating with the cheering.

An orange sea parted by a strip of black asphalt; they twirl flags between thick clouds of tangerine smoke. They paint their faces and wave their banners, topple their drinks with the thrill that just a half-second glimpse at their Dutch Lion ignites.

Formula One fans go hard. Max Verstappen fans go harder.

An assistant taps Max’s shoulder. She flicks up the mic on her headset as he turns. “Three minutes to anthem.”

He nods, and she totters off.

“Promise me,” he takes hold of your elbows, “that you’ll stay right here. I’ll find you after, okay? One of the guys will bring you to the podium.”

“Confident,” you snort, though his expression tightens.

Your phone buzzes on the desk. You flip it over and the screen lights a name adorned with a heart emoji. Beneath, a picture of the classic overhead of the grid, stretched across a flatscreen TV.

Bet your view is better than mine! Miss you. X

Max grumbles, grabbing his balaclava. “I should go.”

“Hey, wait.” You tug on the sleeve of his suit, dangling from his waist.

He sways back into your side, the weight of him familiar and gentle. “Mhm?”

“Have a good one, okay? Be safe.”

“Safe?” He smirks, toying with the cord of your headset. “That’s no fun.”

“I’m serious, Max. Don’t be a dick.”

Okay, he mouths, patting your head. “Speaking of dicks,” he taps your phone, “Better reply.”

His head tilts back in laughter when you shove him off, and he swaggers out of the garage. An assistant hoists a parasol in the air and scurries down the pit lane at his side.

He’s so calm, you think, that he may as well be out for a Sunday drive. It comes naturally enough to him.

He’s on pole today. The car has been good, Max’s form even better. The sky is clear (save for the fans’ fluorescent flares), and there’s no chance of rain – though, sometimes, you find yourself praying for it.

He’s Dutch, okay? The rain is always on his side.

It’s been a decent weekend, for once. No hiccups, no setbacks. He’s soared his way around the track, producing lap after perfect lap. The way he always does, when he knows you’re somewhere nearby.

His lucky charm, since his first go around a karting track. So Max says, anyway.

He’ll say it with humor; that wit of his that you’ve learned like a second language. Still – sometimes, after his hardest races, his toughest battles, he wraps his arms around you tight enough to convince you that he might just be telling the truth.

Just for a moment.

You’ve been best friends for as long as you can remember. Never one without the other; always whispering into each other’s ears or otherwise communicating through flashes of eye contact, kicks under the table.

Wherever he goes, you go. You bicker like a married couple, and trust each other much the same. From the school playground to the Circuit de Monaco – and everywhere in between.

The orchestra swings to life, sending the sound of Wilhelmus skyward. Onscreen in the garage, the camera focuses in on Max: calm, composed, staring off down to the first corner like it’s his next meal.

Nothing has ever happened between you. Not really. No secret rendezvous nor dear diary crushes. Once, and only once, a chaste kiss during a high school game of spin the bottle.

It was about as awkward as it should’ve been. This quick, electric shock of a kiss. Over all too soon and not soon enough. He tasted like the lager he’d been drinking. He steadied himself with a hand on your thigh.

You sat back on your heels, wiped your lips with the sleeve of your sweater, and aped Max’s look of disgust. You snickered with your girlfriends as the circle moved on – but anytime you snuck a glance at him, he was already looking straight back.

He never brought it up again, though – and so neither did you. As far as either of you were concerned, it never happened. You’re just friends.

Best, best friends.

This new guy you’ve been seeing – you met him in a bar in London. He said he liked your dress, said he liked your smile, then offered to buy you a drink. It’s been no more than six weeks, but Max had already quietly decided his thoughts over summer break.

He’s a nice guy, he said, deliberately bumping his rubber ring into yours.

You pushed away from him, floating across the pool. Nice? That’s all you got?

What do you want me to say? I’m not the one dating him.

I just don’t believe that nice is all you have to say. You’re not that good at pretending. I know you too well, Verstappen.

Okay, fine. Too much styling of the hair.

Too much…What?

Yeah. And he wears weird shoes.

Well, he likes F1. Said he’s a fan of yours.

Ha, Max clicked his fingers, That’s the biggest red flag of them all.

Your phone buzzes again. You turn it facedown without looking, and pull your headset on.

The circuit shudders as the anthem comes to an end. The drivers split up, pulling off ice vests and zipping up their suits. The mechanics prop chairs in front of the screen, thumping their helmets over their heads.

Almost ten years in, the anxiety still hangs heavy in your stomach. The rumble of the engines, the babble from the loudspeakers. The rapid-fire orders shot over your head in the garage.

It comes naturally to Max, sure – that doesn’t mean it’s easy for you.

You watch him as he lowers into his car. Eyes narrow and focused, blurring everything but that first bend from his vision. All good humor shaken off, replaced by a vicious hunger to hit the end of the straight first, to be a speck on the horizon before the first lap is through.

Your thumb picks at the 33 sticker on the side of your headset. You burst open the bag of pretzels.

Max checks the radio and GP replies: “Loud and clear.”

“Beautiful day,” the driver says, weaving through the formation lap. “Simply lovely.”

You smile, suckling on the salty snack. As nervous as you may feel, at least he’s having fun.

He brings the car to a soft stop on his line and waits as the others follow suit. The lights flick on one by one, a painful pause between each. One sharp breath, held at the bottom of your throat, – and the red dissolves.

The Red Bull fires down the track.

Your lungs fill with a gulp of fuel-fumed air. Veins flood with warmth – the ice-cold grip around each nerve thawed as soon as Max begins to lead the flock.

He fights off contenders for first all the way to turn four – snuffing the flame of a Ferrari here, squeezing the papaya of a McLaren there. He catapults ahead just past Hunserug, and the garage springs to cheerful life.

In your headset, the pit wall is serious, fixed on the race. They murmur over wavelengths, static fizzling between words. Voices flat and emotionless; statistics on top of statistics, strategies on top of strategies.

You crush more pretzels between your molars, watching, unblinking. You twist the cord around your index finger, draining the tip of blood, then loosen again as Max puts more than a second between his car and the next.

He’s doing good. He always does good, as far as you’re concerned.

He’s doing what he always says he was made to do. He was raised this way, weathered into shape by each storm he powered his way through. Not born, not destined – Max doesn’t believe in any of that shit.

God doesn’t drive F1 cars, he’ll say. I do.

A couple tense laps pass. The Red Bull is still up front, though he’s tussling with the Ferrari now hot on his tail. Each chance his pursuer takes, each split-second jab at his lead, Max has already squashed before it materializes.

He rips around turn fourteen, following the track through its widest bend down to fifteen, and hits the main straight to thunderous applause. The cars scream past the pits, a roar sliced in two as they barrel straight for Tarzan.

The gap is barely two tenths. The mechanics clutch their helmets. Max taunts the corner on the outside of the track, eyeing his target.

“Defend,” one of the mechanics growls. “Hold him, Max.”

The Ferrari tucks behind, its front wing edging closer and closer.

You blink.

The red car swings out, shuddering with the force of the maneuver. He steadies himself and floors it, each closing centimeter perilous.

Blink again.

They’re side by side. Almost wheel to wheel. There’s no way Max can’t see that scarlet smirk from the corner of his eye. The apex is right there, though, it’s right fucking there.

Another blink, and –

He’s gone.

He’s gone. He’s –

Hurtling off the track. At almost two hundred miles per hour. The gravel spits at him as he spins; smoke and dust billow from beneath. He slams straight into the barrier, and, finally, the moment ends.

Your chest shrinks; a weak wheeze passes your lips. “Oh, my God.”

The mechanics leap to their feet. They bark amongst themselves like a pack of angry dogs, though you can’t make out a word.

Your hearing is shot. Every sound bleeds into the next; one long, high-pitched scream. You move without thinking, without feeling; slip off the stool and tug your headset. It hits the desk with a distant clatter, though you’re already wandering away.

The sound of the crowd rattles against your skull. Numb, muted. An awful groaning sound as the cloud lifts, revealing the chewed-up car.

It’s bad. It’s the worst one in a long time. He must’ve hit that barrier at near-enough full speed. The dread fills your lungs like torrents of heavy, black water. Sickly salt, suffocating sea. Oh, God.

You scan the garage for any of his mechanics. Matt. Ole. Chris. Fucking – any of them. Who did he say would bring you to him when this was over? He said he’d meet you at the podium. He said he’d find you –

A rough hand grabs your elbow.

Max’s face flickers across your vision. Blue steel gaze, freckle above his lip. The dust pulls him away from your grasp. He hits the barrier again and again and again.

“Max –”

The voice is calm – too fucking calm, you think, when it tells you, “He’s talking. They’ve got him talking.”

“Talking,” you echo, begging it to solidify in your brain. “Can you put me on to him?”

The engineer pulls you over to the exit. He plucks at his mic, murmurs some response down the line to the team. He takes your wrist and leads you out, muttering, “C’mon.”

“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “Please let me speak to him.”

“You will,” he replies, snaking through the tight corridor. “Once he’s out, they’ll check him over. He’ll be taken in for evaluation, hitting the wall at that speed. Force must be bloody nuts.”

The thought sends another bitter stream of panic through your blood. “Can he move? Is he –? Can he get out of the car?”

He gives one quick nod. “Medics are there. They’re helping him out.”

Sunlight floods overhead, dazzling as you follow him out front and towards a sleek car. An attendant opens the door for you, and you slide into the backseat.

The engineer gives your shoulder a friendly shake. “He’ll be fine,” he says. “He’s done worse.”

The door falls closed and the car moves off, purring through the paddock towards the medical center.

You slump into your seat and press your fingers into your eyes; a headache already blooming between your temples.

He’s moving. He’s moving and he’s responding. They’re helping him up out of the car. He’s probably already being checked over.

He’s probably already asking for you.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, fingers dragging down your cheeks.

The center is a polite little hut inside the circuit. By the time you pull up, the race has already resumed. The remaining cars whizz by as you jog over, slipping inside behind a couple guys from Max’s team.

He’s had his fair share of scraps on the track. You don’t make it to the top without a sincere sense of dare, and an even sincerer lack of fear. Some call it idiocy. You’re often one of them.

Sitting on the other side of the clinic door, though – knee jerking, nails picking at the skin on your fingers – you’d be thrilled to never see these four walls ever again. Idiot or not, you care about him.

More than anyone else in your life? Jesus. Probably.

The door clicks open, and your blood jumps.

A pale woman in a pale coat steps out. She peers over her glasses, eyes you from the sneakers on your feet to the worry on your face – and says your name.

You push yourself up, squeezing past her into the room.

Max is perched on the edge of the bed, still in his fireproofs. Hair disheveled, face flushed and exhausted. Translucent with shock or concussion or worse, he lifts his head and flashes a lopsided smile.

It’s weak, barely there – but it’s him.

You care about him more than anyone else in your life. Definitely.

He opens his arms, fingers beckoning you in. “C’mere.”

“Oh, my God,” you sweep over, already in tears by the time you meet his body, “Oh, my God – you fucking idiot.”

His shoulders shudder with a bottled laugh. He wraps his arms around your waist, turning his head against your chest. “How was I supposed to know he was going to turn into me, huh? I had the line, I was –”

“Max,” you pull back, staring into his bleary eyes, “I don’t care. Just – don’t do that ever again.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers, corners of his mouth twitching.

You sigh, collapsing onto the bed at his side. You lean against him and he winces a little, before pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“You really scared me,” you admit, turning in to his chest.

Max slings an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight. “I’m fine, no? I mean, everything’s blurry and I can’t really hear much, but – it could have been worse.”

He props the pillows against the wall and pushes himself back gingerly, reaching past you for a paper cup of water at his bedside.

You move slowly, carefully, waiting for him to get comfortable before settling back, too – leaving a safe gap between his battered body and yours. Your cheek rests on the curve of his shoulder; fingers trace the logos on his sleeves.

Max breathes in the scent of your hair. He turns his hand and watches as your fingers trail down his wrist, circling his palm. He sucks in a deep breath, sighing to the ceiling.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you whisper, and he hums.

“Nerves,” he mutters.

“From the race?” You lift your head. “You don’t get nervous.”

He takes another breath and turns to you. He’s blushing, and doing a shitty job at hiding it. “No,” he says. “Not from the race.”

You gulp. “Are you sore?”

“Yeah. My back, my ribs.”

“Do you want me to get up?”

“No. Stay.”

He wears the same expression he did all those years ago, sat too many people apart from one another in that drunken circle. The same expression you only allowed yourself fleeting glances at: bashful, a little awkward – all the more endearing for it.

Maybe he actually doesn’t remember that night. Maybe he was just too tipsy – alcohol gone straight to his teenage head. And maybe he won’t even remember this, what with the concussion and all.

It’d make things a hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure. You could go back to your old ways: arguing over the best flavor of chips, screaming while playing video games. No second-guessing, no jumping to conclusions. Hell, maybe you hope he doesn’t remember any of it at all.

Somewhere, though, deep down – you know that’s not true.

“How’s, uh…whatshisface?” Max asks, nudging you with his elbow. He takes a feeble sip of his water and offers you the cup.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No idea. I left my phone in the garage.”

He scoffs, staring at your lips as you take a drink. He takes the cup from your hands once you’re done. “I don’t mean to give him shit, you know. If you like him, I like him.”

“Well, there’s liking someone,” you pout, “and then there’s willingly watching them crash full-speed in a racecar.”

Max smiles, lifting his cup.

“Whoever that is, sounds pretty cool to me.”

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

[ozzgin]

I've kept my promise and returned with dino smut. Switch it to a dinosaur hybrid if you're too afraid of the full package. Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (gangbang), monster dinosaur smut

"You've got to be kidding me."

You kick the wheel and walk away, trying to steady your breathing. This can’t be happening. Behind you, the guide continues to tinker with the car engine. He has a reassuring smile plastered on his face, but you can tell from the cold beads of sweat that he’s just as terrified.

You are stranded in a desert filled with dinosaurs. Scientific miracle? Sure. Presently your death sentence, too.

“Don’t walk too far from the vehicle, (Y/N), otherwise I can’t reach you in time if something happens.”

“What, you have a black belt in dinosaur fighting or something?” you scoff at the man.

“Now listen, do you think we didn’t anticipate these scenarios? I am equipped with this little guy here”, he says, pulling out a small, electric device. “Has enough juice in it to shock a T-Rex.”

Maybe he has a point. The Jurassic Park proudly dons a reputation of flawless service and guaranteed safety. Surely they must be equipped to deal with something as insignificant as a car breaking down in the middle of a guided tour.

You attempt to smile back, gathering some courage. In your newfound peace you didn’t really notice that the massive rock behind the car has moved, or that it was never a rock to begin with.

A wide row of razor teeth engulfs your official tour guide, and the enormous mandible closes with a loud snap. The upper half of the man detaches in a surreal, surgical cleanliness. You stare, mouth agape. It takes you a second to process the execution you’ve just witnessed, but the ear-shattering screech swiftly wakes you out of your trance.

Escaping from an entire pack of ancient predators feels rather futile, but that doesn't stop you from crawling up the steep hill, hoping the damned creatures can't follow. Had you known your comfortable car ride required survival skills, you would've worn a different pair of pants.

What's even more ridiculous is the nature of your perpetrator. Of course, you tell yourself, you had to trust a company that can't differentiate between the Cretaceous and the Jurassic. What's one or two million years? What's one or two dead humans in the grand statistics of their park?

You finally reach the top of the hill, and trip over some overgrown roots. Your collapse is cushioned by the scarce bushes patching the ground. Suddenly, you feel the branches vibrating against your burnt cheeks. Dear Lord, futile indeed. The heavy, bulky legs of the Carnotaurus approach you in a chaotic trample, nonchalantly stepping over your last bits of hope.

Knees scraping against the rocks, you close your eyes and shield your face, bent over like some beggar awaiting punishment. You're petrified. Did the guide feel anything when his innards stretched and tore under the unforgiving mouth?

The rough, scaly skin of the monster brushes against the back of your thighs. There it is! Flesh coming undone, bones giving in to the...wait. What are they doing, exactly? You subtly tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange event.

It seems that your resigned position has given them different ideas. The horned beasts investigate your scent with peculiar interest. A brief altercation ensues, in which they lock their horns together and their tails swing around threateningly, nearly crushing you in their blind aggression. You cry out and try to distance yourself from the thundering scene, but a clawed foot pins you back into the ground.

You suspect your present captor is the winner of the conflict, standing above you triumphantly as the others wait aside. Is this the part where you become a grand meal? Its enormous teeth graze your clothing, and the threads come undone.

In a most unexpected turn of events, it's you who ends up stuffed. You don't know what pain to focus on: your back hurts from the rhythmic swaying, bare skin grating against the parched earth; your privacy is burning from the sudden, invasive stretch, as the creature buries itself deeper with each hungry pound.

Eventually, a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. The thrusts become smoother, your legs weaker. Shameless moans begin to roll out of your drooling mouth, and you hold onto the Carnotaurus' rugged hips. Its mouth is slightly open, panting and groaning, blowing hot air against your already feverish body.

Your own high is interrupted by a thick, hot wave of fluid abruptly crashing against your inner walls. The beast detaches itself from you, leaving you heaving, dripping and sighing in disappointment. The least you could've gotten from this erotic absurdity was a decent orgasm.

Your naked body is suddenly shrouded in shadow. You look up to see a different member of the pack positioning itself between your legs. Glancing at the others, a horrifying, perverted thought occurs to you: they're taking turns, fucking you relentlessly.

Perhaps you will get your chance, after all. Or multiple.

[notjustjavierpena]

Gush

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Just pure filth.

Summary: Joel, your dad’s best friend, teaches you how to come with your clit untouched.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), dad’s best friend, daddy kink (yeah it was bound to happen), pet names, innocence kink, age gap, dirty talk, fingering, squirting, only very brief piv sex, unprotected sex

Word count: 1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48494866

Gush

You let out a frustrated groan as you look up at the ceiling, arms crossed over your chest and with the prettiest pout that Joel has ever seen displayed on anyone’s face. He sits on his knees in front of your naked body, cock heavy between his legs but with no intention of using it on you and thus making you even more bitter about the situation.

“It’s not going to happen, daddy,” you say as you avoid Joel’s soft eyes. He rubs a hand over your naked belly, skimming it across the sensitive skin below your belly button. He isn’t going to give up. 

“Well, no, not if ya don’t relax,” he says with a smug chuckle. You try to cross your legs to get him to go away, but he catches you by your ankles and places each of your feet flat on the bed again, “Stay, sweetheart. We’ll keep going until we get it right.”

You’ve been at it for what feels like hours now, but Joel hasn’t made you come yet with your clit untouched but oh, you have been on the brink so many times that your cunt is throbbing and a steadily growing pool of arousal is forming on his bedsheets. It’s beginning to feel ridiculous, especially when he bats your hand away when you try to take matters into your own hands. 

“Daddy knows exactly how you touch yourself, I don’t needa see it again,” he had told you after your third attempt to sneak a hand down to your clit. 

Now, you’ve given up coming anytime soon, but Joel is still determined as ever. He runs his thick fingers through your folds once more to slick up his fingers, then twists his wrist and inserts two fingers into your already stretched pussy. 

“You know,” you say after a soft moan, deciding to look down once again to see his digits stretch you open, “I have to be home for dinner in an hour. Dad’s lighting up the barbecue.” 

“He told me he was getting it out for the first time this summer,” he small talks back at you, curling his fingers inside of you and finding your eyes with his own, “There, yeah?”

He rubs once and you nod, moaning as he starts up a rhythm of his fingers slowly fucking against your g-spot. You shift a little, relax a bit further into the mattress and let your knees fall out to the sides. 

“Don’t think of anything from now on, just of this,” he says quietly, pumping his digits in and out of you. 

It starts out completely the same, and it’s enough to make you want to cuss at him. You know better than that though, and let out a whine, “It’s not going to work. Just rub my clit, daddy, please. It hurts now.” 

“Shut up, I got something I want to try,” he coaxes your orgasm a little further. It’s the same build-up; something pooling in the pits of your stomach and tugging from inside your womb, but God, you need that little extra thing to tip you over the edge. 

Or do you? Something changes then, and you realize that Joel’s other hand is resting just above your pubic bone. He pushes down gently and gradually speeding up his fingers, creating more pressure and friction inside of you. 

“What’re…?” You let out a gasp that even surprises yourself, your toes starting to curl and your clit starting to pulse as if begging to be paid attention to, “Touch my clit. Please, oh— f— Joel, daddy. Touch it. Keep going, no, touch it.”

“No,” he says, beckoning your orgasm closer with his fingers. He makes a come-hither motion over and over again, keeping his other hand still on your belly until he can feel his fingers moving inside your cunt, “Wanna see that cute fucking clit pulse just for me, ain’t gonna be able to see it if my fingers are on it, baby girl.”

You panic a little when a new sensation starts coming from inside of you. It’s a form of pressure that you’re familiar with but not during sex, and you start thrashing a little to get him off, “Joel! Joel, I swear, I— I’m gonna pee. If you don’t stop, I’ll… oh my God, Joel, I’m fucking serious. You’re gonna make me— make me…”

You come with a high-pitched moan as all the tension in your body snaps. Every nerve-ending in your clit is on fire with sweet contractions of pleasure, and suddenly your whole heartbeat goes straight to between your thighs as your cunt spasms from clit to slit. It wants something more though, because your legs won’t stop violently shaking, and Joel seems to know exactly what that is. 

Without saying a thing, he removes his fingers from you and you fear that you might actually have pissed his bed because, without warning, a wet gush has stained the sheets between him and you. 

His fingers enter you once more, and you’re ready to cry as he causes another gush of clear liquid to squirt onto the mattress. It feels so fucking good despite how embarrassing it feels, climax slowly fading as he repeats the move a few more times. 

You collapse completely when he finally lets go of you with both his hands. You’re panting softly into the bedroom, and he gets the shirt he had worn earlier off the floor to cover the stained sheets. 

“Holy shit, the princess squirts,” Joel laughs as he crawls on top of you, but it’s a laugh filled with wonder and excitement. He looks younger like this, you think.

He hovers above you, reaches down to guide his hard cock inside of your still sensitive cunt. Both of you gasp in unison, but you’ve never heard his voice so cocky, “You, young lady, are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen when you come like that.” 

It’s enough to make any sense of embarrassment go away, and you can’t wait to ask him to do it again. 

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[ghoulphile]

it's always the quiet ones | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | pre-war cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 700 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; oral (m receiving), throat fucking, choking, dirty talk, bathroom sex ➥ summary | based off this ask; We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls (like @ghoulfuckersincorporated mentioned!), but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack? ➥ notes | i humbly offer this drabble to @gingersforeverbox 🙈 masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

At least, that’s what Cooper’s mama always said (and he wouldn’t know how right she was until he found himself shoved in a swanky club bathroom, slacks tucked under his ass as the prettiest — politest — lady choked herself with his cock).

Frankly, how he got here’s a hazy blur of bourbon and cigar smoke.

Whispered conversations and coy looks. The flash of cherry red nails, and a well timed head tilt; a pretty little thing cozied against him as nameless faces passed in and out of view.

Another pointless after party (though far smaller of an event than he used to pull) where vultures circled the room, waiting for their chance to pick at his bones. LA devotee’s ready to snap up the scraps of the once great Cooper Howard.

Dog eat dog; he couldn’t stand the petty games —the mindless indulgences.

So, he’d invited you as a buffer.

An acquaintanceship that’d gone back years, having met on set of one of his earlier productions, you were always cordial and had a kind word to say about anybody. Not a mean bone in that body… or so he’d thought.

Now, he’s not so sure he knows you half as well as he thought he did.

“Fuck!”

Air hisses through his teeth, his hands hovering over the sides of your head, unsure where to grip. Your hair looks awfully pretty (like it took a long time to force into shape), he’d hate to ruin the style. But if you keep trying to suck his soul out through his cock, he might just have to sink his fingers into those delicate curls and yank.

“S-Sweetheart, what are you — oh, ssshit.”

You peer up at him from beneath the spiky fan of your lashes and hum. His hips jump and you choke, your tongue pinned as your teeth scrape along his thick shaft.

Spit drips past your swollen lips, clings to your chin in sticky strings. The lower half of your face is a mess of smeared lipstick and pre-cum.

He pants, gazing down at you with awe. “How’re you so fucking good at this?”

He’s so big, stretching your mouth to the limit. A tender ache sets behind the hinge of your jaw, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Those half-lidded eyes, dark and hungry, make it all worth it. The slack circle of his mouth, the pained furrow of his brows as he wrestles with his self control all the payment you require.

You pop off; trace along the throbbing vein with your tongue as the heavy weight of his cock slips free with a wet suction. Your thighs clench and your toes curl in your heels at the low-throated groan punched from his chest.

“Practice makes perfect, don’t you think, Mr Howard?” you press a sloppy kiss to his leaking slit, lapping up the salty beads of fluid. Your fingers roll his balls, dragging the tips of your nails along the sensitive skin to watch him shiver. “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at me.”

His eyes flick off to the side, blowing wide once he catches your reflections in the mirror. He gulps, his knuckles white beside his hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“Please, spare me.”

You snort, roll your eyes and shoot him a catty grin. Laugh when his cock throbs at the teasing flash of your tongue.

“You’re sweet — as true a gentleman as they come — but you can’t fool me. You’ve wanted me since you met me... and I don't get my best dress dirty for just anyone.”

“...”

“Now, before you try to say otherwise, remember whose on their knees with your cock in their mouth.”

“...No. Y-You’re right but I… I shouldn’t want to.”

You wink, circle the crown of his head with a red nail. More pre-cum dribbles from the slit, sticky drops you kiss away with your tongue.

“It’s okay, Mr Howard,” you say. “I want you too. Now do us both a favor and fuck my throat until I can’t talk. Please, I want it to hurt — want you to make me cry.”

[heliads]

want you, need you - minho

Ever since you became a Med-Jack, Minho can't seem to stop collecting random injuries that absolutely require your attention. You might be catching on.

masterlist

The Med-Jack hut is either overwhelmingly busy or frustratingly slow, no in between. There are days when every single room in the place is crammed full of patients– somehow, every Slicer manages to cut themselves, and every Builder breaks a bone– and you wish you had picked any other job than this one. The busy days are rough. You start wondering what might happen if you stopped being able to put people back together as quickly as they fall apart. You think about the endless cycle of injury and healing until everyone wears out entirely, a map of bandages and skin pressed thin like dead leaves.

Those are the hopeless days. Then, you’ll have a dry spell, when everyone manages to get their stuff together and no one complains of sprained ankles or excessive sunburns. At that point, you start twiddling your thumbs and mindlessly organizing and reorganizing the medical supplies. By the end, you almost start wishing people would get hurt just so you’d have something to do. It’s an uncharitable thought, certainly, and one you regret once you’re stuck in the middle of another hurricane of aching Gladers, but when there’s nothing else to do, it comes nonetheless.

You’ve found yourself in the middle of another boring week. For the past few days, the Slicers have remembered how to hold their knives so they chop the animals and not themselves, the Builders hit their nails with their hammers instead of their thumbs, and the Runners don’t give themselves cramps and stay in perfect health.

Well. Not every Runner.

Even during the most boring stretches of your admittedly short career as a Med-Jack, you can guarantee that you’ll have one specific patient. Just like clockwork, every few days a certain dark-haired, teasing someone shadows your door, complaining of overworked tendons, pulled hamstrings, heatstroke, and every other medical condition under the sun. If Minho can think it up, he’ll say he’s got it.

It’s honestly becoming ridiculous. For someone who’s such a capable Runner, it is truly remarkable that he survives so many ailments. One would think he would give up running entirely if it gave him this much grief. Yet every day, Minho sets out for the Maze with a cheerful disposition, and at least two times a week, he appears in the Med-Jack hut, sporting some new injury that materialized at some point during the day.

So, when you look up from labeling the medicine cabinet for what must be the dozenth time this month, and realize that you haven’t seen the Keeper of the Runners in a few days, you know that it’s about time for him to come down with the flu, a severe migraine, or maybe both at once.

True to form, you’ve barely finished going through the medications on one shelf of the cabinet when Jeff, one of your fellow Med-Jacks, comes into the room. “You have a patient,” he says impatiently. “Guess who?”

You roll your eyes, although you can’t help a small smile. “Can’t you handle Minho yourself?”

Jeff gives you a look. “I tried. He told me he wanted to wait for a professional. Figures.”

You snort. “You’ve been here longer than I have.”

“I told him that,” Jeff complains. “This might surprise you, but he didn’t care.”

“Tell him again,” you say, turning back to the pill bottle you’re labeling. “I’m busy.”

Jeff heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’m not wasting my time with that. He’s your problem, go fix him.”

You shoot him a confused glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Jeff retorts, reaching over to grab the bottle out of your hands. “Ever since you started here, Minho randomly comes over all the time. You know he used to hate visiting the Med-Jacks before you arrived? Now he can’t stop showing up.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you protest weakly.

Jeff sighs again, so deeply you swat him on the shoulder. “That’s klunk and we both know it. The data doesn’t lie, Y/N.”

“There’s no data,” you argue, but Jeff’s already waving you out of the room. 

You make a face at him, then go down the hall until you find Minho waiting in one of the smaller rooms meant for patients. He’s poking at some supplies on a small table in a corner of the room, but he straightens up excitedly when he sees you.

“Doc! I’m so glad you’re here.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “What have you done to yourself now, Minho?”

“That’s no way to treat a patient,” Minho frowns exaggeratedly. “Whatever happened to bedside manner?”

“You got bedside manner the first ten times you showed up for no reason,” you tell him pointedly. “After that, you get whatever I feel like. You should be happy I’m still giving you bandages. We only have so many, you know that? Maybe I’ll start charging you a fee.”

“I can pay,” Minho says lazily, leaning forward so you can feel his breath hot on the side of your face. One of his hands starts to curl around your side, pulling you closer to him.

Dangerous, he is. You idly push him away with your palm, pretending to examine the supplies he’d been poking at earlier so you have time for the heat to leave your face. “How about you just tell me what’s wrong with you this time?”

Minho sighs dramatically. “Well, since you care so much, I’ll have to tell you that I’ve broken an ankle. It hurts so bad. This might be it for me, Y/N.”

You arch a brow. “Which ankle?”

He pauses a moment, thinking. “Left.”

“You’re standing on it just fine right now,” you point out.

Immediately, Minho shifts all of his weight onto his right leg, grabbing the back of a nearby chair for support. “No, I’m not. Look, I can’t bear the pain. It hurts.”

You just look at him. Minho looks back at you, unable to stop the corners of his lips from curling up into a proud half-smile. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” You ask.

He gasps. “Y/N. Are you trying to discredit your own patients? Some Med-Jack you are. I bet Clint would trust me.”

“Then go talk to Clint,” you say, making for the door.

Minho hurries over, flinging out an arm to close the door before you can open it. “Wait, wait. I didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You’re the only Med-Jack for me, I swear it. Clint is nothing to me.”

You take an obvious glance towards his feet. “That ankle sure seems to be healing fast, huh? You moved over here like it was nothing.”

Minho leans his back against the door. “Alright, you got me. Nothing’s wrong with the ankle. Still, my lungs have been feeling exhausted lately, that might be something–”

“That’s because you run everywhere,” you say, grinning in spite of yourself at his antics. “Come on, Minho, you’ll have to get a better excuse someday.”

“My bad for wanting to see you,” he returns. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. I miss you,” he adds a little quietly.

It makes you smile in earnest this time. “So you’re here to be a good friend, then.”

“Yeah,” Minho says, and you might be kidding yourself but you swear he sounds almost disappointed, “A good friend. That’s me.”

You tap him gently on the arm to get him to move from the door. “How about I promise to find you straight after my shift ends, and you agree to leave without using any more of my medical supplies? Jeff’s going to kill you if we run through anymore bandages, I swear it.”

Minho pretends to think this over. “Straight after? You promise?”

“I promise,” you repeat. “So? Do we have a deal?”

“We do,” he intones solemnly, and at last lets you open the door and usher him out, but only after extracting one more promise that you won’t delay to talk to Newt or anyone else once Jeff lets you out.

When you get back to the storage room, you find Jeff waiting for you, grinning knowingly from ear to ear. It bothers you for some reason, not the fact that he’s on this topic again but worse, the thought that he might not be entirely wrong for it.

“Wipe that look off your face,” you mutter.

Jeff’s grin just broadens. “How was your star patient?”

“Fantastic,” you assure him, “And I’d be fantastic too, if you could stop bothering me with whatever weird thing you’re thinking about right now.”

Jeff shrugs exaggeratedly. “Of course. I don’t know why anyone would think about Minho being unable to go three days without talking to you. That would be crazy.”

“It would be,” you add darkly. People in the Glade have said that you have a tendency for killer death stares. However, Jeff seems to be impervious to it, because he just keeps sitting there, proud as anything, as if he were in the right about this.

As if. This isn’t the first time your friends have tried to suggest there’s something going on between you and Minho, and the honest truth is that nothing has happened at all. Yeah, Minho’s your best friend, and yeah, your days are significantly better when you see as much of him as possible. What about it? It doesn’t mean a thing. Life is hard. If you want to talk to the boy who makes you laugh like no one else, you should be able to do it in peace.

You can’t deny that the rumors stay on your mind, and recently, you haven’t been able to deny them with as much conviction as usual. You’re not blind, Minho is good-looking, and maybe you start thinking about something past friendship when he makes another excuse to get in your personal space when you’re sitting together by the fire or walking through the Glade. 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before, but as good as it might be to have Minho in every way that matters, you’ll still be perfectly happy with just the one. You can’t risk your friendship, even if, two drinks of Gally’s brew into a Bonfire Night, you start thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, or worse still, when Minho drops by the Med-Jack hut again, you convince yourself that maybe he’s not just doing it because he’s a good friend but because he wants you just like you want him.

It can’t be, though. For one thing, Minho is notoriously confident. If he liked you, he would have told you by now. You’ve seen him argue with Gally for the fun of it, not to mention the fact that he chose to be a Runner of all things. Minho lives on a constant adrenaline rush. Compared to what he does on a daily basis, confessing his feelings has to be nothing major. If he wanted to tell you, he would, and he hasn’t, so obviously there isn’t anything to tell at all.

For another, and this might just be in your own head, but Minho is so brave and capable that he seems to eclipse everything around him. Maybe it’s just the force of your own perspective, but you swear the entire Glade orbits around him. When he gets back from a run, he’s immediately swarmed by Gladers asking him about how it was, if he saw anything important. He’s always the first person people talk to, the immediate choice for a dinnertime companion. Minho could have anything he wanted in the Glade. So why would he want you?

You’ve managed to force the whole thing from your mind as best you can. Minho is your friend. At least you can have him like that, even if it kills you sometimes to look at him and imagine all the ways you would love him if he would just give you the chance. Any good medic can keep their feelings internal when they need it, and you’re the best there is.

You meet Minho later that night as promised, and you do your utmost to pretend everything is normal. You stay with him until the sun sinks below the horizon, until the Doors slam shut, until the moon begins its familiar path across the sky. You talk the whole while, idle chatter that occasionally drifts off into comfortable quiet. You’ve never been able to do that with anyone before, feel so at ease that you can stay silent for minutes at a time and have it not be awkward, but with Minho, it’s so simple. Then again, you can hardly remember anyone at all. Maybe there was someone in the past who mattered to you just as much as Minho does now. Even without your memories, though, that feels impossible. Minho could have no substitute, not to you.

You’re expecting the next day to pass in a breeze of idle hours, but around midafternoon, your dreary day of organization and the occasional bad paper cut is harshly interrupted by the sound of chaos outside. There’s shouting for a Med-Jack, and then several people are rushing someone in. It’s a Runner, apparently, you hear the details as you run for supplies. The Maze started moving during the day and he got hurt.

You can tell from the way people start nervously looking at you that it’s bad. At first, they don’t say any names, but then you burst into the chamber that serves as your operating room and you know that it’s worse than you could have possibly imagined, for not only does it seem like there’s enough blood to drench the Glade, but the victim isn’t Ben or one of the other Runners, it’s Minho. Your Minho. Your Minho, bleeding out on your table, who will need you to save him.

You stand there for one fragile moment, drenched in horror, then spring into action. Clint and Jeff have surfaced by now, and you direct them to anesthetize Minho. You want him to feel as little of this as possible. After carefully cutting open his shirt to determine the source of all that awful blood, you determine that it’s not as bad as you thought, more of a broad surface wound than a deep puncture. That much blood loss is dangerous, though, and he’ll need several stitches to close the flesh.

About an hour and a half later, you’re done. You and the other Med-Jacks lean back, panting heavily. Your hands and clothes are smeared with red, but color has crept back into Minho’s cheeks, and he’s starting to breathe evenly again.

“How long until he wakes up?” You ask Clint.

He checks a nearby clock, then Minho’s pulse. “Fifteen minutes, probably, but he won’t be fully conscious for up to an hour.”

You nod. “That’s good. Clear out, you guys. Get some rest.”

Jeff stops by you on the way out. “You can stay with him if you want. He’d be glad to see you when he wakes up.”

You let out a slow breath. “Thanks, Jeff.”

He pats you on the back then leaves to wash up. You spare the time to scrub your hands and get on a fresh change of clothes, but head back to Minho as soon as you can. Ben was with him when the accident happened, he said that everything happened so fast he hardly knew what went down. You don’t want Minho to wake up alone and confused, covered in bandages and unable to shake the scent of blood.

Once the immediate danger is over, you’re left sitting in a chair by Minho’s cot. His chest is swathed in bandages, but no red has flowered through them yet, which is a good sign. As you watch, the fingers on his right hand start to twitch. Clint said he would start to stir around now, and you’re glad to see the signs of movement. Watching him there– so still, so motionless– it made you wonder if he would wake up. It made you wonder if there was any way you could survive if he didn’t.

Minho is starting to make small sounds of distress under his breath, so you lean over and take his hand, squeezing it carefully but comfortingly. “Hey, hey. It’s me. You’re safe.”

You hear the ghost of your name in his whisper, and then Minho starts to quiet down again, restless rustles turning back into quiet breathing. You check his heart rate with your free hand and are glad to see it returning to normal, shaking off the lethargy of the anesthesia.

Minho sleeps for a little longer. Afraid to upset him, you keep your hand in his. You can tell when he wakes again, because his fingers start to press against yours. Consciousness comes upon him like a wave beating upon the shore. All of a sudden, his eyes are blinking open, and then he’s trying to sit up too fast and is forced back down to the cot by a bout of dizziness.

“Easy,” you tell him, pressing him back. “Don’t try to sit yet. The meds aren’t out of your system.”

“Y/N?” Minho asks, voice hoarse.

Hearing the scratchiness of his voice, so totally removed from the usual confident cadence of his words, makes your throat close up. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Hey, Doc,” he says roughly. “Jeff won’t give me klunk about the bandages now, will he?”

“No, he won’t,” you say, torn between laughter and outright sobs. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

“All good,” Minho tells you. “What about Ben? Is he okay?”

“Ben is fine,” you assure him. “You’re the one we’re worried about, Minho. I knew the Maze was dangerous, but like this–”

He cuts you off, squeezing your hand. “Hey, all in a day’s work. I knew the risks when I went in.”

You shake your head, hot tears starting to well up in your eyes. “No, no. This isn’t fair. You’re not supposed to get hurt during the day. Minho, I didn’t even know anything happened, and then they brought you in, and there was so much blood– I thought I was going to lose you, and I didn’t even get to tell you–”

Even in the midst of your tears, you have the presence of mind to stop yourself before you give yourself away. It’s just– the thought had not abandoned you the whole time he slept, even the whole time you operated, that you could lose him without ever having him at all.

Minho shakes his head as best he can. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

“But you almost weren’t,” you whisper. “What if Ben hadn’t been able to get you back in time?”

You take a ragged breath, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. Your shoulders shake, and Minho leans up slightly, as if drawn to it. To you.

“You’re pretty even when you cry,” Minho says, one hand weakly rising up to brush a tear from your cheek. “How is that fair?”

You laugh haltingly, in between the tears. “Barely awake five minutes, and you’re already flirting.”

He grins. “It’s all I want to do.”

If this were any other day, you would be able to brush off that comment, but something about this moment, this space– no one else in the room, Minho’s palm still tenderly cradling your cheek, your heart still erratic from the stress– you can’t help but turn the words over and over in your mind. All I want to do. All I want to do.

“Minho–” You start.

“Shh,” he says. “You already know that. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen through it. My smart girl. All those times I came to see you. Don’t say you haven’t realized.”

“Minho–”

“Newt says I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t keep trying to have something that isn’t mine. But I’ll tell you something, Y/N, I’m selfish, and I’m greedy. I want you, and I don’t want to think about you with anyone else but me.”

Your breath is harsh in your chest, heart beating so loud you’re certain they must hear it echoing all across the Glade.

Minho’s eyes are fixed directly on yours. He sits up carefully, enough to reach his other hand up past your waist to the small of your back. “Tell me you don’t want me, or I’m not going to stop trying to keep you. Tell me to stop.”

Your lips part as you try to form an answer. Minho’s eyes dart down to the movement, and they only rise to your gaze with great reluctance. “I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him at last. “I want you, Minho. Only you.”

Two years now, you’ve known Minho. You’ve seen him proud and defiant, laughing and joyous and as happy as anyone could hope to be. Still, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile as brightly as he does right now, right before he kisses you.

Every touch is electric, and this is the most powerful of all. Your mind is reeling from the moment your lips meet, sending you far beyond the reaches of the Maze to the sky itself. You could be floating forever if you wanted, and you only start to gradually come back to earth when he slowly breaks away.

“Minho,” you say, hesitating over every syllable.

“Y/N,” he mimics, lips turned up in an irrepressible smile.

“They’re going to want to know that you’re awake. I promised I’d get the others,” you tell him.

He considers this for a moment. “They don’t need to know immediately, do they?”

You smile. “No.”

Minho’s eyes glint. “Then kiss me again. You can tell them after.”

It seems like a fair deal to you. You kiss him to make sure of it.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss,

@hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list:

@wordsarelife

[b38rman]

READ YOUR MIND ᯓ★ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, slight miscommunication, loosely inspired by the sabrina carpenter song of the same name

synopsis - This was definitely not on the marketing internship job offering for Prema Racing. You swore you had everything under control before this—before Ollie Bearman took up most of the weekend's agenda.

rating - teen and up readers

warnings - slightly suggestive ending

a/n - i wrote this before ollie was announced as a 2025 f1 driver and the slight implications of dread related to that uncertainty are littered throughout this work so just keep that in mind (or not) enjoy!

Thursday — Spain, 2024

The unmistakable sound of the hotel doorbell rang through your room. Admittedly, the best time to go to sleep had already passed you by at this point, considering the 7 AM lobby call time the team had for you. Unfortunately, the restlessness that could only be attributed to constant location changes seeped into your bones.

You got up, trying to dispell the feeling populating your gut. Perhaps, more than anything, it was the dull influx of certainty. You were still learning how to get used to this.

You opened the door slightly, just enough to see who was on the other side. 

“Took you long enough.” The familiar rumble of Ollie’s voice filled your ears, as he pushed his way into your bedroom.

At this point, you were 100% sure that any of this was not part of any of the contracts Prema made you sign when they offered you the internship. No matter how much you looked between the lines of wage and non-disclosures, you wouldn’t find what you and Ollie had anywhere.

It was just that it was becoming a routine at this point. From the beginning of the season, Ollie seemingly couldn’t find a better victim than you for his late night musings. You tried to gently reprimand him at first, telling him off about his bedtime and his racing and all of the things he’d scoff at you for and turn a stubbornly deaf ear towards.

Ollie rounded the room slowly, his white sleep shirt and flannel pajamas contrasting against your worn summer camp shirt and cotton shorts. You felt overexposed, as you always did in these situations. 

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” Ollie asked, mindlessly making his way to your side of the bed.

You thought about it for a second before responding, “Nope, too tired to be that stressed out.”

Ollie hummed in acknowledgment before laying back onto your bed, phone in hand, with his legs still dangling over the edge. He always took your side of the bed, despite it very obviously being rumpled and occupied.

You climbed onto the other side and tucked yourself in under the sheets. As if on instinct, Ollie moved his head upward, resting it on your stomach, before locking his phone and setting it on his chest. 

“I just feel a bit odd, you know? Like everyone says so many good things about me but really, I haven’t done anything.” He looked to the ceiling as he rambled. “I have another FP1 tomorrow and all I can think about is how I don’t know how to be what people want me to be. I don’t know how to keep being good, or how to really be good; will people even look back and think I was good?” 

“That’s some bad imposter syndrome you got there, huh?” You stretched your hand out and lightly laid it on his head, stretching your fingers against the expanse of brown waves. Ollie leaned into the touch, shutting his eyes.

“The only thing that should matter is who you want to be.” You grinned fondly at him, even if he couldn’t see it. “Besides, you’re way too young to be worrying stuff like that.”

“We’re the same age.” He opened his eyes just to look at you as he said that. 

“And do you see me worrying about my legacy?” You joked, earning a toothy smile and a roll of eyes from Ollie. 

At every moment you’ve spent with Ollie so far, he’s not felt like someone that appears on national television broadcasts or on carefully curated Pinterest boards. You could almost see yourself looking across the lecture hall, seeing him, and wondering if he was really paying attention or just browsing on his laptop.

Instead, he was one of the boys you’d keep track of social media appearances for. You managed his filming schedules for both long-form and short-form videos, and wove through seas of people and motorhomes with him to find a spot to record his little post-race briefs. You weren’t assigned to him specifically, but it usually was you and him most of the time.

“It’s, um, getting late.” You tried not to be too awkward about untangling your hand from Ollie’s hair. “I think you should get some rest.”

You waited for him to complete the final part of this routine you had going, wherein he’d sleepily walk to his own bedroom and you’d fall asleep in your own fully warmed bed. 

Except for the fact that he didn’t do that at all. 

“Could I just stay here? I don’t really want to be alone right now.” You felt Ollie shift ever so slightly from where he was, head still resting on you.

Questions on professionality and ethics rang through your mind one after another. 

“Are you sure?” Was all you could muster. 

Ollie seemed to recognize your concern without you voicing it. After all, you weren’t particularly discreet about any of it. 

“I’ll just wake up earlier, it’ll be fine.” He finally raised his head and began setting an alarm for five in the morning. Part of you knew it was futile. Considering everything, it was a bold move, considering that it was just past midnight.

You watched him mindlessly, as he turned all the lights off, only leaving the light from the bathroom peaking out through a slight opening in its door. For a moment, you let yourself think of a time and place where this was a normal occurrence—one where him curling up in bed next to you in near complete darkness felt like a grounding force instead of a guilt-inducing one.

You turned to face away from where he was laying, opting to try and not make this any weirder than it could be. 

“Good night.” He said regardless. “Sweet dreams.” He said, in a softer voice, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear him. 

You could feel his body near yours, almost as if the full size bed was too cramped for the two of you. 

“Sweet dreams, Ollie.” You replied.

You felt him roll over to his back as you drifted off to sleep. 

Friday

Your eyes shot open at the sound of an iPhone alarm going off, obviously being the one Ollie set a few hours prior. What you didn’t immediately process was the arm wrapped around your waist, and the soft snores coming from the face that was nuzzled into your hair. Your heart was pounding. 

“Ollie,” You lightly shook the arm that was over you. “Ollie, wake up.”

You were only met with a long grunt and a tightened grip.

“Ollie, please, come on.” You tried sitting up to give him a bit more of a hint, displacing his arm on you.

Finally, he rolled over, turning off his alarm. The sun was barely out yet, and you saw him squinting at you through his sleepy eyes. 

“I don’t want to go.” He said softly and groggily, toying with a loose string on your worn shirt. 

“You have to.” You replied with every ounce of control in your body.

Ollie grunted faintly before stretching his arms over his head, silently sitting up and making his way out of the door as quickly as he came through it. 

Everything kept moving into the next day. You’d comprehensively briefed Kimi in the morning on his share of marketing activities over breakfast and sneaked some Live at Prema footage here and there, with Ollie notably paying less attention and getting called by some F1 media members midway. 

The constant elephant in the room was the tinge of disappointment the team felt due to Ollie’s slightly lackluster feeder performances in direct comparison to all of the F1 hype surrounding him, which no amount of sarcastic humor from the team could conceal. 

Despite everything that happened the night prior, everything remained calm and professional (he barely acknowledged you outside of what he needed to do, which was both a relief and a punch to the gut). 

Between photoshoots and practice sessions, you’d spotted Ollie from afar. Barely anyone could get a hold of him after free practice, as he was justifiably rushing between garages. 

He was up and down the paddock clad in his black Haas shirt, clearly moving with an air of confidence that filled your chest with something you couldn’t describe. This Ollie felt worlds away, which brought you as much joy and pride as it did a hint of melancholy. You were still figuring out what he was making you feel, but at times like this, he felt worlds away.

You were pulled away from your thoughts as quickly as they came to you, as you engrossed yourself in content with the F1 Academy drivers. When you weren’t doing that, you were organizing paperwork, analyzing metrics, and sifting through footage on your phone and camera.

The feeling you suppressed earlier only returned as the F1 cars hit the track. You thought about how near he felt at present, just at touching distance in the space between your hotel room and Grisignano de Zocco; but you also thought about how faraway everything would become after Prema, and how much you’d have to feel if you allowed yourself to let your guard down around Ollie.

After all, every sane racing driver would hope that feeder wouldn’t be forever. Deep inside you, though, you wished this feeling wouldn’t just be hidden in the footnotes of what would become Ollie’s career. Nevertheless, the sheer idea of wanting someone who was literally the face of a future generation of racing amidst the backdrop of him being capable of being wanted by every other person in the world felt incredibly absurd and daunting to say the least. 

(The two of you weren’t even anything. You weren’t really sure about these thoughts.)

After your rumination and the inevitable conclusion of the free practice session, you continued your work as you were directed to. It was entirely a coincidence, though, that your next duties included bringing parts of Ollie’s race kit and his water to his area in the shared driver’s area in preparation for qualifying. As every internship went, you often had miscellaneous work to fulfill.

Kimi had already finished his personal preparations for qualifying, already looking over last minute data, while Ollie was running late due to his prior commitment. The air was undeniably stress-ridden, as your first real encounter of the race day with Ollie was him scrambling to get into his overalls and suit, but you set everything down calmly while pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Was starting to think you didn’t miss me at all.” Ollie was the first to break the silence, imploring you to look up at him.

Warmth filled your body at his words. For a moment, you worried that he knew he had some type of effect on you, but you quickly pulled yourself together mentally. 

“One less person to persuade to listen to my content briefs.” You shrugged, smiling at him playfully, almost daring him to retaliate. 

As the rush caught up to both of you, the only cohesive answer to your banter that he gave you before exiting into the garage was a soft squeeze on your forearm. 

“We’re friends, right?” Ollie asked, already tucking himself into your bed without hesitation.

Once Ollie was done slumping over in qualifying debriefs with the team, he made his way to your room again. It was the same routine as last night, just with a lot less talking.

The thing is, you weren’t saying anything either. That in itself said a lot.

You looked at him, eyebrows scrunched together. “Yes?”

Well, you were sharing a bed, tucked under the same sheets, staring face to face at each other in the dim yellow light of your Barcelona hotel room. 

“Maybe? I don’t know, Ollie—“ You second-guessed for a moment before continuing, “—I’m literally an intern. We work together, technically.” 

Ollie’s face twisted into something unreadable. His eyes shifted to the side as he mouthed the word ‘technically’ under his breath. 

“I mean, I guess we could be friends if you want.” You followed up. God, you felt ridiculous for having a conversation that sounded like this. 

He took a breath, deep and slow. “I want a lot of things,”He answered.

Ollie looked at right you, eyes so big, bright, and endless.

“I know.” You replied impulsively, in a voice barely above a whisper. 

He got so dangerously close to you that you could feel the warmths of his breaths on your face. 

“You don’t.” The weight of his gaze felt like it was melting you from the inside out. “You really don’t.” 

Ollie closed the gap between the two of you, his dry lips engulfing yours for what felt like an eternity, despite it being maybe a five-second peck at most. When he pulled away, you were breathing like he’d taken all of the air out of your lungs just from the sheer pace your heart was beating at.

A look of uncertainty flashed across his almost annoyingly pretty face. The kiss was so sweet, and you hated to be the one to make him question himself.

“We shouldn’t.” You said in conjuction with your uncontrollable heartbeats and air-filled breaths. 

“Then tell me you don’t want this.” Ollie challenged, laying one calloused, warm hand on your cheek.

“Ollie—“ You tried to protest. Every logical part of your brain was telling you how wrong all of this was, and how stupid you were for letting this happen in the first place.

In spite of all that, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You couldn’t lie to him for the life of you. 

You wanted this so bad. All you could do was want.

You laid your cold hand atop the one cupping your face, and let yourself look back at the earnest look on his face. You felt overexposed, sensitive all over like you’d been put out in the sun for too long.

“Please.” You could barley manage words, but you finally let yourself lean into him to erase every seed of doubt planted in his mind. 

The movement of your lips against one another quickly turned hot and heavy, and you let Ollie take and take everything he could’ve wanted. His hand wandered down to your neck and achingly close to your chest, as his kisses migrated down to your neck.

“We—ah—we really shouldn’t be doing this,” You weakly attempted to be rational, even if your hand was tangled in his hair and heat was quickly pooling between your thighs.

In response, he dove right below your collar bone, beginning with a bite and continuing with not-so-subtly marking you there, coaxing a mix between a gasp, wimper, and a soft moan out of you. 

It was glaringly obvious that he didn’t care all that much.

[n0vazsq]

Goddess | OB87 x Reader

pairing . . . ollie bearman x singer!reader

summary . . . Oliver reassures you that beneath the glamour and expectations, he loves the real, imperfect you

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . well!! kill me rn i need to stop making oneshots about angsty songs

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The noise of the crowd still echoed in your ears as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline coursing through your veins felt like a distant memory, fading with every step you took away from the lights.

You tugged at the sequined dress that clung to your skin, each shimmering piece feeling heavier than it had on stage. The smile you had out there was gone, replaced by a familiar exhaustion that you couldn’t get rid of.

Ollie was waiting for you, just like he always was. His eyes lit up as you approached, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached for your hand, his fingers warm against your skin.

"You were amazing," he said softly, his voice filled with that awe he always had after your performances. Like he was seeing you for the first time, every time.

You forced a smile. "Thanks."

He didn’t notice the way your voice wavered, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. He led you to the car, the silence between you growing heavier with each passing moment. You stared out the window, watching the city blur past. The lights, the noise, all of it felt distant. Hollow.

When you got home, you kicked off your heels and pulled the pins from your hair, letting it fall around your shoulders. The sequins on your dress caught the light, but they felt like shackles now.

You could feel Ollie's eyes on you as you moved around the room, his gaze lingering like a weight you couldn’t shake.

"You’re quiet," he said finally.

You didn’t look at him. "I’m tired."

He stood up, his brows furrowed. "Something’s wrong. Talk to me."

The words hit you like a slap. You spun around to face him, the frustration that had been building all night finally boiling over. "You want me to talk to you, Ollie? Fine. Let’s talk. Are you surprised by me now? Now that the lights are off and I’m just… this?"

He blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

You laughed, but there was no emotion in it, no humour. "You took a star to bed, and now you’re waking up with me. Just me. No lights, no glamour. Just skin and bone. Just me!"

He opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. "You fell for the girl on stage, didn’t you? The one who sparkles under the lights, who makes you feel like you’re part of something bigger. But that’s not real, Ollie. That’s not me."

"That’s not true," he said, his voice low. "I love you. The real you."

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. "You think you do. But you love the idea of me. The version of me you’ve created in your head. The perfect, untouchable goddess. But I’m not her. I can’t be her."

His hands were trembling. "I never wanted perfect. I wanted you."

"Did you?" Your voice broke, the words barely more than a whisper. "Or did you want the fantasy? The one you could show off, the one who makes you feel like you’re living some kind of dream? Because that’s all I am to you. A dream. And dreams always end."

He took a step closer, his eyes pleading. "I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve put you on a pedestal, but it’s not… it’s not like that."

"Then what is it like, Ollie?" You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hold yourself together. "Because all I feel is… empty. Like you’re killing my light, piece by piece."

His face fell, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to lose you."

A hollow laugh escaped your lips. "You never had me. Not really. You had the version of me you thought you’d love. But I’m not your Aphrodite. I’m not a goddess. I’m just… me."

He reached out, his hand trembling as he cupped your cheek. "I don’t care about the stage. I don’t care about the lights. I care about you."

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Then why does it feel like I’m never enough?"

His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear. "Because I’m an idiot. Because I… I got so caught up in everything that I forgot… I forgot that you’re more than the girl on stage. You’re more than the image. And I’m so sorry."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. The tears came harder now, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashing down. "I can’t be perfect, Ollie. I can’t be what you want."

"I don’t want perfect." His voice broke, and you could hear the tears in it. "I just want you."

The words hung between you, fragile and uncertain. You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But the scars ran deep, the wounds of past expectations and disappointments etched into your skin.

"I’m not a goddess," you whispered.

"I know," he said, his voice raw. "You’re… you’re so much more than that."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. For the first time, you saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he always tried to hide. Maybe you weren’t the only one struggling under the weight of expectations. Maybe you weren’t the only one afraid of falling short.

The silence stretched on, but it felt different now. Softer. He pulled you into his arms, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. And maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to heal. Together.

You stayed wrapped in his arms, the silence between you filled with unspoken words. His heart beat thrummed steadily beneath your cheek, a reminder of something real, something fragile, but still there. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a silent apology, a silent promise.

"I’m scared," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Scared that if I remove everything and take it away, there’ll be nothing left for you to love."

Ollie pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "Then we’ll remove it all," he said softly. "The lights, the glamour, the expectations, everything. We’ll find out what’s real. I’m not going anywhere."

Tears welled up again, but this time, they didn’t feel like a burden. They felt like a release. "You don’t know what you’re promising."

He smiled, a soft, broken thing. "I know exactly what I’m promising. I want to know you, the real you. The one who’s scared, and strong, and human. I don’t want the goddess on stage. I want the girl standing in front of me."

You let out a shaky breath, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. "What if it’s not enough?"

He cupped your face, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "It already is. You already are."

For the first time, you let yourself believe it, just a little. Maybe he was right. Maybe love wasn’t about perfection or performance. Maybe it was about standing together in the quiet moments, stripped of everything but the raw, messy truth of who you were.

As he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, the world felt a little less heavy. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered. "Together."

And for now, that was enough.

[kingkatsuki]

Just more silly little Bakugou thoughts because I’m insane :)

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy/being pregnant.

Bakugou has such big, rough hands but he holds you so cautiously when you’re pregnant. As though the same hands that were built to protect you, could do you the most harm. It’s cute really, the way he treats you like the finest bone china, enveloping you in bubble wrap to try and shield you from all the horrors of the world. Protecting the now two most important things in his life.

“I’m not even showing yet, baby.” You laugh when he places a protective palm over your tummy as you prepare to cross the road together as a bike races by, “The paps are gonna find out before we’ve even told anyone.”

“Don’t fuckin’ care,” He scoffs, letting you lace your fingers with the hand that was against your stomach as you begin to cross the road together, “You’re the most important thing in my life— both of you are— of course I’m gonna protect you.”

“You’re such a sap,” You tease, squeezing his hand softly as he shoots you a playful glare.

“A sap that fucked a baby into you.” He gives you a smug grin when you reach your other hand up to smack his arm, shrinking back as he pretended to be scared of your assault, “Oi! Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean I won’t bend you over my knee, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that how we got into this in the first place.” You laughed as he rolled his eyes at you playfully.

Bakugou pushed the door to the doctors surgery open with his free hand as he held it high so you could walk in beneath his arm, waiting for you to get checked in as he slid into the seat beside you, “We get a photo of her this time, right?”

“Her?” You turned to Bakugou with curious eyes.

“Yeah, I mean or him,” He shrugged.

“Dynamight wants a little girl, huh?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” He smiled, “But anything would be perfect if it’s with you.”

Most would think that the Dynamight wouldn’t take to fatherhood; a man who was far too brash and volatile to take on such a nurturing role. You were certain you could see the scathing headlines now, watching and waiting to see him fail. But you knew better— you got to experience the way he protected you.

Bakugou is there to help you out of the tub after enjoying a bubble bath that he prepared, because although you always deserved to be pampered it’s tenfold now that you’re carrying his child. Wrapping a towel around your frame as he presses a kiss to your forehead, drying off your skin as he stands with you in the steamy bathroom. Taking in every gorgeous curve that’s more accentuated and pronounced now you’ve got that ethereal, dewy glow that you get when you’re creating another human.

He’s so gentle when he drops down to his knees, as though he’s ready to worship every inch of you— and he is. Slowly smoothing lotion into the ever growing bump that’s starting to show more and more each day, confessing your worries about stretch marks to Bakugou who now made it his mission to massage your bump each evening, “We’re going to have to tell your mum soon, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbles, smoothing the cream into your skin as he presses his lips against the ever-growing bump.

“I won’t be able to hide it much longer, and she’ll kill you if she finds out from the news.” You carded your fingers through his messy spikes as he nuzzled your tummy, creamy hands still smoothing along your skin as he stared up at you with crimson eyes.

“I just want to enjoy you like this a bit longer,” He mumbled, pressing a kiss against your ever growing bump, “Then we can show her the scan.”

[satoruhour]

gojo is a prone bone enthusiast you can’t convince me otherwise 😤😤😤😤

a/n: i think it’s impossible for me to write smtg without a lil story. forgive me yall / 0.7k / @hyomagiri @jabamin @shotorus @satohruu ☆

warnings: fwb!gojo, sort of hate sex but they both have feelings, prone bone, unprotected sex, clit stimulation, pet names, praise, creampie / breeding kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

it’s filthy, the way gojo’s got you trapped under him so harshly and roughly, so in contrast with his candy sweet smile as he presented you with another bouquet of your favourite flowers — just another one of his escapades after completing a mission. in front of you, the blur of the flowers enter your vision, but you can hardly recall what colour combinations there were while being pounded into from behind.

“taking me s’well, fuck, baby,” gojo grunts as his body weight’s all pressed up on you: one hand on your lower back and triggering your arch while the other rests on the back of your neck — they hold you down, knees holding your plush thighs together while he watches your cunt stretch for him, “shit, angel, you sure you don’t want to make this a weekly thing?”

you’re moaning at the prospect of possibility getting his cock up your pussy every once a week, but you’re too prideful for that, claiming you hated him while getting soaking wet for him and letting him use you like a fuck toy in his office. his cushions smell like vanilla like you’ve always remembered, and there’s always your favourite piece of chocolate on his desk no matter when you come in, and his cock hits all the spots in you like it always does. maybe routine wouldn’t hurt, maybe gojo satoru wouldn’t mess with your feelings, not when he eats you out like your pussy was his oxygen and fucks you like he loves you.

“f—fuck, satoru—” your fingers dig into the fluffy cushion of the sofa, ass propping up just a little. with each thrust, his tip hits your cervix, kissing it barely just to send your eyes rolling back into your head. gojo moans at how tight you feel, spanning his hands over the expanse of your back and hovering over you.

“y-yeah? what is it, princess?” god, and these names he was calling you didn’t help one bit, angling his hips up into you and you preen, letting out something between a moan and a whine as your hips fuck back onto him.

“cock s’deep, ’toru, mmf…” the wooden structure of jujutsu high is old, terrible, so there’s no doubt the sounds of his pelvis slapping into the fat of your ass could permeate the walls, paired with the squelching slickness of your pussy and your mewls. you’re barely able to turn your body to see the man looming over you from behind, sweat sticking to his forehead, blindfold residing on his neck and ocean eyes trained on your side profile. he grunts softly when your eyes meet his and his hips stammer, switching to slow, grinding thrusts that cause your jaw to fall open. “sa— toru—! that— feels s’good…”

gojo tells himself not to cum when one of your hands wrap around the wrist next to your face, holding onto it for dear life as your body jerks from the deep, gradual thrusts he’s giving you. with this, he relishes in your pussy wrapping around him, the lewd drag of your sopping pussy lips spreading for him and sucking him in with each push of your ass on him; he briefly feels you play with your clit, rubbing impatiently as you held onto his arm.

“satoru, satoru, satoru— w’nna cum, ’m—” you’re squeezing his arm adorably, fingers twining with his that he’s the one who cums first. you were so cute, your hand closing around his as he squeezes your digits. gojo groans as he spills in you, shooting ribbons of cum deep into your cunt before he ignores the sensitivity of his cock and picks up the pace again. he knew you inside out, quite literally, fucking his cum back into you as your little pants pick up in volume again.

“oh my god— right the—” your eyes flutter close as your pussy squeezes his length, coating it with your cum and letting it drip down to his sofa and gojo thinks it’s one of the most beautiful sights he’s witnessed. below him, your mouth closes around his wrist and bites lightly for anchor, making his heart and dick jump at the look of your hooded lids and small smile. his hips move before he knows it, determined to breed you again and make you his.

“w’na go again…” you pant and kiss his skin, “...satoru.”

[arminsumi]

22 with toji? >___< i love mamaguro but sometimes i be thinkingggg..

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

A/N: ughhh ikr 🤤😔 ik this goes without saying (hopefully) but y'all don't cheat 😵‍💫 read fiction about ur fave anime boys cheating with u instead lmao

Wc ≈ 800

Pairing: TOJI Fushiguro x f.reader

Summary: you and Toji getting up to no good in your favorite hotel room

Warnings; 🔞 mdni, smut, infidelity, pns (baby, slut, bitch) cheating kink, slight size kink, nasty dirty talk, slightly mean/rough Toji, taking condom off (mutually consensual), breeding kink, slight hairpulling, one ass slap (why is it always just ONE lmao), kinda rough/manhandling but not rlly, daddy kink, prone bone/from the back, lmk if i have missed anything <3

♪ i keep going back to this hotel room...

Damn you, he thinks while squeezing himself into a condom that’s very slightly too small for his size.

You’re to blame – to blame for being spellbinding, bewitching, entrancing, irresistible, alluring… he never thought about straying until you showed up one day in the office, pretty smile and naughty glint in your eyes.

“Fuck me…” he seethes when he sinks into your tight pussy – so happily spreading your legs for him on the hotel bed. With how many times you two have come and gone through this room on weekends, you’re pretty sure the receptionist has figured out what happens behind those closed doors.

“ ‘s so fucking sexy when you arch your back like that for me, pretty thing.” Toji grunts, splitting you wide open on his cock. “ ‘missed me?” he asks cheekily, feeling how much you’re gushing for him after such simple touching earlier – he had kissed you like he was starved of the taste of your lips, touched you like he’s never laid hands on a female form before. It made sense why he acted so needy, you hadn’t seen him for two weekends straight after all.

“Mhm! Missed you so much…” you moan into the pillow, bringing your hands down to spread your pussylips so you can take his cock better.

His cockhead always glides in so nicely, but halfway in his length got so thick that your pussy just spat his cock out. He always chuckles when it does.

“ ‘been too long, baby, ‘gotta stretch out that pussy all over again. Make it remember daddy’s cock.”

Toji tightly pins your waist down into the mattress, just feeling a fraction of his strength turns you on. Yeah, you’ve met strong guys before – but Toji was fucking strong. He could toss you into any position he wanted, he could make you feel weightless at times.

Those calloused hands know your body better than your own. He knows which sweet spots to his to make you cream, what pace makes you claw at his biceps, what dirty talk makes you cum. He knows everything about your body. He almost doesn’t wanna admit it, but he knows your body better than his own wife’s.

“Fuckin’ slut, look at you going dumb on my dick already. Keep it together, we just started.” He chuckled meanly, giving your ass an encouraging smack to bring you back to earth. “What? ‘This position too much for you?” he asked rhetorically – because he knew damn well that you couldn’t handle him pressing his weight onto you from behind like this.

“Nooo, I can take it!” you squeak, biting the hotel pillow as you hug it for support. He always feels so good that you need some form of comfort. The feeling of his fat tip nudging against your sweet spot and throbbing there makes you say some nasty shit that makes him smirk. “Fuuuck – just fuck me alre – fuuuck, mhm! Like that! Like that!” you sob into the pillow when he fulfils your wishes and pounds into you from behind like an animal.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and gently pulls your head back, making his lips meet your ear – scar grazing against your skin. “Don’t go all quiet on me. I know how fucking nasty you are – what’ve you been wanting to tell me huh? I know you missed me bad.”

His cockhead hits the spot that makes you spill the truth. “Fuuuck – daddy fuck me like I’m yours.” You said, “F-fuck me like I’m your wife.”

“Shit… dirty fuckin’ bitch, you talk like that and you’re gonna make me cum.” He breathes heavily into your ear, sweat already beading off his abdomen with his intensely he’s rutting into you. “You really like me, huh? Haha, yeah, I know – it’s so cute. So cute that you cum so much on this cheating cock. Uh-huh, don’t get shy on me now – we both know we get off on that. Just be honest with yourself – there we go, that wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”

He groans, big arms entangling with your body. You can feel his muscles twitching, you can smell the scent of his cologne and sweat and sex all mixing in the air. And him? He’s burying his head into the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. Your perfume drives him nuts, it makes him dizzy like he’s some lovesick teenager.

Everything he holds back from telling you, he admits when he’s pussy-drunk and about to cum. “Fuck, sweet thing, ‘wanna give you a baby. D’you want that? Yeah? F-fuck really? You sure? You want my babies? Shit alright, I’ll give you a fucking baby t’night. Don’t tell her it’s mine.” He said, tugging his cock out of your pussy despite your walls hugging him like they were trying to keep him in there forever.

You reach behind you and pull off the condom yourself, and he just watches, half-drooling at the sight, before plunging back inside you and doing what he promised – giving you his babies.

[averyfuckingtiredyounglady]

play fighting | one shot

hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

Synopsis: you can’t help that you’re a bit awkward about expressing yourself, especially when it comes to Hyunjin. Thankfully, he can read your mind.

note: this is smut. I worked on this for waaayy too long. not only is this my first time posting a fic, this is my first time ever writing one and i got a bit carried away. cough* … 9k words cough* p.s. idk how none of this works. K bye

You hear the front door click shut, followed by the familiar shuffle of Hyunjin’s slippers dragging across the hardwood floor. The sound is slow and you can already imagine the tiredness etched into his face. He’s been working all day—longer than usual—and the exhaustion shows in the way he moves, like he’s carrying the weight of it in his bones.

He drops his bag by the door with a soft thud, and you peek over your blanket just in time to see him rub the back of his neck, trying to work out the tension. His eyes meet yours, and despite the weariness, there’s a warmth in them that makes your chest tighten.

“You tired?” you ask, your voice soft but teasing, knowing full well how hard his day has been.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice low and a little rough from the hours he’s spent talking, working, thinking. He kicks off his slippers with a lazy shuffle and makes his way into the room, the sound of his feet dragging across the floor matching the slow, easy pace of his movements. He’s tired, but the second he locks eyes with you, you can see the way his body perks up, a familiar energy filling the room.

Hyunjin pauses by the dresser, setting down his phone and keys with a clink. He stretches, arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned skin, and you quickly glance away, pretending not to notice.

But he catches it.

Of course he does.

“Miss me?” he asks, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk as he watches you from across the room. His eyes linger on you for a second too long, and you feel the tension settle in your chest, low and warm.

“You look exhausted,” you mumble, burying yourself deeper into your blanket as if it’ll help you escape the way he’s looking at you.

He lets out a small chuckle, the sound quiet and full of amusement. “Long day,” he mutters again, but there’s something about the way he says it now—something that suggests he’s already forgotten about the exhaustion, like being here with you is all he really needed.

He moves around the room with that lazy grace, his body still carrying the weight of his long day, but there’s a different energy now—one that’s focused on you. The way he looks at you, even though you’re wrapped up tight in your blanket, makes you feel exposed, like he’s already started undressing you with his eyes.

Hyunjin reaches into the bag he set down earlier, pulling out a chocolate bar with a smug grin. You don’t even have to say anything, but he knows you’ve been craving it all day—he’d promised you this exact chocolate before he left for work.

He doesn’t bother handing it to you, though. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he unwraps it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes a bite. He leaves it between his lips as he plugs his phone up on the charger, nibbling away at it while his hands are occupied. You watch it get shorter and shorter as he makes quick work of it. The smirk on his face widens when he sees the way you’re glaring at him from the safety of your blanket.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The subtle sounds of his chewing, the sharp crack of chocolate breaking between his teeth, fill the silence between you. You narrow your eyes at him, but the irritation you feign doesn’t fool him. It never does.

“You can have a little taste,” he says, his voice low and teasing, lips poking out in an exaggerated kissy face as he leans in closer. He’s taunting you, the chocolate still between his teeth, as if daring you to make a move.

You huff, rolling your eyes as you dive deeper into the blanket, your voice muffled but full of mock irritation. “If you didn’t bring me my own, I don’t want to kiss you.”

He grins, throwing himself onto the bed beside you, his body pressing against your blanket-shielded form. “Okay, okay! I got you one, don’t worry!” He laughs, his voice warm and full of mischief. He knows you’re smiling, even if you’re pretending to be mad.

“Mhm... if you don't want me to mess with you, don’t mess with me," you mumble, trying to keep the teasing up, but there’s no hiding the way your heart speeds up as he leans closer. His warmth, his scent, everything about him makes it harder to keep your cool.

“You already knew I brought you one,” he says, his breath is warm against your cheek as he leans closer, the faint scent of chocolate lingering between you. His lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice low and soft. “Thanks for waiting for me, y/n.”

“Give me my chocolate, bro.” You try to sound exasperated, but your voice comes out softer, the slight hitch in your breath betraying the effect he’s having on you.

“Give me a kiss first.”

You hesitate, but just for a moment. You know what he’s doing, and part of you is ready to play along. “When are you going to take a shower?”

“After you give me a kiss.” His face gets closer, that exaggerated pout now barely an inch from your lips, daring you to make the first move.

“Okay.”

As soon as the idea enters you mind, you can’t help yourself. You don’t hold back. Grabbing his face, you pull him in for a kiss that’s far more intense than either of you expected. Your tongues collide, messy and desperate, and you make sure he feels the bite of your teeth, the slickness of your lips, and the way your breath hitches as you pull away. The sound of your kiss, wet and sharp, lingers in the air like a challenge.

After properly sucking his face off, you release Hyunjin from your grasp and he pulls back, eyes wide, pupils blown, and for the first time, you’ve managed to catch him off guard. “Umm, why don’t you normally kiss me like that?” His voice is almost breathless, and you can see the way his chest rises and falls faster now, like he’s trying to catch up with his own desire.

“You nasty, freaky ass—” You start, but before you can finish, he’s right back in your space, daring you to say more with that wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Keep talking!” He taunts. There’s something almost primal in the way he looks at you now, his playful smirk giving way to something darker, more intense.

“Get off me! Perv!” You’re brain is scrambling for a way to fuck with him at this point, grasping at straws.

“Peerv? Eeeh?” He turns away from you. Just to give you a disapproving side glance.

“I don’t give a shit about your little look!” You do give a shit. “Get off me! You too boney to be laying on people like this.” Growing impatient, you wriggle underneath him.

“I’m ‘boney’ now, too? Woooow!” He rolls his eyes at your less than creative insult and puts all his weight onto you, pretending to yawn.

Wrapped in the blanket, you coincidentally made it easier for Hyunjin to keep you trapped under him with minimal defenses, frustrated, and a little embarrassed that you can’t come up with a better insult. But, how could you? You love this bastard.

You settle on bargaining. “Hyune, darling, can you please get off of me?”

“Aaw! You want the skinny, ugly, pervert off of you?” Hyunjin mocks, pouting in fake sympathy.

“I didn’t say you were ugly, a-hole.” You huff, still trying to shift him off of you.

He lets out a cackle. “You might as well have,” he ruffles your hair, displacing the strands all over your head, letting out a low chuckle. He rolls off you, shaking his head.

“I didn’t though. I could have easily said, ‘get your ugly, laying on my bed with your outside clothes, no chocolate bringing, boney knees stabbing me in the leg having ass—”

“Someone’s mad..” He cuts off your rant, poking you in the side with his index finger.

When you turn to him to continue running your mouth, he cuts you off with a kiss. Which you don’t take kindly to, but you melt into it nonetheless. His lips meet yours firmly, but with his familiar softness and the added sweetness of chocolate.

You feel the air between you crackle with tension, and for a second, you think about backing down. But then his warmth is gone, and he’s off the bed, leaving you to catch your breath. You bury your face in your blanket, trying to suppress a giggle, but it’s useless. The sound escapes, filling the room as Hyunjin rushes off to take his shower.

The silence left behind is thick, but not uncomfortable. Your heart is still racing, and your lips still tingle from the force of the kiss. You close your eyes, letting the moment linger, the faint sounds of water running in the bathroom grounding you. It’s cold, but the warmth from the bed and the lingering heat of Hyunjin’s body keeps you from feeling it too much.

When Hyunjin returns, his hair still damp, the soft scent of rose body wash clinging to his skin, he slides into bed beside you. He sinks into the mattress with a satisfied sigh, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist. “That’s better,” he breathes out, his voice soft and content. He tastes like chocolate and mint toothpaste when he kisses you again, his lips warm and soft as he presses closer, his body heat radiating through the sheets.

You turn onto your back, guiding him to rest his head on your chest. He sighs in contentment as his cheek presses against your skin, and you run your fingers through his damp hair, gently massaging his scalp. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and you can feel the last remnants of tension leaving his body.

He hums softly, the vibration of his voice tickling your chest. “I could stay like this forever,” he mutters, his voice quiet, almost drowsy.

You smile, continuing to play with his hair. “You always say that,” you tease lightly, enjoying the feel of him completely relaxed against you.

“Well, I mean it every time,” he says, cracking one eye open to look up at you, a small smile playing on his lips.

There’s a comfortable silence before he speaks again, his voice softer now. “Did you miss me today?”

You bite your lip, holding back a grin as you decide to mess with him. “Nope,” you say, keeping your tone casual, though you can feel his body tense slightly at your response. “Didn’t even think about you once.”

He cracks one eye open, glancing up at you. “Not even a little?”

You shake your head, your lips pressing together to hide your smile. “Nope. Not even a little.”

He huffs dramatically, pulling away slightly. “Okay then, looks like I’ll be going,” he says, pushing himself up as if to leave. “Nice seeing you.”

“Wait!” You quickly grab his arm, laughing as you pull him back down onto your chest. “I’m kidding!”

He lets out a playful scoff, lying back down with a dramatic sigh. “Mmmh, sure you were.”

“I was!” you insist, still grinning as you ruffle his hair. “Maybe I missed you… a little.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a smirk. “Thought so.”

“Okay, so…” he says, drawing out the words like he’s expecting you to follow along.

You blink down at him, confused but amused. “So what?”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious. “You kiss me now.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his directness. “Oh, is that how it works?”

You roll your eyes, but lean down anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His hand drifts lazily along your side as you pull away, but you feel him shift, his touch becoming more deliberate, more suggestive.

You both settle back into the comfort of the quiet room, Hyunjin’s head resting on your chest as your fingers absentmindedly twirl through his damp hair. The warmth of his body pressing into yours is soothing, but there’s an underlying tension that slowly builds between you—familiar, electric. His hand slides over your waist, his fingers tracing slow circles over your skin.

At first, it feels innocent, but the way his touch lingers a little longer with each stroke, the way his breath hitches slightly, makes you suspect otherwise.

“Hyunjin…” you murmur, trying to sound casual, but the heat of his hand is making it hard to keep your voice steady.

He doesn’t respond, at least not with words. His fingers move lower, brushing against the curve of your hip, his thumb dragging lightly over the sensitive skin there. You shiver under his touch, your body reacting without your permission.

It’s subtle at first, but soon his hand starts to explore, slipping beneath the edge of your shirt, his fingertips grazing your bare skin in a way that makes your heart race. You feel him shift beside you, and before you know it, his lips are brushing against your collarbone, soft kisses that make your breath catch..

You tilt your head slightly, giving him better access as his hand dips lower, brushing against your waist, teasing the hem of your shirt. His touch is light, suggestive. His fingers slip under the fabric, grazing the bare skin of your stomach, and you let out a soft hum, your body instinctively arching into his touch.

Hyunjin smirks, propping himself up and shifting to hover over you, his body settling naturally between your legs. His eyes roam over you, absentmindedly checking you out, a playful gleam in his gaze.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice low as he bites his lip, his hands settling on either side of you, caging you in beneath him. His eyes flicker back to yours, his smirk growing. “It’s working.”

There’s nothing hurried about the way he kisses you, each brush of his lips deepening the connection, the faint taste of chocolate and mint lingering between you.

Your tongues move together, messy and unhurried, and you can feel his body responding to yours—his chest pressing into you as his hands slide up, cupping your breasts through your shirt. He groans softly into your mouth, squeezing just enough to make you arch into him, wanting more of his touch.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded, filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. His fingers slip under the fabric of your shirt, brushing against bare skin, and the warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. His hands glide over your stomach, fingers tracing the lines of your body with care.

“Mm, missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, his words barely coherent as his lips trace the curve of your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, drawing soft, breathy moans from your lips. His kisses turn rougher, more urgent, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and his fingers squeeze your thighs as you wrap your legs around his hips.

You press your body into him, running your hands along his waist as he is kisses trail lower, moving down your throat, leaving behind a subtle warmth that lingers on your skin.

He pulls your shirt up, his lips grazing the swell of your breasts as his hands knead your hips, pulling you closer. The way he touches you is gentle but deliberate, like he’s drinking in the feel of you, committing every curve to memory. His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking gently, teasing you until your back arches into him, you wrap you arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your hands anchored in his hair.

His eyes flick up to meet yours as his mouth moves slowly across your chest, warm and soft against your skin. There’s something undeniably cute about the way he looks at you, his gaze a mix of playful affection and intent focus, watching closely for every little reaction. As his lips tug gently at your nipple, he’s not in a rush—just savoring the way your breath catches, the subtle arch of your back. He lets it slip from his mouth, the slight stretch of your skin before it snaps back, making you shiver. His tongue drags in wet, lazy strokes across your skin, as if he’s enjoying it just as much as you are.

His lips leave your breasts, but his hands don’t stop moving, sliding down the sides of your body, tracing the curve of your waist and hips, and you feel his breath ghost over your skin as he presses open-mouthed kisses down your body, taking his time on his favorite spots: the plush spot below your navel; the peaks of your hips.

When he reaches your thighs, his hands slide under them, lifting them slightly as he presses his lips to the sensitive skin there, his breath warm and heavy. He kisses your inner thighs, his mouth lingering, teasing, before he shifts lower, his lips brushing against your knee and trailing down to your calf.

He moves lower, his hand gliding down the length of your leg, his fingers brushing against your calf before he reaches your foot. He glances up at you, as if checking for permission, and when you don’t stop him, he smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your foot.

His lips are warm and soft, trailing over your skin as he moves lower. When he reaches your toes, he gently takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them, his tongue swirling over the glossy nail polish you’d applied earlier. The soft, baby pink color stands out against his lips,

You don’t hesitate to take matters into your own hands. Your free hand slides down between your legs, fingers finding your slick clit, and the moment you touch yourself, a soft moan escapes your lips. Hyunjin’s eyes widen for a moment, a flash of surprise in his expression as he watches you take control, teasing yourself with delicate strokes. Your body moves on instinct, hips lifting slightly as you rub slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, your breath hitching at the sensation.

You can feel the heat building between your thighs, and it’s not just from your hand—it’s from the way Hyunjin’s eyes stay fixed on you, dark and focused, his attention is glued to the way your hips roll, a soft groan escaping his throat as he takes in every detail—your tits swaying gently with each thrust of your hips, your legs trembling as you hump your hand. His fingers pressing into your skin as he watches your hips rock in time with your fingers, fucking themselves onto your hand as you play with yourself. Your skin tingles under his touch, your heartbeat loud in your ears, each kiss and caress pulling you further under. His mouth moves over your toes with care, almost lazy in its pace, but the heat behind it is palpable.

It’s like he has a front-row seat to the most intimate show, and you’re putting it on just for him. His eyes roam over your body, noticing by the way your pussy glistens and creams around your fingers. His gaze lingers on your face, taking in the way your lips part with each breath, Your fingers move in sloppy circles over your clit, your hips rolling in rhythm, fucking yourself onto your hand while your other hand kneads your tits, fingers brushing over your nipples, teasing them until they harden beneath your touch. The way your hands move over your body only deepens your need for him. You let that desire guide your touch, giving him a show, knowing every move is going straight to his dick.

Hyunjin can’t help himself—he leans down, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers slipping through the slick wetness coating your folds. He groans at the feeling, his fingers teasing you for just a second before he pulls them away.

His hand slips under the waistband of his sweats, fingers wrapping around his dick just to relieve some of the unbearable tightness. Now coated in your slick, his hand tugs at his shaft. The sensation is instant—hot, wet, and filthy. He strokes himself slowly, spreading your wetness over every inch of his length, moaning into your skin as the sound of his hand working his cock fills the room.

Fuck,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flickers between your hand and your face, the hunger in his eyes growing darker as his hand moves faster, the grip tightening with each stroke. His hips jerk into his fist, his body on fire with need.

His eyes flick down, to your polished toes as he works over them, appreciating every small detail . He grins, the sight clearly doing something for him. “You taste so sweet everywhere,” he mutters between kisses, his voice rough as he pulls away for just a second, dark eyes flicking back to your pussy.“You look so fucking good like this.”

When he pulls your toes into his mouth again, the soft suction feels almost too much, the delicate balance of pleasure and sensitivity making your breath stutter. He knows exactly what he’s doing—his lips curve into the faintest of smiles, even as his tongue traces slowly along the delicate skin. You can feel the connection between his touch and the way your body responds, like a chain reaction you can’t stop, even if you wanted to.

You’re so beautiful,” he mutters between kisses, his breath hot against your skin as he licks your toes, his fingers sliding up to grip your ankle. His hand moves to caress your thigh again, his touch firm and steady as he squeezes the soft flesh beneath his palm.

His breath comes out heavier now, His chest rising and falling in time with yours. You can feel his gaze, the intensity of it making your skin flush hotter

Hyunjin’s mouth takes over, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thigh, the wet drag of his tongue leaving a slick trail that sends a pulse of heat straight through you. His lips latch onto you with a hunger that makes your muscles tighten involuntarily, each slow, deep suck drawing a soft tremor from your body. He bites down gently, just enough to make your legs jerk, before soothing the sting with his tongue, the warmth of his saliva mingling with the sheen of sweat on your skin.

His mouth lingers, sucking hard, the pressure nearly dizzying in its intensity, while his eyes are glued to the way your fingers move against your clit. It’s like he can’t decide which he craves more—the taste of your skin or the sight of you falling apart under your own touch.

“Fuck, your pussy’s so pretty,” he groans, his voice rough and breathless as his gaze locks onto the sight of your fingers disappearing between your thighs. your hips rolling harder. You can feel your pussy clenching around your fingers, spasming with every movement, slick and messy as you rub yourself closer to the edge.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with curiosity as he watches you, his breath coming out in shallow pants as he takes in the way your body moves, how you’ve changed the rhythm. The way your thighs press together makes your pussy even wetter, the slickness dripping down your fingers as you rock your hips into your hand, chasing the new sensation.

“Fuck, you’re something else,” Hyunjin breathes, his voice rough as he leans in closer, his hand sliding up your leg. He watches the way your hips move, how your thighs tighten with every shift of your hand, and it’s clear he can barely hold back.

You don’t answer—not with words, anyway—but the way you tilt your hips, pushing your fingers against your clit just a little harder, says everything you need to. You’re in control now, and you can feel how much it drives him crazy. His hand grips the base of his dick, stroking it messily as he matches the movement of your fingers, his breath coming out ragged and uneven. You can see the way his dick twitched in his palm, thick and hard, ready to bury itself inside you.

Without another word, he positions himself between your legs, his cock pressing against your slick folds. The feeling of him against you—hard, warm—sends a shiver through your body, and you can feel your heart race in your chest as he holds you there, not quite inside, but so damn close you can barely stand it.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and intense, and for a moment, neither of you move.

“Ready?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, but you can feel the weight of the question in the air between you.

Hyunjin’s hand slides down your thigh, gripping it firmly as he pulls your leg over his hip, bringing you even closer. The friction is sharper now, more intense, and you can feel how hard he is pressing against you with each slow grind of his hips.

“Feel that?” he mutters against your lips, his voice rougher now, thick with need. His fingers press into your skin, holding you in place as he moves against you again, slower this time, like he wants to make sure you feel every inch of him.

I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time cupping your breast, his thumb brushing lightly over your nipple. You arch into him, biting back a moan as your hips rock against his.

Your hands clutch at his arms, fingers digging into his skin as you try to hold on, but it’s impossible to stay quiet now. The soft whimpers escaping your lips are involuntary, and each sound makes Hyunjin press harder, his hips grinding into yours.

“Fuck,” you mouth the words, but the sound gets caught somewhere in your chest. Your cunt is pulsing as your wetness coats him, your body trembling as you lose yourself in the rhythm of his hips.

Your fingers had already left you soaked, but with Hyunjin grinding against you, sliding his cock through your folds, the wetness has become overwhelming, dripping down the back of your thighs and pooling beneath your ass.

Hyunjin notices it too, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches your pussy react, getting wetter with each thrust. “You’re making a mess, baby,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, his hips grinding harder as he pushes his cock through your soaked folds, his length dragging against your swollen clit. “Feels so fucking good.”

His body pressing against yours as his bare dick settles between your thighs, thick and hot against your slick skin. He grinds against you slowly, his length sliding through your wetness, dragging along your slit, The sensation is electric—raw and unfiltered, his dick rubbing against your pussy, skin on skin. You can feel the heat of him, the hardness of his length as it glides through your folds brushing your clit with the head.

Hyunjin leans back slightly, his eyes flicking down to watch the way his dick moves against you, the skin retracting and revealing the tip before it disappears again, swallowed up by the slick heat of your folds. His breath catches at the sight, the wetness coating his shaft and making each movement smoother. He can see how swollen you are, how your clit bumps against him with every stroke, your pussy practically pulsing with need.

“Look at that,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice rough with desire. His hips roll forward, slow and controlled, watching the way his dick rubs against you. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His hand moves down to grip your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he pushes his hips forward, the head of his dick bumping your clit again, harder this time. A low, guttural moan escapes him, vibrating against your skin as he presses his lips to your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Mmm—fuck,” he groans, the sound deep and rough, spilling out involuntarily as his hips grind against you again. The sheets are soaked with your arousal, and every time he thrusts forward, you can feel his shaft dragging through the slickness, leaving a sticky trail along your folds.

Hyunjin shifts his weight slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as his other hand slides down your body, gripping your hip as he rolls his hips forward. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and intense, watching the way your face changes with every brush of his cock against your clit. His lips curl into a smirk as he leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “You like this?” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “You like me rubbing my dick all over this pretty pussy?”

Suddenly, Hyunjin takes your wrist, pulling your hand up, welcoming your sticky fingers into the moist heat of his mouth. He sinks down, taking your fingers all the way to the base of your knuckles. His tongue slides out from behind his plush lips, gliding over the length, tasting every inch before slowly pulling back. He groans, sucking them clean. His eyes never leave yours, dark and hungry as he slowly pulls your fingers out of his mouth with a soft pop.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he mutters, his voice rough. He doesn’t waste a second before his hips are moving again, grinding his dick through your folds with more urgency now.

With a low groan, Hyunjin shifts again, pulling back just enough to line himself up, the head of his dick pressed right at your entrance. His eyes flick up to meet yours, watching the way your body reacts, teasing you by pushing just a little, enough to make you gasp. But he doesn’t push in yet—he holds there, letting you feel the pressure, making your pussy clench in anticipation.

“Tell me you want it,” he growls, his voice low and commanding. His fingers dig into your hips as his dick teases your entrance, “Beg for it.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give in that easily. You hold out, grinding against the head of his cock, trying to get what you want without saying it.

But he won’t give in.

“Come on,” he whispers, his voice rough as he teases you with shallow thrusts, just enough to make you moan but never enough to fill you. “I know you want it. Just say it.”

“Hyunjin—” You don’t mean to say his name, but it slips out, breathless and shaky.

You kiss him deeply, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips, your hand moving between you to wrap around his cock. It’s hot and hard, throbbing in your palm as you start run your hand along his shaft, rubbing the velvety skin of his tip and the familiar veins adorning his length.

For a moment, everything slows down. The room is dark, but the faint blue light from the window highlights the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that make him look even more beautiful, more desperate. His hair is a mess, damp with sweat, and the way he looks at you — his eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust — makes your heart race.

You hear his breath shaking, a soft whimper escaping his lips as you squeeze him just a little tighter, and it drives you wild to see him like this, completely at your mercy. Beneath your touch, every muscle in his arms and chest tense up. You stroke him slowly, savoring every little sound he makes, every little twitch of his hips as he pushes into your hand.

“You’re so cute, Hyune” you whisper, your voice low, almost reverent as you admire him. His skin glows under the soft light, and you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

Your hand moves faster, stroking him from base to tip, feeling the weight of him, the heat radiating off his body as his hips start to move in rhythm with yours.

“Fu-uck, I can’t wait to feel you,” his voice breaks as you squeeze him tighter.

This desperate tone of his, you would have to say it’s your favorite.

You give him a soft, knowing smile, leaning in to kiss him deeply. His mouth opens to yours instantly, and the taste of him—the mix of desperation and need—makes you want him even more. Your hand slides up the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair. He groans into the kiss as you tug on it, just hard enough to make him moan. You pull back slightly, your lips barely brushing his, and you whisper, “I know.”

Before he can respond, your grip on his hair tightens slightly as you kiss lower, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. Hyunjin’s moans grow more desperate, his head tilting further back into your hand, giving you full access to his neck. He looks completely wrecked—his throat bobbing with every shaky breath, his lips swollen,

Hyunjin’s head lolls back, his lips parted slightly, breaths coming in soft gasps. His hands are restless, but weak, running over your body with no real direction—just a need to feel you. His eyelids flutter, barely able to stay open, and his legs fall further apart as if he’s unconsciously making more space for you. The tension in his muscles melts away, his body sinking deeper into you with each kiss you press to his skin. His chest rises and falls erratically, his fingers twitching every time your mouth finds a sensitive spot.

You continue your languid pulls of his cock, twisting your palm around his thick shaft. He groans, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as you keep stroking him, your hand moving faster now. His cock feels hot and heavy in your hand, slick with precum, and the way he twitches under your touch, the way his breath hitches, sends a thrill through your body.

You pull away, locking eyes with him as a smirk tugs at your lips. “Sit up,” you instruct, nodding toward the headboard. Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate, shifting back against the pillows, his body sinking into the mattress. His hard dick bobs and sways with every movement, and you can’t help but watch as he settles himself, positioning his back against the headboard.

You straddle him, grabbing his shoulders for support as you lower yourself down. Hyunjin’s hands shoot to your hips, his grip tight as he steadies you, but you don’t give him a chance to take control.

You slide down onto him, inch by inch, and the stretch makes your head spin, your pussy clenching around him as you take him all the way in. Hyunjin groans beneath you, his head falling back against the pillows as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Shit,” he mutters, his breath catching in his throat as you start to move, slow at first, grinding your hips against him, , making him feel every inch of the slide. Hyunjin’s eyes roll back, his lips parting as he moans, his voice high and desperate.

You pick up the pace, rolling your hips harder, faster, riding him with a rhythm that has the mattress shaking beneath you. Hyunjin’s hands tighten on your hips, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to hold on, but you can feel how close he is, how your movements are pushing him to the brink.

You lean forward, your hands bracing against his chest as you ride him, harder now, faster, like you’re trying to fuck him straight through the mattress. Hyunjin’s eyes fly open, wide with shock and pleasure, as he grips your hips, trying to keep up with the relentless pace you’ve set.

You slide a hand between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit as you rub slow, teasing circles, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. Hyunjin’s eyes snap open, watching you with a kind of desperate hunger as your fingers move over your slick skin.

“Fuck—” he gasps, his voice strained as his fingers dig into your skin, hard enough to leave marks. “What the fuck—”

Hyunjin’s hands shoot up to your waist, his fingers gripping tight as he tries to hold on, his hips lifting to meet each roll of your body. “You’re fucking insane,” he groans, his voice breathless and shaky. “Y/n.. I-I can’t..”

You cut him off with a sharp grind of your hips, your clit brushing against his skin with every hard thrust. His eyes roll back in his head, and you can feel his dick twitch inside you, throbbing as his release inches closer and closer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters under his breath as his hips jerk up into you, desperate to keep up with the way you’re fucking him.

But you don’t let up. You ride him harder, faster, your body slick with sweat, your thighs trembling as the heat builds inside you, tighter and tighter, until you feel like you might snap. Hyunjin’s fingers slide up to your tits, grabbing them roughly as he thrusts into you, meeting your frantic pace with everything he has left.

You can’t help but smile at the way he looks at you, completely at your mercy. His hips twitching and you can feel it—feel the way his dick throbs, pulsing inside you as he gets closer. But you don’t stop. You ride him harder, faster, like you’re trying to break him. His grip on you is so tight it almost hurts, but it only pushes you further, spurring you on as you grind down on him, your pussy slick and wet as you take him over and over again.

Hyunjin’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your thighs, gripping you like he’s afraid to let go, your thighs burning with every thrust as you slam yourself down on him, harder each time. His cock stretches you perfectly, and the wet slap of your bodies fills the room, but as good as it feels, there’s something just out of reach. No matter how hard you try, you can’t quite hit that deep, soul-crushing spot only he can find.

Your movements falter slightly, your rhythm slowing as you grind against him, trying to find it, but the frustration only heightens your need. His chest heaves beneath you, his eyes glazed with desire, yet you want more—need more. You need him to take over.

Without a word, you lift yourself off him, the cool air hitting your skin as his cock slips free. He looks up at you, confused for a brief second, before you shift onto your knees, presenting yourself to him, back arched and ass in the air. Your fingers slide between your legs, rubbing quick circles over your clit, silently begging for him to take control the way only he can.

He watches your wetness glistening between your thighs. The way your fingers move over your clit, desperate and slick, drives him wild. His cock twitches at the sight of you—so open, so ready, so fucking needy for him.

He’s up behind you, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he pulls you closer, positioning you just right. Your ass hangs off the edge of the bed, and Hyunjin’s heart pounds in his chest as he takes in the view. The curve of your back, the slight tremble in your thighs, the way your body moves instinctively, searching for his touch—it’s almost too much for him to handle.

“Fuck, look at you,” he mutters, his voice rough as he bends down, his lips grazing the soft skin of your lower back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His hands slide lower, fingers spreading your cheeks as he gets a better look at your glistening pussy, and without hesitation, he leans in, his tongue licking a slow, teasing stripe from your clit to your entrance.

The way your body jerks in response sends a thrill down his spine. He sucks gently at your clit, his tongue working in circles.

Then his fingers push into you, stretching you open. He massages your walls with his fingers, curling them inside you. You feel him smirk against you when you let out a muffled moan, your body twitching under his touch.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, his voice full of lust and awe as he watches the way your pussy clenches around his fingers. The sight alone is almost enough to push him over the edge, but he holds back, knowing you need him to take control now, to give you the kind of rhythm you’ve been craving.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, a string of slickness still connecting him to you as he grips his cock and lines himself up. His chest tightens at the sight of you like this—submissive but still so in control of his every thought—and he bites his lip, sliding just the tip inside, teasing you with the heat and pressure.

His eyes stay locked on you, watching the way your body reacts, the way you arch into him, begging him silently to go deeper.

Hyunjin stills, teasing you as he lets you sink down onto him at your own pace, feeling every inch of him. You shudder, hissing softly at the stretch as he watches. His eyes drop to where your bodies meet, seeing your pussy swallow him up, clenching tight as you rock your hips back, meeting his. He watches the way your ass bounces with each movement, every slow grind making him pulse inside you, but he stays still, savoring how you’re working for it, letting you fuck yourself on him.

“Hyune..” You croon out his name glancing back at him, catching him staring, his eyes dark with lust but softened by that familiar glint of mischief. The moment he notices you looking, he flashes a cheesy grin, and you can’t help but laugh, your face pressed into the sheets.

Your laugh quickly melts into a breathy moan, “Hah… ahh…”, as Hyunjin starts to really drive into you. The playful moment vanishes, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him filling you, each thrust drawing a deeper, more desperate sound from your lips and you can feel the shift—his focus solely on pulling every sound, every reaction, from you as your body surrenders completely to his rhythm.

Fuck, you feel so good,” Hyunjin groans, his voice rough, breathless, as his hips snap forward again and again, the rhythm steady but intensifying. His hands grip your waist firmly, keeping you exactly where he wants you, but you’re not passive. You throw your ass back, meeting each of his thrusts with just as much force, grinding against him when he bottoms out inside you, relishing the way his dick fills you up perfectly.

His strokes are long and deep, hitting that spot inside you. You can feel him everywhere — his hands, his hips, his breath hot against your back as he leans over you. His body molds against yours, and you feel the shift in him when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, lifting you off the bed as he hugs you from behind.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, the sound of his voice sending shivers down your spine. You can hear his breathing now, heavy and ragged, each gasp filled with lust and need as he fucks you deeper. His hands move upward, one slipping under your chest to cup your breast, his fingers tweaking your nipple, making you gasp. His moans fill the space between you, the sound almost desperate as he picks up the pace, driving into you harder.

His breath is hot against your neck, and you can feel his chest pressing against your back, slick with sweat. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he groans, his voice thick with need as he thrusts into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies filling the room. His fingers dig into your skin, and you know he’s getting close, the intensity in his movements growing with every passing second.

You push his hands lower, guiding him to where you want him, and he smirks against your ear, loving the way you take control. “Impatient, huh?” he teases, though there’s nothing but admiration in his tone. He loves when you take what you want, when you show him exactly how to please you.

You moan, your head tilting back against his shoulder as his hand slides down between your legs, his fingers rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit while he continues to fuck you.

his dick hitting deep, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. The wet, slick sound of him fucking you is filthy, obscene, and it only drives you higher, your body tightening around him with each thrust.

His lips graze your ear, his breath hot and heavy. He groans, his voice breaking slightly. “That’s it, love. Take me.”

You catch that edge in his voice—the hunger, the need for affirmation. He thrives on it, and you’re more than willing to give it to him. You let out a soft moan, your hands reach back, grasping at his thighs as you arch into him. “You’re so deep,” you breathe, your voice laced with pleasure. “Mmmh… shit.”

The moment the praise slips from your lips, you feel him falter, his hips stuttering as a low groan escapes him. He lets out a deep, shaky breath. “Fuck…” His hand reaches out, grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging you closer. He gazes at the side of your face, your expression twisted in pleasure, eyes shut tightly, gasping and crying out for him. “My angel,” he breathes, voice thick with emotion, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts harder.

You moan again, louder this time, making sure he hears every breath, every sound. “You’re so good, Hyunjin. You’re fucking perfect.”

His breath hitches, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he reacts to your words, his grip tightening as if he needs to hold on to something. You know you’ve got him hooked, teetering on the edge,

He grips your shoulders firmly, using the leverage to pull you back harder onto his dick, each thrust hitting deep, sending a jolt through your body. The intensity makes you gasp, a choked sob slipping from your lips. Your teeth clench, reveling in the feeling of Hyunjin taking you for his pleasure, using your tight hole as he pounds into you, stretching you raw with every thrust.

Hyunjin lets out a rough moan, his voice thick with desire. His higher moans turn into grunts, guiding your body as he fucks you deep and steady. His strokes are long and deep, so deep, savoring the way your wetness coats him, his dick throbbing with each slide into your tight heat.

You roll your hips back onto him, your ass slamming against his thighs as his dick disappears inside you, the sharp slap of skin against skin making your body tremble with each impact.

You moan, low and throaty, unable to hold it in as he wraps his arms around you tighter, pulling you even closer. His hands cup your breasts again, squeezing them firmly as he nuzzles into your neck, his moans vibrating against your skin. The rhythm between you is fast, desperate, and you feel yourself spiraling closer to the edge with every movement. His breath is hot and ragged in your ear, his lips brushing against your neck as he mutters, “You’re gonna cum all over my dick, aren’t you?”

You can feel it—the moment where everything in you unravels. Your back arches, hips jerking as the orgasm slams into you, sharp and overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around his cock, and a low, broken moan tears from your throat as the pleasure floods through you. Your vision blurs, heat washing over you in waves, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, your voice trembling as the intensity of your release ripples through you. Your body shaking intensely as Hyunjin fucks you through it, riding the feeling until it’s almost too much. And he follows close behind, his lips sucking harshly on your skin, whimpering prettily into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering as he cums inside you, stuffing his cock in you completely. He holds you there, letting your walls milk him, his release dripping down your thighs.

You clutch onto the sheets, your body still buzzing with the remnants of your orgasm, your eyelids fluttering as you’re able to focus your eyes. Your heart is pounding in your ears, the steady thrum of it comforting in the quiet of the room.

Hyunjin runs his hands up and down your back in soothing strokes, his breath still heavy but gradually evening out. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough, and you can hear the awe in his tone.

He lay down on the bed, pulling you with him. You cuddle up to him, your head resting against his damp skin, the sheets strewn about you in a mess. The pillows on the floor. A small smile tugs at your lips, and you lift your head just enough to look at him. His eyes are half-lidded, his expression soft and content. There’s a peacefulness about him that makes your heart swell. You press a gentle kiss to his lips, a quiet thank you for the intimacy you’ve shared.

Hyunjin’s hand moves to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss as he lazily brushes his lips against yours, savoring the moment. There’s no rush now, no urgency. It’s just the two of you, tangled together, your bodies warm and sated.

“Feel better now?” you tease, your voice barely a whisper against his lips.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your cheek as he presses another kiss to your forehead. “You have no idea.”

Hyunjin turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazes down at you. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You laugh softly, the sound light and breathless. “You always say that after sex.”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That’s because it’s true. Especially when you’re all… fucked out.”

You roll your eyes, playfully swatting his arm, but there’s a warmth in your chest at his words. He always knows how to make you feel seen, feel cherished, even in the most vulnerable moments.

As the afterglow begins to settle, Hyunjin pulls the blanket over both of you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. His body molds to yours, and you nestle into his warmth, feeling utterly content.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The silence is comfortable, filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing and the steady beat of Hyunjin’s heart. It’s in these quiet moments that you feel most connected to him, like there’s an unspoken understanding between you.

Fin

Second a/n: im cryiinng.. this is really long no? It was actually 12k words and i decided to shorten it cuz it seemed a bit crazy .. haha… haaaaaa…

Anyway it took me months to write. Probably over 30 hours… or more i didnt keep track but i had many hours long sessions writing this editing and taking stuff out and putting stuff back in.. cuz im a bit insane but im also a pervert. I have never committed to anything like i have this stupid lil smut fic. Im not clowning. Thanks for reading to the end!

[moonstruckme]

hiii!! i love your writing so much i think i’ve read every single thing you’ve ever posted. i’m genuinely obsessed 🫶🫶 i was wondering if you could write something where the reader and remus have been dating/talking for a little while and she hasn’t had her first kiss yet and she starts to get nervous everytime she thinks he’s abt to kiss her and she runs away?? i’m ngl this is based off of very real events in my life 😭😭

i love you so much!! hope your doing amazing

Hi gorgeous, thanks so much! This is soooo relatable of you haha, I have a library of hilarious stories about my very hyper friend who kept literally springing away from guys she liked who were trying to kiss her, but it does make for some very interesting (and often very sweet) conversations!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

On your first official date with Remus, the two of you went to a drive-in movie. You kept your seatbelt on the entire time. 

You only realized halfway through, mentally kicking yourself for being so jittery you’d lost all sense of normalcy, but by then it felt too late. It’d be awkward to take it off halfway through the movie, try to play that off as casual. You’d made your bed. You didn’t unbuckle until Remus dropped you off at your house at the end of the night. 

On your second date, you’re determined to be less uptight. You want him to know that you really do like him, even if your nerves make you jump and flinch whenever he gets close. At the Italian restaurant, it’s difficult to find a pasta dish without garlic, but you manage it. You’re a girl with an agenda. The two of you split a chocolate cake for dessert. It’s delicious, probably, though you can’t focus on much besides Remus’ story and the way his mouth moves as he tells it. How he tucks one corner of his bottom lip between his teeth when he’s trying to hide a smile. 

You have to hope belatedly that you haven’t somehow smeared chocolate all over your face while eating. You’re not at all confident you would’ve noticed. 

It’s a short walk back to your place, and you manage to jabber the whole way, a masterclass in self-sabotage. Remus doesn’t seem to mind, his hand light and cordial on your back as he guides you up the steps to your door. You savor the touch. It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to spring away. 

“It sounds really interesting,” he says graciously as you finish your tangent about the book you’ve just read. “I’ll have to pick up a copy.” 

“I can lend you mine,” you offer. “Maybe I can bring it the next time we hang out?” Your voice tips up hopefully at the end of the question, and warmth touches your cheeks. 

A similar pinkening spreads across Remus’ freckles. He smiles at you, the scar across his lip stretching. You’re spellbound. 

“Yeah, that sounds great.” You might be imagining it, but you could swear his eyes flit to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says. “I really like talking to you.” 

Your voice is soft. “I like talking to you, too.” 

He takes a step towards you, and it’s like your muscles stage a coup. You take an involuntary step backward, a smile plastering itself uncomfortably on your face. 

“Thanks for everything,” you say brightly. “Goodnight!”

You spin and go for the door handle, and you’re nearly inside before you hear Remus’ quiet “Wait.” 

You turn. Lead in your bones. 

Remus is holding his palms up as if to show you he’s got no weapon. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I just wanted to…you know I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to, right?” 

You’re frozen stiff. 

“Like, even if I thought there was a chance you didn’t want to, I would never…” He shakes his head, looking lost. Guilt settles like a stone in your gut. “I guess I’m a bit confused. If you don’t want to do anything, that’s completely fine, but sometimes it seems like you want me to kiss you, and then you don’t…” 

“Rem,” you say. You feel like you’re breathing through a straw. “Remus, I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, it’s not your fault—” 

“No, it is. It’s not—I don’t want you to think I’m scared of you or anything. I’m not, it’s just, I get skittish.” You can’t make yourself look at his eyes, your gaze stuck just shy of his chin. Your face feels aflame. “It’s not you. I’m just nervous.” 

“Oh.” It’s a soft thing, more exhale than anything. Then his fingers curl under your chin, tipping your face up. “Well, you can relax, love. I was never going to make a move unless I got a clear signal from you first. But we can just take that off the table completely, if you’d like.” He gives you a small, gentle smile. “I only want you to feel comfortable.” 

Your heart zings right up into your throat. “I do feel comfortable,” you blurt. “I don’t want it off the table.” 

Remus’ eyebrows flick upwards. “You don’t?” 

“No,” you murmur, bashful. 

His eyebrows come slowly back down, puckering slightly as he tries to figure you out. His eyes narrow until his lashes kiss. His tongue pokes into his cheek, just a little. You miss nothing. You find yourself taking in a quiet breath, steeling yourself. 

You move across that tiny bit of air between you and find him there waiting.

It’s everything you could’ve hoped for and yet startlingly simple. Remus’ lips are warm and soft, pressing into yours with an intensity that you suspect is nonetheless restrained for your benefit. He tastes like chocolate cake. 

His mouth meanders over to the corner of your lips, granting one quick peck to your cheek before making its way back to the center of your mouth, reverent. He backs away slowly, easing you out of it. 

“Wasn’t really expecting that,” he admits.

“Me neither. Was it alright?” Your voice is a bit breathy. “I’ve never done that before.” 

For a moment, he’s quiet. 

“That was your first kiss?” 

You swallow, rubbing your lips together as you nod. 

“Sweetheart,” he grins, “you’re a natural.” 

A giggle spurts out of you, dizzy with the taste of him and the novelty of it all. “You mean it?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He mimes drawing a cross over his heart. It occurs to you that you both seem infinitely more at ease than you have since dinner. The corner of Remus’ bottom lip goes between his teeth, his cheek dimpling. “I mean, there is something to be said for practice, though.” 

You don’t fight your own grin; it comes out in full force. “Mm, I think I’ve heard something about that. Practice makes…defective, right? Something like that.” 

“C’mere.” Remus rolls his eyes at you, but as his arms wrap around you his smile mirrors yours. 

[theemporium]

may i request a quinn hughes fic, about them being neighbours (reader is a good 4 years younger than him) in the same apartment building (and think the others cute), see eachother in the elevators all the time, but eventually they talk and boom bam you picture the rest

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

After one of the worst days of your life, it shouldn’t have surprised you that the universe would pick today of all days for your cute neighbour to catch you outside your apartment.

If it had been any other day, it would have been a funny situation you could have laughed at and maybe joked about. But it wasn’t any other day, it was today and today fucking sucked. From your alarm not working in the morning to missing the bus, to spilling coffee all over your notes in a lecture to getting yelled at during your shift at a local cafe. 

From the moment you woke up, everything seemed to be going wrong and you just wanted to crawl into bed, maybe indulge in a takeout and cry in bed with the hope that tomorrow would be better. Except, you had climbed the flights of stairs to your apartment (because of course the elevator was broken) only to find out you left your keys inside when you were rushing around that morning. And, according to the message from your landlord, the blacksmith wouldn’t be able to come out for another few hours. 

Which left you sitting against your apartment door, soaked to the bone because Vancouver weather was no joke, sniffling to yourself because an attempt to call your mother and cry to her failed when it rang into voicemail. 

So of course that was exactly how Quinn Hughes had to find you. 

“Are…are you okay?” 

Your head snapped up to find the boy standing a few feet away from you, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie with a gym bag over his shoulder. He looked ridiculously cute in the blue Canucks beanie on his head and the soft expression on his face as he took in your current state. 

“I got locked out,” you answered with a pathetic laugh because if you didn’t laugh, you would have cried. Again. 

“That isn’t what I asked,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I asked if you were okay.”

“Yeah, totally,” you scoffed, waving him off. “I’m so fine.” 

You waited for him to nod, accept your answer and make his way to his apartment a few doors down. Instead, you were surprised to find him dumping his bag on the floor and settling against the wall across from you as he sat on the floor.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” he admitted with a sheepish expression.

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” you snorted.

His cheeks burned a little. “No, I didn’t mean like that—” But he stopped when you snickered a little, something in his chest easing at the sound. “I just meant you aren’t smiling properly.”

You raised your brows. “Smiling properly?”

“Yeah, your smile seems fake. Usually you have these big smiles on your face whenever I see you,” Quinn confessed. 

“Maybe those are reserved just for you,” you said the words before you could stop them, your face burning even hotter. 

“I would hope so,” Quinn retorted. 

You pressed your lips together, trying to resist the urge to let one of those massive smiles take over your face. However, the boy caught your attention again as he lightly nudged your leg with his foot.

“How about you wait at my place until the blacksmith comes?” Quinn asked, and despite the bravado a captain should have, he looked a bit nervous. “I’ll give you some clothes to change into before you catch a cold.”

You started shaking your head. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he answered quickly. “I want to help.”

Your gaze softened. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he said as he moved to stand up again, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder before stretching his hand out to help you up. “And in return, maybe you can tell me what happened to make it look like you went through a war zone.”

“Way to charm a girl, Hughes,” you snorted.

“It seems to be working alright so far,” he countered, a cheesy grin on his face as he pulled you towards his apartment, not quite ready to let go of your hand just yet. But neither were you.

.

[ohmygodshesinsane]

Partners 🌧️⚗️🗒️

James is the last person Lily expects to visit when she's ill in the Hospital Wing, but the new Head Boy has more than one surprise for her. For Jily Week 2024, Day 2: Partners in Crime. Or - in this case - in being head students :') @sunshinemarauder @kay-elle-cee

read it on ao3 or under the cut!

Rain splattered the windows of the Hospital Wing, droplets glistening in the autumnal light of late afternoon, and Lily groaned as she hefted herself onto her elbows, the aniseed aftertaste of Madam Pomfrey’s last potion lingering on her tongue. Her head was foggy, her bones hurt right to their marrow, and Pomfrey herself had put her on strict bedrest, but some things couldn’t wait. It was just her luck to fall ill in only the third week of seventh year; right as the assignments were doled out and the prefects grew needy. She adjusted the pillow behind her back and reached for the wheeled table, pulling it up the bed towards her. Mary had promised to bring her notes from a few of their subjects, but there were several the two didn’t share; and there were three notes that had been left by prefects while she’d been asleep. She yawned, wishing she could have some kind of caffeine, but Madam Pomfrey insisted it interacted poorly with the antidotes she was taking. Of course. She stretched, arching her back, and decided to take a look at the prefects’ notes first. The first was from the mousey new Hufflepuff girl. She smoothed it out, ready to read.

“No.”

“Sorry?” Lily’s head bolted upright, forming a retort to whoever had arrived to boss her around – she was Head Girl, thanks, and her bout of illness had rather shortened her temper. She stopped the moment she saw who it was. “James.”

He leaned over her, black hair rumpled, still in his school robes – lessons would have not long finished, Lily supposed. His hazel eyes crinkled along with his clear smile, and his glasses slipped down his face as his gaze met hers.

“I said no,” he repeated easily, nodding towards the note. “Fairview, right? I headed her off already. She should’ve come to me in the first place, mind – I told them to, but no. Can’t have prefects with common sense – might break the system, I’m afraid.” And before she could protest, he flicked his wand with a muttered spell. The note caught flame. Lily gaped at him, shock and amusement battling within her.

“You shouldn’t do that,” she said, with no real weight. James shrugged and sat down gently on the bed, by her knees.

“She shouldn’t rabbit on so much.”

“Some prefects do have common sense,” Lily added, rubbing her throat and raising her eyebrows. James squinted one eye, tilting his head.

“Hmm,” he said slowly. “…Nah, I don’t think so. Nobody with common sense is doing work when they’re in the bloody Infirmary, are they?”

Lily huffed instead of replying properly, feeling strangely… touched, by James’s handling of it. By all rights, he was as in charge as she was, so he ought to be sharing the load – but when she’d discovered he’d be at her side this year, she’d not expected him to take it seriously. It was supposed to be just another feather in his cap – Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, Special Services to the School… A year ago, she wouldn’t have thought he’d ever bother to learn the name of a girl like Maisie Fairview.

“McGonagall wants an essay on mid-weight Conjuration by next Thursday, but I talked to her and she knows you’re in here, so she said you’ve got ‘til the Monday after,” James started absently, grabbing the pitcher of water. Without asking, he filled two glasses and offered her one.

“Thanks,” said Lily, surprised. With the first sip she relaxed; it was cool on her raw throat.

“I’ve got notes from Defence too – you can have them when you get out,” James said, wagging a finger at her, “not in here. Metaphysical properties of defensive spells. Proctor’s real into theory. S’pose they didn’t want another Auror sort, after last year. If I ever get my hands on Mulciber…”

“He’s not causing trouble?” Lily sat up straighter, frowning. James snorted.

“I wish, I’m itching to take points.” Lily’s twitching smile belied her attempted look of disapproval. “Nah, he’s just glowering up the back of the classroom. Better that way, though.” James ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been devastated to discover that some things are more important than getting an excuse to hex someone to Wallonia and back.”

“That sucks,” Lily said, grinning.

“Cost-benefit,” he said flippantly. “Anyways, I know Mary’s got you covered for Charms and Potions – thank Merlin for that, I hate Potions – ah. I’ve got Moony’s notes for Ancient Runes for you too. When you’re out of the Hospital Wing,” he added sternly. Lily folded her arms across her chest.

“You make me sound like a child wanting sweets before supper.”

“Because you’re acting like me,” James replied, and before Lily could protest, he went on, “being a complete idiot. Any work you do while you’re feeling crap will turn out crap, and the more you push yourself, the worse you’ll feel. What you need to do is rest.”

Lily took another mouthful of water, washing away the last of the potion. “I know,” she said, and she did, logically. “But –”

“You’re not on your own, you know,” James said. Lily faltered. He set his glass down on the tray table and inched a little closer, jaw squared. “You’re not missing any lessons, really – we’ve got everything you need for when you’re better. And I know I wasn’t a prefect or anything, but… Well… I can do it.” The most bizarre expression crossed his face, and it took Lily a moment to identify it – awkward? She hadn’t known James was capable of looking awkward, but there it was, albeit a very handsome, smooth rendition that most regular people would’ve killed for. “We’re partners,” he said softly. “If one of us is down for the count, then… well… I can handle it all, Evans.” He swept up the remaining messages from the prefects. “I just want you to feel better, all right?”

The air thickened. Lily was painfully aware of the pillow digging into her back, that she’d not showered since she’d been admitted yesterday morning, that she was in an unflattering, stripy pair of pink pyjamas, that there were two second-year boys making farting sounds with their armpits a few beds over, and that James’s side brushed her knee, the contact brief and burning and tingling from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.

She was lost for words. And she had no right to be: James was, essentially, just behaving the way any decent Head Boy ought to. Lily shifted, guilt slipping over her shoulders like a ragged old cloak, clasped too tight at the neck. James watched her, the rain outside reflected in his rectangular lenses. Genuine. Patient.

She had underestimated him. Her stomach prickled.

“Partners,” she echoed, and set her glass down too, using her free hand to extend her pinkie. “Thank you, James. I suppose I got pretty lucky.”

“You got lucky?” James grinned and shook his head. His smallest finger wrapped around hers, and the friendly touch made her shiver. His finger had a callous – from catching Quaffles, she reckoned. He never wore gloves. Ruined his technique, apparently. She didn’t know why she remembered him saying that. “So is this a promise, Evans? You’ll take it easy?”

“‘Evans’?” Lily said, sounding bolder than she felt, thinking that she could blame this in the future on her illness or the potion (but it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it wasn’t). “If we’re partners, James, we might need to be a bit more cordial than that.”

His face lit. It was magical. “Right you are. So, you’ll rest for me, Lily?” His voice was gentler on her name, tongue caressing the ‘l’s, each vowel a reverent breath.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

Their knuckles brushed. Partners.

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

Heyy!! Can I request something cute and romantic with Aonung x fem! metkayina reader. Maybe some romantic confession and laying in hut and just being in each other arms

3:24ᴘᴍ

➜ Pairing: Aonung x fem!metikayina!reader

➜ Warnings: fluff, none

➜ Word Count: 0.9k

➜ Notes: I would have gotten this out sooner but microsoft word literally stopped working for like 2-3 days and i went through probably one of the most traumatic experiences of my life and was super out of it for a few days. My writing drive has also been run into the ground lmao.

Anyway hope y'all enjoy!!

Aᴠᴀᴛᴀʀ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

“He really did a number on you,” you mumbled with a shake of your head and Aonung scowled at your comment, making your lips curl in amusement. You found what the Sully boys had done to him almost humorous given the fact he had been picking on them non-stop since they arrived. You weren't sure why he’d been so mean to them, but you figured he’d have to warm up to them eventually since they seemed to be staying.   

“I didn’t come here to have it shoved in my face,” he snipped back dryly, moving to sit against the wall and stretching his body out in the empty hut. You snorted as you turned, looking through the basket of medical supplies you had and beginning to patch him up.   

“I don’t know what you expected skxawng, you’ve been nothing short of awful to those kids since they got here.” He simply huffed wordlessly, letting you work on him in a silence. You tried to work quickly, disinfecting the small cut on his cheek bone and slathering his bruise with a paste to help with the pain.   

“What do you think of them?” Aonung blurted the question once you’d finished, breaking the silence. You hummed thoughtfully at his question, putting away the supply's and pushing the basket by the entrance of the hut so you wouldn’t forget it on your way out.   

“Well, I haven't really had a chance to talk to any of them yet, but they seem like a nice bunch of kids,” you answered after a moment.  

“But you're not interested in any of them, right?” he asked, and his question made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You were unsure of why but it almost sounded like he was worried you had taken an interest in them. His cheeks flushed a light pink and he attempted to clarify what he meant, "I mean – like – you don’t think either of them are attractive-”   

You laughed, cutting him off and making his face hot with embarrassment as a deep blush made its way up his neck to the tips of his ears. He was aware of how he sounded, but as ridiculous as the question was, it had been eating at him since they’d arrived.   

“Aonung what are you talking about?” your voice was teasing, full of amusement as you spoke.   

He refused to look at you as he answered, “Well Tsireya has a crush on Lo’ak, so I was just wondering if you also might have been into one of them, because-” he began to ramble, very obviously flustered. You suppressed a giggle behind a smile, you couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten so worked up like this, let alone over you. You thought it was quite cute.   

Placing a hand on his cheek you attempted to bring him back to the real world, “Aonung,” you said softly, and the sound of his name coming from your lips had him swallowing whatever words that sat on the tip of his tongue, and his breath hitching in his throat.  

“Yeah,” he whispered back, and your smile only widened.   

“Why would I ever look at them, when I could look at you.” The words themselves sounded like they should have been a question, but they came out as more of a statement. They had Aonungs heart racing and eyes widening. Were you saying what he thought you were saying? You had to be, he thought, what else could you have meant? This was most definitely not the way he had imagine a confession between the two of you going, for starters he had always imagined he’d confess first.  

Hesitantly he leaned closer to you until he was just a hair's breadth away from you. The proximity had you swallowing harshly, your eyes dropping to his lips and making your cheeks warm. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as he closed the gap, and you were sure he could hear it as you slipped your eyes shut and let yourself be immersed by the feeling of him.   

He was tentive at first, his lips just barley brushing against yours, allowing you time to pull away. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips firmly against his and making him smile into the kiss at your reciprocation. One kiss after another your lips molded against each other perfectly in a short flurry of passion that left you breathless. The both of you drew out the kisses as long as you could, until the simple need to breathe burned your lungs and you both had to pull away.  

It was your turn to be flustered as you avoided his eyes now, fixing your gaze onto the floor firmly and ignoring the deepening blush that was blooming across your cheeks and kissing the tips of your ears. It made him smirk, a sense of pride that he could pull such a reaction from you bubbling in his chest.   

He reached out, threading his fingers with yours wordlessly and pulling you into his chest. You yelped as you were pulled on top of him, muscles tensing at the sudden, involuntary movement, but quickly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around you. You shifted, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and getting comfortable. The two of you could talk about what all this meant for the both of you later, for now you would simply enjoy holding each other.