#(thanks for sending this in and the laugh!)

[cheftsunoda]

hiii!

I love your writing sooo much and I just had an idea for a story with Lando (if you write for him)

The idea came to me when I was watching one of his interviews in which he gets asked if he likes cats or dogs and he says that he's DEFINITELY a dog person and hates cats (which should be a crime imo)

Anyway I was wondering if you could write a story in which the reader LOVEEEES cats and Lando likes reader a lot but they tell him that they refuse to date someone who doesn’t like cats so Lando tries to charm/befriend their cat/cats

nine lives — ln4

lando norris x !cat lover reader

smau + blurbs

You’ve always said you could forgive many things in a relationship—bad taste in music, questionable cooking, even the occasional forgotten anniversary. But not liking cats? Unforgivable. Which is why, when a clip of Lando—your boyfriend of almost a year—where he boldly declares “I just don’t trust cats. They stare at you like they’re plotting your death.”, your phone practically explodes with notifications. And right in the middle of your peaceful Sunday morning, curled up in bed with four purring furballs and one very smug grey baby sprawled on your chest, Lando walks into the room holding his phone like it’s ticking.

“They’re all sending me this video,” he says, deadpan. “And now half the internet thinks we’re about to break up because I disrespected Mister Whiskers the Third.”

You blink at him. “You did. And you disrespected me.”

And that’s when he sighs—loudly, dramatically—and looks your cats in the eye like he’s facing his greatest challenge yet.

“I guess I’m gonna have to win them over, huh?”

fc : random pinterest girlies

(a/n) : hi babyyyyyy. thanks for the love:) i am a huge cat person so this was very fun for me to write. my cat was stepping on my keyboard keys as i was literally trying to type it out. LMAOOO

ALSO NOT MY DUMBASS HAVING THIS EDITED AND READY FOR TWO DAYS AND NOT REALIZING. IM SO SORRY.

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lando’s ‘undercover’ GQ interview — 6/23/2025

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It starts innocently enough. You’re lounging on the couch in your sunlit living room, a tabby curled against your hip, a calico stretched across your feet, and your ancient, grumpy Persian—Count Meowcula—curled up like a loaf of bread on the coffee table. Lando is still asleep upstairs, likely tangled in the duvet with his mouth slightly open and hair sticking up like a dandelion. You’re scrolling through your phone when the first tag pops up.

@/username000 : NOT LANDO SAYING HE HATES CATS 💀💀💀 @/yourusername come get your man pls

You furrow your brows and click the link.

It’s a recent clip, from the GQ interview he just did the other day. The interviewer shows him an old clip of himself.

And the younger Lando on the video, without missing a beat, replies with boyish arrogance, “Dogs, obviously. Cats are evil. I don’t trust them. They just sit there and judge you.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

He goes on—oh, he goes on.

“They’re always knocking things off tables. Like, why? For what reason? I could never live with a cat. I’d be on edge all the time.”

You blink at the screen, stunned. A moment later, your mentions erupt like fireworks.

@/username00 : so like… yn owns FIVE cats and lando said THIS?????

@/username0 : the betrayal. the slander. does Count Meowcula know??

@/username1 : if my man ever said this about cats i’d simply let them scratch his eyes out 😭

You let out a little laugh—half horrified, half amused—and glance around the room. As if sensing drama, your youngest cat, a tiny grey kitten named Pickles, climbs onto your lap and stares directly into your phone screen like she’s reading the replies.

“I know,” you murmur to her. “He’s got some explaining to do.”

Almost on cue, heavy footsteps pad down the stairs. You hear a yawn, then a groggy voice.

“Morning…” Lando steps into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s in one of your hoodies and a pair of mismatched socks, hair a complete mess.

You swivel your phone toward him, the video paused on the exact moment he says, “Cats are evil.”

He squints. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Lando flops face first onto the couch beside you, groaning into a throw pillow. “I was, like, twenty! I didn’t know better!”

“The internet disagrees.” You smirk, holding your phone up as notifications keep pouring in. “You’ve got approximately two million cat lovers and a grumpy Count Meowcula very disappointed in you.”

Lando turns his head, eyes squinting at the Persian cat who is, indeed, staring at him with an expression of utter betrayal.

“I told him it was an old interview,” you say solemnly. “He doesn’t care.”

“I’ll never earn his forgiveness, will I?”

“Not unless you make amends.”

He sits up dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Then I have no choice. I must… bond with the cats.”

“Oh?” you tease. “The same cats who are evil? The ones you can’t trust?”

“I was young! I was foolish!” He throws himself at your feet in mock agony. “Please, my love, allow me to prove myself to you—and to Pickles. And to Mr. Whiskers. And… Count Meowcula.” He pauses.

“God, why do they all sound like retired supervillains?”

“Because they are.”

Pickles meows at him, unimpressed. Lando slowly sits back up, adjusting his hoodie and patting his lap. “Alright. I’m ready. Send me your softest warrior.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I’m ready to face the consequences of my words,” he says solemnly. “Bring me the cats.”

One by one, like some ceremonial trial, the cats are introduced. Pickles curls up beside him without protest. Mr. Whiskers claws his leg once, just for good measure, and then lays on his foot. Count Meowcula eyes him for a solid three minutes before climbing onto his lap and promptly falling asleep.

You grab your phone and take a picture of the scene—Lando sitting stiff as a board, surrounded by cats, one paw resting over his knee like a warning.

Moments later, the tweet goes viral. The top reply?

@/alex_albon : petition for Lando to do a cat photoshoot in apology form.

You grin and show it to him.

“Absolutely not,” Lando mutters as Mr. Whiskers licks his hand. “Okay. Maybe. Only if I get to wear the little ears too.”

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yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,201,005 others.

yourusername : should i leave this muppet because he doesn’t like my babies?

tagged : lando

—

view 72,075 other comments.

alex_albon : yes. absolutely. dump him. lily and i will take you and your cats in.

liked by yourusername and lilymhe

↳ yourusername : omw to the albon farm where me and my 5 children will be APPRECIATED.

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ lando : HEY HEY WE DO NOT HAVE TO GO THIS FAR

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : i am like the cat whisperer now. ask pickles.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you screamed when mr whiskers jumped up on the couch behind you. mans was just existing.

liked by alex_albon

↳ lando : HE STARTLED ME.

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 : leave him. now. i want to see him walking down the road with one of those hobo sacks.

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : OH MY GOD. YOU ARE ALL SO OVERDRAMATIC. I WAS YOUNG.

↳ maxverstappen1 : do not care. you still said it.

liked by yourusername

username00 : i take it he is still in alot of trouble yn

↳ yourusername : oh yes. very much so. sleeping on the couch currently.

liked by maxverstappen1 and alex_albon

↳ maxverstappen1 : make him sleep on the sidewalk.

liked by yourusername and username00

lando : I AM SORRY BABYYYYY DO NOT LEAVE ME. I NEED YOU AND YOUR 5 CHILDREN.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : leave lando. not bc of the cat thing but just so you can date me😻

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : ALEX. OUT. DO NOT TRY TO WIN OUT ON MY MISFORTUNE.

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

oscarpiastri : I, for one, stand for feline rights. #teampickles

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: just wait til she has a conversation with zhou about this…

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, yourusername and zhouguanyu24

↳ zhouguanyu24 : oh i already know and sweetcorn and i are offended deeply

↳ lando : BROOOOOOOO

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f1gossipgirls

liked by yourusername and 1,100,100 others.

f1gossipgirls : Lando on live tonight with YN’s kitten Pickles!

tagged : lando and yourusername

—

view 175,007 other comments.

username000 : pickles pawing him in the head killed me #teampickles

liked by yourusername

username00 : @/yourusername you are so powerful. he went from hating cats to calling pickles his son in a matter of a week

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s what good pussy does…bad joke?

liked by lando and username00

username0 : pickles had more screen time than max 😭

liked by yourusername and maxfewtrell

username1 : HE DID THE BABY VOICE AWWWWW

liked by yourusername

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The stream wasn’t even supposed to happen. It started because Max texted Lando “go live you coward I miss your face”, and then fifteen minutes later Lando was setting up his webcam while you sat cross legged on the couch, cradling Pickles in your lap like royalty. You had no intention of being on camera—until Pickles decided to launch himself from your arms and climb straight up Lando’s hoodie mid-intro.

“AH—oh my god—HE’S IN MY SHIRT,” Lando yelps, half-laughing, half-panicking, while you scramble into frame trying to extract the tiny menace from his hood. The comments explode instantly.

@/username0000 : IS THAT PICKLES??

@/username000: this is already the best stream of the year

You finally wrestle the kitten free and sit down beside Lando, both of you breathless from laughing. Pickles, smug as ever, curls into a perfect ball on Lando’s shoulder like he owns the place.

“He’s… decided to stay,” Lando mutters, eyes wide. “I’m not moving for the rest of the stream.”

“That’s called growth,” you tease. “You used to call him a demon.”

“I still think he is,” Lando says. “He’s just my demon now.”

Then Max joins the call. And everything goes downhill.

“Oi,” Max says, grinning into his camera. “Am I interrupting domestic bliss?”

“Pickles almost crawled into my ribcage five minutes ago,” Lando replies. “So yes, but it’s fine.”

You wave at Max. “Hi Max. I saved your best friend from a feline induced death.”

“Legend,” Max says with a wink. “Though if Pickles had finished the job, I’d finally win our Fantasy league.”

Lando flips him off. The chat goes wild. Over the next half hour, it descends into total chaos. Lando’s trying to game, Max is throwing shade, and you’re in the background trying to keep Pickles from knocking over an open can of Monster with the energy of a feral toddler. At one point a conversation sparks.

Max started. “So YN, how many cats is too many cats?”

You thought for a moment. ”Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

“Ten.”

Lando spits out his drink, “TEN?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying. We have the space.”

Max laughed. “This is how it starts. First it’s one kitten, next thing you know, you’re on a reality show called My Strange Addiction..’”

You laughed, “I’d watch my episode.”

Lando sighed heavily, “Don’t give her ideas, she’s already been measuring out a catio for the balcony.”

The chat is unhinged at this point.

@/username11: lando is literally becoming the cat dad he swore he’d never be and I love it

Then Pickles decides to crawl back onto Lando’s lap mid game, and instead of pushing him off, Lando just says, “Okay okay buddy, you can sit there, just don’t touch the mouse—”

Immediately, Pickles touches the mouse. Lando loses the round. Max howls laughing.

“I’ve been sabotaged,” Lando groans. “By my own child.”

You hand him a tiny sweater. “He earned this.”

Lando holds up the sweater to the camera—soft knit, neon orange, a little lightning bolt stitched across the back.

“It’s giving superhero sidekick,” Max says. “He needs a cape.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you say, already pulling out your phone to text your Etsy supplier.

By the end of the stream, Pickles is asleep on Lando’s chest, purring, and Lando’s stroking his tiny head absentmindedly while bickering with Max about who cheated in karting back in 2015.

“He’s so gone,” Max mouths into the camera, pointing at Lando, who doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy whispering, “You’re my best mate, but if you ever touch my mouse again, I swear—” to a literal sleeping kitten.

The final shot before the stream ends? Lando kissing the top of Pickles’ head without even realizing he’s doing it. The comments explode. And the clip goes viral.

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You come home expecting the usual—a trail of cat toys on the stairs, a half consumed cup of Lando’s coffee on the kitchen counter, and Pickles dramatically lounging in your spot on the couch. What you don’t expect is Lando standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back and the guiltiest grin on his face.

“What did you do?” you ask instantly.

“Why do you assume I did something?” he replies, rocking on his heels.

“You only smile like that when you’ve either crashed a scooter or spent a suspicious amount of money.”

“I prefer the term invested.”

You narrow your eyes. “Lando…”

He takes your hand. “Okay. Just… come with me.”

He leads you to the balcony, practically vibrating with excitement. The sliding doors are already open, and the cats are pacing back and forth like they know something’s up. And then you see it. A catio.

Not just any catio. A custom, multi-level, architectural wonderland that stretches across half the balcony. There’s a tunnel system, clear bubble pods for sunbathing, platforms shaped like trophies, and tiny nameplates engraved for each cat. At the top—of course—is Count Meowcula, looking down on his kingdom like he’s about to demand taxes.

You blink. “Lando. What the hell is this?”

“It’s a Catio 2.0,” he says proudly. “Designed it with a guy from Reddit. Don’t ask how much it cost.”

You turn to him, stunned.

“And this?” you say, gesturing to the racing stripe hammock that literally says “PICKLES’ PAD.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Okay that part was my idea. And the tiny pit wall.”

There is a tiny pit wall. You burst out laughing, hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He shrugs, pulling you into a hug. “You said they deserved fresh air and enrichment. And I figured… if I’m gonna be a cat dad, I might as well go all in.”

You lean up and kiss him, dizzy with love. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he grins. “But you love me anyway.”

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It started as a joke. You were scrolling through Instagram with Lando one night, curled up on the couch while Pickles aggressively kneaded his thigh. Zhou had just posted yet another selfie with Sweetcorn, his fluffy, spoiled cat, perched on his shoulder like a queen.

Lando squinted at the screen. “I’m starting to think Zhou loves that cat more than he loves people.”

You smirked. “I respect it. Honestly, I love sweetcorn too.”

“Okay, weird. But what if we got him, like… a Sweetcorn pillow?” Lando said, half joking, half serious.

You stared at him. “Wait. That’s actually genius.”

Two weeks later, the package arrives.

A two foot long plush pillow—an eerily accurate, almost too realistic version of Sweetcorn, down to the slightly tilted ears and smug expression. You nearly cry laughing when you pull it out of the box. Lando holds it up like he’s presenting Simba.

“We’ve peaked,” he declares. “This is our legacy.”

You’re both waiting outside the Ferrari hospitality unit when Zhou walks up, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, completely unprepared.

Lando grins. “Got you a present.”

Zhou raises a brow. “What’d you do?”

Then you pull the pillow out from behind your back and hold it up proudly.

Zhou stops. Blinks. Takes off his sunglasses in slow motion.

“You did not.”

“Oh, we did,” you laugh. “Meet… travel-sized Sweetcorn.”

Zhou stares at the pillow, mouth open, completely speechless. Then, without a word, he drops his coffee and takes the pillow in his arms like a long lost child.

“I’m never sleeping alone again,” he says.

Lando bursts out laughing. “We made it extra squishy so you’d get maximum cuddle support.”

Zhou is still cradling the pillow, already doing voices— “‘Who needs anyone when I’ve got you, Sweetcorn 2.0.’”

You snap a picture of him holding the pillow like a baby, and before long it’s all over social media.

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lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 4,001,008 others.

lando : i have made amends with all the cat people in my life. built a catio, traveled to the albon farm and got zhou a mini sweetcorn. and i can say i finally understand why max broke down the door for his cat children.

tagged : alex_albon, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and zhouguany24

—

view 175,001 other comments.

yourusername : this is the man i love. covered in cat hair.

liked by lando

lando : god i hate how i will do literally anything for you

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you lannnnnnn

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : and id break ten more doors.

liked by yourusername and lando

alex_albon : you still flinched when one of ours sneezed but we made progress so idc

liked by yourusername and lando

zhouguanyu24 : mini sweetcorn sleeps beside me every night. nothing will ever top this gift.

liked by yourusername and lando

yukitsunoda0511 : yn!! do you think we can get him to go to the cat cafe in tokyo??

liked by yourusername

lando : no

yourusername : if you love me you will

liked by yukitsunoda0511

lando : GOD damnit

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[isabelckl]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 2

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 3

The hallway was loud in that late afternoon way—sneakers squeaking, lockers slamming, voices overlapping with end-of-day laughter and plans.

You slammed your locker shut a little too hard, and of course, because the universe hated you or just liked messing with you, half your shit tumbled straight onto the floor. Notebook, pen, lip gloss, a crumpled worksheet you didn’t even remember stuffing in there.

You sighed through your nose, already crouching — except someone beat you to it.

Ellie.

Hoodie half-zipped, guitar case strapped to her back, a mess of books pressed to her side like she was trying not to drop them too. She crouched down silently and started picking up your things like it wasn’t weird.

You stared at her.

She didn’t say anything. Just gather your stuff with careful fingers and then stand, holding it out.

“Here.”

You took it. Didn’t really look at her. “Thanks.”

You turned back to your locker to re-slam it shut properly and spin the lock. You glanced at her. She was still there. Looking at you. Kind of.

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

She looked like she was about to say something—her mouth opened just slightly—but nothing came out. Her gaze flicked down, then back up. Whatever it was, she swallowed it.

Turning, she walked off fast, slipping into the crowd of students in the hall like she hadn’t just hesitated in front of you for too long.

You frowned after her.

Then, right on cue, your friends slid up beside you like sharks sensing blood in the water.

One of them leaned against your locker, twirling her keys. “Ew. Were you talking to that lesbo?”

You didn’t even blink. “No.”

You started walking before they could say anything else, bag swinging off one shoulder, the hallway stretching ahead.

“Are you coming to Tyler’s party or not?” another one of them shouted after you. “You said maybe!”

You rolled your eyes and didn’t answer. You didn’t want to go to another party. Not tonight. Not with them.

Not when — you pulled your phone out, thumb brushing over the screen — you had more interesting things to do.

Like talk to E.

Your room was quiet, save for the low hum of music from your speaker—some indie playlist you didn’t even recognize anymore. You were lying on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, chin resting in your hand.

Your phone sat right in front of you. Screen still lit.

E:

I’M IN CLASS T_T

ur insane for this (i’ve been blessed)

how AM I supposed to FOCUS after this ???

You smiled.

One of those dumb little smiles that slipped out before you could stop it. The kind you’d hide if anyone else was around. But no one was. Just you. And her. And the heat still humming under your skin from earlier.

You were about to finally reply when the dots popped up again.

She was typing.

One message.

two. three, four—

E:

care to reply?

i wanna ask something, can i?

what did you think when you sent that pic to me…

what are you thinking now? ?

BRO

don’t leave me hanging

You let out a short laugh, pressing your cheek to the back of your hand. She was spiraling. A little desperate. It was cute.

You waited a beat. Then started typing.

You:

what was i thinking?

nothing really.

just wanted to show it to you ;)

She didn’t respond right away. You watched the read receipt hover.

E:

u always send stuff like that to ppl on here?

You paused. Fingers resting above the keyboard.

You:

what

no

ur the only one who gets to see that

Maybe it was too honest. But you didn’t unsend it.

This time, the three dots didn’t show up right away. You just stared at your screen. Waiting.

You grinned at the screen, still resting on your elbows, fingers hovering as you typed slow—on purpose.

You:

do u wanna see the other one?

You watched the “delivered” turn to “read” almost instantly.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back again.

E:

what other one…

A pause.

E:

U HAVE TWO NIPPLE PIERCINGS??

You snorted so hard it startled even you. You dropped your head into the crook of your arm, shoulders shaking as the messages kept coming in.

E:

why would u say that to me

how could u drop that like it’s casual

i’m in distress

i’m literally sweating rn

oh my god do u actually??

You didn’t answer right away. You let her spin out.

You:

u okay over there?

Another pause.

E:

no.

u can’t just hot girl drop that and then vanish.

not when i have a brain

and nerves

and a vivid imagination

this is cruelty. actual cruelty.

You were fully grinning now, cheeks warm against your arm, kicking your feet behind you like you weren’t being a menace on purpose.

You:

i’m just saying

you asked for weird

and i deliver

xx

E:

okay then what's your favorite color

i am just a fragile nerd go easy on me

You rolled onto your back, holding your phone over your face now. As much as you liked getting reactions out of her, there was something genuinely fun about it.

Like she made it easy to be just a little unhinged.

You:

pink :p

what is your favorite color?

The dots appeared instantly.

E:

green :B

(but like the gross kind. forest green. sweater green. mossy swamp witch green)

You laughed under your breath, thumbs already moving.

You:

that is such a weirdly specific shade

u could’ve just said “green” like a normal person

E:

normal is boring

u said so yourself

You paused, smiling a little.

You:

okay moss witch

what’s ur favorite movie

E:

wtf

why is this suddenly 20 questions

r u trying to date me or smth

You rolled onto your side, tucking your pillow under your cheek as your smile stretched into something smug.

You:

idk

maybe

depends on ur answer

Three dots. Pause. Then—

E:

spiderverse

but if you tell anyone i’ll lie

You:

that’s such a loser pick

i respect it tho

10/10 taste

E:

good

i was worried ur opinion might ruin my whole night

You giggled softly, shutting your eyes for a second. It was late now—later than you realized. You rolled onto your side, phone cradled in your hand, the screen's soft glow painting your pillow in blue light. Music still hummed low in the background.

Your thumbs hovered before you typed, casual like always, even though your heart tugged just slightly.

You:

i feel like we'd get along in real life, if ever. don’t u think?

She read it quickly. Typing bubble appeared immediately, like she’d been waiting.

E:

uh, well... u have a lot of friends

i mean

it's obvious

with what you’ve told me before

You blinked.

Friends?

Yeah, you had them. Too many, maybe. But somehow, the way she said it—it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Your brows pinched.

You:

does it really show?

E:

yeah

you’re like the type of person everyone wants to be around

You:

not really. some people hate me

say i’m a bitch

which is true

There was only a one-second pause before her reply landed.

E:

bitch is cool

i don’t mind u bitching me around

JK

Your laugh broke out, a little too loud for how late it was. You buried your face in your arm to muffle it, shaking your head.

You:

what

what did u say

really huh

E:

i mean

it’s u

Your fingers froze for a second. Your stomach did a weird flip.

You:

me??

u don’t even know me like that

There was a long pause—just long enough to make you think maybe she wasn't going to answer at all.

E:

i know things

You scoffed quietly, rolling your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. It was stupid. She was stupid. But God, she was good at this.

You pulled your pillow closer, half-buried your face in it, then typed:

You:

sounds creepy when u say it like that

E:

we’ve been talking for two weeks

i like… have a little voice of u in my head now

like a little devil

whispering shit i shouldn’t do

You blinked, smiling slowly. There was something shameless about that last part. Something that curled warm in your stomach. She didn’t even try to sound casual. She just… said it.

You:

what kind of shit?

👀

E:

nope

not letting u turn this around on me

u already sent me to horny jail once today

You laughed into your pillow, your cheeks heating again even though you were totally alone.

You:

fine

but admit it

u like having me in ur head

E:

maybe

depends

does the little devil voice wanna come over and ruin my life more

You bit your lip, heart doing that dumb lurch it always did when she got bold like this. And God, she was getting bolder.

You:

that depends too

how ruinable is ur life rn

E:

hanging by a thread

try me

You closed your eyes for a second, just feeling your pulse, your grin, the way your legs kicked lazily behind you like you were thirteen again and falling in love with someone you hadn’t even seen.

You:

u flirting with me?

E:

no

i’m letting the devil in

You stayed up talking to her until 3 a.m. It wasn’t even deep shit. It wasn’t I had a rough childhood or let me tell you about my dreams kind of talk. It was mostly stupid stuff. Like whether grilled cheese should be dipped in ketchup or soup. Which celebrities you’d punch if given the chance. What your weirdest recurring dream was. (Hers involved being chased by a swarm of bees through IKEA. You still weren’t over it.)

Somewhere around 2:17, your jaw started to ache from smiling so much. Not even joking. Like actual muscle fatigue. And yet you kept texting her. Kept laughing into your pillow like an idiot. Kept rereading her replies while the night blurred and softened around the glow of your screen.

By the time your alarm went off at 6:15, you were practically in mourning.

Now, here you were.

First period: Calculus. A.k.a. hell.

You were slumped in your seat, hoodie pulled over your head like armor, the room lit in that offensive fluorescent way that made everything feel worse. Your chin was cradled in your palm, elbow sliding ever so slightly with each nod of your head.

The teacher’s voice was doing that thing again—half English, half pure math. Something about integrals. Limits. Derivatives. You didn’t know. You weren’t listening. You were floating somewhere between consciousness and dreaming of accidentally sleeping.

Your eyelids fluttered.

So close. And warm.

“Miss Williams. Forty-five minutes late.”

The sharp voice sliced through your haze like a ruler to the knuckles.

You lifted your head just enough to blink toward the front of the room.

Ellie.

Hood up, headphones half-shoved into her backpack. She looked like she’d just walked out of a crime scene and into a math test.

The professor didn’t even let her sit down yet.

“Just because you’re good at calculus doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply to you,” she snapped, arms crossed. “It’s called structure. You should try it.”

Ellie didn’t look up. Just gave a low, mumbled “Sorry,” and slid into her seat like she was trying to disappear into it.

You watched her from behind your sleeve. Her hair was still messy. Hoodie sleeves too long. Her fingers drummed quietly against her notebook, eyes half-lidded but still pretending to care.

Your head started to dip again.

Just a little.

Almost resting.

“And you,” the teacher snapped suddenly, her voice slicing sideways now. “If you’re so tired you can’t keep your head up, maybe you should’ve just stayed home and slept.”

Your heart did a lazy flip as you blinked up, caught off guard.

She was talking to you.

Of course she was.

You straightened, barely. “Wasn’t sleeping.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, turning back to the board like she hadn’t just publicly executed you. “Some of us actually care about your education.”

You resisted the very real urge to groan. Instead, you blinked slowly and stabbed her in the forehead with your eyes. In your head.

Can’t a girl be sleepy in peace?

What is this, the military?

You tugged your hoodie further over your eyes and sank back down.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Just once—soft, stealthy, like it knew you were in the middle of being very publicly humiliated and wanted to offer comfort.

You pulled it out, just enough to see the screen under the desk.

E:

good morning :>

how’s ur morning so far?

You stared at it for a second, lips twitching. You could still hear the teacher yammering on at the whiteboard, numbers flying across the screen like you were in A Beautiful Mind but with less genius and more exhaustion.

At least I get good morning texts like this.

Some people have coffee. I have this girl.

You ducked your head a little lower and typed back.

You:

hell

the teacher just publicly executed me

im texting u from the afterlife

Three dots popped up immediately.

E:

LMAOO

i told u not to stay up

now ur a corpse

a hot corpse

You bit back a laugh, teeth sinking into your lip as you stared at the screen. Your cheeks warmed, because it was stupid—but it worked. She worked.

You:

i’m haunting this class

spreading sleepy bitch energy

ur next btw

E:

oh i know

i got reaped by the attendance lady this morning

she called me “wasted potential”

i feel like a tragic poet

You:

u are

i bet ur writing limericks in ur notes

E:

nah

drawing boobs on the back page

stay humble

You pressed your fist to your mouth, hiding the very real giggle that almost escaped.

From the front of the room, the teacher said something about derivatives again. You didn’t care. E was texting you about boobs at 9:03 a.m. and somehow it felt like a gift.

E:

u look hot rn i bet

You blinked, then huffed quietly through your nose. You typed back.

You:

nope. i’m wearing a hoodie :( i look like a tired thumb

E:

and? it suits u

You bit your lip, eyes flicking up toward the front of the classroom where your teacher was scribbling something on the whiteboard that may as well have been ancient code.

You:

i don’t wear hoodies at school

it’s illegal

E:

i’m wearing a hoodie rn :)

You:

lmao that suits u

You settled back in your chair, hoodie still over your head like armor, as you typed again.

You:

i only wore it now bc i have bags under my eyes the size of my regrets

E:

aw :[

last night worn u out huh

let me buy u something

what do u want

You squinted at your screen, half amused, half melting.

You:

wait fr

ur buying me coffee??

E:

duh

i take care of the girl i ruin

You:

YEY

i want a croissant and like

a gallon of sugar

You grinned stupidly at your screen, letting your cheek fall against your hand again. You didn’t even know where she lived. For all you knew, she was across the country, or halfway across the world.

But the thought of her—wherever she was—thinking of you first thing in the morning?

That was enough.

E:

done

now look dramatically out the window like ur waiting for me

You snorted, resisting the urge to do exactly that.

tag list:

@eclipcee8 @darkdanixoxo @chappellroankisser @senjukawaragitr @saverdelrey @appleofmyii @wzcoffeefloomo @fatbootymuncher @oneinameliann @ilahrawr @spiderx18 @vampirq @mioluvzsevika @ff4mi @ggutpunch @ellies-dinosaur @butchchase @bambiaches @velvetinkbym @rhian88

[vouges]

word count: 750 - nsfw, minors do not interact.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had a busy schedule, very high in demand yet for some reason always had a spot available for you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who swore the discount he gave you was just a friendly gesture, brushing it off as a way to make a loyal client feel appreciated.

Tattoo artist Simon! who never did more than necessary, the touch routine and practiced, yet with you he always let his fingers linger longer than they needed to, almost caressing, before you heard the familiar buzz of the needle.

"Gotta keep still for me, yeah?" he murmured, "Can’t be messing up my pretty canvas"

Tattoo artist Simon! who felt like a fool every time his cock hardened when you’d send through a picture of your healed up tattoo, with a sweet little thank you message always accompanied by a heart that pathetically made him want to cum in his boxers.

Tattoo artist Simon! who insisted you were just another client, even as he fucked his fist to the images of you engrained into his mind. He felt like a desperate mess, cock achingly hard as ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his stomach all from the slithers of skin that he’d seen when tattooing you. God, how easily you made him feel like an inexperienced virgin.

Tattoo artist Simon! who messaged back embarrassingly fast when you asked if he ever wanted to meet up outside of just a tattooing session. He cringed afterwards, noticing the typos and the awkward combination of emojis used.

'A thumbs up and two smiles?' he thought to himself, 'Real great Simon, should've thrown in the entire happy categories of emojis whilst you're at it'

Tattoo artist Simon! who couldn't believe his luck when you and him wound up on your sofa after dinner and a few drinks at a local pub but makes no move to question it as you both kiss messily, tongues dancing and hands reaching everywhere they can with the current restriction of your clothes.

"Wow- this is actually happening, huh?" he mumbled as you kissed messily, hands grasping at each other, "God, you've no idea how long I've been waiting for this"

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle the groan that escaped him as he bottomed out in you for the first time. Hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as if he was scared you'd disappear if he let up.

"Fuuuck-" he whispered shakily as he tried to remind himself you had neighbours and very thin walls, "God that feels so good."

Tattoo artist Simon! who quickly gave up on any attempt to be quiet once he heard how pretty your moans sounded, selfishly wanting them to grace his ears with every thrust as he tilted your head back, not wanting you to stifle your moans with the cushions underneath you.

"Shit- no, keep making those sounds," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "Wanna hear every single one of ‘em, don't go quiet on me, doll"

Tattoo artist Simon! who honestly felt like he'd never experienced sex this good, even on a less than comfortable sofa that he knew would leave him sore in the morning, it was worth it as he felt your pussy clench around his cock, so warm and tight, milking him for all his worth.

"Fuck- so...so, good-" he almost whined, punctuating each word with a thrust, his balls slapping against your skin as he increased tempo, "Could stay like this forever."

Tattoo artist Simon! who kissed you with so much more care than you'd ever expect as you both came, you gushing around his cock as his cum shot out, painting your walls, before slowly oozing out from where you were both connected.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to take a moment to admire the sight of your blissed out face as you lay back on the sofa, slick with sweat and his cum running out of you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who laughed as he lay beside you on a sofa that was way too small, the both of you talking about everything and nothing at all before realising you'd both denied wanting this for so long.

"I tried so hard not to like you, thinking you were too good for me- hoping it would keep the thoughts at bay," he chuckled, a contagious sound as he ran his fingers across your skin, "Didn’t work for shit obviously with you wanting me just as bad."

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Old Friends

Your Character Settings: AFAB, Jason Todd's childhood friend, civilian, famous author

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

“When the cops told me they’d be sending over a bodyguard, I didn’t expect them to send in a superhero,” you said, setting down the frog-shaped pitcher on the coffee table. 

You then took a seat directly facing Red Hood. Tall. Bulky. Vigilante. Alleged colleague of the Bats if you were going by the giant red bat logo across his chest. He looked almost comical on your thrifted loveseat, but he kept his knees together and folded his hands politely over them, as though that would help make him look smaller. 

“I was told you were getting death threats,” he said. 

“Authors get that kind of mail all the time.”

“But it got worse, right?”

You shrugged. “I can deal with that type of thing, I called the cops for a different matter.” You gestured at the envelope on the table.

Red Hood examined the contents. They were photos of a shattered library window, specifically, the Jason Todd Collection, which was a library that doubled as a shelter full of secondhand sofas and couches and two bathrooms. It’s been around for three months and completely owned and funded by you. 

“I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so because I want help finding the son of a bitch that broke in and beat up the people sleeping inside.”

“I’m pretty sure the cops already dealt with that.”

“They said they were going to deal with it, but a few officers took some pictures and didn’t even bother interviewing the victims.”

“I understand your concern for the victims and I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to ensure that you were safe. It’s not exactly a secret that you own the Ja…” he paused briefly before continuing, “that you own the shelter. An attack on the place could’ve been a way of getting your attention. The shelter was attacked after your latest book release, correct?”

Your growing temper simmered and you reclined on your armchair. He was right. “Okay, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that, makes me feel old. Just call me by my first name.”

He hesitated before saying your name and, “your new book’s controversial.”

“Yeah. Not everyone’s happy that I brought back a character from the dead. He was a fan favorite so half of my readers were happy to see him again, but the rest think that resurrection cheapens the plot.”

“I think you foreshadowed Hector’s return pretty consistently.”

“You read my books?”

He tilted his red helmet and you could feel him smiling under that thing. “I like love stories.”

“That–Jason!”

His whole body stiffened, but then a giant, furry thing emerged from behind his loveseat and started sniffing his shoes and thighs. 

You sighed. “That’s Jason. He usually hides in my room when I have people over. C’mere, boy.”

Instead of running to your lap like he always did, your seventy-kilogram, stranger-fearing rescue folded its legs and laid its heavy head on Red Hood’s boot. 

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” You eyed the hero suspiciously. “Can you talk to animals or something?”

He chuckled. “No superpowers, I’m afraid, guess he just likes me.” He bent down and gently rubbed the dog’s head. 

Your throat rumbled lowly with mild jealousy. It took you a whole year before Jason would let you approach him without peeing.

Red Hood then asked, “So…Jason?”

“What?”

“Was that always his name?”

“No. According to the shelter that found him he never answered to a single name. When I got him, I refused to just call him dog or it, so I reinforced the name Jason.”

“...you named him after Jason Todd?”

“Yes, I did.” You crossed your arms. “Now, can we please discuss the reason why you’re here?”

“I didn’t mean to get on your nerves, I was just–”

“–curious, I know.”

“You must’ve really cared for this Todd.”

You thought of Jason, beaming as he handed you a cheeseburger, laughing at a joke you told him, and you smiled. “He was my best friend.”

Red Hood said nothing.

“He died a few years ago. He was the smartest person I knew and he… he didn’t even get to finish high school.” You exhaled and looked at your bookshelf. “I want the world to remember his name, even if it’s just from the dedication pages in my books and a small library.”

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

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Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[glitterfingers]

Started as a silly crush from twelve? Thirteen? years ago. These feelings have existed for more than a decade. I live a quick jeep away from where i last saw you. I still recall your face between my legs in the blue room that December morning. I'm not sorry I didn't stay when you asked, but I regret being scared out of my mind when you requested tulog muna tayo, huwag ka munang umalis. My regrets are few and far between but I'll admit i regret not staying. For you I admit I remain a staunch defender of being absolutely selfish with my heart. I would not have survived you if you lied and pretended to want me when you didn't. But i can live through this pining. Thanks for rejecting the hypothetical but sincere request, for not being an asshole and using me for your ego (the bar is in the lowest circle of hell). After all those years of denying it to myself, you remain a constant ache in my chest. I still dream about you once a year and am hit with obscene longing every time. It would be comical if I weren't so disgusted at how much i want. And I'm so frustrated because it's been four years since I've last talked to you and it's you that i want specifically and only you. The blue room is long gone. That morning exists only in my memories. I've known no peace since. Thought time away would make the desire fade but it only gave the yearning depth. I've tried I've been trying i continue to try to let it go, let the wanting of you go. I endure raw desperation and this version is somehow the most amusing to my other friends, but the worst to you and you're not the cause, i just wish it were easier for me to have been your friend without simultaneously craving you.

But my long term longing is in your shape and the color of your skin and the tattoos you let me bite and how the morning sun hit your eyes and how we made each other laugh and i miss you all the time. How are your parents. What did you think about Senshi's story from Dungeon Meshi. What obscure movie are you going to recommend me now. Let's debate on why you said Junji Ito was for normies. I'll give you some of my tea and you'll thank me. Your friends probably still love you, even though your lives have all evolved, just talk to them. Will you let me kiss you properly just one last time? Don't let me kiss you, i'll probably never want to let go. I still haven't, but I swear I've tried everything I know though. Or do let me. I dont know. I've loved a couple people since the last time i thought i was in love with you. Apparently i cannot framework myself out of desire (who knew), but I've pried away the excess. I can love people without wanting them in my life anymore. Tell your parents you love them before it's too late.

I send a quick prayer for you every year on your birthday, i stopped greeting you because you never sounded like you enjoyed any of it, but it doesn't matter, the prayer is for my benefit, i never forget. I wish i could.

I wanted you before I knew how to be your friend. Maybe now I am paying that price. I like to believe I'm a better friend and lover now too, but we owe each other nothing. I love you anyway. I know you're not happy, but I hope you're content. I hope one day I'll see you out and about and my heart will stop feeling like it'll explode at the sight of your face. I'm a good liar but i know i can't help but look at you with reverence. Is that why you always looked like you knew something i didn't? I wonder what you saw on my face those last few times. I never did know how to covet without sacrificing and carving out a part of myself, but whatever spell you have me on means I've gotten better at loving myself too. I am no longer unhinged by longing and regret and aching. Time and space away from you (and everyone else really) has taught me that i dont need to bleed to prove my capacity to love. That sometimes the best way to love someone is to leave them the fuck alone because it'll be the best for everyone involved.

I'll see you. Probably next year in my dreams again.

Dedicated to the girl who continues to haunt my dreams even though it's been years since we spoke.

erin morgenstern/richard siken/stick season - noah kahan/not a muse: the inner lives of women: a world poetru anthology; "mountain nights" - rati saxena, edited by kate rogers and viki holmes/unknown/ @2j/unknown/do I wanna know - arctic monkeys/dear friend, - dayglow/ @etherealarte/we should be well prepared - mary oliver

[yukkiji]

i js wanted to drop in and say ur writing is some of the best here on haikyuublr right now and u have such a talent <3 loved ur iwa and atsumu fic and greatly loking forward to reading more of ur stuff after writing this. thank u for sharing ur stuff and excited for whatever else u decide to write!!! ALSO i would love to request something longer with suna if thatd be possible,, maybe something where reader's feeling insecure bc its been a while since theyve done anything? when in reality suna's js exhausted from work and accidentally neglected her T-T if u dont wanna do this i dont mind at all anything with sunarin is fine <3 love ur writing againnn

still here, still yours

after weeks of exhaustion and unintended neglect, pro volleyball player suna gently reassures his insecure partner through tender, praise-filled intimacy—reminding her she's always wanted, never forgotten, and deeply loved.

starring. suna rintaro x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, light angst, smut

warning: 18+ mdni., smut, nsfw, praise kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, dom!suna, emotional neglect, reassurance, light spanking, shower scene, soft aftercare, verbal praise, body worship, unprotected sex

wc: 11.8k

author's note: long overdue but here it is! i hope you enjoy reading this hehe

it’s subtle at first.

the distance.

not a storm, not a blowout, not even a sharp word. just… a creeping quiet. the kind you don’t notice until you’re already sitting in the dark, wondering when the lights went out.

you chalk it up to exhaustion—the kind that’s expected from a professional athlete grinding through mid-season. rintarou comes home past midnight most nights now, his footsteps dragging, his voice low. the door opens, then closes with a tired sigh. his bag hits the floor, and he exhales like the weight on his shoulders is just too much.

he always greets you. always. a soft, automatic “hey,” murmured against your hair as he walks by. sometimes a kiss on the top of your head if he remembers. sometimes, if he isn’t too far gone, he pulls you against his chest for a minute, just holding you in that quiet, liminal hour between exhaustion and sleep.

but more often lately, he heads straight to the shower. a ten-minute rinse, the door left cracked open so the steam doesn’t fog the glass. when he returns, towel slung low on his hips, he drops into bed beside you with a grunt, kisses your shoulder if he’s awake enough, and passes out before you can even finish whispering, “welcome home.”

you tell yourself it’s nothing.

because technically, nothing’s wrong.

you still laugh at the memes he sends you at 1 a.m. from his side of the bed. you still hear him humming under his breath when he makes you tea in the morning. he still saves your leftovers when he eats out with the team. he still picks up your favorite snacks at the corner store without you asking.

but something’s missing.

something deep.

and you don’t even realize what it is until the third night he doesn’t come home at all.

no warning. no messages until after midnight, just a tired update: [rintaro]: staying at the facility tonight. too tired to drive back. love you.

you believe him. of course you do. you never doubt him. suna may be many things—dry, aloof, chronically low-energy—but he has never lied to you. never once gave you a reason to question his loyalty, his commitment. he’s yours. fully.

and still—you ache.

you lie in bed in one of his old shirts, the fabric stretched soft from years of wear, and your hands wander. you trail your fingers down your ribs, over your hips, part your thighs and slip under your panties.

you try.

you really try.

but your hand doesn’t feel like his.

your fingers don’t curl with the same hunger, don’t slide with the same deliberate slowness that he always used when he wanted to wreck you slowly. they don’t press firm and steady on your clit the way he does, the way that always made your legs shake. they don’t fill you the way he does—long fingers that crook just right, mouth murmuring praise between licks as you unravel under him.

you moan, trying to conjure him. you imagine his voice, low and thick with sleep, telling you what a good girl you are. how sweet you taste. how soft you feel. you remember the way he used to breathe harder when he got close to making you come, like your pleasure turned him inside out.

but it’s not the same.

your own touch feels foreign. lonely. hollow.

and when the heat finally builds and fizzles out, you lie there unsatisfied, eyes burning, chest aching more than your thighs.

not because you’re angry. not because you don’t trust him.

but because you miss him in a way that makes your body ache.

you miss the way he used to need you.

now it feels like he needs rest more than he needs you.

you know he’s tired. you know he’s overworked. you’ve seen the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he winces when he peels off his tape, the dark circles deepening under his eyes. you know that every match, every practice, every press event chips away at the energy he has left.

but still—you miss him.

and more than that, you miss feeling wanted.

not just loved. not just adored in the passive, every-day kind of way. but craved. desired. claimed.

you can’t even remember the last time he touched you like that. not out of obligation. not for routine.

but because he couldn’t not.

because his body had to be on yours, had to taste you, had to feel you wrapped around him.

you pull your hand back and curl into yourself, frustrated tears pricking the corners of your eyes. you’re not mad. you’re not suspicious. just…

lonely.

quietly, devastatingly lonely.

and you don’t know how to bring it up without sounding like you’re asking for too much.

without sounding like one more thing he doesn’t have the energy for.

but this quiet?

it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.

like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.

it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.

like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.

you wipe your hand on the hem of your shirt and breathe in deep—once, then again—trying to convince your body that the tears pooling in your eyes are just from frustration. not sadness. not rejection. just a fleeting ache. something that sleep will solve.

except, sleep doesn’t come easily anymore.

not when the bed feels too cold on one side. not when the sheets still smell like him, and your fingers ache from trying to replace a warmth that only he can give.

so you sit up.

pad into the kitchen. open the fridge. close it. not hungry.

you scroll your phone, rereading old messages from months ago—selfies he used to send from the gym, photos of his legs iced up and flexed after a match, paired with a lazy “you like this, don’t lie” and a smirking emoji. voice memos of him mumbling how much he missed you after a long away game. a grainy video of him shirtless in the locker room, whispering a low “wish you were here” against a backdrop of noisy teammates.

that version of him feels so far away now.

not gone. but buried. like a season passed, and no one told you it wouldn’t come back the same.

you curl into the couch with a blanket over your lap, eyes on the clock.

12:46 a.m.

then 1:22.

then 1:37.

no update.

he’s not home.

again.

you check your phone just to be sure, even though there’s no buzz, no badge.

nothing.

you think about calling. about asking if he’s okay. about whether he ate dinner, or if he remembered to put on the muscle rub that helps with his back. but then you imagine him in the locker room, tired eyes barely open, chin tucked to his chest as he tries to survive the day, and guilt gnaws at your resolve.

you don’t want to be a burden.

but when the door finally creaks open at 2:04 a.m., your body jolts upright before you even realize you’ve moved.

he looks… drained.

dark circles. damp hair. eyes dull like a storm cloud that never opens up. he kicks off his shoes without looking up, his bag thudding against the door.

“hey,” he mumbles, like always.

suna walks toward the couch, still shrugging off the weight of the day, and bends just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. the press of his lips is warm—familiar—but distant, like a habit rather than a want.

"why are you still awake, baby?" he murmurs, voice low and raspy, like gravel smoothed by exhaustion.

you stare at the muted tv for a beat too long before answering.

“i couldn’t sleep.”

he hums absently, his hand brushing the top of your head in that same distracted way he always does lately. like he means to be comforting but doesn’t linger long enough to make it count. then he turns, already peeling off his hoodie as he makes his way down the hall.

"don’t wait up for me,” he says, voice fading as he walks, “i’ll head to our bedroom after i shower, okay?”

you don’t answer.

because if you do, you’re scared it’ll come out as a sob.

so you just nod, even though he can’t see it, curling in tighter on the couch as you listen to the bathroom door click shut. the sound of running water soon follows—soft at first, then rushing.

you stay where you are.

wrapped in silence. in soft cotton and worn-out longing. your body curled like muscle memory, trying to make yourself small. the blanket's gone cold now, and the cushions beneath you are sunken with the weight of waiting.

you think about getting up. think about brushing your teeth and sliding under the sheets like nothing hurts. think about pretending you didn’t cry earlier, about slipping into bed beside him and offering your back like a silent invitation he probably won’t take.

but you can’t move.

not yet.

because even now—after he’s home, after he kissed your temple, after he said he’d meet you in bed—there’s still a hollow ache in your chest that hasn’t quieted.

you hear the water shut off.

moments later, the door opens. his familiar steps thump softly against the hallway floor.

you expect him to go straight to the bedroom like always.

but instead—

“…babe?”

his voice comes from behind you, confused. not panicked. but uncertain.

you blink slowly, still curled up on the couch, and turn your head just enough to see him standing there, fresh from the shower.

hair damp, sticking in dark strands across his forehead. a towel slung loosely around his hips, clinging low on his hips. water still glistening down his chest—broad, lean, the kind of frame built from quiet discipline and relentless training. his hand clutches a shirt he probably meant to put on in the bedroom.

but he never made it that far.

because you’re still not there.

and he notices.

“…why’re you still out here?” he asks quietly, his brows drawing together.

you don’t answer at first.

you just look up at him.

and that’s when he really sees you.

the tired set of your shoulders. the way your lips are pressed together like they’re holding back a flood. the way your eyes glint—not from the tv light, but from the tears you refuse to shed a second time tonight.

his expression falters.

he drops the shirt in his hand, chest still rising and falling slowly from the heat of the shower—and maybe now, from something else.

he crosses to you without a word, crouches beside the couch, and touches your knee with gentle fingers.

“talk to me,” he says, softly. genuinely. “please.”

and that’s when your voice cracks.

“did i do something wrong?”

you don’t mean for it to come out like that.

small. fragile. broken around the edges.

but there it is—bare and trembling in the air between you.

“did i do something wrong?”

suna’s breath stutters, his hand tightening just slightly on your knee. not out of anger. out of heartbreak. it’s written all over his face now—the pieces finally clicking into place, sharp and clear and cutting.

“no,” he breathes. “no, baby, you didn’t.”

you look away, ashamed, eyes blinking hard as your throat constricts. but he doesn’t let you pull away—not even in silence. he gently climbs onto the couch beside you, still shirtless, still warm from the shower, and wraps an arm around your shoulders like he’s trying to shield you from the weight you’ve been carrying alone.

“i just…” your voice trembles. “you haven’t touched me in weeks. you don’t look at me the way you used to. you barely come home anymore. i thought maybe—maybe i wasn’t enough for you anymore.”

“hey—hey.” he pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, to make you look at him. “don’t say that. don’t even think that.”

you try to hold it together, but your bottom lip quivers.

“i trust you, rin. i do. i never thought you were cheating, or that there was someone else, i just… i miss how it used to be. i miss how you used to be with me. i miss you.”

he lets out a quiet sound, like it physically hurts to hear.

and then his forehead is pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face with aching care.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers. “you didn’t do anything wrong. you’re still everything i want. everything i need. you always have been.”

“then why…?” your eyes flicker shut, voice barely a breath. “why did it start to feel like i wasn’t?”

“i got caught up,” he admits, voice hoarse. “with the team, and travel, and press—and i kept telling myself i’d make it up to you after the season, or the week after, or the next time i had energy. but all that time, i didn’t notice i was slowly… fading out of us. and i didn’t realize how far i’d drifted until i looked up tonight and you weren’t in bed. you were still out here, waiting.”

“i wasn’t waiting,” you say, barely.

he nods. “i know. i mean—i know you were done waiting. i should’ve come home to you weeks ago. i should’ve noticed that i was holding you at arm’s length when i should’ve been holding you close.”

he pauses, then says quietly:

“you never stopped being enough. i just stopped showing you that i saw it. that i saw you. and that’s on me.”

you blink again, this time letting the tears fall.

“rin…”

he wipes them with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss your cheeks—once, twice—then your nose, then your forehead.

“i love you,” he murmurs. “i love you so fucking much. and i’m sorry for making you feel anything less than wanted. i hate that you thought you had to question how much i still want you.”

your voice comes out cracked. “it’s been hard.”

“i know.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and slow. “let me make it easier again.”

you hesitate. “i don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad.”

“i’m doing it because i miss you,” he says, firmer now. “because i’ve been starving for you and too fucking tired to reach out. but i’m reaching now. if you’ll let me.”

you nod slowly, and he presses his lips to yours fully this time—gentle at first, then deeper, like he’s pouring every apology and longing into the kiss. like he’s been aching too. like he finally remembered how to hold you.

he kisses you like he’s starved for it—like he’s been standing in the doorway of himself for weeks, unable to find the key, and tonight you finally let him in.

his hand slides up your thigh, warm and steady, until his fingers dip just beneath the edge of your shorts. his knuckles brush your inner thigh, and you shiver, gasping softly into his mouth. the heat that floods your body is instant—dizzying—and he groans as you squirm in response, like your reaction only feeds him.

“come here,” he murmurs, already tugging your hips toward him until you're lying flat on the couch cushions, head tilted back against the armrest.

he drops to his knees between your legs, and the moment he looks up at you—wet hair falling over his eyes, mouth already parted like he’s hungry—your breath catches in your throat.

“you okay?” he asks, softer now.

you nod, eyes half-lidded.

“i just… i missed you,” you whisper. “so much.”

his jaw clenches.

“i know,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “i’m gonna make it up to you, baby. just lay back. let me take care of you.”

you lift your hips obediently when he starts to tug your shorts down—slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. he kisses your inner thigh first, just barely grazing his lips over the sensitive skin, then drags his mouth higher.

when he sees how wet you are—already slick, glistening under the dim light—he pauses.

his eyes flick up to yours, and you don’t even try to hide it.

“i touched myself earlier,” you admit, cheeks burning. “it didn’t feel the same. i—i needed you.”

his jaw tightens, eyes darkening.

still kneeling between your thighs, his gaze drags down slowly—over your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the soaked curve of your panties stretched tight against your pussy. and he just stares.

his voice drops, low and edged with heat. “you know i hate it when you touch yourself, baby.”

you shiver.

“but…” he leans in, nuzzles your inner thigh, his lips brushing hot against your skin, “…i wasn’t there for you, huh?”

you nod faintly, biting your lip. “i tried. it just… didn’t work.”

he hums against your skin, one hand trailing up your thigh, splaying wide over your hip. “because this pussy doesn’t open for anyone but me.”

your breath catches in your throat.

then—he hooks his fingers into your panties and drags them down excruciatingly slow, eyes locked on your glistening cunt. you swear you feel his breath hitch when he sees how wet you are.

“fuck,” he breathes, like it punches the air out of him. “you’re soaked.”

he leans in without hesitation, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—and moans.

loudly.

like the taste of you alone nearly makes him lose it.

“missed this,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “missed you.”

then he dives in.

his mouth seals over your clit like he’s starved—tongue warm and wet, flicking in tight, steady circles that make your thighs twitch. you gasp, back arching, and he groans again, like your reaction turns him on more than anything.

his tongue flattens and licks broad and slow, then tightens again to flick quick patterns over your clit. when you whimper, he slides his hands up, pressing your hips down with his forearms to keep you in place, to stop you from squirming away.

“you don’t get to run,” he says against you, voice muffled. “you wanted this—missed this. let me give it to you.”

and god, he gives.

he moves like he’s memorized every sound you make, every tremble, every part of you that begs to be touched. his tongue works your clit in perfect rhythm—slow, steady, precise. he moans every time you gasp his name. and when your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, gripping, he growls into your cunt like he wants to drown in it.

“rinnie—” you gasp.

that name. that soft little plea.

it makes something snap in him.

he pulls back for a second, lips slick, panting, and stares at your ruined expression.

“say it again.”

“rinnie,” you whisper, voice shaking.

his mouth crashes back to your clit and he slides two fingers into you with practiced ease. they stretch you open—deep, slow, curling perfectly against your sweet spot.

you cry out, body arching. “oh my—rin—!”

he starts fucking you with his fingers—deep and unrelenting. his pace is slow, but brutal, curling on every thrust. paired with his tongue flicking your clit again, your whole body starts to tremble.

you’re drenched. you hear it. every wet drag of his fingers, every slick suck of his lips over your clit.

“so fucking tight,” he rasps against you. “this pussy’s been waiting for me, huh?”

“y-yes—!”

“this is mine,” he growls. “say it.”

“yours! it’s yours—rinnie, please—!”

his fingers speed up.

his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking harder now—his tongue flicking faster, relentless. the combination builds fast—pressure curling, tightening, cresting under your skin like a wave you can’t stop.

“i wanna feel you cum, baby,” he pants against your pussy. “you gonna let me taste it?”

you’re too far gone to speak.

so you moan, and moan, hips bucking, thighs trembling.

and then—

you fall apart.

your orgasm rips through you—sharp and hot and overwhelming—your walls fluttering around his fingers, your cries echoing in the room.

suna moans into your release, drinks it down like it’s holy. he doesn’t stop. not until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and your hand pulls weakly at his hair.

then, slowly, he eases his fingers out and kisses your inner thigh like he’s thanking you.

you’re a mess—panting, legs trembling, chest heaving with every shaky breath. your skin is flushed with heat, overstimulated and glowing, and slick glistens between your thighs, dripping onto the couch cushions beneath you.

and him—suna—he’s still kneeling there, shirtless, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly, his chest kissed with droplets from his earlier shower. the towel around his waist has loosened just slightly, dangerously low on his hips, and his cock strains against the fabric, hard and heavy.

his chin glistens with your release, his lips swollen and pink. his eyes—dark, glassy, starving—drink you in like he’s imprinting every ruined inch of you into his memory.

and then—

he raises his hand.

two fingers glistening with your cum. slick and shining in the low light.

and without breaking eye contact—

suna brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

slow. leisurely. obscene.

his lips wrap around them and he moans low in his throat, tongue dragging up to savor every last drop of you.

your breath catches hard in your throat.

you feel it.

another gush of heat between your legs—like your body’s responding all over again, already throbbing with fresh want.

he notices.

the corner of his mouth lifts, slow and lazy, but his eyes are still hazy with need. still dark.

“you’re wet again,” he says quietly, fingers slipping from his mouth with a soft pop. his voice is low—dangerous—but wrapped in velvet. “that turn you on, baby?”

you can’t even deny it. not when your thighs press together involuntarily, chasing the friction. not when your skin burns under his gaze like he’s touching you with his eyes alone.

your voice comes out breathy. “rinnie…”

and that name—that sweet, submissive lilt—makes his towel tent even more.

he growls, climbing up onto the couch, crowding over your body.

“you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you again. “and you’re gonna let me fuck you now, yeah?”

your breath hitches.

he presses his forehead to yours, thumb caressing your cheek.

“let me make love to you slow, baby,” he whispers, voice wrecked with reverence. “let me remind you what it means to be mine.”

you barely nod before his arms are sliding beneath your back and thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the couch. the shift makes you gasp, but he holds you close, your bare chest pressed to his while your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. the towel is bunched between you now, loose and useless, your slick center brushing against the rigid outline of his cock.

you can feel him—hot, thick, already throbbing.

suna walks with slow, steady steps toward the bedroom, eyes fixed on you. he nudges the door open with his foot, never once faltering in his hold. the hallway light hits just enough to cast the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft gleam in his eyes.

you’re both half-undressed, your body flushed and still twitching from your orgasm, but your need spikes again just from feeling him so close—so hard. you grind against him instinctively, rolling your hips forward to chase the friction.

he hisses under his breath, arms tightening around you.

then—smack.

his hand lands firm and hot against your thigh, just enough to make you jolt.

“behave,” he mutters, voice dark now. his lips graze your ear, and you can feel the warning in his breath. “you wanna cum again tonight, don’t you?”

you bite your lip, nodding wordlessly.

“then wait,” he says, his palm smoothing over the sting he just left. “be good for me. i’ll give you everything. just let me get you to bed.”

you whimper, the heat between your legs pulsing at the way he speaks to you—firm but reverent, like you’re something precious and his.

on the way to the bedroom, his hoodie and your bra are discarded along the hall—rushed, messy, fevered. the moment you reach the bed, he lays you down gently, almost worshipfully, like you’re breakable and holy all at once.

he looks down at you.

bare. breathless. glowing.

and he lets the towel drop.

it pools at his feet, but your gaze doesn’t follow it. your eyes are locked on the heavy line of his cock—hard, flushed, thick, the tip glistening with arousal. he’s already leaking, already twitching as if your soaked body alone is enough to ruin him.

your thighs instinctively fall open, legs parting like muscle memory, inviting him in. suna watches the motion with a soft inhale, his eyes hungry, dark with something primal.

“look at you,” he murmurs, climbing over you slowly, like he’s savoring the view of your bare body spread out just for him. “dripping for me already.”

he leans down, kissing your collarbone first—slow, open-mouthed—then drags his lips across your skin until he reaches your mouth. and when he kisses you again, it’s warm and deep and wet, the kind of kiss that swallows everything.

he kisses you like he’s been dying of thirst and you’re the only thing that could ever quench it.

his hips dip lower, cock sliding through your folds, coating himself in your slick. he moans softly into your mouth when he feels how ready you are—how wet and swollen and clenching at nothing.

“feel that?” he murmurs, voice rough, hips rocking gently to tease your clit with the thick, aching head of his cock. “your pussy’s begging, baby.”

you whimper into his kiss, hips rising to meet his.

then—finally—he pushes in.

the tip eases past your entrance, stretching you open so slowly it makes your eyes roll back. he doesn’t rush it. he keeps kissing you, swallowing your shaky moans as he fills you inch by inch. his tongue slips into your mouth with the same lazy intensity, syncing perfectly with the slow, deliberate slide of his cock.

“fuck,” he hisses against your lips. “so tight. so warm. still the best thing i’ve ever felt.”

you break the kiss with a gasp, head tilting back into the pillow. he follows, mouthing down your throat, your jaw, the edge of your lips. you’re trying to breathe, trying to think, but he’s barely halfway in and your body already feels like it’s burning alive.

your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in when his hips roll forward again, pushing deeper.

“r-rinnie,” you moan, voice breaking into a whisper. “it’s so much…”

he kisses you again—slower this time, deeper.

“i know, baby. you’re taking me so well,” he murmurs against your mouth. “just like that. let me in. let me fill you up.”

his hand cups your thigh, spreading you wider. his pace never quickens—never—he sinks in slow, thick inch by thick inch, kissing you through the stretch, through the way your body tightens around him like you’ve been waiting to be whole again.

you whine against his lips, body arching, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and sweetness of it all.

when his hips finally press flush against yours, he doesn’t move.

he just holds himself there—buried to the hilt, twitching inside you—his lips brushing yours with a reverent sigh.

“there,” he whispers. “finally.”

you nod, dazed, barely able to speak.

“you feel me, baby?” he murmurs. “deep inside you, where i belong?”

“yes—rinnie, i feel you, i feel everything—”

he kisses you again, swallowing the way your voice trembles, and he doesn’t pull out yet. instead, he rocks his hips gently, barely moving—just enough for you to feel the weight of him, the thickness, the stretch.

“gonna take my time,” he promises, voice thick with emotion. “gonna love you so good you’ll forget all the nights i wasn’t here.”

your hands cup his face now, lips brushing his as your eyes flutter closed.

“just don’t stop,” you whisper. “don’t leave me empty anymore.”

his expression softens like he’s about to break.

“i won’t,” he says. “never again.”

and then—he pulls out just an inch, then slides back in, kissing you harder now.

and finally, finally, suna starts to move.

his hips roll into you with a lazy, deliberate rhythm—each thrust slow, smooth, like he’s memorizing the way your walls flutter around him. there’s no urgency, no rush. just the deep, steady grind of his cock inside you and the weight of his body pressed so perfectly into yours.

his lips never stray far from your skin. he peppers soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, then down to your shoulder, lingering at the dip of your collarbone like he’s anchoring himself there. every kiss is slow, reverent—matched to the way he moves inside you, the way he fills you with every deep, perfect stroke.

“feels so good,” he whispers against your skin. “so warm. so tight. you always take me so well.”

you gasp softly, fingers threading through his hair as you tilt your head, giving him more of your throat. he takes it, mouthing gently at your pulse point, his breath hot and ragged.

“missed this. missed you.”

he thrusts again—deep, slow, the kind of pace that makes your toes curl and your breath catch.

“i never got tired of you,” he murmurs, voice rough but steady. “not once. never stopped wanting you, baby.”

you whimper his name—“rinnie”—and his hips stutter, just slightly.

his hand slides down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider as he rocks into you again, a little deeper this time. your body stretches around him perfectly, molding to every slow, grinding thrust like he was made for you.

“not your body,” he continues, kissing below your ear, “not your voice, not the way you look at me when you’re falling apart.”

his words settle deep, like warm honey sinking into cracked skin.

“fuck, i missed this sweet little pussy,” he groans into your shoulder, voice husky. “i’ve been so out of it i forgot how fucking good it feels to be home.”

you choke on a moan, clinging to him tighter as your hips roll up to meet his—chasing his rhythm, desperate to be even closer.

“rinnie—please, don’t stop.”

“not going anywhere,” he breathes, kissing your jaw, your temple, your mouth again. “you hear me? i’m not gonna stop. not until you believe how much i still love you.”

his thrusts stay deep, measured—his cock dragging perfectly along your walls, kissing that sweet spot inside you with every roll of his hips. you feel so full, so cherished, your body buzzing under the slow build of heat.

and all the while, he never stops touching you, kissing you, talking to you.

“you’re everything to me.”

“you’re the best thing i’ve ever come home to.”

“i’m sorry it took me so long to show it.”

your heart squeezes painfully, eyes brimming with tears as you breathe out his name again.

and he kisses the corner of your mouth, whispering against your lips:

“let me stay here. let me love you right this time.”

the words linger in the air, wrapped in the heat of your skin and the tremble of your breath. your legs are still wrapped loosely around his waist, your arms clinging around his shoulders like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again if you let go. but he doesn’t. suna stays right there—inside you, above you, around you—thrusting slow and deep, like he’s in no hurry to reach the end.

his palm smooths along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling as he presses another kiss to your lips—soft, warm, home.

it’s quiet for a beat.

just your bodies moving together.

your soft moans swallowed between kisses.

the slick sound of him sliding in and out of you.

the weight of weeks of longing melting between the sheets.

but the ache is growing—coiling low in your belly. the slow rhythm is beautiful, addicting—but it’s not enough anymore. not with how full you feel. not with how much you need him.

your voice is barely more than a whimper.

“rin… faster, please.”

he freezes, eyes flicking down to meet yours.

and just like that—his expression shifts.

from tender to something darker. more possessive.

his lips curl into a quiet, knowing smirk. “could’ve just asked, baby.”

then his hands slide down—gripping the backs of your thighs as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you beneath him in one smooth, practiced motion.

the mating press.

his favorite.

because this is the position where he feels the most connected to you—where he can press every inch of himself into you, watch the way your face contorts with every thrust, feel your pussy tighten around him with nowhere to run.

where he can fuck you deep enough to hit your soul.

“you know i love you like this,” he grits out, adjusting his hips until the angle is perfect, until he’s buried even deeper.

you cry out at the stretch, the sudden change, your hands clutching at the sheets.

and then he starts to move.

harder. deeper.

his hips snap into yours, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. every stroke punches a moan out of you, your legs trembling where they’re pinned against his chest. he doesn’t let up—he won’t.

then—he leans down, shifting his weight so your thighs are still pressed high but his chest meets yours again. his mouth finds your breast, warm and wet as he wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks.

your head falls back with a moan. “rinnie—!”

he groans around your skin, tongue swirling slowly, then fast, then pulling off with a soft pop before switching to the other.

“can’t get enough of you,” he pants, voice muffled against your chest. “wanna be close. wanna be inside you when you cum.”

your nails dig into his back as he fucks you deeper, faster, rougher—his mouth latching onto your nipple again like he’s drinking from you, like it grounds him.

“rin, i’m—! i’m gonna—!”

“i know, baby,” he groans, voice cracked with the effort of restraint, his hips stuttering just slightly from the way your walls are already fluttering around him. “cum for me. milk my cock. show me how good i make you feel.”

and then he shifts—just barely—but enough to slip one hand down from your thigh and press it between your bodies. the way he moves, the way he always knows exactly what you need, even now with his cock buried deep inside you, makes your heart swell.

his fingers find your clit instantly, already slick and swollen from how thoroughly he’s worked you up.

and then—he touches you.

a single, perfect swipe.

your back arches, a cry tearing from your throat before you can even bite it back.

“rinnie—!”

“i’ve got you,” he whispers, low and reverent, eyes flickering from your trembling body to your face as his thumb begins to rub slow, tight circles over your clit. “i always do.”

his thrusts stay deep and unrelenting, grinding into your cervix with each push as your thighs shake around his waist, pinned wide in his favorite position. the mating press makes you feel so full, so claimed, so his. and with his fingers teasing your clit—just right, just perfect—it’s too much.

you sob beneath him, pleasure threatening to snap loose like a wire pulled too tight.

every thrust hits your sweet spot dead-on, his cock dragging against every oversensitive nerve, while his thumb massages slow circles that have your vision going blurry, breath leaving your lungs in shuddering gasps.

“you gonna cum, pretty girl?” he pants, lips grazing your jaw. “gonna cum all over my cock while i’m this deep inside you?”

you nod frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it feels.

“yes—yes, rinnie, i—oh my god, i’m gonna—”

“then fuckin’ let go.”

he leans in close, pressing his mouth to yours, and the second you moan into the kiss—your entire body breaks.

your orgasm hits like lightning—hard and hot, making your thighs twitch violently and your core clamp down around him in pulsing waves. your back lifts off the bed, body arching against his as you cry out his name over and over again, voice raw and ruined.

“fuck, yes—cum on my cock, just like that,” he growls, watching your face, eyes nearly wild as he feels you squeeze and throb around him. “god, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this. so perfect. this pussy was made for me.”

you can’t even speak—only sob, gasping as his cock continues to grind deep, his thumb slowing its circles now as your orgasm washes through you in long, drawn-out tremors.

your body collapses against the bed, boneless and overwhelmed, every nerve ending still buzzing.

but he’s still hard. still inside you.

and still fighting his own edge.

suna groans above you, his pace beginning to falter, a different kind of urgency taking over his movements now. his hand leaves your clit to grip your thigh again, pushing your legs even higher, even tighter to your chest.

“so fuckin’ tight when you cum,” he growls, hips snapping harder now, chasing his own release. “can’t hold it anymore—gonna fill you up, baby—gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy—”

his breathing shudders as your walls continue fluttering around him, your body still wrung out and gripping him like you never want to let go.

you manage to lift your arms, wrap them around his back, anchoring him to you.

“please,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “cum inside me, rinnie. want it so bad.”

that’s all it takes.

he plunges deep one last time—so deep it punches the air out of your lungs—and cums.

he moans your name as he spills into you, thick ropes of heat flooding your cunt, his cock twitching inside you with every wave of pleasure. his face buries into your neck, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other curled into the sheets beside your head as he rides out his orgasm in long, slow pulses.

you feel it. every drop. every throb.

and it only makes you hold him tighter.

he stays like that for a moment—breathing hard against your skin, chest rising and falling with yours, cock still buried deep, not ready to let go just yet.

“i needed that,” he breathes finally. “i needed you.”

you nod, lips brushing his temple, still trembling beneath him from the high. your heart pounds against your ribs, the slow stretch of afterglow sweeping over your limbs, but beneath it all—you're still pulsing. still needy. still not ready to let go.

and neither is he.

suna’s still inside you, his cock softening slightly from his orgasm, but the way your body stays wrapped around him—warm and wet and clenching gently with each little aftershock—has him breathing unevenly against your shoulder again.

his voice is rough, thick with the hint of a groan. “you’re gonna get me hard again if you keep squeezing me like that.”

you smile softly, tilting his chin up until your eyes meet.

“then let me take care of you now.”

he blinks, eyes fluttering, a little caught off-guard by the shift in your tone—no longer pleading or aching, but devoted. steady.

still straddling his waist in the mating press, you slowly slide off of him—every inch leaving you makes you both moan softly, the sensation almost too much, too bare. your thighs tremble as his cock slips free with a wet sound, followed immediately by the warm, slick spill of both your releases—his cum and yours—dripping from your swollen folds down onto his lower abdomen.

it’s messy. sticky. intimate in the way only lovers who’ve been through everything can be.

you try to move, try to shift off him gently, but suna catches the motion. his eyes drop immediately between your legs and he groans—deep and low in his throat, like he’s trying to keep it in but fails.

your mixed slick is coating your thighs, still trickling slowly down onto his stomach, and the sight wrecks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, eyes darkening again. “look at the mess we made…”

you don’t even get the chance to respond—not when you feel it.

him.

hardening again beneath you.

you glance down, eyes wide, as his cock, flushed and glistening, twitches back to life against his stomach. he’s already half-hard again, his breathing uneven just from the sight of you still soaked, your folds glistening and dripping with his cum.

“rinnie…” you murmur, somewhere between breathless and shy, “again?”

“i can’t help it,” he groans, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back. “you’re still dripping, baby. fuck, i didn’t even get to watch it all spill out properly…”

you tremble, heat spiraling through your core again despite the exhaustion in your limbs.

“you do something to me,” he murmurs, sitting up so you’re straddling his lap again, chests flush. his cock presses right against your slit now, nudging between your folds, still slick with everything. “you make me insatiable.”

he leans in, kissing you—slow and greedy—his fingers sliding down to spread you open again, groaning into your mouth when he feels how soft and wet you still are.

“and you’re still ready for me,” he adds, voice rough. “still warm. still fucking perfect.”

you whimper into the kiss, rocking your hips against him again, helpless to the way your body responds.

your pussy’s still sore, stretched, and yet—his need for you, the heat of his voice, the mess between your thighs—has you wanting him again already.

“you think you can ride me now, sweetheart?” he murmurs, thumb grazing your clit with a featherlight touch. “wanna see you take me like you missed me.”

and you nod, breathless, already sinking back down—ready to remind him that no matter how many times he fills you, no matter how much he takes, you’ll always want more.

always want him.

your body aches, your thighs tremble, and your pussy’s still throbbing from everything he’s already given you—but none of that matters. not when he’s looking up at you like this. not when his touch is soft on your hips, like he’s trying to ground himself in your warmth.

suna leans back slightly against the pillows, legs spread, his toned chest rising and falling with each breath as he watches you from beneath heavy lids. his cock stands hard again, already flushed and leaking, the head slick from your shared release earlier.

“come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with need. one of his hands slides down between you, wrapping around the base of his cock as he guides you toward it. “i’ll hold it. just take your time.”

you shift your hips, positioning yourself over him, your hands braced against his chest. slowly, carefully, you lower yourself down—letting the thick, aching head stretch you open once more.

both of you groan.

the feeling of him sinking into you again—after already being fucked so thoroughly—makes your head spin. he’s hot, thick, deep, and every inch feels like too much and still not enough.

“that’s it,” he pants, watching your face, his grip tightening around the base as you inch down farther. “take all of me. let me stretch you out again.”

you moan, breath hitching as your body accepts him—slowly, completely—until your hips finally meet his. you’re seated fully now, and you can feel everything. the stretch. the twitch. the fullness that has your pussy fluttering helplessly around him.

“fuck, you feel unreal,” he groans, both hands now gripping your waist. “look at you—already squeezing me like that.”

you begin to move—shallow bounces at first, your thighs trembling slightly with each rise and fall. his hands guide you, steady you, and soon your movements grow bolder—more confident—grinding down against his pelvis with every bounce.

the sound of slick skin meeting skin fills the room again, the wet heat of your cunt wrapping him so tightly that suna’s jaw clenches, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again—locked on you.

“come here,” he growls, sitting up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer until your chest is pressed to his.

and then—his mouth finds your breast.

he sucks in your nipple hungrily, moaning around the soft skin as he tongues it, teeth grazing lightly before he switches to the other with a wet pop. his hands never stop guiding your hips, helping you ride him in rhythm, pushing you down harder each time he thrusts up into you.

“rinnie—!” you cry, your hands tangled in his hair as you arch into his mouth, pleasure building again too fast. “that feels so good…”

“yeah?” he breathes between kisses and licks, lips shining. “these pretty tits missed me too, huh?”

he lavishes each nipple with attention—sucking, licking, pulling with just enough force to make your back arch and your pussy clamp down around him.

your rhythm grows messy, your moans louder, the coil in your belly winding tighter again as he thrusts up to meet every bounce of your hips, his cock dragging along all the right places inside you.

“don’t stop, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you now with more urgency. “wanna feel you cum again—ride me just like that—show me how much you missed this cock.”

and you do.

you ride him like your body was made to fit his. like his cock was crafted just for you—thick and deep and angled so perfectly that every bounce forces the air from your lungs and sends shocks of pleasure through your spine.

every time you drop your hips, he thrusts up to meet you, and the head of his cock kisses your cervix with an aching precision that leaves you trembling. it’s deep. devastating. the kind of depth that makes your vision blur and your breath come in stuttered moans.

“rinnie—fuck—it’s so deep,” you gasp, head falling to his shoulder. “i-i feel lightheaded…”

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and full of praise, his hands gripping your hips tighter, helping guide your rhythm. “you’re taking it so well. so fuckin’ good for me.”

his mouth finds your neck again, pressing kisses beneath your jaw, tongue flicking against the heat of your pulse point. one of his hands slides up, fingers splayed across your lower back, holding you steady as he bucks up harder, faster, the sound of your bodies meeting growing louder, wetter, messier.

your thighs burn. your clit rubs against the ridge of his pelvis with every movement. and your pussy—slick, swollen, fluttering—clings to him so desperately you swear you can feel the outline of every vein.

weeks. it’s been weeks.

weeks of aching. of waiting. of touching yourself in the quiet of night and hating how empty it felt.

but this?

this is everything.

his heat. his hands. the way he fills you up and stays there, panting against your skin like he needs you just as badly.

“missed this pussy,” he groans, voice cracking as your walls squeeze around him again. “so tight. so warm. no one gets to have you like this—just me.”

your thighs quake where they straddle him, your nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in his chest as your movements begin to falter. the rhythm you kept moments ago—desperate, steady, purposeful—is now stuttering into something sloppy and slow, hips barely rolling, your muscles too spent to keep up.

your head dips forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder as your mouth falls open in a soft, breathless moan.

that’s when he notices.

the way your moans turn into soft, broken whimpers.

the way your body trembles like it’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, ruined.

and suna grins.

a slow, knowing smirk curls against his lips as he looks up at you, the flush on your cheeks, the faraway haze in your eyes. his hands slide down, gripping your hips tighter, keeping you perched on his cock like a doll about to fall apart.

“ohhh,” he murmurs, voice deep, lazy, almost playful. “is my baby going cock dumb?”

you whimper, too dazed to even respond properly, only nodding against his neck as your pussy flutters around him again—wet, sensitive, clinging to every inch of him like your body can’t bear the thought of him pulling out.

“yeah?” he coos, a note of pride in his tone. “that’s what i thought.”

he doesn’t wait. he shifts beneath you, adjusting his position just slightly, and then—he starts to fuck up into you from below.

you sob, your fingers flying to clutch his shoulders as his cock punches into you over and over again, so deep, the tip brushing your cervix with every sharp thrust. the slick mess between your thighs makes the glide obscene—wet, hot, perfect.

“you were riding me so good, baby,” he pants, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “now look at you. barely holding on. just sittin’ on my cock like a dumb little bunny, letting me do all the work.”

his hands move to your ass, gripping tight, guiding your hips to grind down in rhythm with his thrusts. your clit rubs against his pubic bone just right—enough to make your entire body twitch.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, mouth dragging along your jaw. “so deep. so full. this what you missed while i was gone, huh?”

“y-yes, rin—please, it’s so much—”

“you can take it,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “you always do.”

then his mouth finds your nipple again—wet, hungry, greedy—sucking hard as he fucks you harder. his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak while one hand slips between your bodies again to rub tight, deliberate circles over your clit.

the stimulation is blinding.

his cock fucking up into you like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into your body.

his mouth at your chest.

his voice whispering filth and devotion in the same breath.

his fingers never stopping.

“cum for me again, baby,” he grits, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper. “wanna feel that pretty pussy gush all over me again. i need to feel it.”

your back arches. your thighs start to shake again. and your orgasm builds fast—white-hot and overwhelming, swelling inside you like pressure about to burst.

“rinnie—!” you cry, your entire body going taut. “i—i’m cumming—!”

and then it hits.

your walls clench hard—tightening around him like a vice, squeezing his cock so perfectly it draws a strangled moan from deep in his chest. your climax rips through you like a tidal wave, crashing fast and furious, leaving you breathless as your moans dissolve into shattered whimpers. your entire body trembles in his lap, thighs quaking, nails digging into his shoulders as your release gushes from you uncontrollably. it hits hard—sharp, hot, overwhelming—and then your body reacts.

you squirt.

the pressure releases all at once, sudden and messy, and your slick spills out of you in wet pulses. it covers both your thighs and his abs, drenching his lower stomach, soaking his cock, the bed beneath you already ruined. you gasp, head thrown back, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the pleasure peaks and doesn’t let go.

“fuck,” suna groans, watching it happen with parted lips, jaw slack. “you squirted, baby—fuck, look at that. look what i do to you.”

you can’t even answer. you’re still shaking, barely able to hold yourself upright, your thighs limp where they straddle his lap. you feel like you’ve melted, like you’ve unraveled entirely. and still—still—he’s hard inside you. still thick, still pulsing, twitching against your oversensitive walls. he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even think about stopping.

instead, he grips your hips tight, lifts you slightly, and drives up into you again.

your cry is sharp and wrecked, fingernails dragging down his back as your overstimulated cunt clamps around him again, your whole body jerking from the intensity.

“s–suna—rinnie—please, i—” you gasp, but the words fall apart when he thrusts again, deep, slow, and deliberate.

“oh, you’re not done,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and feral. “you think you can cum like that and not get fucked through it?”

you try to speak again, try to find something to cling to, but then he rolls his hips up—his cock dragging against every too-sensitive nerve ending inside you—and your hands fly to his shoulders, digging in hard. your nails scratch down his back in helpless, shaky arcs, and he groans, head falling to your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“mark me, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you harder now. “go ahead. scratch me. bite me. let me feel how good it is.”

you do. without even thinking, you sink your teeth into the skin of his shoulder, muffling your moan as another wave of pleasure slams into you. he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking up in response, his cock pressing even deeper—filling you in a way that has your body arching, your head spinning.

“you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, the sound of your soaked pussy squelching around him with every thrust. “this pussy’s so messy for me. so fuckin’ perfect. you like it when i fuck you after you cum, huh? when you’re too sensitive and still can’t stop squeezing me?”

you nod against his shoulder, still biting down, your moans breaking through your clenched jaw as he picks up the pace. he’s relentless now, hands holding your hips in place as he uses you—drives up into you with hard, deep thrusts that have your breath catching, your entire body lit up from the overstimulation.

each drag of his cock makes you twitch. each grind of his hips against yours sends another electric shock through your system.

you’re sobbing now—too much, too full, too fucked out—and he’s still praising you through it.

“take it, baby,” he breathes. “take all of it. you’re doing so good. let me fuck you dumb. let me make you forget your own name.”

your pussy flutters again, clenching down on him like a vice, and he groans so loud it vibrates through your chest. his rhythm stutters, hips bucking more erratically now, breath catching.

“gonna fill you up again,” he growls, voice wrecked. “wanna cum so deep, make you feel me for days.”

you nod again, eyes rolling back, body giving in completely.

“please,” you whisper. “please, rinnie, cum inside me. want all of it.”

that’s what does it.

he lets out a low, broken moan, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts deep, deeper, then stills—his cock twitching violently as he spills inside you. thick warmth fills you again, flooding your sore, stretched walls as he holds you tight, arms trembling around your waist, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths.

he stays there, buried to the hilt, pulsing, groaning softly as you twitch around him—still trembling, still so full, your walls fluttering weakly with every aftershock. his cum leaks out in slow, warm trails, dripping down between your thighs and smearing across both your bodies in the tangled mess you’ve made together.

but even after everything—after you squirted all over his abs, after he came deep inside you for the second time, after your entire body is limp and trembling in his arms—you feel it.

him.

still hard.

still inside you.

and when you whimper, shifting just a little on his lap, the slight movement makes his cock twitch again, still thick and rigid despite how thoroughly he just came. your head lolls against his shoulder, dazed and barely able to think straight.

“rin… you’re still… hard?”

he chuckles low in your ear, the sound deep and smug, his hands stroking slowly down your back.

“told you i missed you,” he murmurs, voice rasping with the weight of his lust. “i’m not done.”

you don’t even have the strength to respond—not with words. but your pussy clenches weakly around him, your thighs twitching, and that’s answer enough.

he shifts you gently, guiding your hips again, and groans when the motion makes your swollen, used cunt squeeze down on him with resistance. you’re sore, so sore, but the sensation of still being stretched open around him, of still feeling his cock twitching inside you, has heat building in your gut again.

“i’ve been away too long,” he mutters, lifting you slightly before thrusting back in—slow and deep, making you moan softly against his skin. “weeks without you. you think i’m gonna stop at two rounds?”

you cry out softly as he starts to move again, dragging his cock in and out of you with slow, grinding thrusts, letting you feel every inch. it’s not rushed this time—it’s deliberate. heavy. sensual. his hands cradle your hips, guiding your body to meet his rhythm.

“you deserve more than that,” he whispers, brushing his lips along your cheek. “deserve to be fucked so good you can’t walk tomorrow.”

you bury your face in his neck, moaning weakly, body already starting to melt again as overstimulation gives way to something new—slower, deeper, a third round wrapped in pleasure that borders on worship.

suna leans back against the pillows, shifting you slightly so your knees are spread wider, your chest pressed close to his, his cock sliding even deeper from the angle. he kisses you then—soft and possessive—while his hips roll up into you again and again, stretching you slowly as your slick mixes with his release and drips down his shaft.

“you gonna let me make up for all that lost time, baby?” he whispers against your lips, voice husky. “gonna let me fuck you again? take it like the good girl you are?”

you nod helplessly, barely coherent now. every inch of your skin feels fevered. your heart pounds. your body burns for him again.

and he gives you everything.

he proves himself over and over again.

with every deep thrust that leaves you gasping.

with every kiss that lingers on your skin like a promise.

with every time he brings you to the edge and pulls you back in.

and long into the night—until you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum, how many times he’s filled you—he holds you close, bodies still joined, proving that you were never too much to want.

he just needed time to remember how much he missed everything about you.

now here he was, kneeling at the edge of the bed with a towel in hand, wiping your thighs with slow, deliberate care.

the room is warm with the scent of sex and sweat, heavy with the afterglow of everything that’s just unraveled between you. the sheets are a soaked mess beneath you, tangled and clinging to your body, while your limbs lie slack, trembling, utterly spent. your skin is flushed, glistening in the low light. your chest rises and falls in unsteady breaths, and your thighs twitch involuntarily every time he touches you—still reeling from that final climax.

suna is quiet now, all of that teasing energy faded into something softer, something intimate. his hands move gently over your legs, wiping up the slick trails of cum and arousal that have dripped down to the backs of your knees. his thumb strokes just beneath the crease of your thigh, and even that has you flinching.

“easy,” he murmurs, glancing up at you with tired but affectionate eyes. “i’ve got you.”

you nod weakly, your voice hoarse from moaning his name all night. “i know… i’m just still—sensitive.”

he smiles at that. “yeah, i know.”

you watch as he folds the towel, his brows furrowed in concentration as he leans back in, wiping again, slower now.

and then, because he’s always been a little selfish when it comes to you, suna leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

“rin—” you start, a soft warning in your voice, but it’s too late.

his tongue is already dragging up your overstimulated slit, collecting the last remnants of his cum and your release, and you gasp, your hips jerking upward as your hand flies to his hair.

“i’m just cleaning you up,” he murmurs with a devilish smirk, but the way his mouth moves against you is anything but innocent. it’s slow, tender, savoring.

and somehow, even after everything—your body responds.

your legs twitch again, a sharp tremor crawling up your spine, and you shake your head, breath catching.

“rinnie—please—i can’t—” you whisper, but you’re already grinding against his mouth without realizing it.

his arms snake around your thighs, holding you open as his tongue dips into your entrance again, licking you through it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

one long stroke, then another.

and your body gives up.

you squirt again.

it’s sudden and messy, a wet gasp tearing from your throat as you soak his face with a hot rush of release. it pours down your thighs and splashes across his chest, some of it dripping to the floor beside the bed, and you collapse fully into the sheets, eyes fluttering back as your body convulses one last time.

he groans into you like it’s the best gift he’s ever received, letting the warmth of your release soak him as he finally pulls back—face dripping, lips parted, his abs slick and glistening.

“shit, baby…” he pants, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with pure disbelief. “you really missed me.”

you can’t even answer. you just groan, turning your head into the pillow, utterly ruined.

he laughs, breathless and fond, and reaches for a clean towel, dabbing your thighs again, this time with a reverence that makes your heart ache. he doesn’t rush. he wipes gently between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your knees, your hips, the swell of your stomach.

“okay,” he murmurs, voice low now, soothing. “let’s get you in the shower. you need to be warm and clean. i’ll help you.”

you don’t protest. you can’t. your body’s heavy and sore, but when suna lifts you into his arms bridal-style, everything in you goes quiet. safe. anchored. he carries you down the hall, bare skin against bare skin, your arms looped around his neck as your head rests on his shoulder.

the bathroom light is soft. the water’s already running—warm, with the faintest scent of lavender from the body wash you both share.

suna sets you down carefully on the shower bench and steps inside with you, guiding your body beneath the spray. he stands behind you, shielding you from the pressure of the water, and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his cheek against the back of your head.

you sigh. the water rolls down your skin like peace itself, soothing the soreness blooming in your thighs, the ache between your legs, the raw tremble in your muscles from being thoroughly and lovingly ruined. you lean back against suna’s chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as the steam rises around you both.

but the silence—the warmth—the intimacy—it's not enough.

not when he’s right there.

not when your body still remembers the stretch of him inside you. not when your skin is still buzzing with the echo of every touch, every kiss, every praise-soaked thrust.

"rin…" your voice is quiet, a bit raspier than usual, fragile and needy, "i want more."

he doesn’t move right away. you can feel his lips curve into the faintest smile against your wet shoulder.

then his arms tighten around you.

“baby…” he hums, low and indulgent. “you’ve cum how many times tonight?”

you pout, head tipping back to rest against his shoulder, eyes fluttering open lazily. “i don’t know. a lot?”

he chuckles, nuzzling into the curve of your neck, his breath warm and teasing against your damp skin.

“exactly. you squirted so many times i lost count. you’re spent,” he murmurs. “and i’m not about to let you pass out in the shower just because your pussy’s greedy.”

you flush, both from the warmth of the water and his words, and you squirm a little in his hold, grinding back against where you can already feel him half-hard, heat pressed up against the curve of your ass. you’re too sensitive to do anything serious, but even the faint contact has both of you groaning quietly.

still, he tightens his grip immediately, stilling your hips with a firm hand across your stomach.

“hey,” he warns, voice suddenly stern against your ear. “what did i just say?”

“but—”

“no buts,” he mutters, mouth brushing along your jaw as he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “don’t make me bend you over this bench and hold your thighs open while you cry from overstimulation.”

you shiver—not entirely from fear.

he smirks again, knowing exactly what he’s doing, before softening as he kisses your temple.

“i mean it,” he murmurs. “you’ve been so good for me tonight. let me take care of you properly. you’ll get more tomorrow—hell, you’ll get everything tomorrow.”

you lean back into him, huffing softly, your bottom lip jutting out as you whisper, “promise?”

suna kisses the pout away, slow and deliberate.

“i promise,” he breathes. “wanna see you on your knees. then ride you again. want to fuck you in front of the mirror. all of it.”

you moan into the kiss, but when your hips twitch again—another teasing grind—he growls softly and slaps your thigh gently under the water.

“behave,” he murmurs against your lips.

so instead, you melt into him, letting him tilt your chin toward his, his mouth finding yours again with no rush, no heat—just long, tender kisses beneath the stream of water. the kind that say i’m not done with you—not even close—but right now, i love you too much to fuck you again when your legs are already trembling.

your arms loop around his neck, fingers carding into his wet hair as he kisses you deeper. you moan softly when his tongue slides into your mouth, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all over again.

his hands roam your back, slow and reassuring, massaging out the tension in your shoulders. he kisses you again and again, coaxing you down from the edge you didn’t even know you were still standing on.

and even though he doesn’t take you again in the shower, that kiss—the way he holds you against him, strong and steady, murmuring soft little praises between each press of his lips—it feels like more. more than sex. more than lust. it’s him saying: i love you. i missed you. i see you.

when the water is turned off and the steam begins to settle, he wraps you gently in a towel and dries you off like you’re something fragile—like he’s afraid to lose you again to the space that had grown quietly between you these past few weeks.

suna hums under his breath while helping you into your favorite sleep shirt, one that’s oversized and soft, one that used to be his. he slides on his boxers, still damp around the edges, then gently combs his fingers through your damp hair, tucking it behind your ears like it’s second nature. there’s no rush in any of it—just tenderness, care, and quiet devotion.

back in bed, the sheets have been changed—he did that too, while you rested your head against the bathroom counter, legs too weak to stand fully. now the duvet is clean and warm, the lights dimmed low, and when you climb into bed beside him, his arms are already waiting to pull you into the curve of his body.

you curl into him like muscle memory, your leg tangled over his, cheek pressed against his chest. his hand strokes your back lazily, up and down, grounding you.

“you’re so good to me,” you murmur, voice soft and sleepy.

“not as good as you are to me,” he replies without missing a beat, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

there’s a pause, a silence filled with his fingertips tracing shapes into your spine.

“rinnie,” you whisper, “you’re not… tired of me, right?”

his hand stills.

he shifts slightly, tilting your chin up so you’ll look at him, even in the low light.

“never,” he says firmly, his voice low and hoarse from everything—sex, emotion, everything. “i’d never get tired of you.”

you blink slowly, lip quivering just slightly. “even if we don’t do stuff like tonight all the time?”

“baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your temple, your cheek, then your lips. “i didn’t fall in love with you because of what we do in bed. i fell in love with you because you’re you. the way you always know when to check on me. the way you always leave the hallway light on because you know i hate coming home to a dark apartment. the way you still get nervous when i kiss your neck like i didn’t already make you mine years ago.”

his voice gets softer, more serious.

“i got exhausted. i let the world outside this apartment wear me down, and i forgot how much you were waiting for me. that’s on me. but being with you? coming home to you? touching you, holding you, just lying here like this? i crave it. i crave you. always.”

you bury your face into his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his skin, holding him tighter.

“i wanna sleep with you still inside me,” you whisper.

he tenses just slightly, then sighs into your hair with a low chuckle.

“you’re insatiable,” he murmurs, voice fond. “you really want me to stay inside you while you sleep?”

you nod against his neck. “you said you missed me…”

“i did,” he groans. “i still do. i always do.”

another sigh, this time heavier, but laced with nothing but surrender. he shifts onto his side, nudging your thighs apart as he settles behind you, one hand guiding himself back to your entrance—still slick, still warm.

he slides in slow, careful, groaning low in his throat as he buries himself inside your sensitive cunt one last time.

you gasp, body relaxing immediately at the feeling of being full again—of him, deep and slow and safe.

he wraps his arms around you from behind, one hand cupping your breast, the other holding your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“happy now?” he mumbles sleepily.

“mhm,” you breathe, already drifting. “perfect.”

and that’s how you fall asleep—his cock still nestled inside you, his arms wrapped tight around your body, your heart steady again in the rhythm of his presence.

for the first time in weeks, the bed doesn’t feel cold.

it feels like home.

[thethreeeyed-raven]

I saw you were taking requests, and I was wondering if you could write fluffy dating headcanons of the Saja Boys? Thank you for your time!

+

dating/courting hc's

navigation | a/n : i’m not very good at headcanons (or happiness) so i’m sorry if this doesn’t live up to your imagination, i decided to put the two reqs together because it was just easier, the cat pics definitely convinced me😭| tags : @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @knight-of-flowerss

Jinu

i personally think that he would be scared to approach you directly, so i think he would follow you around for a bit and try to get to know you from a distance so he doesn't mess anything up.

the first time he actually does approach you he would be sweating with nerves.

he really wants you to like him.

he would try to play off the sweating and blame it on the heat but it's quite obvious that that's not the reason.

he would try to hide his demon side from you as to not scare you off.

once you start dating he might reveal little bits of his demon side and eventually tell you his story.

if you are a demon hunter he would be even more cautious with revealing himself and hopes that you would accept him.

Abby

i don't think he's the type to court tbh, i think if he liked you he would just straight up tell you.

however this boy has no shame in trying to get you to like him back.

he would flex his muscles even harder when you are around, maybe going as far as to not even wear a shirt.

and if you're anything like me and would shamelessly ogle at him, he would absolutely eat that shit up.

he would LOVE the fact that you're affected by his abs.

he would probably try to get you to touch them at some point tbh.

when you're dating he's even worse this boy would be flexing at any time trying to get you flustered.

Romance

omg he's literally SHAMELESS.

would definitely try to serenade you.

i think he would be someone who feels emotions deeply, so if he liked you it would definitely feel intense.

would definitely write love letters and poems and send you roses nearly every day.

would also definitely write songs about you and force the boys to perform them with him.

if you’re shy he would so eat that up and purposely do things to fluster you.

would probably be the secret admirer type if you were someone he found intimidating, if not he has no shame in showing that he’s interested in you.

Mystery

he’s very reserved so if he liked you i don’t think it would be obvious at all.

he’d probably share things with you to show that he likes you.

the rest of the boys would catch on after a while, not noticing his subtle change in behaviour around you.

would glare at the boys if they get too close to you, and would be even worse once you start dating.

he likes to nibble at your cheeks or any part of your skin that’s visible, it’s how he shows his affection.

i think not showing his face is a choice tbh but i think he would occasionally show his full face in private.

Baby

he’s so nonchalant it’s unreal.

probably acts like he hates you in front of the boys but still has an arm around your shoulder or is touching you in some way.

i don’t think he’s into pda that much so the most he would do is hold your hand or bump knees if you’re sat down.

would definitely write raps about you in a secret notebook that he makes sure is VERY hidden.

he’s not much of a kisser (in front of people anyway) but steals one every once in awhile.

would definitely make you try spicy food with him and laugh if you can’t handle it. (if you get mad he does make it up to you after and acts like he has to when he just wants to see you happy.)

[ovaryacted]

I love the concept of Girl Dad!Pope. I feel like he would take play time really seriously. Fully invested in the tea party, or bringing stuffed animals to his daughter’s “vet clinic.” He buys her so many toys, books, etc. and probably stays up late after she’s gone to bed to organize them 😂

─ Girl Dad! Pope Cody x fem! reader || WC: 1.4k

CW: FLUFF. Pope is a good dad! Daughter at different ages (months old to 4 years old). Daughter is unnamed. Daughter has Pope's hair, freckles, & eyes (carbon copy). Reader & Pope are in an established relationship.

Thank you for sending this in for a blurb idea, anon! This initially started as something silly and playful and it got real emotional towards the end, my eyes got watery reading it through lol. I hope you all like this little piece on Girl Dad! Pope cause talking about him means a lot to me. <3

It started with the whale plushie he got his daughter when she was just a couple of months old, spotting it in the toy section on a shopping trip, grabbing it along the way. As she got older over her first year of life, Pope carefully watches over her for things she might be interested in, to try to figure out what are the things that bring her joy, not including her own parents.

She was fond of sea animals, he soon figures out, and whether intentionally or unintentionally, Pope ransacks an entire toy store with all of the sea creature toys he could find. He doesn't overdo it of course, he leaves some things behind for customers for the next day, that's as considerate as he was going to get anyway. But when you walk into your daughter's bedroom and spot the wide selection of sharks, turtles, and jellyfish laying around the floor, you only squint at Pope.

"Andrew...where on Earth did these come from?"

"That toy store along the strip." He says it so calmly with a shrug, currently categorizing the plushies in order of importance based on how much his daughter smiled after he showed them to her one by one.

"Andy, she's not even a year old yet, you know?"

As if she knew she was the topic of conversation, your daughter's head pops up from her crib, her hands keeping her steady on the railing, staring between the two of you in curiosity.

"At least now we're prepared. Nothing wrong with that." He hides his smile, not an ounce of remorse or guilt on his face, not that he had anything to feel guilty about.

You don't argue with him, there's nothing to argue about. You simply plant a kiss on his cheek and reach to hold your baby girl for a little while, who was more than excited about all of the new joyful faces in her bedroom.

As she gets older, Pope's spending habits don't really stop. Well, he doesn't really "spend" money necessarily, you just end up finding new things around the house that you knew are because of him.

A new doll house. A kitchen playset. A mini doctor's set. A mini pink electric lamborghini.

You never got angry about him doing this, about spoiling your little girl because you know it's more than him just getting her things. Whatever she wants, it's a yes from him, when most of his life he was so used to being told no. No, you're not enough. No, you're not wanted. He's remedying his troubled past through his daughter, so you let him fill your house with toys that your child is more than happy to use on a daily basis.

Andrew becomes even more dedicated to his daughter's playtime once she knights him as an active participant.

You've caught him a handful of times sitting at her too-small tea table, thick fingers holding a plastic cup as delicately as he could. His broad figure looked utterly squished in the small chair he managed to fit the rest of his body into, and you'd laugh if you didn't know how much this meant to him. He wasn't the only one sitting at the table, several of your daughter's plushies that she's collected over the years make up her party of elite guests. Leaning against the doorway, you simply watch the two of them interact, how your daughter refills all of her patron's cups, and hands her father a plastic muffin for him to munch on.

"Having fun without me?" You question out loud, mirroring your daughter's smile when she stands up to run towards you.

"Mommy! Me and daddy are playing!" She says to the best of her ability, her fourth birthday just creeping around the corner. You run a hand through her auburn curls, straightening the tiara on her head and the superhero cape trailing behind her.

"I can see that, baby. Is daddy being a nice guest?"

"Yes. He's eating the muffin. Look!" She turns her head to point at Andrew, and you bite your inner cheek to suppress your chuckle.

He pays you no mind, fake-munching his muffin and humming in satisfaction at the taste. His face was as serious as ever, wearing the same signature scowl he fell in love with, but you could tell from the way his shoulders slouched he was calm, relaxed, safe.

"Do you want tea too, Mommy?" You hear your daughter ask, holding one of your hands and pulling you further into her mess of a room. You knew Andrew will have a fun time cleaning all of this up.

"The tea's good." Pope says in the light monotone voice you were familiar with, drinking in his hazel eyes as he fondly stares at you. "You should join us for the party." He holds out his big hand for you to take, and you gladly did, giving him an upwards quirk of your lips.

"Alright, alright. I'll stay for some tea. Where do I sit?"

Your favorite things to witness must be Pope being so devoted to your baby girl’s bedtime routine. It always started with a bath, one he was a part of since his daughter was young enough to be near running water. He made sure to use the bubble bath mixture that instantly calmed his daughter down, a mix of lavender and oatmeal filling the tiled room. He ignores the ache in his knees digging into the tile below him as he splashes water over his daughter’s head, wiping the water away from her hazel eyes, dryly chuckling when she dunks her rubber duck under the bubbles that surround her.

Drying her down, moisturizing her skin, and dressing her in some light green pajamas, he brings her to her toddler bed, setting her down and drawing back the sheets to let her get comfortable before tucking her in. Pope grabs one of the books in her expansive bookshelf, picking up Goodnight Moon, her personal favorite, and he sits on the opposite end of her small bed, mindful of the weight he puts against the frame.

His daughter stares at him as he repeats the words on the page, one open palm holding the book open while the other rubs her feet, squeezing here and there so she feels his presence. Pope’s calm words swirl in the four walls of her bedroom, keeping an even cadence after every passage.

Goodnight stars. Goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere.

It doesn’t take long for his daughter to fall fast asleep, her breaths slow as she falls deep into slumber. Pope takes a second longer to just look at her, to take in the way freckles were already appearing over her round cheeks and the bridge of her nose, the dark red curls he had as a child now coiling over her head in wild patterns.

She was so much like him, and yet different in every sense of the word. A part of him, a part of you; all of the intricacies that made you as humans mixed together in one final act of love to breathe new life to the world, birthing a new reality he never thought he could have.

Andrew stands up with a shaky breath, bending down to quickly plant a kiss on his daughter’s forehead, turning off the lights after double checking the baby monitor and nightlight were still on. He closes the door to her bedroom with a soft click, striding into your bedroom where you were waiting for him dressed in one of his baggy t-shirts and sleep shorts.

“She’s asleep?” You ask him, to which he nods. You don’t jerk away when he comes towards you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, resting his head along the side of your neck and simply breathing you in.

Your hands rub over his shoulders, kissing his temple and breathing with him, whispering those three words over and over again for as long as he needed to hear them. He’ll never fully declare the amount of gratitude he has towards you for loving him this way, for giving him a family that wants him, for saving him.

But you knew Andrew, as much as you knew Pope; you knew him. He didn’t need to tell you how much he loved you, you see it every day with how he worships you, and how he pours so much of himself in the child you created like that was all he knew, what he was born to do. You wouldn’t trade him or this life for anything, and holding him like this as he listens to your pulse flutter underneath him is all the declaration of love you needed.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[hyukascampfire]

(🍐) WANNA TOUCH? .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇’𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽. 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗮 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆?

nerdy태현 ⊹ 𝑓 rea 19OO smut non idol ╭╯ titty fucking breast worship subby tyun

ɑ︭ : serving this one up for u @heesmiles thank u for this incredible opportunity to write subby taehyun and now i’m drooling from multiple places. this one's been in the vault for a while hehe but omfg it needed to come to life because whew!

Poor Taehyun. You’ve been prancing around his house in little to nothing more than a flimsy pair of the cutest cotton shorts and, the worst offender, that thin, buttercup yellow tank top. It moves with the plush of your curves, looks so soft against your skin. And because you’ve spent a hundred nights like this, you’re so unaware. Sprawled out over his bed, torturously comfy in his presence.

And, god, he can tell you’re not even wearing a bra. It’s got his throat dry and palms sweaty with the effort of not popping a boner over his best friend just sitting there. He feels like a true pathetic, horny weasel of a man.

“It’s so fucking hot in here, Taehyun, seriously. Do you have the heater on eighty or something?” you say, lips pouted in such a way that his melted mind does not miss. The blush dusting your cheeks, proof of the heat, doesn’t slip by him either. He’s so far gone that truth be told, there is not one inch of you that Taehyun is not currently hyper-aware of. Especially the print of your nipples against the soft cotton of your top, belying the shape of you so cruelly that Taehyun hardly has to imagine it.

Oh, and you better believe that imagine it, he has. But seeing it in live action is different than the fuzzy edges of his imagination. Here you are, his best friend, so pretty and real in the flesh. So much better, but so much worse when it’s tangible and real in front of him. “No,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But… I can check. For you.” He remembers the tent in his pants and the pillow he’s clutched over his lap for the past twenty minutes, praying to god you don’t start asking questions. “Or you can. If you wanna.”

Well, of course you start asking questions. It’s been obvious all night, and Taehyun knows you’re just unsure of how to go about asking your guy best friend why his eyes are glued to your tits and he’s obviously covering a hard-on. It’s a stifling, new situation for the both of you. “You okay, Tyun?” Your eyes drop to the ironclad curl of his fingers into the pillow. He wonders if your skin would have the same give. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

The room does suddenly feel hot… The way you giggle the words like his struggle for the last however long is funny, as if his manhood was laughable, sends his blood boiling in his veins. Shoots his cognitive function to all hell until he really is a pathetic, stumbly mess. “It… it happens,” he says. Even the waver of his voice is mortifying. He’s not convincing anybody. “For no reason sometimes. You wouldn’t understand.” Are his lips numb, or is his face just on fire?

“Huh.” You purse your lips in a way that seems like it should be in understanding, but it feels more patronization than anything. “I guess I wouldn’t. I’ve just got these.” To Taehyun’s worst dismay, you take your tits in your palms and squeeze. Feel the weight of them. Like they were nothing more than stress balls, when they’ve been the very source of his strangulating terror. If you think you’re lightening the situation up by making jokes, you are dead wrong. His soul has already left his body. “They act on their own sometimes too, I guess, though. So.”

Fuck. He is so thoroughly fucked. Is this a joke? Is this funny to you? He can’t answer that, because bare minimum, he can’t form thoughts.

“Oh my god, Taehyun,” you laugh. You look beautiful as you witness his humiliation, and he supposes that’s the worst part. You, his pretty, popular, perfect best friend, now know exactly how much of a fumbling loser he really is. “Are you okay? Your face is white.” The moment extends excruciatingly long as you connect the dots in your head. “No fucking way—have you never seen boobs before?”

“Wha… I? Yes I have?” he says. His knuckles creak at the force with which he holds that damned pillow to his hips. For what reason? You’re already keenly aware of his shame if that sparkle in your eye says anything. “I’ve seen tits before. Jesus,” he tries again. He should just stop talking, really. For both of your sakes. “And don’t say it like that.”

The moment lingers. He debates running to the bathroom for some sort of escape. And then you drive the stake in his chest and finish the job. “On Pornhub?” you say, tilting your head in a cheeky way that suggests you’re playing with him like a cat would nudge at a mouse it pitied more than the rest. Like it wasn’t even worth digging its teeth into it. Like a charity case, you furrow your brows and take the hem of your cute little floral sleep set and hit him with, “Do you wanna see some? Real ones?” Or, rather, like you’re just performing some civic duty. Giving handouts to the poor loser who’s never seen a pair of tits. The worst part is the way his cock twitches at the prospect. He is exactly what you think he is: a hopeless virgin ogling his best friend.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Should he say no? Save himself some dignity?

Breathing a laugh, you tug your top up and over your chest. The sight sucks the air from his lungs. The yellow, rucked all the way up, frames it perfectly. He watches as your nipples tighten and how it makes you shudder, the shape of them branded into the back of his skull. “Holy shit,” he says, mouth moving faster than he can realize how embarrassing that is. “You can’t just—do that.”

For the second time, you just laugh at him. Your cheeks are dusted a delectable pink, your back arched to show them off better for him. It’s unreal. A thing only of his most depraved fantasies, and it’s playing out in blisteringly real time right in front of him. “You should see your face right now,” you say, shifting. Your skin, so plump and grabbable, moves softly with it. So does your chest. He’s not sure he’s even breathing at this point. “You’re blushing so hard. Your ears are red. It’s cute.” Circling your fingers around his wrist, you say, “You wanna touch?”

The weight of them—the soft give of your skin, how you feel more like marshmallows under his fingertips than he could’ve ever imagined, and he knows you’d taste just as sweet. It’s all got his stomach twisted right up. He abandons the pillow to roll his thumbs over the buds of your nipples, big brown eyes framed by his glasses darting up to check how you feel about it. He feels the seam where the swell meets your torso, dusts the pads of his fingers over your skin in such a way that makes your breath hitch and your chest jump. Explores with trembling need, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

“They’re… pretty,” he manages. He’s had a taste now, and perhaps this version of you, skin so malleable and bed-warmed, will consume him. Will you laugh in his face if he says he wants all this and more? Always? Maybe he’s a dog on a leash, but those soft, exploring eyes of yours don’t say that. Maybe this is as fresh and nerve-wracking for you as it is him.

It’s such a captivating, soft scene, the two of them. Tentative, crossing boundaries with thundering hearts, the familiarity of the same bedroom they’d spent so many other casual nights like this together in. But tonight was so different.

“Yeah?” you say, eyes searching his own. “You’re so…” Feeling up your own chest as if to reaffirm his words to yourself, you shift. “Do you wanna fuck them?” Your voice is like sugary whipped cream in his ears. “You can.”

Well, if he wasn’t breathing before, he certainly isn’t now. He blinks. Reels. That’s… fuck, that’s different. That can’t just be explained away as some horny exploration between two close best friends. That’s his fucking dream. Mouth drying up, his heart stutters in his chest. “Can… well, I…”

Next thing he knows, he’s discovering just how giving your body is, with his length nestled snug between the valley of your breasts. Your skin is so, so warm and welcoming, your body committing to the shape of him and keeping him there just right, and you’re staring up at him with wide, smoldering eyes and curiosity that banks on him using you like this. The sight is borderline too erotic with your hair splayed over his pillows and you laid so prettily beneath him.

“Go ahead,” you encourage. Your cheeks are the color of the plumpest strawberries. “Use them. I know you want to, Taehyun. It’s okay. You’re so sweet, I know you deserve it. You’re the best friend, make yourself feel good.”

You don’t have to ask Taehyun twice. He’s slow and unsure at first, but then his tip starts kissing your lips and he’s seeing fuzzy stars. Bracing himself, he cants his hips until he’s dropping his head down with sluggish whimpers and the valley has gone sticky and slick. He slips right through now. Brown strands of damp hair fall in his eyes, pupils blown wide with the deep thrill that starts in his belly and twists up his spine. “Heeh—fuck, oh fuck,” he says through his teeth, pushing his glasses back up his nose bridge. “Gotta—on your face? Can I… cum on your face?”

“Uh-huh,” you preen, your own eyes glazed over. For a moment, a beautiful, lingering moment, he is positive that you’re just as destroyed by this as he is. That you’re not dragging him along like a thing to pity, but rather that you’re taking as much pleasure in watching him fall apart over your body as he is getting to touch it. “Don’t stop, please, Tyun. Feels so good you’re losing your mind, huh? Do you want them to be yours?”

Taehyun’s lost his mind. “Yes,” he says, choked and tight. He’s losing rhythm. “Yes, I want to… shit, I wanna… Have them…” Unable to complete a full thought, he opts for something simple and to the point. “Love you so much. Love your tits. Can I h…have you?”

You don’t get to answer him that, because he locks up and paints your face with soft white ropes abruptly as if he’d been holding it back. And truthfully, he had. He was on the cusp a few measly moments after feeling you pressed around him, but he couldn’t handle the look on your face if he had came so quickly.

Anyway, he didn’t want the moment to come and go so quickly. But now it’s gone, inevitably, and he’s staring down at his longtime crush painted in him and looking prettier than ever. He prepares himself for the awkward snap back into reality, but you don’t recoil once it comes seeping back in at the corners.

Sitting up, you brush some unruly hair from your face and wrinkle your nose with a melodic laugh. “You’re getting this off my face, Taehyun. If I break out, you’re buying me three straight weeks of coffee.”

That’s all it takes for Taehyun to know that while he may be a loser and you may be so far out of his league that it’s unfathomable that you even grace him with your attention, things may have changed today, but so much will remain the same. That’s all it takes for him to loose a shaky laugh, still basking in the throes, and shoot back a familiar, “You know I’ll buy you some, anyway.”

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles , @lunesdesire , @yystarz

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Seven) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 7.3k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

A/N: a second spring fling update in 2 weeks??? and a long one???? we're so back, baby. this one's juicyyy i hope you like it >:) <3 day two is finished! thank you for sticking around and being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy :) <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You hadn’t exactly tuckered yourself out while mini-golfing, but you’d certainly exhausted your brain and your emotions while thinking through the sunset with Jake, so you’re eager to get your hands on a drink. 

It’s late, past what you’d normally call dinnertime, but not late enough to sleep after getting buzzed. Your only hope is the bar food, and you wonder if you’ll be able to choke down garlic knots after downing three drinks. That’s your plan for the night- three, no more, and hopefully no less. Three is the magic number, the one that will make you forget about your inner turmoil while still leaving you conscious enough to remember the night’s events tomorrow. You’re not the biggest fan of blacking out, but you’re glad you’re with Jake if you do.

You’re snacking on appetizers during your first drink, letting Daniel hand-feed you mozzarella sticks during your second, and by the third and final drink you’d planned for the night, you’re clumsily locking hands and arms with Danica, whirling around the small square of tiles they’re calling a dance floor. You’re whooping, cheering, and laughing as each of you stumble around each other, but you’re having fun, far more thrilling fun than you’ve had thus far and it’s pleasing your buzzed brain to not be thinking.

Jake’s tried to inject some Texan flair into your dancing, seizing the opportunity to teach you what he swears up and down is a ‘simple’ line dance when Fake ID begins blaring over the speakers. 

You think he’s full of shit.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen Footloose, you’re no Julianne Hough.

You and Danica both decide that the footwork is too difficult in your inebriated states, and your shoes just don’t click on the floor when Jake’s do, no matter how hard you try. Although, that might have something to do with how distracting he is, swinging his hips around while turning on his heels, extra pronounced to show you how it’s done.

Not that you’ve been looking at his hips moving, and if you have, it’s totally the drinks’ fault. And it’s especially their fault that- not that, if, it looks good.

You’re enjoying the atmosphere of the bar much more tonight than you were last night, which you feel guilty for, because Daniel had been a dream not even 24 hours ago. But things seem more solid now, more real, more comfortable despite your two left feet.

You’re not sure how, because your entire perception of Jake is widening, deepening, shifting. But one of the perks of being stuck together for years in a work environment where your lives depend on each other is that you happen to trust him, at least a little. 

He might not be the first person you’d choose for this particular endeavor, or the second, or the third, and maybe he wouldn’t have even been the last, before Danica had gotten to you, but you know you can fall back on at least being his friend while you’re trying to rhythmically peel your shoes off of the sticky floor of a bar.

Your brain had been buzzing with uncertainties last night, would Daniel kiss you, when would Daniel kiss you, how would Daniel kiss you, would it be as good as it was in the elevator, but here and now, you can predict Jake’s every move, even if Danica swears there’s new meaning behind it.

“No, darlin’, that’s not- that’s not it.” Jake shakes his head, and the speakers nearly drown him out as he studies your form, “You’re trying to jump, all you need to do is pick one foot up. It looks fancy ‘cause you’re turnin’ too, but it’s just one foot up and a spin, then you’re landing on the raised foot and doing the same with the opposite side.”

He demonstrates, and you stare blankly.

“Like this.” He offers, reaching for your waist with both hands, “Right foot up, heel against the floor.”

You let him shimmy your hips into position, and prop your heel up against the linoleum.

“Good. Now step back this way with the other foot,” He instructs, tugging at your hips, “And you’re gonna turn yourself to the right. Quarter-turn-” He calls, when you give it all you’ve got and nearly end up backwards, “Just a quarter-turn, darlin’. And then you’ve gotta come back the way you came, do it all this way. Left foot now, kick-ball-change.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” You yell to be heard over the music, your shoe slamming against the floor when you nearly lose your balance trying to imitate Jake’s impressive footwork, “Jake, I don’t think I’m made for line dancing!”

“You’re not.” Jake concludes, his voice deepening as he watches you try to keep pace with the song, but it’s useless when the last chorus ends and the music dies down, “But that doesn't mean we can’t try again.”

“The song’s over.” You point out, out of breath and grateful for the single second of silence before the next one plays, “I guess I’ll never learn.”

“I’ve got it on my phone.” Jake informs you, “And if we aren’t gonna have sex we’ve gotta be gettin’ some other exercise. You and me, darlin’, line dance drills first thing in the morning.”

You stuff your face into Danica’s bare shoulder, the strapless cut of her dress giving you a perfect expanse of skin to groan into. She laughs and you feel it where your nose is pressed into her neck- her perfume’s really nice. Elegant but sweet, something you’d want as an air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror.

You rest there, feeling her hand make contact with your waist as she tucks you against her. You sway slowly to the much more subdued song over the speakers, something about love and marriage and babies in the carriage. 

You remember last night’s haze- as much as your brain allows, and you recall being spun in a barstool by Daniel. You’d enjoyed it at the time, but this slow dance doesn’t make you nearly as dizzy, which you give Danica a point for. 

Perhaps a scoreboard would help you figure out what to do here?

Your head’s no longer in the clouds from Daniel’s allure, but thanks to your drinks your feet aren’t firmly on the ground anymore, either.

It’s actually Danica that lists sideways, but the way you’re pressed up against her means that you lean into it instead of against it, and the both of you tumble with startled yelps. You’re not so far gone that you don’t know you’re falling, but you’re too tipsy to balance yourself, and you resign yourself to breaking your nose against the dance floor as you fall for the second time in 24 hours.

Deja vu is not being kind to you on this cruise.

Danica goes down first, and you’re both lucky that Jake is there to chase after you, because he manages to lunge and slip his hand beneath her head before she can crack it against the tile, and he winds up clutching your back to his chest, keeping you upright against his own body. He’s hovering over Danica on the floor, one hand beneath her head and the other wrapped around your middle. It seems almost effortless, the way he keeps you upright, and you find that none of your weight is resting on your feet with the way they’re limply resting on the ground between Jake’s own. You’re just- hanging there, saved by Jake’s strong arms. You can see muscles bulging in his forearms as he tries keeping his center of gravity grounded without dropping either of you, but Daniel’s made his way over by now, mere seconds too late to catch you, and takes Danica’s head from Jake’s palm.

“I got it.” Daniel mumbles, neutral as a combination of gruff to Jake and crooning to Danica. She looks just as shocked as you are at your sudden change of perspective, and she lets Daniel haul her up into a seated position, resting her weight against his side.

“Jesus. You two can’t handle the damn dance floor.” Jake pants, his breath puffing against your ear as he straightens up. He’d been crouched over, and you’re impressed that he’d been able to stay upright himself with the way he’d hung onto your languid form, practically dangling you from his chest.

“Are you okay?” Daniel ducks to meet Danica’s glassy gaze, his voice soft and his eyes concerned. 

She nods, scrubbing a hand over her eyes, “I think so. Jake- did you catch me?”

“I hope I did. Does your head hurt?” He frowns, and now that you’ve remembered how to use your feet again, you attempt to. You stand, trying to squirm out of his hold around your midsection but he doesn’t let go, only squeezing you tighter to his chest like a silent reprimand.

“Jake-” You grunt, trying to pry his hand off of your waist but he swats you away, eyes still worriedly locked on Danica.

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” She decides, “I’m just dizzy. And- um, a little sick.”

Daniel moves much quicker this time, standing and bending over to meet her instead of having his entire body in the splash zone, “Can you make it to the bathroom? Or do you want to just sit for a while and see if it passes?”

She swallows experimentally, and grimaces, “Bathroom. Please.”

“I can take her,” You offer, but Jake’s other hand flies to your waist now, and he manhandles you around to face him. You nearly lose your balance again when he spins you, and you’re so intimidated by Jake’s eyes staring directly into your own that you don’t feel steady despite your feet being on the ground.

“Wait. What about you?” He asks, peering into your eyes like he’ll find signs of a concussion in them, “Did you hit anything?”

His scrutiny reminds you of earlier in the pool, when your bikini had come untied and you’d seen genuine concern from Jake for one of the first times in your life, unmarred by amusement, scorn, or his ego. It had been raw, real, and you see the near-permanent cocky glaze clear from his eyes like clouds drifting away from the sprawling light of the sun. Underneath is Jake, really, truly Jake, and you don’t know how to act when you find yourself met with nothing but sincerity.

“I’m fine.” You manage, your protests melting into a feeble hand on his wrist, not pulling, not pushing, just holding, “Jake, you can- you can let me go, I’m okay.”

He takes a breath, then releases the pressure on your waist, but his hands don’t lower and yours doesn’t drop from his. You stay there for a moment, by choice, and then a soft groan comes from Danica and you remember there’s things going on outside of whatever vortex you and Jake had been sucked into just now. The music comes flooding back into your senses, you remember you’re standing in the sticky remains of dozens of spilled drinks on the dance floor, and Daniel’s eyes on you and Jake blaze, not warm like Jake’s sun but scorching, burning, painful.

Jake drags his hands off of your hips and your arm falls back to your side.

“Come on,” Your voice is almost shaky, something weak and frail as you let Danica drape herself over your shoulders, “It’s not that far to the bathroom. You think you can make it?”

She nods, but her response is more of a grunt than anything else. You feel for her- there’s nausea roiling in your own gut from where Jake had inadvertently squeezed your stomach.

You help her move slowly and carefully into the bathroom, trudging under her weight as she rests her face in the crook of your neck. It’s comforting, but now you’re marveling even more at how Jake had kept you both suspended, your tired limbs sluggish and struggling to hold another person’s weight.

Jake hadn’t been knocking back drinks like you had, but you have to hand it to him; he’s got military muscles.

Jake watches carefully as you and Danica cross the threshold of the bathroom, feeling the same urge to barge in as he had the night prior. This all feels like a time loop, where each day gets more confusing and complicated than the last. Same bar, same people, same drinks, but wildly different feelings in the air.

He wonders if Danica’s advice has been paying off- sure, you’d been receptive enough on the golf course, but he’s unfamiliar with doing anything but needling you, and trying to puzzle out your reactions to things while also engaging in an entirely new set of behaviors is a lot for him to handle.

He wishes he could read your mind.

This cruise gives him the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s an isolated environment that encourages sex without complications and people he’s never going to see again in his life-

Except for you.

Of course you’re here too. 

Of course he couldn’t have just taken Coyote’s advice in peace, of course he couldn’t have gotten away from all the buzz of the San Diego port and fucked his feelings out on some random woman, using her as an outlet for all of his conflicting feelings on getting older and settling down. He’s in his thirties trying to live at twenty-one, used to the bachelor life but watching all of his friends get married and have kids right before his eyes. Each one is a wake up call, and waking up to a stranger in his bed opens a chasm beneath his heart that he digs deeper every time.

And it doesn’t help that he’s found himself drawn to you. At a time he’d have called you enemies or rivals, and even just a day before this cruise he would have described your relationship as something pitted against him. But you’re his favorite to mess with, you’re the one whose side he drifts to unconsciously, even if it’s just to knock you around by your helmet, and he slides into a comfortable routine of giving you a hard time every time you work together. Perhaps it was born out of contempt or jealousy but as he’s grown, shifted, deepened, it’s become something he does by default. The actions have stayed the same but the man has changed, and Danica’s suggestion that the actions may have to change along with the man thrusts Jake into highly uncomfortable territory.

No one has ever called Jake Seresin a vulnerable man, and giving anyone the opportunity to do so now makes him feel like he’s spinning out behind the controls.

Luckily for him, an agitating snarl comes from over his left shoulder to oh-so-kindly snap him out of his reverie.

“Are you just gonna stand there and wait for them to come back?” Daniel asks, his voice rough and jagged, “You can relax- they don’t need their guard dog right now.”

Jake turns, his face hardening into the smirk he wears so often, “Well staying alert was what just saved the day, wasn’t it? I noticed you didn’t get there in time.”

Daniel’s eyes flash dangerously, something steely in them that Jake notices every time something interferes with his faux-chivalry.

“You know what else I noticed? I think you’ve got a problem with me.” Jake pushes, edging into Daniel’s space like he’s practiced with dozens of opponents before. His signature move- push just far enough to get the other person to start the fight.

“Now is it the height,” Jake inches forwards, looking down at Daniel with his shoulders squared, “Or the muscles?” He doesn’t even have to accentuate those, “Or, is it that you thought you were gonna be gettin’ it on with two women tonight, and it’s looking like you’re down to none?”

“She doesn’t like you,” Daniel seethes, “Neither of them do.”

And maybe he hits his mark, maybe it’s ‘like’ instead of ‘want’- love instead of sex - maybe it’s the way he believes what he says, the conviction in his tone and in his tensed shoulders, but Jake bristles, jaw tightening and muscles tensed.

“You’re a cocky, self-centered, arrogant douchebag,” Daniel declares, “And that persona’s a dime a dozen straight out of high school. She wants- she deserves something better than that. She deserves someone better than you. A real man, not some frat boy who thinks one smirk can win him whoever he wants. And even if you manage to ‘get her’, even if you wear her down and coerce her into giving you what you want,” Daniel exhales heavily, reminding Jake of a stubborn, vicious bull, seeing red in the apples of Jake’s cheeks, “You’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you made hers worse.”

Jake’s only silent for a few seconds, and then his voice is lower and more dangerous than it’s ever been, “Get out of my face before I knock your teeth out, son.”

“You know I’m right. And that’s why you’re mad,” Daniel goads, unafraid of Jake even if he should be, which is infuriating to the hotheaded pilot in and of itself. Jake leans forwards, fist itching, begging to drive itself into Daniel’s jaw but he restrains himself with the last shred of his self-control as Daniel keeps running his mouth, “You’re learning for the first time ever that some women won’t spread their legs for you just ‘cause you ask, and that you might actually have to care about them.”

“I do care about her!” Jake snaps, nearly shouting now, and the last thing on his mind is whether he’s drawing a crowd or not. It’s all-out, here and now, Jake vs. Daniel, onlookers be damned.

“No you don’t. You care about sex. You care about getting laid and you care about winning.” Daniel’s chest heaves, and Jake feels that almost insatiable itch to cock a fist back and slam it into Daniel’s nose so hard it breaks, “She told me that last night. She’s too good for you, man.” Daniel warns, the sneer on his face so disgusted you’d think Jake was a slug he’d trodden on in the middle of the sidewalk, “And whether you admit it or not, it’s true. Whether she forgets it or not, it’s true. So do whatever you want, fuck her or don’t,” Daniel scoffs, “But you’ll never deserve her.”

The only reason Jake doesn’t knock his teeth loose right then and there is because Daniel’s had the good sense to step back a few feet, and compose himself like he’s not about to fight back. There’s a few wary onlookers who eye them cautiously, edging away from the pair just in case they snap, but Jake’s not stupid- he doesn’t start fights, he wins them. He falls into old habits, abandoning sight of what the ‘new Jake’ would do and goading, smirking, pushing.

“And you do? You deserve her?”

“Maybe not. But I do more than you do.” Daniel’s clenched fist comes to rest on the back of one of the barstools, “And even she knows that.”

“It don’t matter what you think we’re worth.” Jake scoffs, breathing heavily, “She decides what she wants. Now who’s trying to win?”

“I am winning!” Daniel seethes, his voice roaring over the music as his fist slams into the upholstered cushion, “Just because neither of us have had sex yet doesn’t mean we’ve lost! All you’ve done so far is stepped on people’s toes and bullied your way into every conversation Y/N has with anyone. You think that’s attractive? She wants a real man, and you’re not one.”

“For once,” Jake narrows his eyes at Daniel, slits that ooze contempt and disgust, “I ain’t trying to win. And seeing you throw another one of your little temper tantrums about it makes me glad I’m not the man I was five years ago. If that’s what I looked like,” Jake spits, “No wonder she doesn’t wanna trust me now. But the difference is, Daniel, that one of us is changin’, and the other one’s punching a hole in a barstool because he’s coming in second.”

“Stay away from her.” 

Jake laughs, a dangerous sound that he hopes Daniel takes as a warning, “No, asshole. You stay away from her. I mean it. She may deserve better than me,” Jake breathes, his jaw clenched firmly, “But whatever that is, it’s not you.”

If Danica hadn’t let out a weak, slightly wet cough from the door to the bathroom, Daniel would have lunged at Jake. But he doesn’t, and they turn to watch you shuffling out with Danica still draped over your shoulder.

“She wants to go to bed,” You glance warily at Daniel, “Just- don’t jostle her too much. Walk slow and don’t take the elevators.”

“Come here.” Daniel hums, hoisting Danica’s limp form off of your frame and cradling her in his own, “Are you feeling dizzy still?”

“Just from the drinks.” She nods, “And- sick. But nothing more than that. I should have eaten better before this.”

Jake hums sympathetically, and you feel your own near-empty stomach roil in indignation that you’d sicced liquor on it before food. Nothing sounds good now, not that you’re full of alcohol, but eating will be better than not eating, so you let yourself drift to Jake’s side and wait for him to notice you.

When he does, his entire focus shifts, and he cranes his neck downwards slightly to peer at you closer, “You okay?”

“Fine. Just- a little sick, too.” You admit, “Can we get something to eat?”

“Of course.” Jake nods, his hand flying to the small of your back whether consciously or not.

“We could all go,” Daniel offers, but the way he leans towards you makes Danica whine in discomfort as her head spins. He’s quick to correct it, but you shake your head at his offer.

“No, she needs to get to bed. Do you want us to bring you something later?” You offer, “We can ask for to-go boxes.”

“You can order room service.” Jake grins, a sneer in intention but not by looks, “Danica, honey, feel better.”

“Thank you.” She croaks, and Jake’s hand around your waist tugs you pointedly towards the door.

You try throwing Daniel and Danica apologetic looks, but you’re dragged out of the bar too quickly.

You feel irritation rising in your chest at Jake, something he’d been getting good at not triggering in you for the last couple hours. You side-eye him, but you let him continue leading you to the elevators instead of wrenching yourself out of his grasp, “That was rude, Jake.”

“He’s rude.” Jake states, his eyes forward and refusing to meet yours, “You didn’t hear what he was saying about you while you were in the bathroom.”

Your brows furrow, and when you enter the thankfully-empty elevator, you turn to face him instead of standing by his side, “About me? What did he say?”

“The kinda thing I would’ve said a few years ago.” Jake frowns, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that’s meant to come off as lazy but really just shows his tensed muscles.

“That bad?” You laugh nervously, trying to diffuse the tension while being eaten alive by your own nerves. Daniel? Sweet, perfect, caring- okay, slightly complicated and anger-prone Daniel? 

24 hours ago you’d have called Jake a liar. Now you notice the stiffness in his jaw as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek and wonder how many times he’s tried to tell you something and you’ve assumed he was messing with you.

“What do you want for dinner?” You try, and he glances carefully at you where you stand across from him. Apparently he appreciates that you’ve dropped the subject, because his shoulders deflate slightly.

“I don’t know what’s open.” He checks his watch, finding the hour a little too late if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, “The restaurants stop taking reservations after 7. And all that’s left is fast food and ice cream. We might have to order room service.”

The thought of gorging on half-cold room service beside Jake, crammed into the same bed while trying desperately not to touch each other, makes your stomach hurt worse. There’s too many things happening, too many things to think about, and you regret having stopped yourself at three cocktails.

“I want another drink,” You groan, leaning against the wall behind you as the elevator climbs steadily towards the top decks, the ones with the most food service, “Can we go to the buffet?”

--

The buffet is closed, but the bar is not. Drink number four wasn’t planned, but neither were the revelations you’ve been having, and taking care of Danica had really sobered you up. You’re in need of a good old-fashioned margarita, and once you’ve got one in your hands you let Jake parade you around the pool’s deck, peering at menus to quick-service restaurants that are already closed for the night.

“Wings?” You ask, but the kiosk is closed.

“We could do sushi.” Jake offers, but the neon sign is no longer lit.

It’s several twists and turns to investigate every little storefront, and several sips of your margarita to bring back your buzz, but it quickly becomes apparent that there’s only one sign left lit this late at night.

“I guess it’s pizza. Again.” Jake hums, “Is that gonna be okay on your stomach?”

“It’s fine. It’s still better than room service.” You have visions of reheated buffet food, “Let’s just get different toppings and pretend we didn’t have this six hours ago.”

What you decide on is veggie, hoping that the bell peppers and greens might do something kind to your stomach even if they’re soaked in grease from the cheese and bread beneath them.

You beeline for the table you’d sat at earlier as a party of four, but Jake catches your elbow and drags you closer to the edge of the deck.

“Let’s look at the water,” He urges, “Now that the lounge chairs aren’t all taken.”

“We should-” You start unsteadily, having chugged half of your drink in order to not spill it while balancing your pizza as well, “We should get up really early tomorrow to get a spot.”

“Tomorrow we’ll be docked,” Jake reminds you, “We can go to a beach instead of a tiny swimming pool.”

“Oh, right.” You hum, cramming pizza into your mouth to soothe the ache in your stomach, “What are you gonna do once we get off the ship?”

“We can try some excursions,” Jake shrugs, folding his pizza in half so that it doesn’t droop, “The website said something about a golf cart tour, and snorkeling off the coast, if you wanna do that.”

“You don’t have to do everything with me, y’know.” You hum, onions leaving a bitter taste on your tongue, “If you want to do something you don’t have to do it with me.”

He rears back, faux-offended, “Yeah? And what if I want to?”

“Then we can,” You chuckle, “Just- don’t let me hold you back more than I already am.”

He’d been raising his pizza to his mouth to take a bite, but he stops short and watches you instead of eating. You’re turned towards the sea, stray hairs blowing around your face as the nighttime wind pushes across the deck. He’s not sure what you’re seeing in the waves, but probably something induced by your mostly-empty margarita.

“You’re not holding me back.” He hums, soft and low, “I like doing stuff with you. Remember? You’re fun sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” You nod, “Right. Well, I’m just letting you know.”

“I know.” Jake assures you, nudging his knee into yours, “And if I’m ever- y’know, too pushy? You can tell me to kick rocks and eat-”

“Dolphins!” You shriek.

“Dolphins?” Jake’s brows furrow, “Why would I eat- oh. Dolphins.”

You’re pointing frantically off the side of the deck, and Jake quickly maneuvers himself onto your lounge chair to grab you from behind before you can launch yourself over the railing. There is, in fact, a pod of dolphins beside the boat, weaving over and under each other, breaching the surface to showcase their silvery skin that glints in the moonlight. The rational part of Jake’s brain suggests that they’re feeding off of any sea life being churned up by the boat’s trajectory, but the margarita part of your brain seems to think they’ve come to show off for you. 

“Jake, look!” You gush, enthused, and then your ass is in his face.

Jake’s eyes widen when you prop yourself up on all fours, your knees now grating against the rough mesh of the lounge chair as you lean even further over the railing. It puts your ass right at eye-level, and the shorts you’re donning are loose enough that they offer him a rather salacious view of what’s beneath them. He tears his eyes away as soon as his brain comes back to him, even if he feels a rush of blood travel south. In order to stop you from tumbling he has to stand and grab you, rolling onto his own knees on instinct to grab hold of your shoulders and hoist you upright. It means that your ass is firmly, snugly flush with Jake’s crotch, and you don’t seem to notice because you’re too caught up in the dolphins swimming beside the boat.

“Jesus, please don’t fall.” He begs, his lips beside your ear as the wind blows cold against both of your faces.

“I won’t fall! But look, they’re jumping!”

Jake ensures you’re secure in his grip before peering down over the railing, and it really is a sight to behold. There must be five dolphins visible, jumping and diving through the churning water caused by the boat’s motor. They’re not vocalizing much, but every once in a while a click or a screech floats up on the ocean breeze and Jake hears you laugh the way that only someone who’s had four cocktails in a row can laugh.

As nervous as he is that you were going to plummet into the sea, he can appreciate the way you’re leaning into the wind and watching the dolphins below. You’re genuinely excited, something he hasn’t seen on this trip so far, and rarely gets to see on the tarmac. He catches a glimpse of your eyes when you turn your head to watch a dolphin to your left, and they’re shining like the moonlight is on the water. He doesn’t miss the way you melt into him, either, and he’ll take credit for this one instead of letting the liquor.

You let him hold you around the middle, though he’s sure you haven’t noticed that you’re nearly grinding against him when you stick your ass out to lean further over the railing. He’s trying really valiantly not to let himself be affected by this, but he’s fairly certain that at least half of something is going on downstairs from physical stimulation alone. Hopefully it won’t be visible when you pull away, and if it is, hopefully you won’t notice.

“This is like,” You start, your voice nearly lost to the wind as you face away from Jake, “-that scene in Titanic.”

You throw your arms out, and Jake has no problem curling his further around your belly.

“I’ve never seen it.” He admits, shouting to be heard over the noise of the ship and the whipping of the breeze.

“Me neither!” You laugh, and you fall back against him, nearly knocking him off of the chair altogether.

“Hey!” He yelps, but he’s laughing when you squirm at the way his fingers dig into your side momentarily. You’re not a fan of being tickled, and he knows this from painstakingly earned experience, (a kick to the balls), but he tests a few gentle squeezes at your side to get you giggling again.

“Stop! Stop,” You gush, laughing and panting, and he does, his fingers stilling on your waist. He’s on his butt now, with your weight against him, and he reclines the wrong way against the lounge chair to let you rest comfortably.

“That pizza was cold.” You muse, “But it did help. I don’t feel as sick anymore.”

“That’s good. Drinking on an empty stomach,” Jake scoffs, “Are you trying to black out?”

“Kind of.” You admit, your voice taking a quiet, somber turn, “I’ve had… a lot to think about, recently.”

Jake nods slowly, carefully, “Yeah. Me too.”

“And you’re not drinking about it?” You crane your neck to chance a glance back at him, that shimmer in your eyes dulled but not gone, “You’re braver than I am, Jake.”

“No, I’m smarter than you are.” He teases, “Someone has to make sure we don’t fall over the side of the deck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall!” You whine, “You’re so dramatic. And besides, that’s not fair. I should take a turn being sober so that you can drink.”

“You should, Miss Margarita.” Jake agrees, “Just don’t let me get too smashed before snorkeling tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to try and befriend a stingray.”

You giggle at the imagery, your cheeks flushed and hot where they brush against his bicep briefly. Your grin is toothy and infectious, carefree from the liquor and- dare he say love.

Not for him, of course, or- not like that for him, it’s just that he’d like to think that eight years by your side constitutes some feelings of fondness towards him, and that maybe you could perhaps, possibly say it’s love. Even if it’s completely platonic. Just- you could use the word love, probably.

He wishes he was drunk.

“We should go to bed.” You hum, sounding almost sad, “I’m tipsy and I want to be up early tomorrow for the excursions. We can beat the morning rush and get a head start on exploring.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He lets your waist go as you stand from his grip, righting himself after you’ve proved yourself steady on your feet. You gather your trash slowly but surely, and you only miss your shot at the garbage can with one balled-up napkin stained with copious amounts of pizza grease.

Neither of you say anything about the way his hand gravitates towards your waist again while he’s walking you back towards the elevators. Maybe it’s because you’re too buzzed to have a meaningful conversation, or maybe it’s because he’s doing a good enough job at pretending it’s just so that you don’t tip over again. Whatever the reason, Jake’s grateful for it when you pass by a closed piano lounge, and the tune of your favorite song makes its muffled way through the doors.

“Jake,” You breathe, that same shining excitement in your eyes as before, “I love this song.”

“I know. You put it on in the car every time we drive somewhere,” He grins, letting the hand on your waist serve as a leader as the other grasps at one of your hands, “You’re into them cheesy love songs, aren’t’cha?”

“Not all of us can be line dancers, cowboy.” You inform him smartly, your feet a slight second out of tune with your brain as you begin a slow, clumsy waltz. You reach for his shoulder, letting your other hand melt into his own,“Some of us enjoy the quiet things in life.”

Jake’s never been quiet for a second. He’d ridden saddle bronc in rodeos since he was old enough to, and even then he’d refused to use the smaller, more tame horses that they’d offered him. No, he wanted the biggest, the meanest, the best, and he’s always tried emulating those same characteristics so that no one can ever tame him.

But here, now, you’re swirling him around outside of a closed bar, tipsy and dizzy, stumbling over his feet and your own alike. Your eyes are closed and your face is curved in a soft, serene smile, and he feels your grip on his shoulder loosen comfortably as you ease into a rhythm with him that you’d failed to achieve only hours prior.

Perhaps, like Danica had been suggesting, Jake’s fast-paced, cocky routine might have to wait for a slow dance first. Maybe you’d both be better off waltzing before grapevining, in case one of you twists an ankle or breaks a heart. 

Maybe he needs to appreciate the quiet things in life, if you’re willing to share them with him.

Your nose nestles into his neck at some point, and he feels your breath puff warm down the front of his shirt. Your arm is draped lazily over his shoulder now, not a grip but a presence all the same, your fingers ghosting feather-light over the nape of his neck. It tingles, gives him the urge to shudder but he doesn’t dare, not now that you’re sighing against him and swaying like you’re dancing at a ball animated by Disney.

He’s quiet, and so are you.

When the song ends you keep humming lazily against the collar of his shirt. It takes a solid ten seconds and the beginning of the next song to realize that you’re not harmonizing with anything anymore, and your eyes flutter open as you lift your head from his shoulder.

You’re close.

Very close. 

Your nose nearly brushes his chin, and when he angles his face subtly, almost imperceptibly downwards, your lips are on a crash course. It’s a perfect trajectory, a little down for him and a little up for you. But you’re frozen in time, your eyes locking onto his and getting lost in what they reveal.

There’s vulnerability swirling in both of your gazes, and it’s so striking to see that you’re each rendered speechless. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing that could properly convey your feelings on what’s happening to you both, there’s only your eyes and his, and your interlocked hands.

Then Jake sees something eerily close to stone cold, sober fear flash through your stare, and you slowly detach yourself from him.

Your hand slips out of his own, you step backwards to free your waist from his grip, and your hand is no longer raking through the wispy hairs on the back of his neck.

You step away, one foot at a time, and stare at him with that almost-petrified gaze, your chest heaving visibly.

Then your face falls into something more neutral, and you back towards the elevators, “We should go.”

“Right.” Jake murmurs, following behind you with lead feet that would very much like to stay planted right where they were a minute ago, with yours stepping all over them. But he follows, because he thinks he might be magnetized to you, even if sometimes you’re oppositely charged.

The elevator ride is silent and awkward. The type of silence that you thought was gone between you and Jake, the thick, tense kind that you’d suffered for years up until just hours prior.

Despite having years of experience sitting in heavy silence with Jake, this bout makes him feel like a stranger compared to the man you’d just been slow dancing with.

You’re sobered now, from the shock of being a second away from kissing him, and from staring at the floor in the elevator until it had dinged and let you out on your cabin’s floor. It gives you enough hand-eye coordination to dig your keycard out of your pocket, and you push first into your room, Jake hesitantly, silently on your trail.

You duck into the bathroom to change and Jake doesn’t tease you like he did yesterday. He doesn’t try to break in once, which is a comforting thing, but your reality check had reminded you that eight years of irritation can’t be solved in a few hours worth of chivalry.

Still, you’d had fun tonight. And you’d felt safe, secure- happy in Jake’s company, comfortable with his arm around your waist and giddy when he’d held you in his lap by the railing. Are you caving? Are you doing the one thing you’d sworn only a day prior to not do? Are you giving in and letting him win?

That’s why you’d stopped yourself. In that moment, you’d wanted nothing more than to press your lips to his and let your fingers sink into his hair, let his hands grope at your waist. And it scared you. You’d wanted to cave, to give in, to betray yourself, and all of the fear that had been momentarily silenced by Danica’s token live advice roils fiercely in your gut like liquor has been all night.

If he’s trying to win, you can’t lose. And he’s doing a good job at convincing you he’s not trying to win anymore, but old habits die hard. How can you be sure he’s not?

You stuff yourself numbly into a nightgown, the most chaste one you’d brought, and you avoid meeting Jake’s eye when you step out of the bathroom.

You’re reminded now, standing barefoot in the walkway, that there’s only one bed. Last night had been a blur, and you hadn’t woken even when Jake had changed you into your nightclothes. You’re still mortified about that, really, and remembering that you’re going to have to crawl into bed beside Jake, who’s already there waiting for you, doesn’t help.

“Um,” You start, your voice dull, “I’ll take the couch.”

“What?” He asks, trying to tamp down some of the brashness that typically inhabits his tone, “That’s silly. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t. I’d better-” You try, and he kicks the covers off of himself, standing and revealing that he’s once again wearing nothing but boxers.

“No, I’ll take it.” He mumbles, not surly, just subdued, “You can have the bed.”

“No, that’s not- that’s not fair.” You finally look at him, your eyes wounded and guilty, “Just- you take the bed.”

“Only if you do.” He looks similarly defeated, standing there in just his underwear, “C’mon, Y/N. You know I won’t do anything to you.”

And even despite the hesitation that had clawed at your heart only minutes ago, puncturing your lungs and making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to stay, you do know that. Because it’s always been true of Jake; he’s cocky, but he’s not a monster. You knew it last night, and you know it tonight. So you cave, you give in, you betray yourself, and you trudge towards the side of the bed you’d been laid in last night.

You feel restless as Jake buries himself under the covers again, and you know sleep won’t come easy. So you keep yourself upright, lounging back on two pillows stacked behind your back and reaching for your book.

“Mind if I keep a light on?” You hum, and Jake shakes his head, peering at your book.

“Late-night reading?”

“Can’t sleep.” You admit, “I’m not even gonna try.”

He inhales- it’s an audible thing, not a gasp but a long, steadying breath. Then he lets it out, and you tug your book so close to your face that it obscures him from your vision.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He hums, his voice barely more than a whisper. You can’t see it, but he keeps himself turned towards you, studying the way your fingers twitch against the cover, wishing he could see the face obscured behind it.

You speak into the pages of your book, hoping your words get lost there, “Goodnight, Jake.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[zulashi-the-writer]

Hii💗 just came from your polyrujinu fic and absolutely devoured it, I saw that your request are open so I was thinking if you could write another polyrujinu fic but with a reader who has a secret identity 🤭

Like since both of them kept secrets from reader then why don't reader kept secrets from them😏

Honestly, I was thinking of reader being apart of alien stage, possibly a character like luka from alien stage?

And how would they react when they saw reader on stage😳 (I CAN SMELL THE DRAMA) and to not complicate things perhaps when reader is on stage she altered her appearance to be mostly unrecognizable 😚

If this request is overwhelming, you can just ignore this💖 (also would love more of poly rujinu crumbs even if it's not base on this request 🤭)

I'm really sorry I haven't watched Alien Stage🥲 so I hope you don't mind I'm making them apart of a band, which is K/DA

Biggest Fans

Poly Rujinu x Popstar Reader

Summary: when your secret comes out in the most terrible way and your walls come crashing down with the two most people in your life

1st/2nd person pov

"Ain't nobody bringing us down, down, down, down"- POP/STARS I sang into the mic, my mask making my hot breath fan into my face I held my pose as the crowd cheered, I stared out looking at all the band lights smiling underneath the fabric it feels amazing standing here, I relaxed from my pose along with my band mates taking a bow before running off stage peeling my mask off releasing a long awaited breath.

"Huntrix is here" one of our crew squealed making my body tense, my hands quickly rushed to put of the mask making a few mistakes as I watched them approach, Rumi smiled making my heart flutter "you guys were amazing" Zoey squealed rushing to hug all of us, the sudden pressure of her hug making me breathless, we all breathed out a 'thank you' leading them back to our changing room, we did a collab when we were just starting out so it's been a few times were we just hang out but my mask always stays on which they thankfully never question.

We plopped down on the couch with a huff Rumi sitting across from me on her phone most likely texting Jinu about dinner later, my heart jumped hearing my phone buzzed alerting me of a text, I watched her eyes flicker over with curiosity, I pulled it out, the screen switched on displaying her notification with a few hearts next to her name "hey guys I'll be back family calling" I laughed nervously standing up from my spot, walking into the connecting bathroom and shutting the door.

'Hey can I come over after this hangout???' my heart raced as my finger tips hung over the keyboard, I hate having to lie 'I'll be home late I have some new clients coming in for measurements, I have some snacks in the cupboard if your hungry' I typed out only to delete it 'I'm going to be here late tonight how about tomorrow?' I released a shaky breath as I pressed send, my eyes watched the double ticks turn blue, my breath catching as I saw the bubbles pop up and then disappear "everything ok in there" my body jumped and stumbled to catch my phone as it fell from my hands "y-yeah just a minute' I called out straightening up as I caught my phone, I checked one more time but no messages before slipping it back in my pocket.

It wasn't the first time I asked to move plans but they've done it to so she can't be that upset about it, I rolled my shoulders back relaxing them before leaving the bathroom, everyone was already standing by the door "so early" I asked confused Rumi only glanced at me before returning to her bandmate "yeah we got to bounce" Mira murmured her lips curled in a slight smile, we bid our goodbyes before they left.

"You know one of these days you are going to have to tell them" Madison spoke laying a gentle hand on my shoulder as I pulled off the mask, letting it hang loose on my fingers "I know your scared but they love you and I doubt they'd break up with you for being a superstar" she smiled before heading to her makeup chair, I stared at the ground in a daze 'how would it be if I told them' my mind went straight into a negative spiral it always does when it comes to them, I don't want to lose them, I just can't and them knowing I was lying would hurt them.

"Maybe" I murmured drowning out the conversation that continued sitting out the couch staring at my black screen no response or call just silent, it was nerve wrecking my phone dinged with a notification but it wasn't hers I tapped on it and it took me to a Insta live, jinu dancing with the band preforming on of their new songs, my heart fluttered he was just amazing "I'm gonna head out" I said standing up from my spot, I took off my mask and slid it into my pocket along with my phone.

I grabbed the rest of my things and waved everyone goodbye "remember I want the finished melody by tonight" our manager called out but I just waved him off and rushed into our drivers car that was waiting for me, we talked a little as my eyes traveled across the passing buildings watching the billboards switch between us, Huntrix and Saja Boys for the upcoming idol awards I sighed out of frustration throwing my head back against the head rest, this was so frustrating, why can't this be easy.

The car pulled up a hill nearing my small house slowly coming to a holt infront of its quaint garden, the beautiful wild flowers lit up by the small garden lights "goodnight" I smiled at the driver, stepping out of the car my body shivered at the cold night air, I just needed to shower I groaned in delight imagining the hot water racing down my body, I rushed into the house kicking my shoes off greeting the animals as I placed down my things heading straight for my room tearing off my clothes as I went, walking through my bedroom towards the bathroom I switched in the light before stepping into it, I was hit by the cold radiating off of the tiles.

My body quivered as I stepped into the shower turning on the water, a cold squeal leaving my throat as the cold water ran down my body before it started getting warmer, my body relaxed as the water heated up letting my hands ease my stiff muscles, once my body was relaxed I began to wash, combing my shampoo through my hair with my fingers letting the soap suds flow over my body I raised my head closing my eyes lifting my hand to rub my face, I i moved my hands to the tap starting to close it savoring the feeling of warmth till there was nothing left.

I grabbed my towel wrapping it around my body, flicking my hair forward wrapping it up too to dry, I walked into my room jumping onto my plush king sized bed grabbing my laptop bringing it infront of me "the finished melody here I come" I murmured stretching out my arms grabbing my headphones placing them over my ears, turned on my laptop scrolling to my music files watching the melody appear on my screen, pressing play the music was low in the background as I started feeling the beat "Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind? And I treat you like a prize then I throw you to the side? Am I really that bad if I love to make you mad? And get happy when you're sad? Only care about a bag" my voice dwindled as I sung the new lyrics typing them as I go.

"In control That's how I like it and I'm never letting go, na-ah-ah Never had a soul (soul) So you ain't taking nothing from me when you go, na-ah-ah I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away" - Villains the music continued as the lyrics flowed out my life my eyes closed tight getting into the mood, my eyes scrunched closed as the lights flicked on, the lyrics caught in my throat, I opened my eyes looking towards the door to see Jinu and Rumi there their expressions almost unreadable, I rushed from my spot flicking my headphones from my head cringing as the song started playing on full volume "I-I" I didn't know what to say and quickly turned off the song shutting the laptops lid, I looked towards Rumi seeing her hold herself the look of hurt taking over her face "Rumi i-" I paused watching her throw my mask onto the floor infront of me.

"that yours" she questioned her voice low her eyes not meeting mine, I bent down grabbing it and mumbling a quick 'yeah' "why did you not tell us" she muttered moving uncomfortably on her feet I hated seeing her like this 'rumi' I said stepping forward but she stepped away from me making me holt in my movements I opened my mouth, my words coming out shaking "I don't know why I didn't tell you, I just didn't know how to bring it up now it seemed to late to tell you" jinu just looked between us not knowing what to say.

"you could've told me when we first collabed together or the second or how about the fifth" her voice slowly getting louder with each word leaving her lips "I'm sorry Rumi I really didn't know how to tell you" I said making her sigh and look down towards the ground "is that why you always cancel on us" jinu said his voice cracked like holding back emotions, I sighed heavily running my hands over my face "this isn't how it's supposed to happen" I breathed in frustration.

"let me guess you didn't want us to know" jinu muttered my mouth gaped "jinu you know that's not true" I said but he just shook his head moving out of the door "I think it best we leave so you can focus on your secret life" Rumi murmured following after him, I called out but no response just the sound of the closing door, I stumbled back sitting on the bed my hands gripping the edge of it, my phone dinging with messages, my chest heaving with every breath as I went over the conversation in my head imagining the different why it could've gone.

My body was stiff as I moved my hand to grab my phone, my eyes widening as I read their messages:

Rumi: I just need time to think I'll message you when I'm ready

Jinu: me too

My eyes fluttered as I sent a thumbs up exiting the chat seeing my manager send a message on our group:

Manager: The driver will pick you guys up at eight the plane leave at nine

Madison: los Angeles here we come🥳

Lexie: can't wait🎉

I switched my phone off as the messages kept coming, placing it down on the bed I fell back against the mattress turning away from the device, I don't know how long I laid there just staring off at the wall ignoring the world around me, my eyes finally moved once I heard a meow coming from the door it was my cat toasty sitting his big eyes staring at me "feeding time already" I murmured to him groaning as I slowly got up half my body asleep, I slowly made my way to the kitchen filling up their bowls petting them as they walked past me "I'm gonna miss you guys" I said smiling at them before walking back to my room to pack before bed.

I sat on my suitcase finally closing it 'done' I breathed a sigh of relief pushing it next to the other one, I grabbed my carry on from my bed placing it on my suitcase, I moved to sit on my bed looking at my phone, no notifications from them, I bit my lip contemplating if I should tell them "they did say I mustn't message them, but they do now so it's best that I do" I rolled my eyes at myself "what am I doing" I muttered throwing myself back onto the bed "why do relationships have to be so hard" I looked around my room seeing my lyric book laying on my bedside table, I sat up onto my elbows staring at it.

I moved to grab it, slowly paging through all the songs I've written about them, I've never showed anyone this because it's the most vulnerable I've been, my hands traced the page of the last song reading some lines over and over maybe it's time someone does read it, I ripped a blank page from the back grabbing a pencil and writing a letter to them, telling them I'm on tour, as I was almost done my eyes started to droop shut from exhaustion 'just a little nap' I thought shutting my eyes.

I wake up with the sun in my face, my phone buzzing with calls "shit" I muttered stammering to my feet rushing to get ready, the clothes I threw on look peculiar and wrinkled, brushing my hair till it looks somewhat decent and rushed with my bags to the kitchen to feed the pets "I'll see you guys soon, behave for mrs Morris" I called out rushing out the door waving to mrs Morris as she called out to me from her house, I shoved all my stuff into the boot before joining the girls in the car "dam when did you wake up" Madison laughed "3 minutes ago" I giggled making the others laugh too, my heart pinged with sadness as I remembered last night's events 'can't think about that right now' "we got a show tonight".

The stadium was packed with fans screaming widely as you performed the new song, but only the band and crew can see that you were distracted by something, the dance moves were a bit off and the timings a second too late it was frustrating you, how you couldn't get them off your mind but then you saw it a different fan light your favourite colour and the person holding it was jinu who was smiling and singing along to the lyrics "please give a warm welcome to our surprise guests Huntrix" Madison yelled making the crowd scream louder, I watched Rumi burst onto stage coming right next to me "I'm sorry" she murmured but I didn't care and embraced her "don't do that to me ever again" I whispered "I promise" she smiled as we slowly let go of each other, we performed our collabs while jinu cheered in the crowd I finally was all in with them by my side.

"I love you guys"

[y3sterdaysproblem]

DARK WAVE AU INTRO

how sunshine and alt!chris met

“welcome in.”

the monotonous voice drones out from across the record store, making your best friend next to you chuckle. “it’s me, chris,” she calls out, making the boy at the counter lift his head suddenly. “oh, hi,” he says with a small, closed mouth smile, sending a wave her way. his eyes glance over at you for a split second before he looks back down at the catalog in front of him.

“where’s matt? i have something for you both.” iris tells him, walking up to stand on the other side of the counter, placing a small tupperware container on it. you follow behind her, eyes wandering around the cute record shop you’d never been to, listening to the music floating through the air.

“matt!” chris yells suddenly, startling you out of your thoughts. you turn your attention back to him, seeing him pulling the container closer to him and peeling it open. “iris is here! with…” his eyes flick up at you and he furrowed his eyes for a moment. “a girl!”

you let out a small giggle at his choice of words, the girlish sound causing him to narrow his eyes at you before he looks away again. matt emerges from the office tucked away in the back corner of the record store, a smile instantly blooming on his face when his eyes land on his girlfriend waiting patiently for him.

“hi, sweetheart,” he says as he walks closer, wrapping his arm around your friend and pressing his lips against her cheek briefly. “hi,” she beams at him, hugging him quickly before she pulls away and goes to stand next to you. “you know my best friend i’m always telling you about?”

matt looks past iris and towards you, his expression brightening as he realizes who you are. “yeah. sunshine, right?” he asks politely, stepping away from his girlfriend to reach a hand out towards you which you take, shaking it gently. “that’s me!” you beam, smile near twinkling in the sun shining through the windows.

he smiles back at you almost just as blindingly, immediately understanding everything iris has told him about you. “i’m matt and this is my brother chris,” he introduces, gesturing over to the boy behind the counter quickly. chris doesn’t do or say anything, just continues watching the interaction unfold. you bounce over to the register and reach your hand over the counter, french manicure pointing towards him. “hi, chris,” you drawl with a flirtatious undertone that iris laughs at.

chris looks down at your hand then back up at your eyes, almost like he’s trying to figure out how hard he’s judging you before settling on very hard. “hi,” he responds, keeping his hands at his sides. this doesn’t deter you, though, smile still wide. “it’s nice to finally meet you both, i hear a lot about you!” you tell them, placing both hands on your hips and spinning back to face matt who was way more interested in holding a conversation.

“likewise,” matt responds kindly. “what are you guys stopping in for?”

iris’s face lights up as she remembers your reason for stopping in, grabbing the tupperware she had brought from chris who was already inspecting the contents. “we brought you guys some breakfast sandwiches since i figured you’re both running on a monster and nicotine.”

matt lets out a low “mmm” at the sight and smell hitting his senses, wasting no time in reaching for one and taking a bite, finding it to still be warm. chris grabs the second one inside and does the same, biting into it and humming in satisfaction. “thanks, iris,” he says with a mouthful of food which makes you chuckle, finding his mannerisms charming despite his very clear effort in making you disinterested. “oh, sunny made them,” iris tells chris, refusing to take any of the credit.

chris looks back up at you, expression completely unreadable as he chewed, waiting until he swallowed to nod his head in your direction and offer a quiet ‘thanks’ before taking another bite.

you weren’t sure if it was his obvious lack of interest in you or the way he desperately tried to appear mysterious and surface level, but one thing you were sure of was you wanted to uncover all of his layers and get him to open up to you in a way he refused to do with anybody else, and from that day on in the tiny record shop, you were hooked.

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: <one.> two. three. four. five. six.

You could still feel the phantom stickiness of the cafeteria floor under your knees, a ghost of a memory that tasted faintly of lukewarm pizza and spilled, sugary fruit punch. It was your very first year of high school in a new town, a confusing, overwhelming maze of too-tall lockers, unfamiliar hallway smells, and the constant, nagging worry that gnawed at your stomach “Would I ever fit in?”.

Everything felt huge and loud, a dissonance of unfamiliar voices, clattering trays, and the buzz of fluorescent lights. It was a place where everyone seemed to know their place, except you.

And then, it happened. The world seemed to slow down. Megan Skiendiel, who everyone already knew and admired—not just for how amazing she was on the soccer field, her athletic grace, a thing of beauty but for her smile that seemed to literally light up a room—tripped. It was a clumsy, human moment in an otherwise perfect existence. Her tray, piled high with mashed potatoes that looked suspiciously like glue, a murky river of gravy, and a lone hot dog went flying.

The contents splattered across the shiny floor with a sickening wet thwack. A collective "ooh" swept through the crowded room, followed by nervous giggles and hushed whispers. Most kids just froze, unsure what to do, or subtly pointed and laughed from behind cupped hands. But you, without even a single thought, without a moment of hesitation, dropped your worn backpack with a dull thud and ran to her side.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Megan gasped, her cheeks turning a bright, fiery red that matched the scattered ketchup packets. Her usually happy, confident eyes were wide with pure embarrassment, looking like she wished the cafeteria floor would just open up and swallow her whole.

You could practically see her trying to shrink, to disappear into the chaotic lunch scene. You just knelt down, quickly grabbing a ridiculously thin stack of napkins from a dispenser on a nearby table, and started dabbing at the growing puddle, trying your best to minimize the sticky disaster. The smell of gravy mixed with a faint floor cleaner.

"Hey, don't even worry about it," you mumbled, trying to sound calm and normal, to project an air of "this is fine, totally normal, no big deal." but your own face felt warm, a flush spreading across your cheeks from being so close to her.

Her hair, even amidst the chaos, smelled faintly of sunshine and something sweet, like wildflowers after a spring rain—a scent that would forever be linked to this moment in your memory.

"Seriously," you added, pushing a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, "it happens to everyone. I almost took out a whole table yesterday trying to carry too many books at once. It's just a mess, easily cleaned." You offered her a small, kind smile, hoping it would help her relax a little, to pull her out of the deep hole of mortification she seemed to have fallen into.

Megan looked at you then, truly looked at you, her gaze steadying on your face. And a truly sweet, soft smile, full of pure relief, appeared on her face. It wasn't the dazzling, public smile, it was a quieter, more vulnerable one, meant just for you.

"Thanks…" she said, her voice a little shaky, still tinged with embarrassment but very honest.

"The name’s Y/N," you stated softly, extending a slightly gravy-stained hand towards her in a gesture that was more about connection than a handshake.

Megan’s smile widened, a genuine warmth spreading through her eyes. "Well, Y/N," she repeated your name, letting it roll off her tongue, making it sound different, special, "Thank you. You're... really nice, actually."

That simple chat, that tiny, unexpected moment of being open and quietly kind in a chaotic world, was the spark. It was like a little light switched on inside you, a warm glow spreading through your chest that would never quite dim.

From that day on, Megan became the sun in your personal universe, the gravitational pull around which your days revolved. Every time she laughed in class, a bright, clear sound that always made you smile too, a silent echo in your own heart.

Every time her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was truly amused, a tiny, perfect detail you committed to memory. Every quick, accidental brush of your shoulders in the crowded hallway – it all sent a jolt, a dizzy feeling through you, a silent confirmation that she was there, real and wonderful, and somehow, your path had crossed hers.

Your crush on Megan wasn't just a fleeting, short-term teenage feeling that would pass with the seasons, it was a slow, steady burn that grew deeper and stronger with each passing year.

It wasn't just about her beauty, though she was stunning. It was about the way she treated the quiet kids, the way she fiercely defended her friends, the way her brow furrowed in concentration when she was truly passionate about something. You saw these little things, these hidden layers that others might miss, and each one tightened the knot of affection in your chest. Your feelings for her became a big, quiet part of who you were, woven into the fabric of your everyday existence. You were completely, truly, hopelessly, and secretly in love.

Now, years later, the cafeteria floor was a distant memory, replaced by the bustling energy of university life. However, that ache in your chest, that quiet yearning, felt like a permanent guest. You watched, as you had countless times before, as Megan beamed up at your older brother, Gabriel, his arm casually around her shoulders, his laugh loud and confident.

He was, by all accounts, the "perfect package." He was charming, effortlessly popular, with a knack for making everyone feel like they were his best friend, effortlessly sliding into any social circle. He always seemed to know the right thing to say, the right joke to tell, the right casual gesture to make.

Somehow, in this messy, tangled web of your quiet love for Megan, he always ended up getting all the credit for the sweet, thoughtful things you did for her. It was like he had a radar for your kindness, an ability to swoop in just when the moment was ripe for receiving praise. He never had to lift a finger for the initial effort, but he was always there for the recognition.

This wasn't just a coincidence, it was a pattern that had been etched into your life since high school. You'd tell yourself it didn't matter, that seeing Megan happy was enough, but a bitter taste of resentment had slowly begun to grow.

You remembered the time you’d spent countless hours in the quiet, dusty corners of the university library, looking over ancient literary journals and obscure collections. You were looking up rare poems by her favorite poet, Emily Dickinson, whose work Megan had mentioned once, wistfully, during a late-night study session. You then found a few beautiful, unpublished pieces.

You then painstakingly typed them out on delicate parchment paper, carefully choosing a font that looked like elegant script, and left them with a warm cup of her preferred tea—a specific Earl Grey blend she loved—by her dorm door late one evening, tucked safely in a small, discreet bag. It was the night before her massive thesis presentation, and you wanted her to feel calm, seen, and ready. You just hoped she’d know someone was truly thinking of her, rooting for her. You hoped she’d know it was you.

The next afternoon, you walked past Gabriel’s dorm, the door slightly ajar. You heard Megan’s bright voice, full of wonder and bubbling gratitude. "Gabby, those poems! And the tea! You always know just what I need. Seriously, you're the most thoughtful person!" Your brother, leaning back in his desk chair, feet casually propped up, a wide grin plastered across his face, just chuckled.

"Ah, you know me, Megs. Always got your back. Figured you needed some literary inspiration and a warm drink to calm those nerves before the big presentation." He’d caught your eye across the hall, giving you a quick, knowing smirk, a subtle raising of his eyebrows as if to say, "See? Easy. That’s how it’s done." Your stomach plummeted, a cold knot forming in your gut. Your heart, already heavy from years of this silent charade, felt like it had shattered into a million tiny, invisible pieces, scattered on the floor, noticed by no one but you. The ache was so familiar it felt like part of your own pulse.

You also vividly remembered the music playlist you’d spent weeks making for Megan – a mix of her favorite songs, carefully chosen new artists you thought she'd love, plus some powerful, upbeat anthems perfect for her big soccer games.

You’d spent hours reading reviews, listening to snippets, imagining her reaction. You'd sent it to her anonymously via a link in a kind, encouraging email, adding a small, handwritten note that just read, "Hope these tunes help you conquer your next challenge! You got this.”

It was right before a crucial final exam, and you hoped the music would lift her spirits and help her focus. The next day, you overheard Megan excitedly telling your mutual friend, Chloe, about it in the student lounge. "Gabriel is literally the sweetest! He made me this awesome playlist for my finals and it totally helped me focus and stay calm!" Chloe had squealed, her eyes wide, "Oh my god, you guys are so perfect together! It’s like he knows your soul!"

Your stomach sank. You saw Gabriel later that day, casually shrugging off Megan's effusive thanks with a cool, nonchalant air. "Anything for you, Megs! Knew you'd do great." He winked at you from across the room—the way he smirked at you before— making you feel cold inside, like ice water had been poured directly into your veins. He took these moments, these carefully crafted expressions of your unspoken love, and claimed them as his own, painting himself as the thoughtful, attentive partner Megan deserved.

You were like a ghost in your own love story, always there, witnessing, participating in secret, but never seen, never acknowledged. You were an invisible hand, leaving behind gestures of affection that another person took credit for. You were trapped in a silent agony, as your brother enjoyed the attention, the gratitude, and the affection that was meant for you, born from your deepest, most honest feelings.

Every whispered "thank you" to him was a fresh wound to your heart, a reminder that the person you loved believed your brother was the one truly seeing and appreciating her and you, Y/N Y/L/N, were forced to watch from the sidelines.

next part.

a/n: The first part! I will post the second one as soon as I finish the fourth part. I hope you all like it so far. To 🌹 anon, here is your request! I hope it's alright. Thoughts, please? I could really use it.

[alaiasole]

🌲 welcome back to solè’s bar🌲

tonight’s special: armin arlert, a secluded cabin, & steam rising from the hot tub.

→ armin x black!reader | smut | modern au | mountain getaway, hot tub teasing, wine, and no distractions

→ tags: dry humping, riding, dirty talk,armin obsessed with youuuuu (as he should)

a/n: I’M BACK GUYSSS

☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

the hot tub was bubbling, steam curling into the night air, and you were curled up beside him, arms brushing, legs tangled under the water. skin slick and warm. but the truth? neither of you had been able to keep your hands to yourselves since check-in.

his lips found your jaw again, lazy and soft. you giggled, pushing at his chest just a little.

“armin…”

he only smiled, kissed your lips once, then again. slow and sweet. like he couldn’t help it.

“i’m gonna pour us some wine,” he murmured against your mouth.

he stood, grabbed the bottle from the edge of the tub, and filled both glasses without rushing. he handed you yours with a small smile.

“thank you,” you whispered, already taking a sip.

your eyes lit up. “ouuu this one is good…”

he took a sip too, nodding. “yeah… but i think you taste better.”

“armin!” you laughed, swatting at him.

he grinned, leaning in again, voice low in your ear.

“what? am i lying?”

his lips grazed your skin.

“are you tipsy already?”

“no,” he whispered. “i’m just telling you the truth.”

you roll your eyes at him, cheeks warm, heart full.

“we really needed this, honestly.”

your voice was soft, floating between you two like the steam curling around your shoulders.

“yeah,” he nods, eyes steady on yours. “we needed to get away for a bit.”

his hand brushes over your thigh under the water, thumb smoothing over skin like it belonged there.

“and i’m so glad i’m here with you.”

he leans in and kisses you again, sweet and slow. lips warm.

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth.

you smile as you kiss him back, whispering, “and i love you.”

your fingers slide into his hair, gentle, like you can’t stop touching him either.

he looks at you like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

“i wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” he murmurs.

you don’t even have time to respond—his lips are on yours again, this time deeper, messier. it builds fast. his hands grip your waist. your mouths move like you’ve been starving, kissing through little gasps, breath hitching.

you end up straddling him, water sloshing softly against your hips as you move. your arms loop around his neck. your chest presses to his. you start grinding into him slow, feeling him throb beneath you, hard and thick even through his swim trunks.

“baby…” armin whimpers against your mouth, voice already breaking. he’s so sensitive, so reactive. you roll your hips again and feel him twitch under you. your clit slides right over him, the pressure making your thighs tremble.

you kiss him harder, moaning into his mouth as you keep grinding down, slow and deep. your nails dig into his shoulders. the water rocks with your motion, splashing softly at the edges of the tub.

your clit pulses, throbbing as the friction sends heat racing through you. your eyes roll back.

“fuck… feels so good…” you whisper, barely able to get the words out.

you’re dripping, swollen, soaked in every way. every slow grind sends another wave of pleasure rolling through you. you moan again, higher, breathier—your hips stuttering as your orgasm crashes over you.

you cum on him, shaking, breath catching, body arching just a little as your moans spill into his mouth. you don’t stop kissing him. it’s messy. desperate. all teeth and tongue and breathless whimpers.

you’re still trembling in his lap, and armin’s just holding you, stroking your back, breathing like he’s about to lose it too.

“baby, i need you so bad,” armin’s voice is all husky and rough, like he’s been holding back forever. his eyes locked on you, all dark and needy. “you don’t even know how much.”

you bite your lip, feeling that heat bubbling up inside your chest. “yeah?” you say slow, teasing, reaching between you both.

your hand slides under the waistband of his swim trunks, pulling them down nice and slow, giving him that little show. your palm wraps around his cock hard, thick, and dripping wet.

he whines low, eyes half-closed, watching you like you’re the only thing that matters. “fuck, you feel so good already.”

you stroke him slow, making his hips jerk into your hand. “baby,” he groans, voice breaking, “please.”

you slide your bikini bottoms to the side just a bit, letting him see you. heart racing, you drag the tip of him over your clit, biting your lip so you don’t moan.

“damn, you’re so wet for me,” armin breathes, voice low, lips brushing your ear. “you always get me like this.”

you lean in, kissing his jaw, then his neck, your tongue flicking over that spot that makes him shiver. “i wanna feel all of you,” you whisper.

slowly, you push him inside, inch by inch, savoring the stretch and heat. the water moves soft around you as you press close.

“fuck,” you both moan, breath catching, feeling everything so damn good.

you grip his shoulders tight, sinking down to adjust.

armin’s hands find your ass, grabbing firm and warm, pulling you closer as you start moving. just slow at first, rocking your hips, waking up that fire.

“god, you feel so good,” you whisper, eyes closing.

he leans in, crashing his lips onto yours hungry and hard. tongues dance, moans muffled between you. his hands knead your hips, pulling you close while you bounce.

“you’re mine,” he growls between kisses, “so damn wet for me.”

“only you, baby,” you pant, grinding harder, feeling every inch.

your hand slides back down, rubbing your clit in tight circles, breath hitching, hips rolling.

“armin,” you moan, voice thick, “i’m close…”

he groans, thrusting faster, fingers digging into your skin.

“come for me, baby,” he whispers in your ear, voice broken, “let me feel you.”

your stomach twists, the knot snaps, your body shaking, moaning his name as you ride it out.

armin shudders, thrusting deep and messy, panting, “fuck, you’re so good. gonna come too…”

he cums hard inside you, hips jerking, whispering your name every time.

you hold him close, breathless, skin slick with sweat and water.

after a minute, you giggle, lips brushing his in a slow messy kiss.

“you’re crazy,” you murmur, fingers tracing his jaw.

“only for you,” he grins, pulling you in tight.

then—knock knock.

“oh shit, the food,” armin laughs, voice still thick.

“we better clean up,” you say, laughing, grabbing a towel.

door opens, delivery person smiles, food bags in hand.

armin grabs the bags, eyes on you. “let’s eat… then round two?”

you grin, wrapping your arms around him, already knowing exactly what’s coming next.

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter | 13 |

PART THIRTEEN 💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader. 3k+ words

Previous parts -> [series masterlist]

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

| Please be aware that manipulative people are really good at twisting the narrative to look good and make others look bad! They know their targets, can be two completely different people that you wouldn’t realise what goes on behind closed doors. Trigger warning: LENA!! |

Lena’s POV:

Vodka lemonade. Lena Marston’s drink of choice, a companion she’d kept since her teen years. Where John had whisky, she had vodka and a kid, you. She likes to think that she’s a decent mother, enough to prepare you for the bad people in this world. You’re resourceful, a tad hopeful but it always works in her favour. So desperate for love that you believe every word she coats with sugar and when she does snap, you’re reminded of the harsh reality. Lena’s a realist, taking things for what they are. Whereas you’re an idealist, hoping that those around you will change for the better. That your mother will stop drinking and choosing men over you. That your father will come back and make everything right. As if taking her youth wasn’t enough, you’re still causing trouble for her now.

She thought she raised you better, maybe you are your father’s daughter. Someone who thinks they can change the world. Nobody changes, it’s laughable to imagine John any different, but as he sits opposite her with a non-alcoholic drink she can’t help, but laugh.

It’s been years since Lena’s seen John, a few phone calls here and there to lay the foundations. To complain about you, ask John when he’s going to pick his daughter up and have a word. Such an ungrateful girl. John’s age hasn’t ruined his looks, a head full of thick hair and beard. Doesn’t have to cover the grey hairs, dye his roots every month to appear younger. He’s not the one carrying stretch marks on his stomach or a scar from birthing you.

“Well how’s the wife, John? The boy…you always wanted a boy,” Lena asks, swirling the vodka around in her glass, ice cubes clinking together. She can’t remember the kids age or name and doesn’t care much to be honest. She’s thankful that she never had another.

John nods, “yep, all good. A three year old girl too.” His fingers drum against the table, sipping his beer without breaking eye connect with Lena.

Oh, that must ruin you. No longer daddy’s little girl and now you see John being the present dad that you’d only dreamt of growing up with. Another fantasy Lena told you to let go of years ago. Dreams don’t come true for girls like you.

He's not bothered to shred his jacket or remove the knitted scarf around his neck. Still the same man, gaze trailing Lena's features for any tells. John always reading too much into things or people and getting lost in the tiny details. Trying to connect them, losing the bigger picture completely. Not everything has to be so complex.

"You took money from our kid?"

And there it is…

Lena scoffs, “my kid, John. Ain’t seen you raising her.” She slams the glass to the table and points to her chest, sharp red nails jabbing herself and reminding him that she was there, not him. He’s always been too proud, wanting to be seen as a good and decent man. And in some ways maybe he is.

John leans back in his chair, gaze on his beer as if he wondering if it’s half full or half empty. There’s no way you’ve told him, he’d probably be less calm now than if you had. No, he doesn’t know everything and as per usual you’ve made it too easy for Lena. She’d thank you, but she doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. That or let you craft an excuse or hint at the truth.

“She didn’t tell ya? Of course she wouldn’t,” Lena chuckles, chasing the last remnants of her drink, vodka and lemon not as strong with the melting ice. “That ungrateful little shit stole that money from me, the last time she went back to him.” She sniffs, back of her hand swiping her nose. Her eyes sting, lashes clumping with tears and she feels the weight of John’s hand on top of hers. A heaviness she hasn’t had in years, but she’s laying the foundations. Dropping little pieces for John to pick up, make him overthink and draw his own conclusions. Anything to get him off her back.

His thumb brushes over her knuckles, light and soothing. “I didn’t know,” John says and Lena dares to glance up at him, his hand retreating back to his lap.

Phase one, plant a seed of doubt. Turn a bad thing sour. The moneys technically hers anyways, for all those years she had to raise you on her own. It’s not easy bringing a kid up without a father or the usual bricks and mortar. Half the time you were the reason Lena had to pack up her life again and search for the next place to settle. And as you grew older she noticed the way men’s eyes lingered on you instead of her. You were the one picking her up off the floor though, dragging her into the shower and sobering her up. You looked after her better than any man had and she wondered where you’d learnt that from. It wasn’t her, maybe that’s why Lena can’t stand you. She’s never been cut out to be a mother, didn’t have one like that either. So, how can you care for her better than she can?

Sometimes she sees her younger self in you and it twists her insides. A poison that coats the back of her throat, weighing on her tongue that she resorts to unleashing that venom on you. Lena tries not to think of being a teen with a toddler, lying on a mattress as you scream a fever. She can still hear those cries in the depths of a night terror, because to her you were a terror. No life and isolated from everything she once knew. The week days merging together till John called on a Saturday or Sunday, offering Lena a piece of her old self. His money the one thing giving her life.

Your teen years are what she loathed most. Lena refused to get you certain clothes, bought you a size too big so it swamped your body and said it would save her money in the long run. You are your mother’s daughter after all, she doesn’t want to compliment or encourage you in fear you’ll do better than her. There’s that spec of your father though, the spark of fire you strike back whenever one of her boyfriends tried to lay down the law. Never did learn.

“Fancy a smoke?” Lena asks, pulling a pack menthol cigarettes from her handbag. She slings her coat over her shoulders and smiles as John nods.

Another distraction, a break between the forced conversation and Lena wonders if you’d smell the lingering scent when John gets home. It’s distinct, something you despised.

The rain pelts on the awning outside the pub, wind whipping through the patio and Lena wades through the tables to heater. A warm orange glow illuminating above johns head as he stands in front of her and lights her cigarette, he reluctantly accepts one of her menthol ones, sparking the end alight with hers. He hates the smell of mint and tobacco merged, but Lena knows he’s too stressed not to smoke. His fingers have been twitching against his pint glass since he sat down an hour ago.

If he wasn’t married and loyal like a dog, she’d probably sleep with him. Anything to get him off her back. You’d definitely leave if you knew she’d had her claws back in him. The one scrap of hope you hold onto, John.

John exhales a cloud of smoke, head tilted as he watches the wind carry the fog away. “How much?” He asks, turning the cigarette in his hold.

“Don’t matter, we sorted it out. She’s an adult now John, needs to learn there’s consequences. Lord knows she should’ve learnt ‘em six bloody years ago,” Lena says, flicking her ash into the nearest tray on the table. She glances to John out of the corner of her eye, the muscle in his jaw flexing at the mention of six years ago. A testy subject for all involved, especially you. A turning point that solidified your hatred for John.

“Spit it out Lena,” he snaps, never one to beat around the bush with her. Hook-line and sinker. “You and her are always dangling that in my face, but I’m yet to be told what actually happened.” His nose wrinkles as he takes another drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowed at Lena.

His gaze doesn’t waver from her face, she’s not even sure he’s breathing as he waits for the verbal blow. Ash burning his fingers. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

“You really wanna know your kid?” Lena cocks her to the side, arched brow rising. He nods, crushing the cigarette under his boot. “She was arrested for the possession of drugs at fifteen, John. Went to a young offenders institute for months until I managed to get the charges dropped.”

John opens his mouth, but she waves him off. She relays the details, telling him of that night and the months that followed, answering his questions in between. Exaggerating certain parts to prove a point, that you’re not the good kid he thinks you are.

“That boyfriend of hers, you can thank him. She gave me hell for years John, I don’t blame you. I know you were working that huge case and couldn’t be home, but I did my best,” she says, wiping the salty tears rolling down her cheeks and leaning into john’s embrace as he wraps an arm around her. Too easy.

"I'm here now, let me help," he says, palm smoothing up and down her arm. She tucks her head under his chin and wraps her arms around his torso. It’s like she’s a teen again, clinging to John for warmth.

Lena releases a trembling breath. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still using. You know those mood swings and lashing out,” she mumbles into his chest. He tenses, slipping out of her hold and stepping back.

“What really happened between the two of you?” He asks, leaning down to try and catch her wandering gaze. “Kid, can’t even talk about ya’ without…”

“She’ll bleed you dry John and be gone before you realise,” Lena’s voice muffled, cigarette balancing between her lips as she dug through her handbag. “Your kids actual phone number, she’s got two.” She hands him a faded receipt, blue ink smeared on the crumpled paper.

John’s POV:

John thought if he saw Lena face to face he’d know, some sort of gut instinct to untangle the mess in his head. Dad intuition or whatever it’s called, but he doesn’t have that with you not yet. If anything, all he’s sees in Lena is you. You can’t be doing drugs, he checked your bag whilst you were in the hospital and if you had Toff would have added it to your medical notes. The mood swings, John knows are more trauma related. If Lena is lying what does she gain from doing so?

The smudged ink of your second phone number burns a hole in his pocket. Already stored in his contacts list just incase. He’s not going to bring it up with you either, knowing you’ll get rid of it and he won’t be able to reach you one day.

The mist of rain blurs John’s surroundings outside his truck. Window cracked open a fraction as he tries to get rid of the fogged up glass, old heater ticking away. Your bedroom light is still on, but John doesn’t want to enter the res house, not till he’s got his head sorted and he’s prepared. The last thing he wants it to scare or push you away. He knows if he reaches out too fast and close, you’ll withdraw. Maybe even leave him and never look back. Part of him doesn’t want to dig up that police report, it’s probably been cleared off your record by now as you were a minor and the charges were dropped. Doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it though. His stomach twisting as he realises how alone you must have felt and he now understands why you think he wasn’t there for you. He knows he wasn’t there.

Lena’s minty scent clings to his clothes, he can smell it on his moustache and fingertips. The alcohol gel in his car not giving him much help, if anything he doesn’t even think it has a particular aroma to it. He curses himself for leaving his cigars back in his office, locked away in the top drawer. Meeting Lena wasn’t planned, the whole evening throwing him off as he sat in his truck at three in the morning. The missed calls on his phones unanswered, he’d warned Angie of that though and wasn’t expecting her to ring anytime soon. No, Simon’s number appears in the chain of notifications, on and off for the past two hours. A text of his return soon, always giving him an estimated arrival.

The next op isn’t his main worry though, but it should be. He hates to think it. There’s a niggling feeling that if John goes away now, you might not be home when he returns. The thought alone making him not want to have the have the talk. He has to though. A light tap against the glass draws him out of his thoughts and he rolls the window down. One skeleton gloved hand rests against the truck as Simon leans down to greet John.

“Work or the kid?” Simon asks, his gaze flitting to the line settling between johns brows as if he already knows. He wrinkles his nose, swaying in his spot as if the stench of minted tobacco has just invaded the thin layer of his mask. The cheapest cigarettes that are supposed to be left on the shelves, well that’s what Simon says.

John nudges his head to the passenger seat, watching Simon circle the truck and open the door. The old vehicle rocking as he fell into the seat and closed the door lightly. John’s lost count of how many times he’s had to fit the handle back on whenever Simon slams the door. The engine sputters to life and they don’t say anything till they’re out of the military base. Nothing but the open road and the darkness wrapping around them.

“Went to see Lena,” John says, the red light glaring at him and he slams the brakes, both of them lurching forward in their seats.

“And you came back with more questions than answers?” Simon replies, raising a blond brow at the captain. He’s never been a fan of John’s ex.

John fills him on the evening and everything Lena told him. Simon silent, nodding along as he listened. John can’t help, but see you in another light now and he tells Simon so. His mind wandering back to the shattered lamp, did you knock it off or break it? He knows you’re lying about your mum and he hopes you’ll pluck up the courage to confide in him. He doesn’t even want to go into the whole Johnny and you situation with Simon, he’s not ready for that yet. The one thing he definitely has to pull you up on.

“I just don’t know what to think,” John mumbles, fingers pressing against his temple and the dull pulsating ache. The past few weeks were weighing on him, work escalating and your unpredictable moods around him made him try ten times harder to accommodate your needs. Lowering his voice, stepping back and offering you more space in hopes you’ll come to him. He can’t keep saying later with you. He’s running out of time.

“She’s gotta have a reason to lie,” Simon pauses, holding a hand up and silencing John before he can offer his thoughts. “Think about it, she’s not had a stable upbringing and well, you don’t know the full story. You need to talk to the kid before you jump to conclusions.”

John nods, looping back round the streets and driving to the military base. The back of his throat burns, mouth dry as Simon’s words sink in. He doesn’t have all the information and you deserve to be heard. He owes you that much.

The truck rolls to a stop outside the res house, the light from your bedroom off. John removes the keys and holds them in his palm, elbow on the door panel. Simon exits the truck, walking round to johns side and he reaches over the door and pops the handle down opening it for him.

“Take a breather, then talk to her. It’s all fresh and amplified mate, just don’t interrogate the kid. With the right questions you’ll be able to figure out the situation.” Simon nods, advice given and he disappears down the gravel path to the main building without another glance.

John's lucky to get two hours sleep, giving up as soon as the sunlight filters through the blinds. He makes his bed as usual, tucking the sheets under the mattress and sits on the edge. His suitcase stares at him beside the chest of drawers, his fingers turning his wedding band deep in thought. He glances to the clock reading seven forty and he rises from the bed, pulling his door open.

He walks into your room, expecting the the door handle to rattle and the lock to click, but it swept wide open.

“Come on, up you get Kiddo,” John says, tugging the duvet off you. “You’re coming home with me, no discussion.” He tosses the flimsy duffle on your bed, pulling your clothes from the hangers in the wardrobe.

You catch the hoody he throws at you, mumbling under your breath as you shove it over your head and accept your fate. He thought you'd fight him on it, but he doesn't give you the chance to.

Lena stirring things up 🥴 johns going to have the talk with kiddo in the next part 🫡 please note I am dyslexic so there may be errors/mistakes. I do edit multiple times but miss out things - Leya

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