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cloudtransprncy · 5 months ago

Text

wyd?

IVE Yujin x Male Reader | 8094 words Tags: Exes, Car Sex, Rough & Messy, Face Riding, Overstimulation, Ass Teasing.

Six months apart, and it’s always the same—one text, three letters: wyd? You could pretend it doesn’t matter, but when it comes to Yujin, you never resist.

You're mid-round in Marvel Rivals, playing as a tiny shark that blows bubbles to heal your team. Ducking behind cover, you wait for your cooldowns to refresh while your boys call out plays and hurl mild insults in your ear. Just another night, same as always.

Then your phone buzzes. Once. Then again.

You ignore it at first, barely glancing. But something makes you check. Yujin.

wyd?

You sit back in your chair, staring at the screen. The game noise fades. You’re still, quiet enough that your homies notice. You could ignore it. Maybe you should.

It’s always her reaching out first. Always her making the move.

And you? You just… wait. Maybe that was the problem in the first place.

“Yo! Where’s my heals?” one of your friends yells as he gets mauled by Venom.

Another beat. Then you move.

“Bro, don’t tell me—”

“Man, again?”

“We’re really gonna lose our healer to his ex.”

“You know she does this on purpose, right?”

Laughter. Some exasperation. Someone sighs, everyone already know how this ends.

Your hands hover over the keyboard. The cursor blinks. Your team is mid-fight, and Jeff is already out of bubbles. Someone’s health bar is flashing red.

Another buzz.

You exhale, slow.

Then, without a word, you click out of the game, disconnect from the call, and push back from your desk.

You move through the next steps without thinking. It’s muscle memory at this point. Shower, cologne, fingers through your hair. You grab the basket from your closet—pillows, blankets, washed. You don’t need to check; you always make sure they’re clean.

It’s routine. The same every time.

For a moment, you pause. The hesitation is brief, barely even there, but it exists.

You know exactly how this night will go. How it always goes. She texts, you come. And after?

You don’t think about that part.

Your fingers tighten around your keys. You could still stay home..

Maybe this time, you don’t go. Maybe this time, you just say— "I'm tired. Cant."

The words come back too fast, too easy. The way she got mad. The way it escalated. How a stupid thing turned into six months of this.

Then your phone buzzes again.

You grab your keys.

The drive to Yujin’s place is always the same. The same route, the same practiced motions . If she ever thought you weren’t around enough, then why does it feel like every street in this city leads back to her?

Three days together. Then one missed night. That’s all it took?

The afternoon sun filters through the windshield of your mom’s SUV, the sun glaring against your eyes. The city blurs past, the same roads, the same turns. And every time, you think about it—why did you even break up in the first place? It felt dumb then. It still feels dumb now.

Maybe if you had just texted first, or if you had just said the thing she was waiting to hear, you wouldn’t be here six months later, pretending this was still casual.

You pull up in front of Yujin’s house, engine idling, the warmth of the afternoon settling over the quiet neighborhood.

The sun hits the pavement, the air thick with that mid-day stillness.

That same familiar house—its windows dim, the curtains drawn, the driveway exactly as you remember it. You stare at it for a moment, the weight of memory settling in. Then, the front door creaks open, just enough for her to slip through.

She moves carefully, pausing to nudge the door shut with her foot so her dog doesn’t slip past. A practiced motion. Something second nature by now. She scans the street, spotting your car. No reaction, just a small exhale.

She’s wearing a fitted pastel pink long sleeve that rides up just enough to show a sliver of her midriff and loose grey sweatpants, the fabric pooling over her Crocs. Her hair falls naturally past her shoulders, a few loose strands framing her face. Glasses rest on the bridge of her nose, slightly oversized, making her look softer in the afternoon light.

Effortless.

Casual.

Like she didn’t think twice before stepping out. Phone in hand, she walks down the driveway.

She slides into the passenger seat without a word. The door clicks shut, sealing you both inside the familiar silence.

Her fragrance fills the car instantly—lychee, rose, vanilla, and something undeniably summer. It lingers in the air, familiar, the kind that sticks to your clothes, your skin, something you used to know too well.

Without thinking, you reach over and pull her seatbelt across her, clicking it into place. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react—it’s rehearsed, something that no longer needs permission. Her fragrance lingers in the small space between you, sweet and warm, and for a second, it’s like nothing has changed. She exhales softly, a quiet hum, her usual way of saying thanks.

Your eyes meet for half a second. No greetings. No small talk. Just routine. She shifts, tucking one leg up onto the seat, sitting cross-legged like she always does, settling in like she never left. It’s unconscious, effortless, like muscle memory. You don’t say anything, but you notice.

Before you even reach for the gear shift, she leans forward, grabbing your phone from the dash.

Without hesitation, she unlocks it—still remembers your password. A flick through Spotify, a song queued like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She leans back, satisfied, as the opening notes play. The sunlight slants through the windshield, catching on her features as you ease onto the road. The city hums around you, strip malls and quiet residential streets stretching under the afternoon sky.

The air between you is thick, filled with everything unspoken.

Six months since the breakup. Countless times in this same car.

The silence is comfortable. Or maybe just necessary. Either way, you don’t break it.

The drive is automatic, familiar. The streets, the turns, the stretch of road leading up to the overlook—it all blends together, like a loop you’ve never broken. The city fades behind you, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over quiet streets, and ahead, the ocean stretches out, shimmering under the golden light.

The ocean stretches out before you, endless and bright, the water catching the sun’s soft haze. The sky, still blue, deepens with hints of orange, the afternoon slipping into something softer.

You step out just long enough to fold the seats down. Neither of you speak. You don’t need to. The ocean breeze rushes in as soon as the doors open—salty, heavy, wrapping around you. The seats creak, metal clicking into place. Blankets rustle as you spread them out, fabric settling into familiar folds.

And then you’re inside again, the doors shut, the world locked out. Blankets and pillows surround you, cushioning the space you’ve built in the back of your mom’s SUV. A makeshift bed, one you’ve laid out too many times to count.

Yujin exhales beside you, sitting cross-legged, her glasses now set aside, forgotten. One hand scrolls through her phone while the other idly toys with the hem of her sleeve. The soft tapping of her long nails against the screen is steady, rhythmic, filling the quiet between you. You watch her for a second longer than you should, something restless curling in your stomach.

Then she moves.

No hesitation. No preamble. She swings a leg over you, her crocs slipping off in the process, leaving her in just her socks. Her phone falls somewhere beside her, forgotten. Her hands find your shoulders, sliding down your chest, fingers curling into fabric. Her nails, cool against your skin even through your shirt.

She kisses you first. Hungry, teasing, her lips parting just enough to make you chase, to make you want. As she deepens it, her hips shift, her weight pressing against you. She’s already shimmying out of her sweatpants, lifting her hips just enough to kick them aside. Her long sleeve is still on, her legs now bare, her body pressing closer. Your hands slide down, resting against the curve of her bare ass, her skin warm under your touch. Everything shifts—heat rising, breath hitching, hands gripping skin, fabric pulling.

"You always let me do this," she murmurs against your lips, breathless but smug. "So easy for me." Another kiss, deeper this time, her teeth catching your bottom lip before she pulls back, just enough to look at you.

"What if I stopped reaching out?" she taunts, her fingers trailing up your chest. "You’d never text me first, would you?"

Her nails scrape lightly down your torso, fingers catching on fabric. She tugs at your shirt, not pulling it off yet—just toying with it, teasing. "No one fucks you like I do."

Her fingers slip beneath your shirt, nails grazing over your stomach before she pushes it up, just enough to feel your skin against hers. Then she pushes you back, guiding you down onto the blankets, crawling up towards your face with purpose. Her hips roll against you, teasing, her breath warm as she lingers above you.

She doesn’t bother taking off her panties—black lace, delicate, pressed against you. Instead, she hooks a finger under the fabric, pushing it to the side. For a moment, you see her—slick, smooth, her folds glistening in the dim light filtering through the SUV. The sight makes your breath catch, your fingers twitch against her thighs.

Then she lowers herself onto you, slow, deliberate. The heat of her, the slick press of her skin, makes you exhale sharply. Her scent is thick, dizzying, filling your lungs as she settles above you. One hand still braced against the ceiling, the other sliding from her panties to your hair, fingers threading through, tugging with just enough force to make sure you’re exactly where she wants you.

"Open up," she murmurs, her voice low, breath hitching. "Come on, make me fucking lose it."

Her thighs tense against your cheeks as she settles onto your mouth, her heat pressing against you, her scent—heady, intoxicating—filling every inhale. Your fingers dig into her skin, keeping her steady as she gasps, barely audible, before bracing herself. One hand shoots up, pressing against the ceiling of the car to keep balance, while your fingers dig harder into her thighs, your nails pressing into soft flesh, marking her there, leaving behind faint red streaks.

Her other hand keeps her panties pushed aside, a fleeting hesitation, as if teasing herself with the idea of restraint. But it doesn’t last. The pleasure builds too quickly, and soon, she abandons the fabric entirely, fingers slipping into your hair instead, gripping, using it for leverage as she rolls her hips against your mouth.

"That’s it," she breathes, half a moan, half praise. "You know how to use that mouth, don’t you?"

Your hands grip her thighs, keeping her open as your tongue glides over her. When you suck just right, she shudders—sharp, uncontrollable.

You pull her closer, tongue pressing, lips wrapping around the sensitive bud, and she whimpers, her body giving the first sign of unraveling. You feel the shift in her, the control slipping, her thighs twitching as she tries to keep herself steady.

Then you suck harder, your teeth grazing just enough to leave a spark of pleasure, and her breath stutters. Her head tilts back, the sound of her moans filling the car, swallowed only by the thick afternoon air. She tastes like salt, like something warm and familiar, like something you’d get drunk on if you weren’t already drowning in her.

You know what she likes. You know how to pull those breathy little gasps from her throat, the way her thighs twitch when you flick your tongue just right. So you give it to her. Slow at first, teasing, dragging your tongue along her folds before pressing in, sucking at her clit just enough to make her shudder.

"Fuck, yeah," she breathes, her fingers twisting in your hair, her hips rolling down against your mouth. "Just like that. Don't stop."

You don’t.

You nip at her, a sharp little bite to her folds, then another to her clit, knowing she loves it just rough enough to make her squirm. She jerks, gasping, and you feel her hand brace against the ceiling again, her other gripping your hair even tighter.

"Holy shit," she pants, voice dripping with pleasure, with something wicked and teasing beneath it. "You love this, don’t you? Bet you’d fucking live down there if I let you."

You groan against her, the vibration making her moan louder, her hips grinding down against you, using your mouth to chase the high building inside her. You can feel it in the way her thighs tremble, the way her breath hitches, her body tightening, straining, needing more.

So you give her more. You grip her thighs harder, spreading her open as your tongue works faster, hungrier, dragging her closer and closer to the edge.

She’s wetter now, the slickness coating your lips, your chin, the sounds between you growing filthier, wetter. You flick your tongue over her clit before pressing in deeper, letting yourself sink into the heat of her. You suck, pull, letting her ride the sensation, letting her lose herself against you.

She whimpers, breath stuttering, her nails digging into your scalp. "Fuck—" she gasps, her voice ragged. Her hips stutter, like she’s caught between wanting to grind harder and losing control entirely. "You’re—god, you’re making a fucking mess."

You groan against her, the sound vibrating through her, making her jolt. She gasps, her thighs clenching, and you use that moment to grip her tighter, dragging her down against your mouth. You keep her there, force her to grind against you, matching the rhythm of your tongue. The wet sounds between you grow filthier, obscene, each flick and suck making her shudder harder.

She jerks when you sputter against her folds, your breath hot and heavy, the mess between her thighs smearing against your jaw. Her fingers twitch in your hair, but then she lets go—her hands leaving your head, reaching forward instead, gripping onto the back of the seats in front of her as she steadies herself, her body arching as pleasure overtakes her.

"Shit—" her voice wavers, fingers tightening in your hair. "You love this, don’t you?"

You only answer by sucking harder, wrapping your lips around her clit and flicking your tongue in quick, insistent strokes. She lets out a sharp moan, her entire body shuddering as she fights to keep herself steady, one hand still bracing against the ceiling, the other yanking at your hair, desperate and needy.

She’s losing it now, panting, her thighs trembling around you, her slickness coating everything between you. You feel her breaking, her voice going breathy, whimpering curses spilling from her lips, and you know she’s right there, right at the edge, ready to fall apart.

Then you attack her clit, alternating between sucking and flicking your tongue over it before dipping back down to her folds, teasing her, drawing out every shaky breath. Her thighs clench around your head, her grip on the seats tightening as her back arches.

Her lips part, breath stuttering, and for a second, she fights it—bites down on her lip, eyes squeezing shut, her body tensing. "I'm—" she chokes out, voice breaking. "Gonna—fuck—" But you don’t let up. You suck harder, press your tongue flat against her clit and flick in rapid strokes, pulling a soft, desperate scream from her throat.

Her whole body tenses, her stomach tightening as she crashes into it, hips jerking against your mouth as pleasure rips through her. Her fingers slip, barely holding onto the seats before she gives up entirely, body shaking, breath coming in broken gasps as she rides out every wave, every pulse, every sharp aftershock that makes her legs tremble around you.

Her body is still shaking when you pull her down, her legs weak around you, her breath coming in slow, uneven gasps. She’s wrecked, undone from the way you just had her, but you don’t give her a chance to recover. You guide her down onto the blankets, the weight of your body pressing against hers, and she lets you, pliant beneath you.

Her panties are a mess, soaked through, sticking to her skin from where you had your mouth on her. You hook your fingers under the lace and pull them down, dragging them over her thighs, her knees, tossing them somewhere behind you. She shivers as the cool air hits her, still sensitive, still throbbing. Your hands settle on her inner thighs, spreading her apart, your fingers teasing, stroking lightly over her slick folds. She twitches, her breath catching.

"Sensitive?" you murmur, rubbing slow, just barely grazing her clit. She jerks, biting her lip, trying to suppress the reaction. "Still so wet for me."

She exhales shakily, half a glare, half anticipation. "Then do something about it." She’s bare beneath you now, except for her top, still clinging to her frame, pushed up slightly from where she’d been grinding against your face. You could take it off, but not yet. Instead, you shift back onto your knees, pushing your sweatpants down, kicking them off until they’re lost somewhere in the mess of blankets. Your cock springs free, aching, flushed, and heavy in your hand. Yujin’s eyes flick down immediately, her lips parting, a quiet hum of approval slipping from her throat. She licks her lips, reaching out, fingers brushing against your length—

You catch her wrist before she can wrap her hand around you, pushing it away. Her eyes flick up to yours, a challenge in them, but you don’t waver. Not this time. "Not right now," you murmur, your voice firm, your grip on her tightening just slightly. "I’m in charge now."

Your cock is already aching, flushed and heavy in your hand as you settle between her legs, pressing the tip against her entrance, dragging it through the slick heat of her.

She exhales sharply, her fingers flexing against the blankets. "Fuck—"

You don’t push in yet. You drag the head of your cock against her, teasing, smearing her wetness along your length. She squirms, her hips shifting, her body already responding.

"Don’t tease," she mutters, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown. "You know I can take it."

She gasps at the stretch, her nails scraping against your shoulders.

You don’t respond, just grip her hips, pushing in slow, deliberate, feeling the way she stretches around you. The heat of her is overwhelming, the contrast stark between the cool air against your skin and the wet, pulsing warmth surrounding you. Her breath catches, fingers tightening on your arms, her back arching instinctively.

"Fuck—" she gasps, nails digging in deeper as you fold her legs up, pressing her knees toward her chest, opening her up more. The shift makes her whimper, her body clenching around you, pulling you in deeper, tighter. The pressure is unbearable, intoxicating, her slickness making every inch of you ache as you fill her completely.

"God," she whimpers, her fingers twisting into the blanket beneath her. "You’re so deep—"

You bite down against her neck, hard, sucking at the skin there, not enough to bruise but enough to make her squirm beneath you. She moans, tilting her head to the side, giving you more, her body shifting, arching up against you.

"You love this," you murmur against her skin, dragging your teeth over the flushed heat of her throat before biting down again, harder this time.

She gasps, nails digging into your back. "Yeah," she exhales, breathy, wrecked. "But you love this more."

She’s teasing, but you can hear it, the slight break in her voice when you pull back and thrust into her harder. Her body jolts beneath you, her thighs tensing around your hips as she struggles to keep up with the pace you’re setting.

Her hands find your arms, nails biting into your skin, holding on tight as if grounding herself. It only makes you go faster, makes you push deeper, makes her moan louder.

"Fuck—" she gasps, her legs trembling. "Harder. Don’t hold back."

You don’t. You grip her hips, hold her down like you’re trying to leave something permanent, like you want her to feel this for days. The sound of skin against skin fills the air, loud and messy, her moans breaking between sharp, breathless gasps.

She reaches for you, drags you down into a kiss, messy and desperate, her tongue pressing against yours, her teeth catching your bottom lip before she pulls away, panting.

"Knew you couldn’t take it slow," she murmurs, half-laughing, voice shaking.

You tug at her hair in response, pulling her head back slightly, making her gasp. "Shut up," you mutter against her throat before sucking another mark there, another place to remind her of this later.

She just smirks, but it melts into something softer, her breath stuttering when you hit just the right spot inside her, the one that makes her moan louder, makes her nails claw at your shoulders, her body clinging to yours, desperate, wrecked.

You shift, angling deeper, pushing her knees higher, folding her into herself. She gasps, her back arching, her hands gripping onto your forearms, holding tight as if you’ll slip away. Her shirt is still on, bunched up beneath her ribs, exposing the taut lines of her stomach, the soft ridges of muscle tensing beneath you. You drag a hand up her body, palm pressing flat against her neck, feeling the quick, frantic beat of her pulse beneath your fingers.

"Oh f—" she whines, breath catching as you thrust harder, deeper, grinding your hips into hers. She’s trembling, her body taut beneath you.

You shift too far back, the heat of her slipping away as your cock accidentally slides out, leaving you both gasping at the sudden loss. "Please," she whimpers, her voice breathless, raw. Her hands tighten against your arms, her body arching up, desperate to pull you back in.

But you don’t give in right away. Instead, you slap your cock against her soaked pussy, the wet sound sharp and obscene between you. She jerks, a sharp inhale, a full-body shudder, her thighs twitching. Then you do it again, dragging the head of your cock against her clit before pulling back and doing it once more. One hand stays firm on her hip, keeping her in place, while the other slips down to toy with her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

Her body tightens beneath you, her breath stuttering, her fingers clawing at your skin. "Fuck—" she gasps, her voice breaking. She’s almost folded over at this point, her knees pressing against her chest, fully open, fully exposed to you. The sight alone makes your cock throb.

Finally, you give in, pushing back inside in one hard stroke, knocking the air from her lungs, pulling another sharp gasp from her lips. As soon as you're buried deep again, you shift your grip, pressing her left leg down while keeping the other folded high, trapping her beneath you. The angle makes her moan, high and shaky, her hands grasping blindly at you.

One of your hands moves up, cupping her face, thumb brushing over her parted lips as you thrust into her again. The other stays between her legs, fingers rubbing at her clit, teasing, pushing her further into that desperate, needy space. She's almost folded in half, her body giving beneath you, her moans turning into broken gasps.

The heat inside the car is suffocating now, sweat slicking both of you. Her shirt clings to her body, damp, sticking to her skin, darkened in places where the fabric is soaked through. Strands of her hair stick to her forehead, damp with sweat, and her breath is hot against your face, panting, uneven. Every time you thrust into her, a soft whimper spills from her lips, her voice high, desperate, shuddering through each gasping exhale.

You lean down, pressing your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. She tilts her chin up, catching your lips, kissing you deep, messy, her nails scraping lightly against your arms. It’s all hunger, all desperation, neither of you slowing down, neither of you wanting to.

You thrust into her a few more times, each movement deep, precise, shifting your angle with every stroke to watch how she reacts, how her breath stutters, how her body grips you tighter. Her moans turn guttural, almost a growl, her fingers gripping at your arms, her body arching against yours.

For the last few thrusts, you bring your hand to her throat, gripping firmly, not just to hold her but to claim her. Her breath stutters, a strangled moan slipping out, her body tightening beneath you. Her eyes flutter, her mouth parting as she surrenders to it, to you. Her moans turn guttural, almost feral as her body clenches around you, desperate, overwhelmed, lost in the sheer force of it all.

Then it hits you—the burn in your muscles, the weight of exhaustion creeping in. You push in one last time before pulling out, panting, sweat dripping from your brow onto her collarbone.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sound is your breathing, heavy, uneven, filling the small space between you as you both lie there, gasping in silence. You shift back, sitting on your ankles, thighs burning from exertion. Yujin just lays there, boneless, her body slack against the blankets, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. Her arms are sprawled out at her sides, fingers twitching slightly, as if she’s still processing what just happened.

The silence lingers, heavy with the weight of everything that just happened, bodies still humming with heat. Yujin is the first to move. Her breath is slow, measured, before she finally tilts her head up, eyes still half-lidded, and murmurs, "Come here."

She reaches toward you, fingers curling slightly, and you don’t hesitate. You help her sit up, hands firm but careful, steadying her as she adjusts. Then, before you can react, she shifts forward, pushing you back until you’re leaning against the interior wall of the SUV. The blankets beneath you are damp with sweat, the air inside still thick, still heavy. She kneels in front of you, her legs folded beneath her, her gaze dark and unreadable.

She starts with her top, but there’s no rush, no fluid motion. She’s still catching her breath, her movements slow, deliberate. Her fingers grip the fabric at her shoulder, tugging at one of the sleeves, pulling her arm free. Then the other, sliding her limbs out one at a time before finally peeling the tank over her head and discarding it beside her.

Your eyes track every shift, every subtle flex of her muscles beneath sweat-dampened skin. Her bra is next. She reaches behind her, fingers fumbling slightly, and you move to help, undoing the clasp with ease. She lets the straps fall down her arms, and you brush them off her shoulders, sliding the fabric down and away until she’s fully bare before you.

She shifts slightly, adjusting her position without thinking—one leg bent closer to her, the other stretched out at an angle, her feet still covered in those white socks. Her body is tight, toned but soft in the right places, the way she carries herself effortless. Then she reaches up, arms stretching, pulling her hair into a loose bun to keep it out of her face. The movement lifts her chest, elongates the lines of her body—the curve of her waist, the soft definition of her abs, the smooth dip of her armpits as her arms stretch overhead. The tendons in her neck shift, her head tilting slightly, lips parting just so. Strands of damp hair stick to the sides of her face, and for a moment, all you can do is watch, hunger curling in your stomach. Your mouth waters.

You lean in, pressing your lips to the side of her neck, tasting the sweat that lingers there. She exhales, tilting her head slightly, letting you in. You trail kisses lower, down to her shoulders, dragging your mouth along the curve of her collarbone. Your hands find her waist, fingers kneading into her skin, feeling the warmth of her beneath your palms.

Then lower. Your mouth finds her chest, your lips brushing over the swell of her breasts before you take one in your hand, your thumb tracing over the sensitive skin. She shudders, a quiet gasp slipping past her lips, and you revel in the way she reacts, the way she melts into your touch. Your mouth follows, lips parting against her skin, tongue flicking over the peak before you suck gently, savoring the taste of her. Your hands roam, caressing, feeling, groping—memorizing the shape of her, the softness, the heat.

She sighs, threading her fingers into your hair, tilting her head down just enough to watch you. There’s no urgency now, just this—just the feel of her, the press of your mouth, the warmth pooling between you as you take your time, exploring every inch of her bared skin.

She lets out a hushed moan before pressing against your chest, gently pushing you back until your shoulders meet the SUV wall. You barely have time to react before she turns around, shifting into your lap. Her knees slide under yours, her body fitting against you perfectly as she moves closer, her back arching slightly.

Then, slowly, she spreads herself open—her fingers parting her ass cheeks, exposing everything to you. Her pussy lips glisten, her tight hole stretching just slightly with the movement, teasing you with the sight. Your cock twitches, aching, as you instinctively reach down, guiding yourself against her folds. The heat of her, the slickness, sends a shudder down your spine.

She shifts back, taking you in slow, the stretch making both of you groan. The grip of her around you is almost unbearable, pulling you in deeper inch by inch, her breath shaky as she adjusts. You watch the way her body takes you, the way she exhales, trembling slightly as she sinks further, her hands bracing against your thighs for balance.

Then she moves. Slowly at first, lifting herself up before sinking back down, her rhythm changing. It’s not bouncing anymore—it’s deeper, slower, a deliberate grind. Each roll of her hips forces you in at a different angle, dragging against every inch of her. It’s slicker, hotter, the sound of her taking you deep filling the thick air, the obscene wetness between you making every thrust a decadent mess. Your grip tightens, your fingers flexing against her hips, nails pressing slightly into the flesh as she grinds deeper, dragging pleasure from both of you in slow, devastating waves. The muscles in her back flex, taut beneath the dim light filtering through the SUV windows. Her breath stutters, a moan slipping out between her parted lips.

You groan, gripping her hips, feeling the shift of her muscles under your fingertips, the subtle dip of her spine flexing with every bounce. Your hands explore, trailing up her back, tracing the defined ridges, the smooth stretch of skin as she moves. One hand shifts higher, fingers spreading over the back of her head, gripping, grounding her as she rocks against you. The friction, the slick heat of her, has you clenching your jaw, your fingers digging into her skin. Her head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, her lips parting with another breathy moan.

"Fuck," you mutter, the word slipping out unfiltered, guttural.

She lets out something close to a whimper, her body shivering from the way you're holding her, guiding her down harder each time. Sweat beads along her spine, her muscles shifting beneath her skin, the dip of her back deepening as she tilts her body forward, adjusting. Strands of her loose bun begin slipping, stray hairs sticking to the back of her damp neck. She keeps one hand planted on the blankets to steady herself, the other lifting to the back of her head, holding her hair up—displaying herself for you. You know she’s doing this for you. She knows it too.

Her back, arched, muscles shifting under sweat-damp skin, the flex of her stomach tightening with every movement. Your cock twitches inside her, and she gasps, breath catching, body momentarily tensing before sinking back into the motion. Your own shirt clings to your skin, soaked through, suffocating in the best way. Sweat drips from your temple, slides down the curve of your jaw. The windows are fogged, the air so thick with heat and breath and lust that every inhale feels like a drug. And still, you can’t get enough. You can feel the sweat pooling between your shoulder blades, the fabric growing heavier against your skin, but you don’t care.

You don’t give her a chance to adjust. One moment, she’s grinding against you, taking everything you give her, the next, something surges through you—your body coming alive again, energy surging back into your limbs, your need for her taking over completely. You grip her waist, lifting her slightly before pushing her forward, pressing her down onto the blankets. Her breath stutters, her body folding into itself, her knees sliding apart as she falls into position—ass up, face down, her cheek pressed against the damp fabric beneath her. It’s different now. You’re not catching your breath anymore. You’re in control again, and you’re going to use it.

The shift is seamless. You’re still inside her, still buried deep, and you don’t stop moving. The new angle makes her whimper, her fingers curling into the blankets, gripping them like they’re the only thing keeping her grounded. She’s already trembling, her thighs quaking from the force of every thrust.

You pick up the pace. Rougher now, deeper, urgent. Each thrust has her jolting forward, her body pliant, wrecked beneath you. Your hands roam, running up her bare back, her waist, gripping her hips, keeping her right where you want her. Sweat rolls down her spine, the slick heat of her skin under your palms intoxicating. She’s so open like this, so exposed, and she moans like she knows it, like she loves it.

You know exactly what to do next, exactly how to unravel her completely.

You bring your thumb to your mouth, wetting it thoroughly, dragging it across your tongue, coating it in spit before pressing it against her puckered hole. The slickness makes her jolt, a shudder rippling through her spine as you circle slow, teasing, pushing just enough to make her gasp. Her entire body tenses, a sharp cry ripping from her throat. You keep fucking into her, keeping time with the way you play with her, pressing, circling, easing her into it. Every motion makes her squirm, her moans growing louder, breaking into desperate whimpers as she pushes back against you, needing more.

""Oh—fuck—oh my—please—" she chokes out, voice catching on every syllable, her body trembling like she’s unraveling at the seams. Her fingers claw at the blankets, grasping for something, anything, but it’s useless. She can’t ground herself, not when you keep working her open, not when every slow press makes her shudder, makes her walls flutter around you. Her legs twitch under you, every muscle taut, waiting, wanting more.

You push a little more, not inside, just enough to make her feel it, and she screams, her body shuddering, the sound raw, helpless. Her muscles tense, legs trembling, and then she lets go, completely, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. You press your hand into her lower back, keeping her down, controlling the way she takes it. "Take it," you murmur, voice low, firm, the heat in your words making her moan even louder.

"Play with my ass—yes—" she babbles, voice high, wrecked, her mouth hanging open, drool slipping from the corner of her lips. She’s almost crying, her body shaking beneath you, lost in it, falling apart in your hands. Her fingers dig into the blankets, nails scraping, her moans breaking apart as she pushes back against you, desperate for more.

You grip the back of her neck, pressing her further into the blankets, keeping her exactly where you want her. Then you slap her face—light but firm, just enough to make her gasp, her eyes fluttering, her breath stalling for a second before she moans, louder, messier. Drool pools beneath her cheek, her body trembling, fully at your mercy.

You pull out abruptly, and she whimpers, her pussy clenching around nothing, her body instinctively pressing back like she can pull you inside again. Instead, you bring your fingers to her, slipping them in deep, curling, fucking her with them until she’s writhing, moaning in broken, incoherent strings. Her body tightens, her walls fluttering around your fingers, and then you push back into her, filling her in one hard thrust.

You do it again. And again. Pulling out, fingering her, fucking her, over and over, building her up higher, pushing her closer each time. She’s shaking now, her voice raw, nearly sobbing into the blankets.

"Fuck—you’re gonna make me cum again," she gasps, her words slurring, nearly lost in her moans.

"Then do it," you murmur, gripping her hip, slamming into her harder.

"Faster—please—" she begs, her entire body convulsing, her arms writhing against the blankets. You obey without hesitation, thrusting into her as hard and fast as your legs will let you. Your muscles burn, your thighs trembling from exertion, but you don’t stop, not when she’s begging, not when her voice is breaking apart.

Her pussy clenches around you, gripping you tight, sucking you in, the wet heat dragging you deeper with every stroke. The sounds between you are obscene—slick, messy, the sharp slap of skin against skin echoing inside the vehicle, mixing with her breathless, desperate cries.

She jerks beneath you, back arching, her entire body locking up as the tension snaps. "Oh—fuck—I'm—" Her voice cuts off into a strangled scream, her pussy fluttering, spasming around your cock as she cums. You don’t slow down. If anything, you fuck her harder, driving into her through the unbearable sensitivity, through the overwhelming rush that has her shaking beneath you.

Her body writhes, her moans dissolving into helpless whimpers, her fingers clawing at the blankets. She’s sobbing, wrecked, unable to form words, her body so lost in it that she’s barely holding herself up. The car rocks with the force of your thrusts, windows fogged, the air thick with sweat, heat, desperation.

You tighten your grip, fingers pressing into her hip, into her throat, into her ass—claiming every inch of her, making sure she feels everything, making sure she knows there’s nothing else but this, but you. She whines, twitching, sensitive and overwhelmed, yet still pushing back against you, still taking all of it.

The car rocks with the force of your thrusts, the air thick, humid, the scent of sweat and sex drowning you both. You feel it then—That familiar heat curling in your spine, the pulsing, aching pressure that tells you you’re close. Too close.

And so you stop.

You pull out, panting, your cock throbbing, aching, but you don’t let go. Not yet. You want to drag this out, savor it, enjoy her fully, completely. You want to make this last.

And yet, as you look down at her, something inside you tightens—not just from sex. The blankets are twisted beneath her, damp with sweat, her ass still arched, her back curving like something carved from heat and hunger. But it’s her breathing—ragged, slow, mouth parted against the blankets—that freezes you. The way she trembles, wrecked yet impossibly beautiful.

Your hands twitch, wanting to pull her back in, but you don’t. Not yet. Instead, you just watch—every shiver, every unsteady breath. She’s a mess, undone beneath you, and somehow, that feels inevitable.

You shouldn’t be thinking like that. But fuck, she’s still so hot. And she’s still Yujin.

You swallow it down.

She stirs, shifting slightly, her breath still shaky. Then she turns her head toward you, her eyes woozy, hazy, her hair sticking to her damp skin. She blinks slowly, lips parted, breath uneven.

"You… cum next," she slurs, her voice soft, cock-drunk, barely able to form the words. Her body still trembles, wrecked and used, but the way she looks at you makes your stomach twist, heat curling in your chest. For the first time all night, the air feels different.

She shifts, moving with a lazy kind of determination, and before you can react, she flips herself over, swinging a leg over your waist, straddling you face-to-face. Her body still trembles, breath still shaky, but her eyes lock onto yours, something heated, something unspoken passing between you.

She doesn’t give you a choice. Her hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging at it, dragging the damp fabric up and over your head. You let her take it, barely breathing as she tosses it aside, her hands already back on you, tracing the sweat-slicked lines of your shoulders, your chest, your neck. Then she leans in—teeth grazing your skin, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, your jaw, your throat. She sucks at your skin, bites, her nails scraping lightly over your ribs, down your stomach, leaving you raw under her touch.

You groan, hands finding her waist, holding her close. She’s burning against you, skin against skin, the heat between you unbearable in the best way. The windows are fogged, the scent of sweat, sex, and her filling your lungs. Her lips brush your ear, and then she whispers something teasing, something possessive, something she doesn’t quite mean—but maybe she does.

She sinks down, slow, taking you in inch by inch. A sharp inhale leaves both of you as she takes you in, her fingers digging into your shoulders, clutching at you like she needs something to hold onto. She exhales, forehead pressing against yours, her breath warm, shaky. You can feel everything—the way her walls flutter around you, the way her nails dig into your skin, the way her thighs tense as she adjusts to the depth.

And then she moves.

It’s different like this. No frantic pace, no desperate urgency. Just this—her, guiding the rhythm, rolling her hips slow, dragging you deeper into her heat. Her hands trail over your chest, fingertips gliding through the sweat beading along your skin, tracing the sharp lines of your torso like she’s memorizing you. Then she leans forward, pressing her lips to your neck, kissing, tasting, sighing against you as she moves.

She takes your hands, guiding them over her body—up her sides, over the curve of her breasts, down to her waist. She shudders when your palms spread over her back, pressing her closer, her chest flush against yours. Every slow rock of her hips forces out a shaky breath, a soft moan into the humid air between you.

Her lips find yours. A deep kiss—nothing rushed, nothing sloppy, just deep. She kisses you like she wants to drown in you, her fingers tangling in your hair, her body tightening around you, her breath uneven as she pulls away only to come back again. And again.

She smiles, lazy, breathless, her lips just barely grazing yours. "You’re close, aren’t you?"

You swallow hard, your grip tightening against her waist. She knows you are. She can feel it.

"Where do you want it?" you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice.

She doesn’t hesitate. "Inside."

Your body tenses. For six months, you’ve never done this. Always pulled out, always left it on her back, her stomach, her tongue. But this time—this time, she doesn’t let you. Her hands curl against your shoulders, her body pressing down harder, holding you there.

"Inside," she repeats, her voice softer now, but firm. No room for argument.

She leans in, lips brushing against your ear, breath hot, sticky with everything between you. "Fill me up."

Your stomach tightens, your grip on her waist flexing. She knows exactly what she’s doing, how to draw you deeper into the feeling, how to make you lose yourself in her completely. Her sweat mixes with yours, bodies slick, the air thick, humid, unbearable. She’s so close, her forehead pressing against yours, the wet strands of her hair sticking to your temples. Her voice—low, honeyed, almost teasing—sends a deep, primal pulse through you. "I want to feel you. All of you."

She rolls her hips, slow, deep, dragging the moment out, making you feel every inch of her around you, gripping you, milking you. Your whole body tightens, heat flooding your spine, pooling low in your stomach, curling tighter with every deliberate grind of her hips. It’s not just sex anymore. It never was.

"Fuck—," you choke out, barely able to breathe past it, past the weight of her around you, the way her walls squeeze, coaxing you closer, making it impossible to hold on.

"Do it," she murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, voice dripping with something dangerous, something sweet. "I want all of it."

Your stomach clenches, heat rising sharp and fast, spiraling through your spine like wildfire. It builds, unbearable, rolling through your muscles, making your breath hitch, your grip on her tightening like you’re trying to hold onto something slipping through your fingers. Your whole body seizes, every nerve burning as the pleasure crashes through you. It explodes in sharp pulses, radiating outward, drowning you in the moment as your hips jerk up, pushing deeper, filling her completely. Your jaw clenches, your hips snap up, burying yourself as deep as you can go.

"Shit—I'm—" The words barely make it out before you shudder, the release hitting you so hard it nearly knocks you out. But before you can even finish saying it, she grabs your shoulders, pulling herself down against you, her lips crashing into yours. She kisses you through it, deep, needy, like she wants to consume every last sound, every breathless moan spilling from your throat.

Her arms wrap around you, her nails digging into your back as her walls clench down around you, milking every last drop, her body pulling you in like she never wants to let go. She gasps into your mouth, her breath stuttering, her whole body trembling as she takes everything you give her. Your mind blanks, everything narrowing to this—the slick warmth of her wrapped around you, the way she shivers, the way she feels, completely, entirely yours. It lingers—hot, overwhelming, raw. Different. Deliberate. Something neither of you acknowledge, but both of you feel.

Your body is still pulsing with aftershocks, but your mind is clear. Maybe clearer than it’s been in months.

Her lips are still on yours, the kiss deep, unhurried now, like neither of you wants to break it first. Like neither of you knows what happens when you do. Her hands stay on your shoulders, fingers light, trailing over your skin, and your own hands settle against her back, keeping her close, not yet ready to let go.

She’s still sitting on you, still holding you inside her, her breath shaky against your mouth. She exhales through her nose, her forehead pressing against yours, and for the first time all night, the silence between you is loud.

She’s warm, slick, sticky against you, the sweat between your bodies making it impossible to tell where you end and she begins. The SUV is stifling, the windows fogged, the scent of heat and sex thick in the air, but neither of you moves to break away.

You swallow, your throat dry. Your hands flex on her waist, gripping, grounding. The weight of her is still there, her warmth sinking into you, pressing into places you don’t want to acknowledge. Then, because you always do, you ask—“Was it good?”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, heavy-lidded, unreadable, and for a second, she doesn’t answer. Then she exhales a laugh, something soft, shaking her head slightly.

“You always ask,” she murmurs, and it should be dismissive, the way it usually is, the way she usually just brushes past it. But this time, she lingers. Her fingers skate up, push damp strands of hair from your forehead, her thumb brushing lightly over your temple before pulling away, but not completely. Her other hand stays against your chest, her palm flat, feeling your heartbeat, like she’s holding onto the moment itself.

“Yeah,” she finally says. Then, quieter, more real: “Yeah. It was.”

It shouldn’t feel different. But it does.

Her body shifts slightly, and you can still feel her around you, still tight, still there, and you realize you don’t want to move. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Your hands slide down to her waist, grounding yourself, feeling the warmth of her, memorizing the way she feels against you.

For the past six months, it’s always been like this—hooking up, fucking, leaving before it could turn into anything else. Before either of you could say something real.

But now she’s still here, looking at you like she sees something she hasn’t let herself before. Like maybe she doesn’t want to leave either.

And for the first time, you don’t want to let her.

The air outside is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers on your body. The trunk of the SUV is open, airing out the lingering humidity from what just happened inside. You both sit on the edge of it, the makeshift bed in the back still rumpled behind you. Yujin has her legs folded beneath her, knees drawn close, wrapped in your zip-up hoodie—the one you’d left in the car weeks ago, the one she threw on without asking after cleaning up.

Your drink sits between you, condensation dripping down the sides, untouched. A crumpled napkin rests beside it, damp from where she’d pressed it against her palm earlier, like she needed something to do with her hands.

Yujin stirs her drink absentmindedly, straw scraping against the plastic lid, over and over, rhythmic, almost like she’s trying to drown out the weight between you.

This is part of the routine. Sometimes it’s ice cream, sometimes it’s boba, but there’s always a buffer spot—a place to sit, to let the heat cool off, to pretend the ending isn’t creeping up on you. But tonight, it feels different. The usual buffer doesn’t seem to be working. The silence isn’t settling—it’s stretching, pressing between you.

She hasn’t said much since you parked outside your favorite boba place. Neither have you. The neon glow of the shop sign flickers against the pavement, catching the light off the curve of your drink. The hum of passing cars, the occasional murmur of voices from inside, the faint bass from a stereo down the street—it all fills the space between you, but none of it breaks the weight of the silence.

The sun is setting now, washing the street in soft gold, the sky burning orange and violet. You both just sit there, watching cars fly by, the city moving around you like it always does, like it always has. A streetlight buzzes to life beside you, casting a dim glow over her skin. Somewhere in the sky, a lone star flickers through the haze, barely visible, like something trying to push through.

You glance at her, expecting something—some offhanded, teasing remark to ease the tension, a snide little smirk, maybe even a cocky joke about how you always get attached. Something easy.

But then she stops stirring.

She exhales, slow, deliberate, like she already knew she was going to say this before she even got in the car today. Her fingers tighten around her cup, just slightly. Like she already knows the answer but still needs to hear it. She looks at you, and then—

"Do you want to get back together?"

Your stomach pulls tight.

You blink, caught off guard, the words settling heavy between you. She’s never asked before. Never even come close. And yet, it doesn’t feel like a question she just thought of. It feels like something that’s been sitting in her chest, waiting for the right moment to spill out. It’s the way she says it—serious, expectant, none of the usual bravado or games, none of the usual ways she brushes past real things before they can land.

You sit with it, six months pressed into your chest, thick as breath. Picking her up. Folding down the SUV seats. Fucking her like it meant nothing. Pretending it meant nothing. But you always ended up here—parked outside some late-night spot, coming down from it all, sitting next to each other like nothing had changed. Except it has. You can feel it.

She watches you, unreadable, but you take in the details—the way her hair is still tied up, loose strands slipping free near her temples, sticking slightly to her skin. The glow of the streetlights catches on her glasses, masking her eyes for half a second before they flicker, searching yours. Her lips, the ones she had redone after you cleaned up, press together like she’s holding back more words.

You think about how you’re supposed to answer.

You always waited. Let her text first. Let her reach out first.

But she’s looking at you now, waiting, expecting.

And this time?

You don’t wait.

You know the answer.

AN: Anotha one. Hope you guys enjoy. I got a fun one comin soon, just finishing it up ;) I always appreciate kind words n feedback.

#malereader #yujin smut #malereader x yujin #Ive smut #kpop smut #kpop fic #cloudtsmut

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trulyumai · 7 months ago

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to love an emperor

—: pairing - caracalla / wife! reader

—: synopsis - Caracalla the disastrous, caracalla the mighty. thousands would cower down and pray in fear of such a man, but you? you offered love and kisses upon the head.

—: warnings - none. pure fluff for the soul.

—: an - is it a little off character? oh yeah. but the man needs more soft love and I am here to provide.

not everyday was caracalla affectionate. he was moody sometimes— angry at you even when someone else had provoked him.

but tonight?

tonight he couldn’t stop adoring you; you had no idea what had gotten into him. caracalla was never this affectionate, at least without jealousy or a beverage involved.

“do you love me?” the man mumbled, it was muffled against your skin. his breath was warm and sticking to you without delay. “of course,” you hummed, slipping fingers into the crown of his head, gently guiding your fingers through the soft and messy locks.

instantly Caracalla folded, the candlelight bounced of his face and illuminated each shadow and crevice with purpose. he was handsome, you certainly couldn’t deny such a fact. his eyes were soft, a light pink and red hue danced around his eyelids as the rest of his skin lay pale and untouched.

his lips were a little chapped, proof of him picking and biting them after todays timeline

“—you?”

Perking up, your mind cleared. You hadn’t even realized you spaced out until the jumbles of his words came to.

“I’m sorry, my love, what was that?”

the man beside you shuddered at such an endearment. He felt so warm, so comfortable in your presence.

“I said, do you know I love you?” Letting out a quiet snicker, a nod was given. “of course, I see it in your eyes, husband.”

Caracalla frowned, confusion blotted his features. “My… eyes?”

Soft fingers glided against his cheek, to which he leaned into trustingly. A thumb traced the underside of his eye, gently tracing random shapes and letters unconsciously.

“Mmh, you look at me the way Dondus looks at his snacks, my love.”

He couldn’t help but let out a bubble of laughter. wrinkles began to form around his eyes from such a joyous action, however his vision never faltered from admiring your blushing face. “I’m serious! You— you do!”

“Angel, what an odd way of phrasing such a thing!” Joining him in the barrage of giggles, you slumped onto him, digging your chin into the crevice of his neck.

“You’re not much of a poet, even I could have thought of better,”

You gasped, with hands now holding you upright on his chest a mischievous glint was caught in Caracallas eyes. “You jest, husband, surely. I’m more of a poet than you could ever be!”

“Oh?” The emperor challenged. Already taking advantage of this new position, both arms wrapped around your waist, prohibiting you from moving even an inch away.

“Mhm! Don’t you remember the last full moon? The festivities— the worshipping I gave—,”

A big, warm hand stopped you from going further, covering the entirety of your mouth and a giggle burst against the skin.

“I am more than aware of such a night, quiet it down before someone hears you.”

Although the walls were thick, and no one would ever think of disturbing such high power; there was celebration below, citizens from far and near joined in tonight’s merriment and Caracalla didn’t need anyone hearing of such a frivolous act between the two of you.

Feeling particularly bold, a light nibble was given to the man. Startled by such a sharp pain, the hand was removed and you were (temporarily), free to do as you pleased. Not sparing even a moment, your lips brushed against Caracallas ear with mischievous purpose. “Don’t you want them to know im yours? Have me scream your name in pleasure—“

“Careful,” The ginger seethed, already shuffling uncomfortably under you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, wife.”

“And who said I couldn’t finish, husband?” Suddenly, a grip was bestowed onto the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your soft lips collided with rougher ones.

Submitting into him, you allowed the pushing and shoving of his tongue, the way his hands pulled at your robes and squeezed each open crevice of skin they could find.

Caracalla quickly pulled back, a string of saliva followed suit and a dazed— hungry look was swimming in his vision.

“Angel?”

Your hands shakily moved across his form, undoing and untying his garments haphazardly.

A wet hum left you, you were so busy with the action you failed to notice his eyes upon you.

And how in love the man looked, felt while beside your side.

His eyes, half lidded and flooded with affection never faltered.

The way you looked in the moonlight, how the silk you were wearing was slowly dragging down your shoulders messily.

Your braids were undone, pulled in every which way from Caracallas hands—and your face?

Gods, there was a reason he called you angel.

No one looked as beautiful as you, and he doubted such a being ever would.

“I love you,” finally the words left him— shoved their way out like spilled wine upon cobblestone.

You smiled, big and wide.

“and I you, my love.”

#fluff #x reader #fanfiction #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla x you #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla #caracalla #caracalla x you #caracalla x reader #gladiator x reader #gladiator #movie #fiction

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noctiva · 2 months ago

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Training Day

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

This is a commission! Pronouns + names have been changed for your viewing pleasure! If you’re interested in something like this for yourself, hit me up once my commissions are open again!

WC: 6.7k

Summary: Toby’s taken one of his fellow proxies under his wing. Looks to him like she needs a lot more training.

- commission prompt: toby x proxy!reader hatefuck situation. coworkers at best enemies at worst. have toby hold a hatchet to the readers neck during the act

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, CNC, noncon elements, threats and violence, rough handling, semi-clothed sex, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, degradation, definitely toxic relationship, unsafe sex, creampie, sadism + masochism, power dynamics, lowkey dom/sub undertones, mocking, hatefucking lollll, toby and reader hate eachother and then fuck about it

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

Being a proxy is already a tough job.

Late nights, long hours, an erratic schedule, and a complete lack of free will. It’s the type of profession that no one would willingly choose to be a part of, if they could help it. And, if they were roped into it somehow, it would be a constant day to day battle of just trying to make ends meet whilst being pushed and pulled around by an entity beyond your comprehension.

It’s not something easy by any means, but most find ways to make the strenuous lifestyle a little bit easier to bear. Little victories. Glimpses of sunshine through the fog.

For a proxy like you, finding respite amongst the complete gorefest that was day to day life used to be an easy task. It was easy when you first began - staying far away from all of the other monsters you shared an occupation with. Keeping close to yourself and no one else, it was a breeze to mindlessly drag your feet through the day, just to curl up in bed and do it all over again when the sun rose.

It was glamorous. It wasn’t luxury. But, it was tolerable.

Or, at least it used to be.

Two weeks into being a proxy, your little bubble of solitude was broken. Violently popped by a force so obnoxious, so erratic, that you found herself scrunching your nose up in distaste before the perpetrator even opened their mouth for an introduction.

”H-hey.” He had approached her while you were sat outside your cabin, sewing up a ripped patch in the pair of jeans she was wearing. Now more patches than untainted material, something the man had raised a judging eyebrow at on first glance. “You’re a b-bit of a recluse, aren’t ya’?”

What an amazing first impression.

You could still remember what he had looked like when you first laid eyes on him up close. Shaggy, messy brown hair pushed off of his forehead by a pair of cracked orange goggles. What looked to be a mouth guard hung around his neck, leaving his face completely bare for her viewing. Scarred horribly, like somebody had thrown him through a woodchipper and tugged him back out. A slash in his eyebrow, a crooked nose that looked as if it never healed properly from a fracture. But, the cherry on top was definitely the gash tearing through the left half of his face.

Staring at the corner of his lips and stretching up towards his cheekbone, it was a gnarly sight. Flesh torn from gums to reveal a row of chipped back molars - visibly not properly taken care of, the skin around it jagged and torn.

“What do you want?” Were the first words you had ever spoke to him, each letter packed with as much annoyance as you could muster up.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. Toby rogers. The boss’s golden boy. Some six foot tank of a man who could take the hardest hits, and deal back even more lethal ones in return. He got the hardest missions, had the largest kill count under his belt, and - he had let it get to his head. Leaning into the fact that he was a chosen favourite by some eldritch entity like it was a blessing, not an absolutely abhorrent title to uphold.

You didn’t like him. Hadn’t even met him before you came up with that conclusion. You had seen him work before, trailing behind him, Tim, and Brian when you were still a greenie, learning from them before you went on your own missions. Watched how apathetically he sliced down victims, listened to that wheezing laughter he’d let out as blood dripped onto the lenses of his goggles.

Took note of the way he talked to people. So cocky and apathetic. Completely detached from the lifestyle he lived - like it was all just a game.

Like it was all effortlessly easy.

You hated him for it. Wanted nothing to do with him because of it. And yet here he was, standing in front of you, gazing down at you with that same arrogant twinkle in his eye that made your skin crawl.

”I-It’s not what I want.” Toby had laughed, taking a step closer. “It’s w-what the boss wants.” He lifted his foot to nudge your hand with his muddy boot, knocking the sewing needle you were holding into the dirt. “Better re-results. You’re slow, a-and you suck.” He spoke so bluntly it made your blood boil in your veins, teeth grit as you looked up at him with narrowed green eyes. “Couple other reasons but I d-don’t feel like listing them all. Long story short, you-you’re working with me now.” His lips twitched up into a sinister smile. “You know, someone wh-who actually knows what they’re doing?”

The words he spoke were horrid already, but the knowing look of amusement he paired them with was worse. Like he was aware he had just walked up to you and presented your very worst nightmare all wrapped up in a bloody orange bow. There was nothing more that you’d rather do than shoo Toby away and tell him to simply ‘fuck off’ and find someone else to bother, but if what he said was true, and this was actually an order from Slender themself, then there was no point in fighting. Everyone knew that orders from the boss were non-negotiable, no matter how difficult (or annoying) they were.

And so, that was how it began.

Every single day, whether you liked it or not, you were forced into being Toby’s tag along partner. Accompanying him on missions, having him glued to your side and muttering insults under his breath as you tried to mind your own business. Toby was inescapable. A constant force that persisted even when you wanted him around the least.

It was a constant war whenever you were around each other. Who could deal the worst insults, who could stun the other one into silence from the absolute absurdity of their actions. Both forced into a partnership that neither wanted.

You, were more accustomed to working on your own. Toby, was more accustomed to working with Tim and Brian - who were used to his antics by now. It was almost laughable how easily he could wriggle his way under your skin, a feat that was difficult for him with the other proxies who knew him better. He was a shit-disturber, a nuisance, someone who poked and prodded just to get reactions for the fun of it. People who were used to his attitude didn’t bat an eye at his antics or abrasive nature - so you were the perfect victim.

Easily annoyed. Even more easily flustered. A toy that he could bat around, one that refused to break no matter how rough he got. It was a perfect arrangement, though some people would definitely beg to differ.

He’d spit out an insult and you would just deal back one that was ten times worse. Trip you up while you’re walking, and you’re picking yourself back up just to elbow him in the rib cage. If only he could feel the pain, but the wheeze he’d let out from being winded was enough to satisfy you.

Toby was insufferable, and he knew it. He was a nuisance at best and an absolute hindrance at worst. Missions together were the worst of it. Barely ever able to get a kill in for yourself before Toby was shoving you out of the way and flinging a hatchet at their skull. The ‘teaching experience’ he had advertised this partnership as was barely anything of the sort - more so just you being forced to sit back and watch as he split open another poor victim’s rib cage. Giggling to himself as he reached into the viscera and pulled out a lung or heart, just to fling it in your direction with a cackle slipping from his lips.

Horrible. He was horrible. That opinion of yours didn’t change in the slightest, even as the weeks ticked on. He was barely even a human at all, more so just a hollow shell filled to the brim with bloodlust and spite.

Someone who abided by Slender's every will because he wanted to, not because he was forced to. It was sickening. A way of life that you could never imagine for yourself. If the day ever came that you followed in Toby’s footsteps, finding a sick pleasure in the blood and gore that coated your clothing, you’d much rather be on the receiving end of his hatchet.

But, that day hadn’t come yet.

It’s a cold winter day - frigid winds, ankle deep snow caked to the soles of her boots and seeping into the gap between your pants and socks. The air is brisk, blooming a rosy tint on your pale cheeks as you trekked through the forest - leaving a trail of footprints for Toby to follow in as he trailed behind her closely. You could feel his gaze on your back, hear the sound of his heavy breathing with each step that he took, smell the acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafting off from the smoke perched between his lips. “Hey…” You heard him call, his voice soft and playful, forcing a tenseness into your muscles. Fingers clenched tight around the strap of the bag draped over your body, your jaw clenched, a shaky breath leaving your lungs before visualizing in the air as a cloud of condensation

”What?” You grit out, her voice dripping with that same distaste that you always wore when she was around Toby. An annoyance that you couldn’t shake.

“Y-You can talk to me you know.” Toby huffed out from behind her, his gaze trained on the back of you as he trudged through the snow in front of him. The way the cold December wind tousled the curly tufts of ginger hair atop your head, how your limbs were so frigid and stiff. From the cold, or from him? It was hard to tell. “You’re m-makin’ this harder on yourself by constantly being b-bitchy with me.”

”I’m not being bitchy.” You snapped back to him, turning your head back towards him for just a moment, only to cut him a deadly glare. “You’re just hellbent on being an asshole. Sorry for not wanting to hold a conversation with a prick like you.”

Toby barks out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing the vacant forest they were both traversing. Not a single soul in sight - not except for the two of them. Just miles and miles of snow and dying wood, not even the howl of a wolf in the distance to break up the silence. Just her, him, and the whistle of the wind between them.

”Harsh.” Toby snorts, one eyebrow raising as his eyes scan the figure before him. You were practically the exact opposite of him. Toby - tall and lean, you - short and stout. He often asked himself how you even managed your way around as a proxy. From his perspective, you looked like a weak link. Someone easily thrown around and tossed to the side. The idea of you actually subduing and killing someone was laughable at best, and he honestly wouldn’t believe it was possible if he hadn’t seen it happen with his own eyes. “Y-Y’know, if it weren’t for me you’d probably be dead.” He mutters. “S-Some useless fuck like you sh-shoulda been dealt with a long time ago.” He takes a drag, the hatches on his belt clinking with each step he took. “I-If I wasn’t nice, and I ss-said no to taking you under my wing - the boss would-woulda just axed you.”

”Begging for a ‘thank you’ makes you sound desperate.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you tug your coat further over yourself. “You’re not a hero, Toby. You never have been. You’ve just deluded yourself into thinking you are.”

The words are harsh enough to cut deep, slicing straight through Toby’s tough exterior to seep straight into his bones. Rising goosebumps on his arms, reigniting the fire of guilt he had (thought he had) snuffed out long ago. Such a chilling read on his entire nature, that he found himself faltering in his steps, his jaw going slack before his cigarette fell from his lips - extinguishing against the snow beneath him with a hiss.

“Yeah, well, you’re not a victim - l-like you seem to think you are.” Toby snaps back, eyeing his fallen smoke for just a second before he lets out a scoff and trudges past it. Just another reason for him to be pissed. It wasn’t easy coming across a cigarette, as a wanted criminal. He’d have to go rummaging through Tim’s bag for the third time this week. “Y-You hate me because you’re just like me. A c-cold hearted killer with bodies upon bodies under your belt.” His fingers twitch as he slowly reaches downwards, before closing around the handle of one of his hatchets. “Cry and m-moan about it all you want, but you can’t hide from the truth. You’re just as bad as me. Maybe even worse, because you re-refuse to accept the reality of it.”

You could feel your eye twitch in annoyance. That familiar, white hot sensation of anger brewing in your stomach and making your limbs tremble. He just forced it out so easily, like you was a marionette on strings and he was the puppet master - tugging and pulling you around until you were cracking from the strain.

And so you just can’t help yourself when you’re stopping in your tracks abruptly, whipping around with a scowl on your lips before you hiss out;

”Can you shut the fuck u-“

The whistle of metal cutting through air stops your sentence short. It happened so fast that you could barely even process it, your eyes not even having the chance to lock onto Toby’s weapon before it was flying straight past your skull - only missing you by a hair before it lodged itself in a tree just a few feet away.

The shock was palpable. Wide eyes and breathing cut off abruptly. Silence so deafening that if you really paid close attention, you may just hear the sound of your heart starting to pound in your chest - slowly coming up to speed with the rest of your body as the realization of what’s just happened washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

Stray auburn hairs sliced at the tip, fallen against the snow beneath your feet. Wood, cracked and splintering around the hatchet newly lodged within the trunk of a tree. Toby’s tool belt, uneven on one side now - starkly missing a weapon.

Finally piecing all of the parts together just makes your blood burn hotter.

And the perpetrator? Well, he’s stood before you as if nothing was amiss. As if he hadn’t just taken a shot at your life. Shoulders lax, eyes playful, carelessly toying with the now empty loop on his belt. Horrible. “Are you fucking insane?” You hiss out, eyes wide and manic - darting between Toby’s face and the weapon that had just barely missed your skull. “What the hell is wrong with you, you psycho?“

”T-Target practice.” Toby snorts, his lips curled up into a sly smile. “Treating you l-like the victim you think you are.” Snow crunches under his boots as he takes a few steps closer to you, the cool breeze whipping through his hair. “You luh-look like one, now that I’ve really got m-my eyes peeled.” Closer. Too close, he approaches. Standing tall before her like a pack wolf, his mouth widening into a toothy grin. “Verängstigtes k-kleines Kaninchen.”

In one quick movement, Toby’s darting a hand out to reach behind you - bruised knuckles grasping the handle of his discarded hatchet once more before he’s ripping it back out of the tree with a firm tug, splintered pieces of wood following it and raining down onto the snowy ground. “Sie glaubt, ss-sie sei so stark.” Toby chuckles softly, leaning his head down lower to encroach further on your space. “So kräftig.” Though her blood was rushing in her ears, you couldn’t find it in yourself to back down. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him watch you shrink. “Aber sie ist nichts weiter als eine k-kleine Maus. Jemand, d-den ich unter meinem Stiefel zerquetschen könnte.”

The fact that you hadn’t a single clue what he was saying, added a strange sort of fear to the interaction that you just couldn’t wrap your head around. Voice low and gravelly, you knew that those words were threats - but what kind of threats? On your life? Your livelihood? Worse? Goosebumps rise on your neck and trickle down your spine, and this time, you know it's not from the cold. But again, to give him that satisfaction? To roll over and lay down like he wanted you to? It wasn’t happening. Over your dead body.

”Yeah, act like I can understand you, dumbass.” You spit out before rolling your eyes and turning on your heel. Partially, to end the interaction sooner. Partially, to escape his paralyzing gaze. Soulless brown eyes, looking damn near black under the overcast sky - scrutinizing you, mocking you, sizing you up. “Don’t fuckin’ pull a stunt like that again. If my blood’s on your hands when you get back, you’ll be in shit and you know it.”

A challenge? Maybe, maybe not. But Toby’s brain viewed it more so as the latter. Weeks of pushing you, weeks of trying to stamp down that nasty attitude of yours, and nothing had worked. Not insults, not humiliation, not even badmouthing you to Slender themself. Was it even really his fault, that he was leaning more towards drastic measures now? Had you not forced it out of him? Goading him with that piercing glare and lips tugged down into a perpetual scowl?

No, it was your fault. Your fault for bringing this out in him.

So when his arms stretch out towards you, one of which wielding his hatchet - that’s your fault too.

You only see a flash of metal and a glimpse of Toby’s sweater sleeve before it happens. Before what happens? Well, your beheading was what you expected - eyes widening at the sight of your fellow proxy’s weapon coming so close to your throat. But, that wasn’t what you were dealt. Because that would be too fast. Too easy. Unfulfilling.

Instead you’re left wheezing for air as the handle of Toby’s hatchet presses firm to your throat from behind, the worn wood digging into your windpipe as he pulls you back to him. You’re gasping when his back meets his chest, frantic hands flying up to claw at the handle of the weapon slowly but surely choking you out. It’s a firm, unrelenting pressure. One that made every single breath a chore. And your attempts to free yourself weren’t doing a thing to help. Nails scratching at Toby’s hands, digging in deep enough to draw blood - but Toby wasn’t phased even a little bit.

Of course he wouldn’t be. His arrogance had some merit to it. “Toby-“ Your voice comes out choked off and hoarse, throat feeling dry and scratchy as you struggle to take in air. “Fuck- Fuck’s wrong with you? Let me go! This- This isn’t funny!”

“O-Oh, it totally is.” Toby’s voice meets her ears as stark contrast to your own. Playful. Composed. Amused as he leans his head down lower, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks. “You ss-see what I’m talkin’ about now? You’re pathetic. I’m barely even t-trying and you can’t do a thing to help yourself.” His hands tug the hatchet back further, forcing a strained cough out of your lungs. “Sind Sie w-wirklich so schwach? Oder liegt es daran, dass Sie es tatsächlich mögen?”

He starts to walk backwards, dragging you along with him as you kick your feet and flail your arms. Trying absolutely anything to wriggle free, but not a single thing was working. Not with the beast you had fallen into the clutches of. “H-How’d you even get this far, huh?” Using his hatchet as leverage, he spins you around quick enough that there’s no chance to wiggle away before the handle of his weapon is back to your neck. This time, pinning you completely when your back comes into contact with one of the many trees surrounding the two of you. “You o-obviously don’t fight well, so how’d you even get a kill under your b-belt?”

Face to face with him now, it’s hard for you not to shrink. Purpling lips quivering from the force of your scowl, eyebrows pinched together as you breathe raggedly through her nose. “Did ya’ go all ‘femme fatale’ on them? Wh-Whore yourself out to get their guard lowered, then spill their b-brains when they’re deep up in it?”

”You fucking freak.” You hiss out, trying again to kick at him - this time aiming for his groin - but again, nothing comes of it. God, was he indestructible? “Bet that’s a fantasy of yours isn’t it? You sick fuck.”

Toby cracks a grin, his eyes gleaming with a twisted form of amusement before he lets out a chilling chuckle. It’s menacing. A sound that nothing good could come from, and you knew it.

”C-Caught me.” Toby hums. “Wanna indulge me, hase?” His gaze roams free as his thoughts wander, flicking up and down your body with a scrutinizing gaze before landing back on your face. Your face, pale skin going pink from the lack of circulation - your freckles becoming swallowed up by the flush. “Only, here’s the thing - you w-wouldn’t be winning against me. I th-think you know that already.”

The look in Toby’s eyes is subjugating. Hidden beneath layers and layers of snark and sarcasm, but he’s serious - the glint in his eyes gives him away. If it didn’t, then his unwavering grip sure did. He hadn’t let his hold on you falter for even a second, keeping you pinned to the tree behind you as you watched the display before him with a sickening smirk curving his lips.

And for you, maybe the worst part was that it was equal parts arousing, as it was terrifying. It would be a lie to say you had never thought of Toby in that way, though it was often overshadowed by your complete distaste towards his attitude. You had thought about it a few times, watching Toby’s skin splatter with blood as he hauled off on another victim. A few more times, when you’d catch the way his whole face softened when he let out a genuine laugh.

And you were definitely thinking about it now, with him staring down at you like you were nothing but prey.

”As if.” You snort. “Like you’d even know what to do.” Your eyes flicker up towards his, the fear in your gaze clouded over with that same snark you wore so well. “That’s why you're acting so desperate, right?” Despite the situation, you still find it in yourself to twist your lips into a mocking pout. “Poor guy’s never gotten his dick wet? Gotta put a hatchet to a girl’s throat to actually get some?”

Just like that, you’ve pushed all the wrong buttons. Maybe the right ones actually, depending on how you look at it. Toby’s expression twists, that look of nonchalant amusement melting away for something much darker.

And there's barely even any time for you to think before he’s moving again.

”O-Oh, you’re fuckin’ askin’ for it now.” The hatchet finally leaves your throat, giving you a moment of reprieve to finally take in a few wheezing breaths. It doesn’t leave Toby’s hand though, even as his free hand reaches up to grasp your chin roughly. Out of sight, but barely out of mind. You knew the weapon was just lying in wait. “So eine dumme kleine Schlampe.” He husks out “You’re t-tryin’ to get me riled up on pu-purpose, aren’t you?

”Am not.” You argue back, your stomach flipping when a waver sneaks its way into your words. Just like that, cover blown.

”Are t-too.” Toby snorts, before lifting his arm and lodging his hatchet back in the tree above your head. The sound of wood splintering makes you flinch, but you barely has any time to even think about it before Toby pulls out his ace card. “W-Want me to prove it?”

He asks, but the question seems to just be of courtesy more than anything else. Because before you can think Toby’s free hand is drifting downwards - skirting over the curve of your waist, palm flat against you as he drifts down over your stomach, before finding its destination. Snug between your thighs. The heel of his palm pressing firmly up against your clothed clit as his digits tease your entrance through the thick fabric of your jeans.

The contact has you jolting immediately, mouth dropping open in shock and yet your hips buck towards him. Proving him right, though the words you’d speak would try to refute your own actions. It’s all futile. Toby knows that, and you do too - even if it's buried deep down.

”Fuck off, Toby-“ You grit out, jaw tense as he only presses in closer. A low hum of amusement rumbling from his chest as he adds a little more pressure to his touch. Forcing the crease of your jeans to press roughly up against your clit, sparking an array of tingles down her legs that make your knees feel gooey. You try in earnest to cut him a glare, but it’s a little difficult to be convincing when your expression is buckling just a few seconds later. It’s unavoidable, especially when his palm starts rubbing slow teasing circles against your heat.

If you really wanted to, you could probably shove him off. His guard was down, his hands were free of his weapons. You could easily stun him with a blow to the nose and then sprint off. Every nerve in your body was telling you to do just that, and yet for some reason, you found yourself rooted in place. Slowly but surely melting as the bark pressed into your back. “You’re such a fuckin’ creep.”

”Yeah? A-Am I?” Toby laughs as his other hand finds a home gripping your waist, tugging your hips forwards to meet his movements, forcing even more pressure behind his touch. By this point, the effect is undeniable. You can feel your clit throbbing within the confines of your panties, can feel the flimsy material grow more and more damp with each press of his hand. “Well you’re a Lügnerin.” His head dips down low, stubble scratching at her jawline before he parts his lips - letting his teeth drag against the sensitive flesh. A taunt. “Actin’ like you’re not a-a whore, even though I can smell it on you.” He pinches your skin between his teeth with a sharp nip, making your eyebrows scrunch up. “You’re soaking your panties r-right now, aren’t you? Just from me tossing you a-around a little?”

”Am not.” The lie you spit out is laughable, and it’s fuelled by your pride alone. You know, that if things continue to escalate like they had been, he’ll be finding out about your fallacy soon enough.

”Dirty fuckin’ liar.” Toby husks out against her skin, before pulling his head back. His eyes are dark and predatory as they drop downwards, tracking his own movements as his hand drifts upwards - fingers meeting the cold metal button of your jeans. “Y-You’re just sayin’ that because you want me to find out. Nicht wahr, Hase?”

The button of your jeans is popped, and the zipper is tugged down in quick succession, calloused fingers rough against soft skin when his hand dips below the denim’s hem, wasting no time before he’s cupping your core through your panties. “A-Ah, see?” He gently rubs you through the thin fabric, his smile only widening when he feels the dampness that coats his fingers because of it. “Du bist nur eine dumme Schlampe.”

You’re gasping when Toby’s fingers push the material of your panties to the side, auburn curls falling in front of your eyes as you wriggle in his grip. “D-Don’t act like you don’t want this.” Two fingers dip into your wetness, gathering up all that sweet slick that had accumulated between your folds. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He chuckles darkly. “Pussy’s practically beggin’ for it and I’ve barely even done anything.”

His thumb glides against your clit, two fingers teasing your slit but refusing to dip inside. Just to watch you squirm. “C’mon, j-just admit it. Tell me how bad you w-want it.”

Over your dead body.

“Fuck you.” You manage to grit out, eyebrows furrowed as waves of pleasure lick up your spine. But you won’t melt for him, can’t give in to someone like him.

“Ah, alright.” Toby snorts, one eyebrow cocked in amusement as his eyes rave over the pitiful state before him. “B-Be a bitch about it, that’s fine by me.”

In one swift movement his hand slips out of your jeans, and then both hands are on your hips - using his grip to spin you around harshly, pressing the front of your body against the tree you were pinned against. “I-I’ll fuck that attitude outta you, d-don’t you worry.”

The intensity of the situation was increasing exponentially, Toby’s movements growing bolder and bolder as the seconds ticked by. His calloused hands were rough but his actions were rougher - pushing and pulling your body to his will, blunt fingernails scratching at your skin when his fingers hooked under the waistband of your jeans. “Y-You’re so soft.” He hums in appreciation as he tugs the material down your hips, bringing your panties down with it. The cold air surrounding the two of you makes you hiss when it hits your bare cunt. “Aw, you cuh-cold?” Toby snickers. “Keine Sorge, ich w-werde dich aufwärmen.”

“Toby-“ Your words are cut off by a palm pressing to the side of your head, shoving your face against the rough bark of the tree. You sputter for a moment, too stunned to even register the sound of a belt buckle coming undone behind you. “Toby, I’m serious. Get your dirty hands off of me!”

“Y-You’re serious?” Toby chuckles darkly, dark eyes glinting as he raves over the sight before him. His fellow proxy bent over before him, pretty pudgy hips looking like the perfect canvas to leave a collection of bruises on. Your jeans keeping her legs bound at the knees, bare cunt glistening with arousal that told the truth far better than your words did. “Fuh-Funny. So am I.”

With a soft hiss he frees his cock from his boxers, already achingly hard just from batting around this little toy of his. His free hand reaches forwards, harshly gripping your hip and tugging you backwards - making your eyes blow open wide when his length presses up against you from behind. “N-Notice how you’re j-just lettin’ it happen? Die dumme Hure weiß nicht einmal, was sie will.”

He nudges his hips forwards, grinding his cock against your wetness - getting the shaft all nice and coated with your slick as a soft groan rumbles from his chest. “I’ll make the decision f-for you. Aren’t you a lucky thing?”

“T-Toby-“ Your body slumps against the bark, breathing going more ragged each time the head of his dick caught on your entrance. Teasing what was to come. You couldn’t see him, but you could tell he was packing. Just the head causing a stretch that made your stomach flip every time he notched it inside her, only to slip past again. “You- fuck -You can’t-“

“I can’t?” Toby barks out a laugh, his fingers curling deeper into your flesh, watching how it indents from his grip. “From where I-I’m standing, it’s lookin’ like I can.”

Not even given the courtesy of being fingered open a little, your breath catches when you feel the head of his cock press more firmly against you. So much need behind his actions you could practically smell it in the air. “Deep breath, kaninchen.” He murmurs. “This might hurt ya’ a l-little.”

And that’s the only warning he gives you. Because next, he’s nudging his hips forwards - ripping a startled moan from your lungs as his cock bullies its way into her heat. So tight, it makes his teeth grit, eyebrows furrowing and breathing going shallower with each inch he sinks in.

Your legs begin to shake, tears pooling in your eyes as he stuffs you fuller and fuller, to the point where you’re pretty sure he’s going to break you before he even fully sheaths himself. But then, his hips meet yours, right as your ears start to ring. “Hah-“ Toby gasps out, his voice strained. “You-You’re fuckin’ tight. Pussy’s tryna strangle me.”

With another nudge of his hips he gets himself deeper, and your vision starts to blur around the edges. “This cunt was m-made to take me, wasn’t it?”

All he gets in response is a strained whine, but that’s not what he was looking for. Not even close. “Words, slut.” He growls out, using his grip on your hips to keep you pulled back on him - no room to wriggle free. “You were made to take my cock, weren’t you?”

“Fuck off.” You gasp out, the words coming out gargled and breathless. You can barely even think past the feeling of Toby’s cock stretching you open, your inner walls twitching and pulsing around his cock as you struggle to accommodate him. “Cocky bastard.” His hips draw back only minutely, before he’s shoving himself right back in to the hilt - knocking all the air out of your lungs.

“You’re a fuckin’ stubborn bitch, aren’t you?” Toby snaps, releasing your waist with one hand just to reach up above you. In one sharp move he rips his abandoned weapon out of the tree trunk, letting out a soft grunt before he’s raising the metal to your neck. Right under your jawline, the edge of his blade just barely pressing against your skin. An undeniable threat. “How about now? S-Still gonna keep that snark if I lob your pretty head off?”

And then, his hips are moving. His length dragging against your walls on each pull out, just for the head to press against your g-spot on every stroke back in. Harsh, jerky, barely an ounce of care in his actions. His weapon jostling every time his skin smacks against yours, his carelessness only adding to the danger. “C’mon, benimm d-dich wie die Hure, von der ich weiß, dass du sie bist.”

You’re breathing shaky through your nose, your head spinning from a mixture of arousal and unbridled fear - stomach leaping every time the blade of his hatchet presses against your skin just a little too harshly. It’s hard to tell if he’s truly being serious, but your wouldn’t put it past him. If anything, you’re sure he’s done worse. And yet, the pleasure still rears its head, even though it’s bordered by a fear that makes your gut twist. You knew how absolutely pitiful you looked. Could feel the wetness seeping out of you, dirtying both you and Toby - creating a sickening sticky sound every time his hips separated from yours. “Say it. S-Say this sloppy little cunt was made for me.”

“F-Fuck, okay-“ You groan out, eyebrows pinching together as a shiver of pleasure goes down your spine. His cock is throbbing inside you, fucking more slick out of you with each brutal press in. In the otherwise silent forest, the sound of skin on skin is loud. Near deafening every time his hips collide with yours. “This- shit- This pussy was made for you.” You spit out the words like they’re venom on your tongue, barely even able to verbalize them through the gasps and moans leaving your lips. Fingernails gripping the tree trunk before you, you’re ripping bark from the trunk as your fingers scramble to find purchase. Desperate for something to ground you through this brutal onslaught of ecstasy you had been thrown into.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, despite the frigid air around you. Every nerve in your body set alight, stars dancing behind your eyelids with each stroke Toby was delivering to you. Not a chance of reprieve. No room to breathe. Such an overwhelming sea of pleasure that it’s easy to forget that the person dealing it still has a hatchet to your neck. “Toby, fuck- S’too much-“

”Aw, n-no it’s not.” Toby chuckles softly, his grip only tightening as he fucks into you harder - dark eyes honed in on the sight of your skin rippling every time his hips met yours. On the glistening sheen you were leaving his cock coated in every time he pulled out. “Think I c-can’t feel you tightening up around me?” Despite you abiding to his wishes, he keeps the hatchet nestled right up against your neck. Not enough pressure to break skin, just enough to keep the threat evident. “Feels good, don’t it? Such a slut you’re gonna cum on my cock even though I could kill you in a second?”

“M’not-“ You whine out, but it’s just another lie. You can feel it. Had been able to feel it for a while now. That familiar heat, burning hotter and hotter with each snap of Toby’s hips. Struggling to hold it back, when every press in had him pressed snug up against your g-spot.

”I think you are.” Toby snickers, before finally dropping the hatchet. It hits the snowy ground with a thud, before he’s grabbing your hips with both hands - all restraint gone as he fucks into you with a quicker, faster pace. “C’mon. Give it to me. Y-You’re so close, I can feel it.”

You are. To the point where no amount of willpower could keep your orgasm at bay. Not when Toby was slamming into you like an animal, husky groans slipping out of his lips with each stroke. It only takes a few more before you’re crumpling. Going near limp against the tree as your orgasm hits you like a truck - vision damn near going white as a white hot wave of pleasure washes over you from head to toe. Knees buckling completely, Toby’s firm grip being the only thing keeping you upright as you goes fully pliant in his hold.

So dazed, so fucked out, you barely even hear Toby hiss out a string of curses from behind you, but you feels it when his hips stutter.

Only two more pumps before he’s cumming undone right alongside you - cock still pressed deep when he spills his load. Head dropping down low to rest against your shoulder blades before he’s groaning lowly against your skin. “Hah- Fuck, such a good fuckin’ cunt. T-Tryna milk me dry.”

Trying, or succeeding? Definitely the latter. Because by the time Toby’s pulling out, you’re still stuffed with him - milky white ropes of cum dribbling out of your abused cunt and running down your thighs. Toby lets out an amused hum before reaching down, then he’s scooping it all back up with two fingers and promptly pushing it right back inside you. “Cute.” He snickers. “You made a mess.”

”I made a mess?” You rasp back out, weakly looking over your shoulder to cut him the meanest glare you could muster up. The verdict was, not very convincing, because your face was still flushed with eyes fucked out and hazy.

”Yeah.” Toby chuckles. “Y-You made a mess.” He delivers a sharp slap to one of your ass cheeks before letting out a snort of a laugh. “Don’tcha worry though, th-the boss’ll get a good report from me this time. Looks like you can be useful.”

You rolls your eyes before letting out a shaky breath, trying (and failing) to regulate your heart rate once more.

”Yeah, I guess you can be too.”

—

helloooooo friends! yes yes this was a commission! thank you to the lovely who sent this to me and gave me the permission to post this on my blog <3

as I said up top, my commissions are closed for now, but if you’re interested in something like this for yourself hit me up once they’re open again! I usually take around 5 commissions at a time before I close them for breathing room :)

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bunniebi · 1 month ago

Text

Made a template for Infamous MCs :) (works like a dress up game!)

Feel free to customize/edit whatever you want!

I used this game by @ummmmandy for the MC picture (with some edits eg. jewelery)!

More instructions/info below

! If you play look at it on mobile hold your phone horizontally or you can't see most of the image lol.

Choose the notebook first and set your stats after that (for ease). The stats start at 10 percent and increase in steps of 10. Rounding up or down is up to you.

I think it's easier to fill in the "open questions" by saving the picture and just adding text on your device's picture app but I did add in letter options in case you don't want to do that lol.

Cut off the bottom part with the stat options list in your gallery too! It's just there as a reminder but you don't need to stick to it of course! <3

If you have any questions or are desperately missing an option let me know!

MORE CUSTOMIZATION?

Hope you have fun if you try it :)

(You don't have to tag me or anything like that. You can! and would love to see what you made but it's not required)

Download the psd here (Google Drive). One is my file for editing (Notebook_Detail) so thats the most detailed but not quite as organized as the Dress up file (Notebook_Meiker). Use both/either as you like!

Fonts used

Undertown - for the backstage pass

Burst My Bubble - body notebook neat

SP Marker - headings notebook neat

Moon|lime - body notebook messy

Clint Marker - headings notebook messy

For the text messages I used TW Cen MT, but that's a more default font (at least it was already installed).

#and thank you to iamweretoad for the idea!!#I know there's lots of templates out there but this one is very infamous specific.#The pass on the lanyard is the backstage pass the MC wears in the prologue!#infamous if #interactive fiction #Character template #infamous oc #Meiker.io #🌷#i.... made up all the info for this person on the spot i have nottt played with a character like this but i did want to...

308 notes · View notes

stellewriites · 13 days ago

Text

butch price x reader

cw: smut, pussy eating, fingering, bush huffing, mean price, mechanic price, freak reader, inferred as inexperienced reader (as a treat!)

thank u as always to the cloisters for cheering this series on and yapping away about butches to me. here’s the fourth & final piece of the butch love letters quadrilogy

you huffed and puffed as you paced back and forth in front of the smoking open bonnet of your shitheap car.

you were cursing your friend for convincing you to get the cutesy car over the scuffed up ford you’d seen on the secondhand marketplace the same day. that tin can wouldn’t have broken down on you unexpectedly like this; stuck in the middle of nowhere as the sun set with no reception to call triple a or even your dad for a bit of engine advice.

you’d opened the hood as soon as you’d pulled over but you had no clue what was wrong with it, just that it probably shouldn’t be smoking or hissing like that. you’d tried to take a look at the canister that was spitting bubbles at the cap but had forgotten the golden rule of Don’t Touch, Hot after you’d been driving. your fingers still ached a little from the burn.

one hand on your hip, you held your phone up with the other like it would help at all as you tried to call for help again. the hazard lights from your car were starting to become brighter than the natural light and the streetlights were dim and far apart, not offering much in lieu of the setting sun.

you really didn’t want to be stranded there for the night.

you’d ignored the cars that had passed earlier when you’d first pulled over, not expecting to need an extra hand when your paid-for car support would be arriving presumably swiftly after you called. and then when you’d realised it wouldn’t be so easy, you’d hoped that simply letting your car cool off a little would fix the issue enough to get you further down the road at least.

you’d sat behind the wheel once more and felt your stomach drop when the engine rolled; a mean, dry grinding noise coming from it instead of the usual purr.

you’d tried once more before pulling your keys free and glueing yourself back to your phone as your last hope. you knew there was no way you’d be able to walk for help, especially not with how long you’d waited and how dark it was quickly becoming.

short of a miracle, you’d be stuck there until someone passed by in the morning and could maybe tow your little fiat to the nearest garage.

the rumble of a bike had your spiralling thoughts stopping in their tracks and your head snapping up towards the road. you felt your eyes widen as the rider pulled over, stopping a little ways behind you.

they climbed off the impressive bike easily, thick thighs nudging it to stay in place as they nudged the kickstand in place, and removed their helmet.

you wondered for a moment if you’d managed to hallucinate the woman stood before you - a miracle after all - with her close cropped hair glittering with greys spattered throughout. you stared shamelessly at the clustering of them at the shaved sides, but wondered at the way the low light caught the peppering of them through the messy, longer trim on the top.

“what’s the problem?” the woman asked, her voice firm but light.

you swallowed thickly and dragged your eyes down to her face, not that it was a difficult task to look at her. she was gorgeous and you felt your knees knock as you watched her come closer.

her sarcastically cocked eyebrow reminded you that you’d not yet answered her and you cleared your throat before shyly shrugging.

“it just started smoking so i pulled over. couldn’t tell where it was coming from but the engine won’t start,” you said and stepped out of the way so she could have a look. her lips thinned as she carefully dug around inside. you felt the need to fill the sudden silence and stepped back to her side, your hip pressed to the car but still giving her enough space so you weren’t touching. “it had been hissing for a while before.”

“hissing?” she asked as she looked up at you, her hands veering towards the left at your confirmation.

“mhmm. for maybe the last mile or two,” you said sheepishly.

“you kept driving?” she asked with a tinge of judgment. you folded your arms in front of you as you felt the look wash over you.

“no lights came on the dash,” you said a little feebly.

she blinked slowly, as though processing what you’d said before turning back to the car.

you had the distinct feeling that she thought you were an idiot. you dug your fingers into your arms as you watched uselessly. maybe you were.

“y’radiators gotten too hot with no water, cracked the water tank. it’s no wonder the engine wouldn’t start, y’wont be able to drive it ‘til it’s fixed, could set the engine on fire,” she said as she pointed out the things she was talking about. she stood back up straight and turned to you as your heart sank.

“fuck,” you swore heartily and clenched your eyes shut. that sounded expensive.

“i know a local garage that can sort it for you, decent rates,” she offered, her voice a touch softer than it had been so far. “i can give you a lift too.”

you opened your eyes just in time to watch her nod to her bike and start walking.

“oh, i don’t know if i should leave my car here…”

“we’ll call up a service to collect it as soon as we’re in range, won’t get any signal out here,” she said and pulled out a spare helmet from the back of her bike as if it was already decided, you were just late to the game. she pulled her own on with practised ease and held out the other towards you with a tilt of the head.

you darted back to your car and grabbed your bag before turning off the hazards, locking the door and finally joining her. you introduced yourself and waited for her to do the same.

“you can call me price,” she said brusquely, not returning your smile.

not the friendly introduction you’d been hoping for, but you were grateful for a name to put to the face all the same.

price didn’t hesitate before pushing the helmet onto your head, knocking your chin up with her finger in order to clip the strap in place. you stood frozen as she straddled her bike, lost for a moment at the unexpected touch and not seeing the impatient nod of her head to the space behind her.

“haven’t got all night, love. are you getting on or not?” price snapped, eyes flinty as they stared you down beneath the open visor.

“right, yes, sorry,” you stuttered, scrambling to her side. you paused at the height of the bike, the length of your summer dress not allowing for much movement before you’d inevitably flash your saviour; but at the memory of her sharp look, you tried to balance yourself and quickly lift your leg over the seat.

you were conscious of your size and weight behind her as soon as your arse hit the leather, shuffling back to give her room. you ran hot at the best of times and you couldn’t imagine she’d like a heater pressed along her back for the ride ahead given how testy she’d been already.

balancing behind her without clinging on was tricky however, with your toes just scraping the ground to keep you in place. even with your grip on her jacket at her waist you didn’t feel particularly sturdy.

you saw more than heard her sigh as her shoulders lifted then dropped in front of you and then suddenly her strong hands were on your thick thighs as she tugged you forward, slotting you so you were cradling her hips flush against your own.

“you need to hold on tight,” she said plainly and tugged your arms around her sturdy middle, tightening your grip further with a scoff when you automatically loosened it once she’d let go. you clenched your hands together above her belt and finally it seemed you’d done something right as she set off, kicking the stand up and revving, checking the empty road as she pulled out.

your dress fluttered in the wind; never mind flashing her as you’d climbed on, you would definitely be giving her a show now if she had the mind to look down and back at you. but you were too busy to fuss with the flighty material, instead concentrating on staying attached as she took corners sharply, dipping and weaving and tilting the bike so you’d have to clench your legs tighter and tighter against hers.

every time your knees felt like they could touch the asphalt, you hid your face in her back as best you could with the bulky helmet hindering your way, but you could still feel the way her shoulders shook with a laugh. you were inclined to pretend it was just the rumble of the engine, but you were more than aware of the difference in vibrations at your core and although both had you squirming, you knew they weren’t one and the same.

the ride was short - a blessing and a curse - and soon you were pulling up to a garage; lights turned off and clearly closed for the evening.

you felt disappointment bloom as you stumbled off the bike but price didn’t let it linger. unlocking the garage door and pressing a button on the attached fob to send the shutter lifting. she pushed her bike inside and you followed without needing to be told.

you stood near the entrance as you watched her walk around, clearly familiar with the workshop. you let your gaze drift, taking in the few cars parked inside the sprawling space, hoods down and doors presumably locked while they weren’t being worked on, tools packed away at their stations not necessarily neatly but clearly with care.

a hand on your lower back had you jumping and you turned to see price at your side, ushering you further in until you were sat on a tall stool next to a workbench.

you noticed as she walked away that she’d taken off her jacket and your eyes caught on a tattoo on the outside of her bicep, a labrys. simple in its design, and clear in its message.

you tried not to stare too hard, but your eyes kept snapping back to trace the lines that made up the two headed axe, especially as she moved and her bicep bulged. your throat felt suspiciously dry all of a sudden.

you played with the little orange carabiner attached to your bag strap, your keys jingling softly in the silence of the garage.

price was at the other side of the room, head leant against her raised shoulder to keep her phone in place as she spoke into the receiver and wrote something down at the same time. you saw her frown and roll her eyes and bit your lip, heat pooling below your gut. you watched as she said something indistinct before hanging up and calling a new number.

you felt yourself grow fidgety and sat on your hands to keep yourself still, the solid wood seat sobering with how unforgiving it was against the back of your hands as your palms and fingers gripped the underside of your sweaty thighs.

price laughed across the room and you tuned back in to her conversation. “l

“sure, i owe you one nik. see you in a few then,” she said and hung up her phone, slipping it into a pocket. she turned to you and her lips twitched when she found you already watching her. “found someone that’s going to tow it tonight, just need to wait here to lock it inside safe and sound before the lads can work on it in the morning. shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours before he turns up.”

“amazing, thank you,” you said, gratefully smiling at her. you swallowed and gathered what confidence you had before speaking, putting on your best flirty tone, “i don’t know how to repay you for all of this.”

price paused for a moment and watched you closely, seeming to look for something in your face to decide how she’d respond even as amusement danced in her eyes.

“i’m going to check over a few cars, make sure they haven’t been getting lazy with the work here while i’ve been away,” she said finally, ignoring your clumsy almost-proposition. you scrunched your face in annoyance and regret once she’d walked off towards the key cabinet facing away from you, wanting to bury your face in your hands as it flushed hot in embarrassment but realising they’d gone a little numb when you slipped one out from beneath you.

you could still feel it as you curled your fingers, but it was almost distant, secondary.

an idea came to the forefront of your mind. you peeked up at price as she bent over the open hood of a stranger’s car, checking the notes one of her coworkers had left from the day before and you were suddenly flooded with a deep yearning. tumultuous and red hot, it stirred between your legs as you remembered price’s firm hold on your thighs and wrists and the feeling of her settled between your legs as she laughed and ordered you around.

you breathed in shakily and let your tingling hand rest on your knee, trailing it up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh slowly as you kept your eyes on price. the last thing you needed was her catching you even if the touches could be considered innocent so far.

watching to make sure she didn’t suddenly turn around to catch you also mean you could see the shift of her muscles and weight beneath her vest; a sight you’d never say no to and one that only caused your breath to hitch as you continued the trail to the hem of your dress.

you stopped and bit your lip, unsure if you wanted to continue. it wasn’t like you’d be able to get yourself off in the middle of the garage so it would only further frustrate you and the possibility of getting caught and having to awkwardly face price the next day to get your car back after it was fixed was mortifying enough to still your trembling fingers.

“looks like you’re not the only one with a cracked water tank,” price spoke up from her spot in front of the car. her hands were on her hips before she dragged one over her short hair, scratching at the freshly shaved base of her neck. “i’ll check to see if we have a few in stock, might make it a quicker fix for you if johnny already ordered some in for this one.”

you nodded even though she didn’t look at you and you pulled your other hand out from beneath your arse. your right hand hand gained its feeling back so you dropped it in your lap; the left however was fighting pins and needles as you ran it over your stomach to your chest, squeezing lightly at your breast as shame and excitement and lust flooded through your system like lightning. your eyes slipped closed for a second and even though it felt nothing like price’s confident, sturdy grip from earlier, you couldn’t help but picture it to be her as you grazed your thumb over your nipple with a firmer pressure.

“we’ve got a spare one in stock, so we just need to double check it’ll fit, but otherwise it should be good to go tomorrow unless something else comes up when gaz checks it over.” price’s voice jolted you out of your reverie too soon, having not heard her re-enter the room, and your hand flew down to join your other in your lap, your elbow smacking back harshly against the worktop and echoing in the large empty area.

price raised her eyebrows at you, her jaw falling slack for a moment, as she watched you try to hide your deep wince of pain. a second later she started to walk over to you.

her pale blue eyes were piercing as she kept eye contact with you. “you alright?”

“yep, fine. totally ok. uhm, why?” you tried to play it off casually, landing so far from nonchalant it had price’s worry slipping off her face.

her smirk grew. “y’just smacked your elbow so hard i could hear the bone rattle.”

“oh, sorry?” you apologised uselessly.

“no need, love,” she dismissed your apology quickly, eyes still lasered in on you. “it’s just… you’re looking a little hot and bothered.”

the mean tilt to her smirk didn’t help and you felt yourself fluster and sweat anew under her pinning gaze.

she took a step closer, reaching one hand out to skim across the bare skin of your leg, unknowingly tracing the same path your hand had before. your legs turned to jelly beneath her touch in a way they didn’t under your own and seemed to naturally fall open at the slightest pressure as she urged you to make room for her to step between them.

her fingers’ path stopped at the hem of your dress before she started to bunch it up, letting the material gather at her knuckles as the tips of her finger disappeared beneath while she revealed more soft skin to her greedy gaze.

“were y’committing the view to memory for when you get home and can get your hands on whatever little toy gets you off quickest?” she asked rhetorically, her tone light but words pointed as she watched for your reaction.

you bit back a gasp.

“i can give you what you want,” she offered, voice sweet and soft once more. enticing. “what you need. you don’t have to squeeze your thighs tight for a little relief as you watch me work.”

you flushed hot at the reveal that she’d noticed you all along and shivered as her fluttering touch continued its agonisingly slow path, diverting up to your hips and away from your drooling pussy at the last second. you whimpered.

“would you like that?”

you nodded eagerly, eyes hooded and mouth panting as you watched her hands at their stand still, your panties revealed with your dress hiked up so far, taut where it was caught beneath your arse. you lifted your head to stare at her chest in front of you and then looked up into her flinty eyes, nodding again dumbly. price tutted and you felt your clit throb.

“gotta hear the words, love.”

you flushed hot, head to toe, and mumbled a shy, “i’d like that.”

“mm what was that?” she asked, cocking her head and running her hands, palm flat, back down your legs to your knees, squeezing.

“i want you to touch me,” you said louder, bashful but growing desperate. “please?” you added belatedly.

“‘please’? so polite, love. bet you always get what you want speaking like that, looking like this.”

your eyes had begun to water, glistening as frustration and need overwhelmed you; you shook your head looking up at her.

“never— never done anything like this,” you admitted.

price laughed, tickled by your answer.

“oh, you don’t fuck your mechanic usually?” she asked, pretending to be shocked. “he must not be doing a good enough job on your little kia.”

you hummed, pitchy and unconvincing, eyes growing shifty and giving away that you meant you didn’t do any of it in general. that you weren’t exactly practiced. and price picked up on that immediately.

“oh.” she smiled meanly. “that’s not it, is it? no, i bet he’s floundering for your attention, but you’re just too nervous to give him what he wants, ey? don’t want your first time to be in a dirty garage, in the back seat of some other prick’s car while your mechanic fumbles around in your knickers.”

she’d bent down low to run her lips along your neck, kissing along your neck and leaving a delciate wet trail as she kitten licked across your racing pulse. you gasped when you felt her fingers finally trail over your cunt, the thin material of your panties barely hindering the electric feel of her touch before she pulled at the band and let it snap back against your skin.

“but i think getting dirty is part of the appeal for a girl like you, pretty as you are. you want to be manhandled and marked and ruined,” she whispered hotly, her breath tickling your neck. “nahh, must be that you’re just not interested in what’s been on offer before, hm?”

“he’s nice enough,” you admitted, clinging onto price’s shoulders, “but…”

“—but he’s not what you want,” she finished for you, raising her head from your neck to kiss along your cheek and hovering over your lips. “none of them are, are they? you want something else entirely.”

you leant forward to close the gap, hoping to finally get a taste of her but she pulled back. you chased her lips until she was stood back up straight, looming over you as embarrassment flooded through you again, but pleasantly.

“bet you’ve never been touched before; never had this pretty pussy licked open, spat on.” you felt your chest heave as she spoke bluntly, looking down at you, her hips began to subtly grind against yours. “have you ever even cum on someone else’s fingers?”

“i have,” you huffed at her assessment of you, but she only laughed at your petulant tone.

“no, you haven’t,” she insisted to further wind you up. “bet you’ve not even kissed another woman.”

your breath stuttered as she focused on your lips, licking her own.

“i want to kiss you,” you said bravely.

“that’s all you had to say.”

she dipped low, hands on the worktop either side of you, and licked her way past your gasping lips. you felt overwhelmed and fully explored as the tip of her tongue flicked at yours, saliva building in your mouth as you moaned wantonly and soaked up her quiet grunts in return. she tugged you up onto your feet and in between wet kisses and tight squeezes to your soft hips she led you towards her office in the back.

you made it to her desk with minimal tripping and no bumps on your way despite not having detached to see the way there. instead you’d clung on and trusted she wouldn’t lead you into a wall or car accidentally as she hurriedly felt up your sides to your breasts.

she encouraged you to sit on the edge of the desk and plucked at one of your nipples through the thin dress with a teasing grin.

“feel better than your own hand?” she asked and dropped to her knees before you could answer.

with rough movements price hiked up your dress to reveal your panties and leant forward without hesitation to latch on to your clit through the thin cotton, eager to get you squealing.

she laughed at the restless twitch of your hips in her hands and turned her head to snicker into the fold of your thigh and groin.

“you’re more fun than i thought a virgin would be,” she goaded, eyes heavy as they gazed up at you. you fell for the bait, scoffing down at her with a pout once more as your hand rose to her short hair and yanked what your could grasp to lead her back towards your drooling cunt. you winced when her teeth clashed against your core as she grinned into your panties, endlessly amused by your brash urges hidden behind a forced shy politeness.

price reached up and tugged the material aside to lick a broad stripe up your slit, humming low at your taste and the building slick that had been steadily leaking since she’d first frowned down at you in condescension in front of your car.

“needy an’ desperate,” she huffed before focusing back on task, kitten licking at your clit as you gasped and whined. it felt like you were on fire and you couldn’t help but push up onto her tongue with jerky little thrusts when she dipped low to your hole, desperate for her to keep berating and humiliating you.

she pulled back with a wet suck and a gasp, pushing two fingers into you with no resistance as she caught her breath and licked your arousal off her lips.

she stared up at you as you shook on her fingers, practically doing all the work as you rode her hand until she decided the pace wasn’t good enough and picked up where she’d let you take over.

“fucking hell,” she whispered and nipped at the fat of your thigh. you clenched down on her fingers with a groan.

“please, please, please,” you begged airily. price smiled as she looked you over, head to toe, before nodding benevolently and dipping down to lavish your clit with attention once more.

you felt your orgasm begin to peak and wave over you with a loud, unashamed moan as she curled her fingers just right inside you, the awkward angle of her wrist doing nothing to slow her down as she prolonged your pleasure until you slumped back. spent and exhausted.

“better than your own hand?” she asked cheekily once more and you nodded dazedly.

“uh huh,” you said, remembering she liked verbal answers, and lifted a tired thumbs up at her.

she snorted and took a hold of it, pulling you up just enough to get your hand down the front of her open jeans and into her own soaked underwear.

you moaned as she guided you to slip inside and you clenched your thighs around her as if it was your own pleasure as you slowly sunk in deep. price groaned low and long, curling over you and humping against the heel of your hand where it pressed against her clit.

you weren’t as confident or practiced in your movements from this angle but you did you best to pull out those dazed moans and hitched breaths from price when you moved your fingers and your palm a certain way, repeating until you got the reaction you wanted oh so desperately from her.

price was panting into your neck after a few minutes, the skin between you clammy and you echoed her moans back to her without thought.

“w-warm, so tight,” you stuttered into her ear as you felt her clench around your fingers, nearing her own orgasm as slick ran down past the webbing of your fingers.

your enthusiasm turned price on like nothing else and she shuddered at the next prod and rub of your fingers deep inside of her.

“fucking hell, love,” she swore breathlessly, a grin tugging at her lips as she pulled back to look at your fucked our expression. “got you pussy drunk in under ten minutes and we’ve not even fucked yet. that’s a record even f’me.”

you crooked your fingers and felt a deep satisfaction when price’s jaw dropped on a silent moan, eyelashes fluttering down at you.

you watched her in awe; the way her crows feet became pronounced as her eyes squinted and her brows pulled in in pleasure, the shape of her pretty parted lips as she trembled in your hands.

“i wanna taste,” you blurted out, voice cracking with how dry your throat had become.

you struggled to free your hand and push price back a step as she grumbled, but you got enough space to hop down off the desk and drop to your knees in front of her. you yanked at her jeans without fanfare, wiggled the waistband and her underwear down to her knees before going wide-eyed at the sight of her thick bush.

feeling the soft curls against your fingers was one thing…

you leant in with abandon and pressed your nose in tight, huffing open-mouthed against her mound. soaking in the sweat, slick scent of her and moaning weakly into the damp curls.

“jesus fucking christ.” price tipped her head back and silently thanked whoever was listening for the enthusiastic little freak she had at her feet. she didn’t deserve you, but she wasn’t going to pass up this golden opportunity either.

your hot breath had her thighs twitching where you rested your hands over her pants to keep her still, but her patience ran thin.

“get to it then, love.”

you flicked your eyes up to look at her and she rested one hand on the back of your head, controlling and reassuring.

you started with little kitten licks, needing coaxing ever so into loosening your restraint despite the reckless way you’d just face planted her pussy moments prior. a firm hand or a sharp word would have you set right, you knew, so you continued as you were, trying to remember what you’d liked and copying it.

price didnt wait to see if you’d warm up on your own and used her other hand to tug at your jaw, prising your mouth open further and encouraging your tongue to wag out.

“tongue,” she ordered brusquely before grinding against your face. you got with the program and pointed your tongue so it slipped inside easier, gripping onto price’s arse and thighs as she rode you with little concern for your breathing.

you sucked and hummed against her, lapping at what you could reach when she adjusted her angle before continuing to use you. your nose pressed tight to her mound and caught on her clit on every other thrust up until price was moaning into the air above you, her orgasm quickly rising.

she pulled back and held you away with one hand while the other gave a few hard flicks to her clit. she got off with a broken moan, looking at your wet, messy face; arguably more fucked out than her own. her eyes caught on the hand you’d dropped to finger at your clenching hole again and she groaned, low and amused. fond.

with a breathless laugh, she tugged up her waistband back to her hips but left the jeans unzipped. she pushed her boot between your spread knees, beneath your hips and pushed down on your shoulders until you were resting over the tilted toe of her boot.

you were quick to get the idea and pulled your fingers free, thrusting to catch your clit against the unforgiving material until you came a second time, leaving a thick shine along her shoe when she pulled it back.

you panted against her hip, forehead resting against her just above her open waistband as you caught your breath with a giddy smile. you nibbled and sucked at her stomach as she pet the back of your head.

“don’t usually let girls mark me,” she said softly under her breath as she watched you. she rubbed at one of the the budding red marks you’d left near her zipper. “but I’m quite fond of you after that little performance. might keep ya.”

butch 141 masterlist

moodboard masterlist

#little bit different from my usual stuff i think if only bc i don’t have these kinks but they worked for this fic #so i was kinda pushing myself to see if i could do it - like i get em but they don’t reallyyyyyy do anything for me i dont think (famous #last words lmaooo) so i couldn’t even check in and see if what i was writing was hot or not i was just drifting like ‘the data says the #people will enjoy this if they lile this’ ahdksjdks so i hope it’s Hot for u guys #and not stale #there was more i wanted to do with this fic originally as you can tell from the moodboard but it just didn’t go that way when i was #wroting it in the end lmao #butch price #user pussyistasty this one goes out to u #price x reader #john price x reader #butch john price #john price smut #price might be ooc i could see people arguing this is more ghost but i disagree!#bc this is an au and price has dealt w some shit as an older lesbian and is impatient and knows what she wants and likes #also she’ll have been in the military as a woman and during dadt so you know. she takes no shit now that she doesn’t have to #stelle writes n that #butch x reader #butch smut

269 notes · View notes

mistercrowbar · 3 months ago

Note

What advice would you give to someone who wants to start draw comics?

Read comics. Try to absorb the layouts and lettering - there’s so many ways to tackle it! Also even in published comics you’ll see that the art is messy and scrungly and you can take that as permission to be messy and scrungly too.

Comics are about efficiency and Good Enough. If you try to make each panel a masterpiece you’ll be there forever. Reasons why I mostly do simple pencil comics.

Start small. Do a scene or gag comic at a time. Get a feel for the medium and all the steps you have. If there’s a step you hate, find a way to emphasize the steps you love. EG I hate laying down flat colours but love shading, so I make my page form comics painterly greyscale with a gradient map to spruce them up.

Thumbnail!!!!! Figure out your page or panel layout before you start pencils. It can just be chicken scratch and sticken figures but it will help make sure there’s a clean line of action carrying the viewer from panel to panel and that your lettering fits.

don’t skimp on lettering. you can have beautiful artwork but if your dialogue is time new roman on half transparent ellipses or somehow unreadable it’s gonna drag everything else down. Blambot is a great source for free and affordable comic fonts and even has guides from an industry pro.

There are a huge bajillion elements to making comics but once you’ve made like, literally 100 pages you’ll start just intrinsically knowing things like the 180 rule, how to place a speech bubble when the first speaker is on the right, and that you can draw one nice background and then have gradient colour blocks carry you through most of the page/scene. And then you’ll still keep learning. Always learning!

LOTS of example stuff under the cut, mostly for lettering and layouts:

thumbnails vs finished page. The detail is just enough to remind me who goes where. You can see I mostly played with the last part of the scene, going from three panels in one row to making each panel an entire row across three rows. Panels on the same row have less “time” between them as the eyes skips from one to the other faster, whereas there’s a little more gap skipping back to a new row (think resetting a line on a typewriter). Here, the first thumbnail may have fit the artwork more neatly, but I wanted to give Astarion more time to deliberate his decision.

You can also see that I changed the top panel from a close up on Aldiirn to a wider shot showing both. This sets the scene, and the rest of it uses simple/abstract backgrounds until the final panel, which makes a nice bookend while making the overall load easier. One good environment panel will carry you for a while, but don't leave your characters in the void for too long.

Make a script before you start layouts but don’t be shocked if you need to cut things out to have them fit a page. Less is more, generally. This also goes for visual elements - what's most important to the scene? What's just extraneous detail you find fun but is creating clutter?

For the 4-panel comics I don’t put time into thumbnails unless it’s a difficult panel, but I always put the lettering and speech bubbles down first so they have enough room and nothing important gets covered. If you do this much you’re a step ahead imo.

This one I’m working on now and there’s a lot going on with four characters speaking to each other! It’s important to keep a clear line going for the dialogue. Astarion’s first line has the top left corner and clearly starts the conversation. The tail of the bubble carries over to where he whispers to Aldiirn, and we pick up Aldiirn’s lines. The rock wall on the right then draws the eye down to Shadowheart and Gale’s bubble at the bottom. I don’t think the tails on the bottom bubbles are 100% ideal, but it’s Good Enough.

There’s also slightly different points in time going on in this panel, because the art is static but it’s a long convo going on. Gale’s signature finger isn’t in response to Astarion whispering, but to his answer to Aldiirn that comes after. Think of how time works in your panels, especially when you got a big one because size = time.

You can use all sorts of things to direct the eye across a comic page, but I find the strongest things are the bubbles & tails and where characters are looking. Here, Gale’s “stop by” line breaks the panel line to help draw the viewer to him in the last panel, since otherwise the eye was likely to end up at Aldiirn.

I generally like bubbles to be tucked into their panels, either fully inside or up at the edges like “my condolences.” It looks neater than when bubbles are willy nilly over the edges which I see as a sign of poor planning. And! it means when you do break panel lines it can be more meaningful.

the 180 rule is a film/stage thing for composition to avoid confusing the audience, but the simplest way to put it is: if a character is on the left side of the scene, they should stay there until the action or whatever moves them. You can see here that Aldiirn is always on the right facing left, even when the camera is a bit behind him or a bit behind Gale. the 180 line is the front of Aldiirn’s tent, and the camera never crosses it in a way that would put Gale on the right.

I find it distracting when a conversation is happening in comic and a character breaks the 180 for no particular reason, though are times I’ve done it because a panel worked much better that way. The book Framed Ink has some great guides on composition and how to change the 180 line.

You can also see in the above comic that it’s arranged so that Gale’s always the first speaker in the panels he appears so there’s no criss cross bubble tails. Buuuut what if the first speaker is unavoidably on the right?

Stack the speech bubbles. You want the first speech bubble CLEARLY and undeniably the closest to the top left corner and then other speakers can go below.

the middle example above also has some examples of playing with the speech bubbles. Wyll’s “square-y round-y” bubble is the standard, the boxy ellipse. The tail has a slight, lanquid curve. He;s comfortable teasing the poor vampire. Aldiirn’s bubble is pointy! the tail straight! with urgency! And Astarion’s bubble and tail are burbling and grumbling through gritted teeth and pain. Varsh Ko’kuu, even though he’s speaking with a standard shaped bubble, has a sharp point in the tail that speaks to his assertiveness in protecting the egg. And Shadowheart has some hesitation with that wiggly tail.

Either hand drawing or using vector shapes for bubbles is fine, but I recommend staying away from true ellipses because they look static. Square-y round-y is where it’s at. Just make sure there’s enough space between text and edge of the bubble, usually enough to fit a capital H or W, but you can play with that spacing too.

The second panel here breaks the “first bubble goes top-left corner” rule, so it’s ambiguous if Gale or Aldiirn speaks first. However! In this case everyone is giving their responses in a jumble to Rath, so order matters less. I’m pretty sure every rule I’ve mentioned has a time and place to break it, but it’s still important to learn the basics first.

Key thing about comics typefaces: the capital I will have bars and the lower case will not. The barred I is used for I, as in, “I am not inclined to share” where the unbarred is used everywhere else.

When choosing a font, I recommend grabbing one that has Regular, Italic, and Bold/Bold Italic typefaces. I use Milk Moustache for my 4-panel comics because it’s very casual and similar weight to my own handwriting, but it doesn’t have an italic typeface and that drives me nuts sometimes. For the most flexibility, choose a font that has lower case AND uppercase type faces. I stick to upper case 90% of the time but lower case adds more options, like Aldiirn’s “really?” being so small due to his stressed state.

There are some official guides on what should be bold or italic in dialogues but they don’t matter as much unless you’re working for a big publisher with a style standard. Italics for thinking and whispering are common. I go with my gut, like Astarion’s speech is so dramatic I use italics and bold liberally, whereas for most others I may or may not just choose a key word to bold.

I think some programs will let you make text to fit a bubble instead of a square box, but tbh I just spend a lot of time manually making the text fit nicely in that bubble shape.

#comics #tutorial #resource #bg3

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regressionschool · 2 months ago

Text

I ❤️ hot moms

The office hums with the low murmur of late afternoon fatigue, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above your desk. Your shoulders ache, stiff from hours hunched over your keyboard, typing out emails that no one will properly read until tomorrow. The clock on your screen taunts you—5:42 PM. Eighteen more minutes. You exhale, rubbing at your temples, blinking away the haze creeping in at the edges of your vision.

A message pops up on your phone. Babe 💜 Almost home?

Your lips twitch at the corners. You can already picture her—probably curled up on the couch, one of your hoodies hanging loose on her frame, hair messy from where she’s been running her hands through it. She always does that when she’s waiting for you.

Soon. Long day. You tap out a reply. Need cuddles.

The reply is instant. Cuddles waiting. Maybe even a back rub 😉

You let out a soft breath, the tension in your spine easing just slightly. The last few minutes crawl by, but when the clock finally hits six, you’re out the door, coat thrown over your shoulders, bag slung over one arm. The subway ride is a blur—people packed too close, the scent of stale coffee and damp wool thick in the air. Your legs are heavy by the time you reach your stop, your thoughts sluggish.

Then you’re at your door, fingers fumbling with the keys, the lock clicking under your touch. A deep inhale, the scent of home just beyond the threshold. You push the door open, already picturing her arms around you, already melting into the promise of warmth waiting inside.

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, a blur of pink launches at you, nearly knocking you off balance. Warm arms wrap around your waist, and the scent of vanilla lotion fills your senses as soft giggles bubble against your neck.

“Missed you!” your girlfriend chirps, her weight pressing into you.

You blink, caught between exhaustion and surprise, hands instinctively settling on her hips. And then you register what she’s wearing.

A baby-pink hoodie, oversized and impossibly soft, adorned with bold white letters across the chest: I ❤️ hot moms.

Your eyes flick downward. Her thighs are bare, except for knee-high socks striped in pink and white, and—oh. Oh.

A thick, crinkling diaper, just as pink as her hoodie, peeks out from beneath the hem. The waistband sits snug against her hips, the plastic glistening slightly in the dim lighting.

Your brain short-circuits.

She shifts, nuzzling her face into your shoulder before pulling back, grinning like she just won the lottery. “Surprise!”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Words are elusive, slipping between the cracks of your overwhelmed thoughts. A dozen emotions wrestle inside you—confusion, intrigue, amusement, and, undeniably, a spark of something deeper, something hotter curling low in your stomach.

“What—” You clear your throat, trying to sound at least somewhat composed. “What is this?”

She giggles again, twirling slightly before pressing her palms against your chest. “I wanted to surprise you! I found this hoodie online and thought it was perfect.” Her lips curve into a playful smirk.

You arch a brow, still trying to piece together the full picture. “Perfect… how?”

Her smirk widens, and she leans in, pressing herself flush against you, fingers trailing up your chest like she’s waiting for you to catch up. “Because,” she purrs, tilting her head, “you’re my hot mommy.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, skipping a beat before settling into something warm and steady. You search her face—cheeks flushed, lips caught between her teeth, eyes shimmering with anticipation. She’s waiting for you to say something, to react, but you’re still struggling to wrap your head around it.

She shifts on her feet, the thick padding of her diaper crinkling between you, drawing your attention back down. When she notices where your eyes have landed, she lets out a breathy little giggle and wiggles her hips just slightly, enough to make it very clear she’s enjoying your attention.

“You like it, don’t you?” she teases, voice sing-song. “You’re looking awfully hard, Mommy.”

Your throat goes dry.

Something about the way she says it—soft, sweet, but laced with just enough playfulness to make your pulse quicken—makes it impossible to ignore the way your body reacts.

She presses closer, hands trailing up your shoulders before looping around your neck. “I wanted to surprise you,” she murmurs, “but also… I wanted to make you happy.” Her nose brushes yours. “Do I make you happy, Mommy?”

You exhale sharply, hands instinctively tightening around her waist. “You always make me happy, baby.”

She beams, practically glowing under your touch. “Good,” she hums, nuzzling against you, her voice dipping into something softer. “Because I really, really missed you today. It was such a long day without my Mommy…”

The way she says it this time—so full of affection, of need—makes your knees weak.

She shifts again, looking up at you through her lashes. “Maybe Mommy needs to hold her little girl for a while,” she suggests, playful but hopeful.

Something in you snaps into place. The exhaustion from your long day? It’s still there, but it’s drowned out by something deeper, something stronger.

You cup her cheek, running your thumb along her jaw as she leans into the touch with a soft sigh. “Yeah,” you murmur, voice low, steady. “I think that’s exactly what we need.”

She practically melts against you, body molding to yours like she belongs there. And as you scoop her up—hands firm under her thighs, the crinkling of her diaper unmistakable against your palms—she lets out the sweetest little giggle, burying her face in your neck.

“Mommy’s strong,” she murmurs against your skin.

You chuckle, carrying her toward the couch. “Mommy takes care of her baby.”

#ab/dl diaper #ab/dl stories #diaper stories #regression school #diaper captions #ab/dl caption #ab/dl girl #ab/dl

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rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago

Text

I'll Be There With You

Summary: It’s the day you’ve both been waiting for - the day Glen and you say “I do”. From tender flashbacks, to emotional first looks, laughter-filled photos, and a night of unforgettable dancing, this wedding day is filled with love, joy, and all the little moments that make forever feel like home.

Warnings: Alcohol Use (Casual references to drinking (champagne toasts, open bar, etc.), Some Mild Sexual Tension (nothing explicit, but a few suggestive moments).

Word Count: 10,575

Author's Note: This one kind of took on a life of it's own. This is three weeks of me pouring myself into this fic. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. Also sorry it's so long...

**Italics identify flashbacks**

**Bold Italics identify texts and letters**

MORNING OF THE WEDDING (Reader’s P.O.V.))

Late spring sunlight spills across the worn hardwood floors of the master suite that has been transformed into a bridal haven.

The scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air. Bouquets of peonies and roses are tucked into vases around the room. The windows are open to let in the morning breeze. Birds can be heard chirping outside like nature knew today was something special.

You sit in an upholstered chair near the vanity. A silk robe is loosely tied at your waist, bare feet tucked beneath you as the makeup artist works her magic. There’s a glass of mimosa in your hand, still barely touched. It’s more for nerves than anything. Laughter bubbles around you like background music for the moment.

Your mom is curled up on the couch near the window, dabbing at her eyes even though you haven’t even put the dress on yet.

“I’m not crying,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m just…misting. There’s a difference.”

Your best friend laughs from across the room. “I think she’s been misting since we woke up this morning.”

“He texted her ‘Good morning, future wife’! How could I not?” Your mom interjects.

“Okay I’ll admit, that was sweet,” Leslie says as she tugs a curling wand through a strand of her hair. “Also, it’s kind of unfair that he’s already winning the sappy award. I didn’t get sappy until we put my dress on at my wedding.”

You glance at your phone where Glen’s text from earlier still glows softly at the top of your lock screen.

Good morning future wife. Today’s the day. Can’t wait to see you. I love you more than all the tacos in Austin. - G.

“I don’t know,” you say, raising your brows as you sip your champagne, “he really does love tacos.”

Cyndy, Glen’s mom, laughs from where she’s getting her hair curled near the mirror. “He used to rank his relationships based on food. If you were above queso, you were doing really well.”

“He told me he knew you were the one when he gave you the last bite of brisket,” Lauren adds. “That’s Powell level commitment.”

The room fills with warm laughter, but beneath it, there’s a quiet thrum of anticipation. It settles in your chest. It’s not nerves. Not really. Just excitement for the big day to finally be here.

A gentle knock sounds on the doorframe, and everyone turns as Lauren’s husband, Will steps into the room, a warm grin on his face and a small velvet box in hand.

“Special delivery from the groom,” he says, holding up an envelope with your name written across the front in Glen’s unmistakably messy handwriting.

You blink in surprise as a hush falls over the room.

“Oh no,” your mom says, clutching her tissue tighter, preparing for the next round of tears.

Will laughs. “Don’t worry, he didn’t write a novel. Just a note...and this.”

He crosses the room, careful not to knock over any curling irons or mimosa glasses, and hands you the envelope first. The paper is thick, the ink a little smudged in the corner.

Then he passes you the box — small and navy with a subtle gold ribbon tied around it.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Will says, backing toward the door.

You take a breath, then open the envelope.

I know we said no big gestures this morning, but you had to know I wouldn’t make it to the altar without finding some way to say I love you again first.

I’ve been trying to picture you all morning — what you look like up there in our room, robe on, hair half-done, probably giving someone a look for stealing your lipstick. I can’t see you, but I feel you.

I keep thinking about the first night you stayed here. You stood barefoot in the kitchen and said, “Wow, this place already feels like home.”

That’s what you’ve done, babe — you turned a house into a home, turned my quiet into laughter, turned my life into something I never even knew I was missing.

Today’s just the formality. I’ve been yours for a long time.

But I can't wait to see you walk toward me and know — finally, officially —you get to be mine too.

Love you,

You don’t even realize your fingers are curled tight around the edges of the letter until Lauren gently touches your arm. “You good?”

You nod slowly, blinking fast. “Yeah. I just...I love him so much.”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice catching a little. “We all kind of do.”

The girls lean in as you untie the ribbon on the box, revealing a delicate rose gold hairpin nestled in soft satin. Tiny pearls and crystal sprigs shimmer in the shape of wildflowers — elegant, subtle, and completely perfect.

You run your fingers over the pin, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You swallow hard, smile shaky.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Now I’m misting.”

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

MORNING OF THE WEDDING (Glen’s P.O.V.)

The man cave isn’t exactly quiet — not with one of the groomsmen messing with the Bluetooth speaker and two of Glen’s childhood friends arguing about whether or not bolo ties are considered formalwear — but Glen barely hears any of it.

He’s standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his white shirt for the third time even though it’s already perfect. He’s not fidgeting because he’s nervous. He’s just…ready.

Will walks back in, sliding his sunglasses onto his head.

“She got it,” he says, just loud enough for Glen to hear.

Glen meets his brother-in-law’s eyes in the mirror. “Yeah?”

Will nods. “Didn’t cry, but she looked pretty damn close.”

That gets a smile out of Glen. A quiet one, a knowing one.

He turns from the mirror, pressing his palm against the back of the chair in front of him for a second, grounding himself. He’s been calm all morning. Heart steady, hands sure. Not because he’s indifferent. The opposite. Because every part of him knows this is right.

When people asked him if he was nervous, he’d just shrug and say no. Because how could he be? He gets to marry you.

You. Who made the ranch feel like a home. Who laughs like she means it and fights fair and kisses him like she already knows every lifetime before this one. You. Who let yourself fall for him slow and steady, but all the way.

Glen’s not nervous. He’s already halfway down that aisle in his head, waiting for you to take that first step toward him.

“You good?” Someone asks, passing him a bottle of water.

Glen cracks it open and takes a sip. “Better than good.”

“Don’t get cocky, Romeo. You’ve still got to get through the vows without choking up.”

“Oh, I’ll choke up,” Glen says easily, setting the bottle down. “But it won’t be nerves.”

Glen closed his eyes as he thought of you. And just like that he thinks about the moment he knew.

It wasn’t some grand, cinematic moment. There were no fireworks. No romantic music playing in the background.

Just you.

Curled up in his hoodie, legs tucked underneath you on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your lap as you animatedly explained the plot of a book you were obsessed with. Your hands moved wildly as you spoke—eyes bright, voice full of passion. You barely paused for breath.

Glen had read maybe two pages of that book before giving up. But he could listen to you talk about it for hours.

He was sitting sideways, arm resting across the back of the couch, completely captivated. Not by the story. But by you. The way your whole face lit up when you talked about something you loved. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed at your own joke. The way you kept tossing popcorn in the air trying to catch it with your mouth and missing every single time.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, grinning as a rogue piece of popcorn bounced off your forehead and landed somewhere between the cushions.

Glen chuckled, reaching over to pluck it out of your hair.

“Nothing,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. “I just…really love you, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder.

He didn’t say it out loud. Not then. But that was the moment. That ordinary, beautiful night in his living room, with you in messy hair and mismatched socks, laughing so hard you snorted at your own joke. That was the moment he looked at you and thought “This is it. This is the girl I’m going to marry.”

You didn’t have to be dressed up. You didn’t have to be pretending to be someone you weren’t. You were just you—real, open, unfiltered.

And even though he didn’t ask the question that night, he tucked it deep into his heart—knowing without a doubt that he’d ask someday.

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

GETTING READY (Reader’s P.O.V)

Back in the master suite, the room has quieted. The laughter, the music, the hum of conversation from earlier has faded into something softer.

You step carefully into the dress, the satin lining cool against your skin, the delicate lace grazing your shoulders as your mom lifts the train and helps ease the fabric into place. Cyndy is there too, steady hands fastening the tiny row of buttons down your back.

“Okay,” your mom whispers, her voice thick. “Turn around.”

You do. And for a second—just a second—you forget to breathe. There you are in the mirror. You, in the dress. Hair curled just right, veil clipped gently into place. The bracelet Glen gave you on your birthday twinkling on your wrist. Everything you dreamed of, somehow looks even more like you than you imagined.

Cyndy presses her hand to her heart. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Your mom sniffles then laughs, waving a hand in front of her face like it’ll stop the tears. “He’s going to lose it when he sees you.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just watch the reflection. The quiet, poised woman in white staring back at you. She doesn’t look nervous either. Just…ready.

The two women you love most step forward again. Your mom tucks a loose curl behind your ear. Cyndy smooths your veil, making sure it falls just right over your shoulders.

“I still remember the first time Glen mentioned you,” Cyndy says, her voice soft with memory. “He said, ‘Mom, I think I just met someone who sees the world like I do.’”

That nearly undoes you. You reach for their hands, squeezing both at once. “Thank you both for everything. Glen and I wouldn’t be here today without all you’ve done for us.”

They smile, misty-eyed but glowing, and then they both step back.

“We’ll give you a minute,” your mom says, brushing her hand along your arm as they quietly slip out.

The door clicks shut, and for the first time all morning, you’re alone. The silence is warm and gentle. You walk toward the window, the train of your dress whispering across the wood floors. Outside, in the clearing just beyond the trees, you can see the archway covered in flowers. The white chairs. The soft flicker of candles being lit.

Your heart beats steady. You don’t need to calm yourself. This is what certainty feels like.

You close your eyes for a second, let your hands rest on your stomach, breathe in the soft scent of eucalyptus and roses and Texas air.

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

GLEN’S FIRST LOOK WITH HIS MOM AND SISTERS (Glen’s P.O.V)

Glen stands in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the lapels of his tuxedo for the last time. It’s tailored just right—sharp, classic, a little nod to Old Hollywood—but nothing about the moment feels performative.

It’s not about the suit. It’s about the reason he’s wearing it.

Will stands behind him, straightening Glen’s tie with a smirk that doesn’t quite hide how proud he is. “You’re too calm. It’s weirding me out.”

Glen chuckles, brushing invisible lint from his jacket. “You want me to panic a little? Break into a sweat?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. Just for tradition’s sake.”

Before Glen can reply, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Cyndy steps in first, followed by Lauren and Leslie, and the moment they see him, all three stop in their tracks.

“Oh my God,” Lauren says, covering her mouth.

“Glen!” Leslie beams, tears forming in her eyes.

Cyndy doesn’t say anything right away. She just steps closer, taking in the sight of her son on his wedding day.

“You clean up alright,” Lauren teases.

Cyndy finally reaches him, placing both hands on his face like she did when he was a kid before the first day of school. Her thumbs gently brush his jaw.

“You look so handsome,” she whispers. “You ready?”

“I am,” Glen says quietly. “She’s it, Mom.”

Tears well in her eyes, but she smiles through them. “I know.”

Leslie and Lauren move in, linking arms with him on either side.

“We never thought this day would come,” Leslie says, pretending to wipe a tear. “Our little flirt is finally off the market.”

“Miracles do happen,” Lauren grins.

Glen rolls his eyes, but the smile he gives them is pure love. “Y’all done roasting me, or is there more?”

Lauren laughs, pulling him into a hug. “Just had to get it out of our system.”

Leslie wraps an arm around them both. Cyndy steps in, and suddenly he’s surrounded—the three women who helped shape him into the person he is, holding him tight.

They don’t say much after that. They don’t need to. They just hold on a moment longer, as if sealing this part of life with one final hug before letting it change.

Cyndy kisses his cheek. “Go see your girl. She’s waiting for you.”

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

GLEN’S FIRST LOOK WITH YOU (Reader's P.O.V.)

The house is quiet as you stand at the top of the staircase, your fingertips grazing the smooth wooden banister. For a beat, everything stills—like even time is holding its breath. You can hear soft murmurs from somewhere downstairs, maybe the photographer coordinating with Glen, maybe the click of a camera adjusting its focus. But it all feels far away, muffled beneath the thundering of your own heart.

Your hands smooth down the front of your dress, the fabric cool and crisp beneath your fingers. Every step you’ve taken to get to this day—the long talks, the laughter, the quiet mornings, and the harder moments too—they all gather in your chest as you begin to descend the stairs, your gown whispering softly with each step.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, and for a fleeting second, you hardly recognize the woman looking back. She’s radiant. Steady. Ready. But beneath all the satin and lace, she’s still the girl who once watched Glen chase fireflies barefoot behind the house, who saw him cook shirtless at midnight, who learned the way he carries both the world and everyone he loves with the same quiet strength.

And somehow—somehow—he chose her back.

The photographer gives you a quiet nod, signaling that Glen’s in place. You can see the soft light spilling through the glass of the patio doors now, painting golden stripes across the floor. One more step, and you’re almost there.

You reach for the handle.

Your gaze drops to the weather-worn patio stones just beyond the glass. The same ones you’d danced on. The same ones you’d knelt on. The same ones where everything changed without needing to.

You blinked, and suddenly, you were back there when he proposed.

It had been an ordinary day. The kind you’d lived a dozen times before, the kind where it was just the two of you, which was probably why Glen had chosen it.

You’d spent the morning wandering through a weekend farmer’s market together. Glen had stopped to buy you a bundle of fresh wildflowers someone had picked from their garden because you’d once mentioned that wildflowers reminded you of summers at your grandmother’s. You grabbed a coffee from a local truck, his hand never once letting go of yours as you walked. Then you'd gone back to his place, where the afternoon turned slow and lazy. Music playing softly in the background, sun filtering in through the windows.

He'd made dinner. But nothing had tipped you off.

Not when he lit the candles on the patio.

Not when he insisted on sitting outside, the two of you bundled in soft sweatshirts, the air crisp with early spring.

Not even when he pulled out a worn blanket and the old portable record player you’d used a handful of times before placing it gently on the table and setting a familiar vinyl on top.

It was your favorite song. One that had played once in the car, and you’d softly sung every word while Glen drove, glancing at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

Now it floated through the night air. Familiar. Intimate.

He stood and held out a hand. “Dance with me?”

You laughed a little but took it. “Out here? In front of the squirrels?”

Glen grinned. “We’ll keep it PG for the squirrels.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already racing as he pulled you into him. One arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other cradling your hand against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steady beneath your fingers.

You danced like that for a few minutes. Bare feet brushing against the patio stones. The world was quiet, wrapped in the hum of crickets and the faint scratch of vinyl.

And then Glen pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at you. You caught the shift in his gaze before you saw anything else.

And then he let go of your hand. He knelt. And your breath caught.

“I didn’t plan some big speech,” he said, his voice low, steady but soft around the edges. “Because I knew if I tried, it’d come out all wrong.”

You smiled through the tears already pricking at your eyes.

“But I’ve known for a while now,” he continued, eyes locked on yours. “Being with you feels like breathing.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small box.

“I don’t need a perfect life. I just want this one. With you in it. So… what do you say?” He opened the box, eyes never leaving yours. “Will you marry me?”

You didn’t even need time to think. You were already sinking to your knees, and nodding as your fingers found his cheeks.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, of course.”

He kissed you before even sliding the ring on, both of you laughing through it, shaking a little with the adrenaline of what you’d just promised.

And when he finally slipped the ring onto your finger, your hands were trembling.

You danced again after that. No music this time.

Just the sound of two people who knew they’d found forever.

The door eases shut behind you with a soft click, but Glen doesn’t turn. His hands are tucked into his pockets, shoulders rising and falling slowly like he’s steadying himself.

You catch the little tells. The subtle way his foot taps against the ground like he’s keeping time with some rhythm only he can hear. The way his shoulders tense every few seconds. You can feel his nerves from here — the way his heart must be beating just a little too fast. Yours is right there with his.

You move toward him, and his spine straightens just slightly at the sound of your footsteps. When you reach him, you hesitate only for a second before reaching out and tapping two fingers gently on his shoulder.

“Hey,” you say softly.

Glen exhales, then slowly turns to face you. His breath catches, lips parting as his eyes sweep over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and a shimmer of tears gathers in the corners of his eyes.

“Wow,” he breathes, voice cracking just a little. “You’re…you’re unreal.”

Somehow, despite all the emotion bubbling beneath the surface, you haven’t cried yet. A few watery smiles, a few deep breaths to collect yourself — but no tears.

Until now.

The dam breaks. Quiet tears slip down your cheeks as you take in the man you’re about to marry, standing there coming completely undone in the best way at the sight of you.

Glen’s expression softens instantly. “Oh, sweetheart…”

He reaches up and gently brushes the tears from your cheeks, careful not to smudge your makeup, his touch warm and reverent.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says, giving you a watery smile as he pulls you close.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice cracking. “You just…got me.”

His hands frame your face, thumbs still brushing over your skin like he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’ve been holding it in all day, haven’t you?”

You nod, biting your lip as another tear slips free.

“Well,” he whispers, “now we match.”

That makes you laugh — soft, broken, happy — as you press your forehead to his.

He lets out a shaky breath, pulling you so close the world fades away. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re—God, you’re perfect.”

You lean into him, fingers slipping into the lapels of his suit jacket, grounding yourself in the familiar warmth of him. “You’re not supposed to out-romance me,” you tease, blinking back another wave.

“I can’t help it,” he says softly. “You’re the one. Always have been.”

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WEDDING PHOTOS (Reader’s P.O.V)

The moment lingers—soft and quiet and sacred—until Glen leans in, his hand still cradling your cheek. His lips brush against yours in the gentlest kiss, like a promise spoken without words. It’s not rushed. Not performative. Just full of everything you’ve both been holding onto all morning.

It’s your first kiss as almost husband and wife. And it steals the air right out of your lungs.

You barely notice the quiet click of the shutter at first. But then it comes again—subtle, quick. The photographer captures the moment that feels like it belongs to just the two of you.

You pull back slowly, a soft, breathless smile forming as you rest your forehead against Glen’s. “Guess we forgot we’re not alone.”

Glen chuckles, warm and low, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Let ’em get the good stuff.”

Your photographer gives a gentle cue, motioning toward the first photo location, and Glen steps back just enough to take your hand. When you glance down at your train, he beats you to it—reaching carefully to gather it in one hand so it doesn’t drag across the patio stones.

“Let me,” he says, lifting it with care.

The way he says it—it’s simple, but it hits you square in the chest.

You squeeze his hand, a quiet thank-you in the gesture, and walk beside him. The train of your dress is in one of his hands, and his other hand holds yours as the two of you move.

Glen steals a glance at you and grins. “You know I thought you couldn’t get more beautiful, but then you went and did this.”

You laugh, slapping his arm playfully. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Powell.”

The photographer calls for the first pose. It’s a classic one. She instructs you where to stand and then she fluffs the train of your dress so that it’s in position. Then she instructs Glen to close the space between you. He gently touches his forehead to yours, his hands settling on your waist. You tilt your face up, your eyes fluttering shut as your hands rest lightly on his chest.

For a moment the world fades, and it’s just him and you.

The photographer calls for a dip pose next. Glen grins, already sliding one arm behind your back, the other at your waist as he lowers you into the pose. Your dress flows out around you, and you giggle as you cling to his shoulders.

“You practicing for the kiss at the altar?” You tease.

Glen lifts you upright again. “Nope. That one’s gonna be way better.”

The next shots are playful. Glen spins you in a slow circle, your laughter echoing off the barn nearby. You stumble slightly in your heels, and he catches you, steady and smiling.

“I’ve got you,” he says, effortlessly.

“Always?” you ask, without thinking.

“Always.”

Just as the last of your solo shots with Glen wrap up, you hear footsteps and laughter drifting from the path behind you. A moment later, the bridal party appears—Glen’s sisters, Lauren and Leslie, walk out first and immediately start fussing over Glen like he’s ten years old again.

“You clean up nice, little brother,” Lauren teases, giving Glen a once-over and raising an eyebrow.

Leslie steps in for a hug anyway, fixing a crooked corner of his boutonnière before whispering something that makes him laugh under his breath.

Meanwhile, your friends swarm you, careful not to wrinkle your dress as they squeal and twirl in their matching gowns. Your best friend loops an arm through yours, pulling you into a side hug.

“You ready?” she asks softly, eyes shining.

You smile, heart already full. “I think I’ve been ready longer than I realized.”

The photographer gently calls everyone into place. The energy shifts as you all begin lining up for group shots. Glen stands with his sisters first, flanked on either side. Lauren rests her head on his shoulder while Leslie makes a dramatic face like she’s holding back tears. Cyndy stands just behind the camera, hands over her mouth, her eyes misty.

Next, you step in with your friends—arms linked, flowers clutched, all of you laughing at something someone mutters under her breath. Someone suggests a “Charlie’s Angels” pose and, despite the high heels and formalwear, you all strike your best version of it, laughter erupting again.

Then the full group comes together—Glen slides in beside you, his hand naturally finding yours as the photographer adjusts everyone’s positioning.

“One serious one,” the photographer says. “Then a fun one.”

The serious one holds for a beat—smiles soft, everyone standing tall and glowing with the weight of the moment.

Then the fun one.

Lauren throws an arm around Glen’s shoulders and messes up his hair. Leslie grabs your bouquet and pretends to toss it early. One of your friends leans dramatically on another’s shoulder as if overwhelmed. Glen leans in and kisses your temple in the middle of all the chaos.

The shutter clicks over and over again, freezing this little moment in time.

As the photographer steps back to check the shots, someone glances at their watch.

“It’s almost time,” someone says.

The laughter quiets into a gentle hush. A few of your bridesmaids squeeze your hands before drifting off to touch up their lipstick or grab bouquets. Glen’s sisters exchange a knowing look and disappear toward the ceremony site, leaving just you and Glen in that fading, golden bubble of light.

Glen’s eyes find yours again—steady, warm, shining with everything he hasn’t said out loud yet. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, slow and grounding.

“Next time I see you…” he murmurs, voice low.

You smile, your heart catching at the base of your throat. You take a small step closer, letting your hand settle against the lapel of his tux. “I’ll be your wife.”

His breath hitches just for a moment. Then he leans in and presses the softest kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he wants to memorize the feel of this second. When he pulls back, his eyes are a little shinier than before.

“I love you,” he says quietly.

“I love you too.”

He steals one last kiss. A real one this time, gentle but deep, his hand cradling your cheek like he doesn’t want to let go.

Then he exhales and takes a small step back, his fingers slipping from yours as your friends and bridal party begin to gather again.

“See you out there,” he says, a small smile curving his lips.

And with that, Glen heads down the path, shoulders square, heart full, ready.

You watch him go for a beat longer, then turn toward your girls, bouquet now in hand.

The next time you see him, you’ll be walking down the aisle.

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THE WEDDING CEREMONY (Reader’s P.O.V.)

Everyone is in position.

Guests have taken their seats. The soft murmur of conversation fades into a hush. Somewhere up ahead, the wedding party begins making their way down the aisle, one by one, until it’s just you — standing at the edge of everything.

The moment you’ve dreamed of. The one you weren’t sure would feel real until now.

You take a deep breath.

And then you see him.

Glen stands at the end of the aisle, tall and still. His eyes find yours instantly, and everything else disappears. His lips parted, just slightly, like he forgot how to breathe for a second. He doesn’t blink.

You smile, and his whole expression softens. He lets out a quiet, unsteady breath that you can almost feel from here.

You don’t look at the flowers. You don’t glance around at the guests. Not when Glen is looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

And in this moment—you are.

As you reach the end of the aisle, your maid of honor steps forward, her hands gentle as she takes your bouquet. You barely register the exchange — your eyes are locked on Glen, and his on you, like you’re tethered by something invisible but unshakable.

He reaches for you instantly. His fingers slide into yours, warm and steady. He gives your hand the softest squeeze, his thumb brushing the back of it like he’s grounding himself in the feel of your skin.

Then he leans in, voice just barely above a whisper.

“You look beautiful,” he says, eyes shining.

“Thank you,” you whisper back.

He lifts your joined hands slightly, pressing the lightest kiss to your knuckles before lowering them again. You can tell he’s trying not to lose it — you both are — but in this moment, all that matters is that you made it. Together.

The officiant offers a warm smile as the guests settle into their seats, a quiet excitement humming in the background.

“Family and friends,” he begins, “we’re gathered here today to celebrate something rare and beautiful. Two people who have found in each other not just love, but a home. These two have chose to share their hearts and their lives, and today we witness the beginning of that next chapter.”

The officiant glances between the two of you, his voice softening.

“Marriage is built on promises. Quiet, steady ones. Ones that are spoken not just today, but lived out every day after. The couple have chosen to write their own vows. We will start with the lovely bride.”

Everyone and everything else fades away just a little as you look at the man standing across from you.

You take a deep breath, and Glen’s fingers give yours a gentle and reassuring squeeze.

Your voice is soft at first, but clear. Honest. But steady with the kind of love that’s been tested and deepened over time.

“When I met you, I didn’t expect any of this. I didn’t expect you.”

You see the smallest curve of a smile tug at his mouth.

“You are kind in ways that most people never see. You are steady and thoughtful, and better than you’ll ever admit. You make me feel safe. Not because you fix everything — but because you never let me face anything alone.”

Glen’s eyes are glistening now, just a little, and your own start to sting, but you breathe through it.

“You see the best parts of me — even when I can’t. And somehow, you make me want to be that version of myself. The one you believe in. The one who laughs more, loves harder, and doesn’t run when things get messy.”

You pause for a breath, voice tightening with the weight of it all.

“I promise to stand beside you, even when it’s hard. To support you in every dream, and every ridiculous project you take on. To keep showing up, even when it’s easier not to. I promise to celebrate you on your best days and hold you tighter on your worst. I’ll be your partner, your teammate, your safe place.”

You smile through the shimmer of tears.

“And I promise to love you for exactly who you are — because who you are is already everything I need.”

Glen’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, like he’s grounding himself. He takes a deep breath.

“Damn,” he murmurs under his breath, a crooked smile pulling at the edge of his mouth as his voice catches just a little.

A quiet laugh slips from you, barely audible, as your thumb mirrors his and strokes over his hand.

He takes a breath — a deep, steadying one — and blinks up at the sky for half a second like he’s trying to get it together. Then he meets your eyes again, more sure now, voice low and warm and full of feeling.

“I’ve done a lot of things in my life—some of them cool, some of them insane, and at least one that involved jumping off a moving boat in cowboy boots.”

Laughter breaks through the emotion, and Glen smiles wide before growing a little more serious.

“But nothing, nothing, compares to loving you.”

His voice drops a little, rougher now. A little choked.

“You ground me. When the world gets loud, you’re the quiet. The calm. You see me when I don’t even know what I’m showing.”

He pauses to take a deep breath. Then another, like he’s trying not to lose it.

“I promise to always love you in the way you deserve — not just with words, but with actions. With the little things. The coffee in the morning. The hand on your back when you’ve had a long day. The reminders — every single day — of just how amazing you are.”

He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, lingering there for a second before lowering them again.

“I’m yours,” he says, voice quiet and rough. “Always have been. Always will be.”

The officiant smiles, giving both you and Glen a moment to breathe and collect yourselves.

“May we have the rings?” The officiant asks.

Your maid of honor steps forward first, placing Glen’s ring into your hand. Glen’s best man does the same to him with your ring.

“These rings are more than metal. They are a promise — a circle with no end, a symbol of the vows you’ve spoken here today.”

You turn to Glen, sliding the ring slowly onto his finger as you say softly, just for him, “With this ring, I promise to love you, stand beside you, and walk with you through every chapter of this life.”

Glen’s hand trembles just slightly as he takes your ring in his own. He looks at you like you’re his entire world. He slips the ring onto your finger, and then says “With this ring, I promise to love you, stand beside you, and walk with you through every chapter of this life.”

The officiant beams, eyes flicking between you both. “By the power vested in me, and with the greatest joy, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

They pause, grinning at Glen. “You may kiss your bride.”

Glen steps forward slowly, eyes never leaving yours. With careful tenderness, he reaches up, brushing a stray curl away from your face. His hand lingers against your cheek, warm and reassuring as if to say that every whispered promise has led to this very heartbeat.

Then, with a soft exhale and a playful twinkle in his eyes that belies the profound emotion within, he leans in. His lips meet yours in a kiss that is everything—a melding of joy, relief, and the quiet certainty of forever. For a beat, the kiss deepens, filled with all the promises made in those sacred vows. You feel the weight of his love and the lightness of hope all at once.

And as if choreographed by the universe itself, he dips you ever so gently—a romantic flourish that sends a ripple of delighted gasps from the guests. The kiss lingers, full of the raw, beautiful truth of two souls uniting in that singular, perfect moment.

When you finally part, your foreheads remain pressed together, eyes shimmering with shared wonder. The crowd erupts in applause and cheers, but you and Glen remain in your own world for a few precious seconds longer—a silent celebration of love, of promises kept, and of a future unfolding with every heartbeat.

The music swells with joy as you and Glen turn to face your guests—now husband and wife.

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A QUIET MOMENT ALONE (Reader’s P.O.V.)

You barely hear the cheers as you and Glen turn toward the aisle, hands linked tight, hearts full.

The music swells and your friends and family rise to their feet, clapping, whooping, a few people even dabbing their eyes. But the only thing you’re really aware of is Glen’s hand in yours and the way he keeps looking over at you like he still can’t believe this is real.

Your smile hurts in the best way. Glen leans in as you start to walk, his voice warm against your ear. “You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

You laugh, blinking back fresh tears. “Good. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You move together down the aisle, hearts in sync, surrounded by love. It’s the kind of moment that feels wrapped in sunlight, in warmth, in everything you ever hoped your wedding day would hold.

You and Glen make your way up to the house while the guests are ushered towards the barn for the reception. The wedding coordinator gives a soft smile and pulls the doors closed behind you, giving you and Glen a few moments alone.

Glen exhales, then gently tugs you toward him, his arms slipping around your waist. “Hey,” he says softly, resting his forehead against yours. “We did it.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice full of disbelief and love all tangled together. “We’re married.”

He grins and rushes up, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. “Mrs. Powell.”

You laugh. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Nah,” Glen says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Sounds pretty perfect to me.”

You don’t rush.

The world outside the door can wait — the music, the champagne, the clinking glasses, and laughter. For now, it’s just you and Glen. Husband and wife. And somehow that still doesn’t feel real.

You lean into him, arms wrapping around his waist, cheek resting against his chest.

“I can’t believe we’re actually married,” you whisper, smiling into the fabric of his jacket.

Glen’s arms tighten around you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. “I can. I’ve been ready since the second I met you.”

You laugh — quiet and breathy — as you look up at him. “That’s a lie. You didn’t even like me when we met.”

He grins, eyes crinkling. “I didn’t know what to do with you. You were all... quick comebacks and sharp edges. You scared the hell out of me.”

Your hands slide over his chest, fingers playing with the button on his jacket. “This feels like a dream.”

“It’s not,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “It’s real. You and me. Married. Finally.”

There’s a pause — not heavy, just still — and then he presses a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

You close your eyes, tilting your face just enough to meet him halfway as his lips find yours.

It’s not a kiss for the camera, or the crowd, or the moment. It’s for you. Soft. Slow. Familiar in all the best ways.

When you pull back, your forehead stays pressed to his. You’re both smiling now, hands still linked, hearts steadying together.

“Think we can sneak away for five more minutes?” you ask, only half kidding.

Glen leans in again, voice low and warm. “For you? Always.”

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RECEPTION: THE GRAND ENTRANCE(Reader’s P.O.V.)

The two of you wait just behind the barn doors, tucked out of sight, hands laced together. You can hear the music thumping softly through the wood, the sound of laughter, and clinking glasses as your friends and family find their seats.

Glen gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he leans in close.

“You ready, Mrs. Powell?” he asks with a grin that still manages to make your stomach flutter.

You roll your eyes playfully, but you’re smiling too big to pretend you’re not smitten. “More than ready, Mr. Powell.”

From inside, the DJ’s voice rises over the speakers, full of energy and warmth. “Alright, y’all. Now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Let’s make some noise for the brand-new Mr. and Mrs. Powell!”

The barn doors swing open.

The crowd erupts in cheers, whoops, and applause as you and Glen step through, hand in hand. The soft glow of string lights overhead, the music, the joy…it all hits you at once like a warm wave.

Right in the center of the dance floor, Glen tugs you gently toward him.

You laugh as he spins you in a full, twirling circle that flares the skirt of your dress and sends your heart soaring, and then he catches you, dips you low, and kisses you.

When he pulls you upright again, you both can’t stop smiling.

Arm around your waist, Glen guides you toward the sweetheart table at the front of the room. You take your seats together, a candlelit oasis surrounded by flowers and the people who love you most.

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RECEPTION: DINNER & TOASTS (Reader's P.O.V.)

Guests are seated, plates are full, and the sound of laughter hums through the air, mixing with the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar in the background.

Glen reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ve got that just-married glow,” he murmurs, eyes dancing as he leans in closer.

You grin. “That’s just the champagne.”

He laughs but doesn’t argue. He cuts off a bite of steak and holds it up to your lips. “Try this. I swear it’s better than what we had at the tasting.”

You take the bite, eyes never leaving his. “Mmm. You were right to go with that over the pork. Again.”

He smiles like he’s keeping a secret and then gestures toward your plate. “Now give me a bite of that chicken. Don’t be stingy.”

You feed him a forkful, and when he ends up with a tiny smudge of sauce near his mouth, you lean forward and gently wipe it away with your thumb.

The DJ’s voice cuts in a few minutes later, signaling the start of the toast.

First up is Lauren, Glen’s older sister, holding her glass as she walks up to the mic.

“I have to say,” she begins, smiling over at you both, “I’ve known Glen his whole life. I’ve seen him go through every phase—from ‘wannabe cowboy’ to ‘Hollywood heartthrob’—but I have to say this version of Glen? The one that lights up when she walks into the room? That’s my favorite.”

Laughter ripples through the crowd, and Glen chuckles softly beside you, brushing your knee under the table with his.

“And to you,” Lauren continues, looking at you now with warmth in her eyes, “thank you for loving my brother the way you do. For grounding him. For seeing all the good in him even when he leaves his boots in the hallway and forgets to run a new project by you.”

More laughter fills the room.

“But seriously,” she adds, voice catching slightly, “you make him better. And he’s already pretty great. So welcome to the family. We’re so lucky to have you.”

You blink fast, suddenly aware of the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

After Lauren’s toast brings both laughter and tears, the DJ announces the next toast giver. The crowd cheers as Chord Overstreet steps up to the mic, grinning in that charming, slightly mischievous way that promises a good story is coming.

He lifts his champagne glass, eyes scanning the room before settling on you and Glen.

“So,” he starts, “I’ve known Glen since we were both broke, twenty-something dreamers with bad haircuts and worse taste in furniture. We shared a shoebox of an apartment in Hollywood, lived off protein bars and gas station coffee, and thought ‘meal prep’ meant splitting a rotisserie chicken from Ralph’s.”

The crowd laughs, and Glen just shakes his head with a smirk, clearly bracing for whatever’s coming.

“But even back then,” Chord continues, “Glen was the guy you could count on. Loyal to the core. Thoughtful. The kind of guy who’d drive you to an audition at 5 a.m. even if he wasn’t auditioning himself. And the kind of guy who always checked in—really checked in—when you were going through it.”

Chord pauses, his smile softening.

“So when he called me a couple years back, out of the blue, and said, ‘Man, I think I’ve met someone…’ I knew. That was it. And then I met her. And listen, it all made sense. You’re sharp, you’re grounded, you’re kind, and Glen lights up when you’re around. It’s not subtle. Like, at all.”

The crowd laughs again, and Glen squeezes your hand under the table, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“But here’s my favorite story,” Chord adds, his grin returning. “Back in the day, Glen once said—dead serious—‘I don’t think I’ll ever settle down. I mean, I might get a dog someday…’”

Everyone erupts in laughter as Glen covers his face for a beat, and Chord raises his glass higher.

“Well, buddy…you got the dog, the house, and the girl. And I’ve never seen you happier.”

Chord nods toward where you and Glen are sitting, voice softening again.

“So here’s to the person who changed the whole game for him. To love, to laughter, and to finding the person who makes all the old rules irrelevant. I love you both. Congratulations.”

Applause swells as Chord steps down, and Glen pulls you close.

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RECEPTION: CAKE CUTTING (Reader’s P.O.V.))

The lights dim just slightly as the DJ announces the next moment: “Ladies and gentlemen if you’ll turn your attention to the cake table…”

A soft instrumental version of your favorite song plays as you and Glen make your way over, hand in hand. The cake is a stunner—three tiers of soft ivory buttercream, fresh blooms, and delicate detailing that matches the lace of your dress.

A silver knife is placed carefully on the table. Glen picks it up first, glancing at you with a teasing raise of his brows. “You ready for this?” he murmurs under his breath.

“You mean to cut the cake or to trust you not to smash it in my face?” you shoot back, grinning.

He laughs, his hand resting lightly on your lower back as you both guide the knife through the bottom tier. Cameras flash, guests cheer, and once a slice is served, Glen picks up a fork, scooping up a bite with exaggerated care.

“For you,” he says, holding it out.

You lean forward and take the bite, humming in approval. “Mmm. Not bad.”

He raises a brow again, now suspiciously quiet as he scoops a bit more frosting—and before you can react, he dabs just a little onto the tip of your nose.

You gasp, “Glen!”

He grins like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You looked too perfect. I had to humble you.”

You grab a napkin and swipe at your nose, and Glen leans in to gently kiss the frosting off anyway, murmuring, “Still perfect.”

You loop your arm through his and press your cheek to his shoulder as the photographer snaps a candid of the two of you—frosting, laughter, and all.

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RECEPTION: FIRST DANCE (Reader's P.O.V.)

The reception lights dim again, and a hush falls over the room. Soft string lights overhead glow like starlight, casting everything in a warm, golden hue.

The DJ’s voice cuts gently through the hum of conversation, “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please turn your attention to the dance floor…it’s time for the newlyweds’ first dance.”

You feel Glen’s hand find yours, steady and sure. He leans in close, his lips brushing your temple. “Ready?”

You smile up at him, heart full. “More than ready.”

Glen leads you out, hand on your waist, fingers laced with yours. You hear the first notes of a song. It’s soft, slow, and unfamiliar…but beautiful.

Then a voice begins to sing. Not a recording—live. Familiar. Warm.

Leslie.

Your eyes flick toward the small stage, and there she stands, mic in hand, eyes shining. The song she’s singing isn’t one you’ve heard before, but every word lands like it was written just for the two of you.

Open your eyes, take in the view

Sometimes I wish it would slow down…

Glen’s eyes never leave yours. His thumb brushes softly against your back as you sway together, slow and gentle. He pulls you a little closer, resting his forehead to yours for a beat, his voice barely a whisper.

“This song…she wrote it for us. I asked her to. Months ago.”

Your chest tightens in the best way. You shake your head, smiling through sudden tears. “Of course you did.”

The melody begins to wash over you. You reach up and loop your arms around his neck. It’s just the two of you swaying in time.

Glen doesn’t take his eyes off you, and you don’t either.

There’s something quiet in the way he looks at you now — a softness that lives beneath the smile, beneath the glint in his eyes. Like he’s still a little in awe of you. Of this. Of the fact that you’re his.

There will be laughter, there will be pain

There will be sunshine, there will be rain

You feel Glen’s hands pull you just a little closer. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“I love you,” he says against your skin, his voice low and sure.

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “I love you too.”

As the chorus swells, he spins you slowly — just once — and when you step back into his arms, he holds you like he never wants to let go.

When you need a friend, I will carry you through

No matter the moment, I’ll be there with you…

By the time the final chorus swells and begins to fade, Glen’s fingers tighten around yours just slightly.

He gives you a look — playful, full of love — and then he spins you.

You laugh, breath catching as the skirt of your dress flares out around you, the room blurring for a second as you twirl under his hand. And when you come back to him, he catches you effortlessly, drawing you in close.

And then, without missing a beat, he dips you — one arm strong and steady at your back, the other holding your hand as he leans down and kisses you.

Your guests cheer and clap as the final note fades, but all you can focus on is Glen — his grin, the sparkle in his eyes, the warmth of him wrapped around you.

When he brings you upright again, his forehead brushes yours, breath warm as he whispers, “God, I love you.”

You smile, cheeks flushed, heart full. “I love you more.”

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

RECEPTION: MOTHER / SON DANCE (Glen’s P.O.V.)

“Now we’d like to invite Glen and his mom, Cyndy, to the floor for their mother-son dance.”

Glen glances towards the edge of the dance floor where his mom stands, already blinking back tears. He walks over, offering his hand with a smile.

“May I have this dance, Mama?”

Cyndy smiles and nods as she places her hand in his. Glen leads her to the center of the dance floor. His palm rests gently against her back, her hand curled into his like it has been since he was little.

For a minute neither of them say anything. Then Cyndy whispers, “I still remember the first time you ever slow danced. You were standing on my feet in the kitchen. I think you were six or seven.”

He chuckles, “You taught me everything I know.”

“You always had such a big heart,” she says, eyes brimming. “You just needed someone to be soft with it.”

Glen glances across the room, and there you are, laughing at something your maid of honor just said, radiant and glowing and entirely his.

“I think I may have found her.” He says.

Cyndy follows his gaze, smile trembling. “She’s perfect for you. I see the way you look at her, honey.”

They sway for a few more beats in silence. No need to fill it. Some things just speak for themselves.

As the song begins to fade, Cyndy squeezes his hand and leans up to kiss his cheek. “You make me proud, Glen. Every day. But especially today.”

He smiles at her. “Thank you for everything. I love you, Mama.”

“Love you too, baby.”

Glen and Cyndy slowly make their way off the dance floor, still holding onto each other. Cyndy’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, but there’s a steady smile on her face—one only a proud mother can wear.

Glen guides her toward you, and you stand to meet them instinctively, your hand already reaching for his.

But it’s Cyndy who steps in first.

She reaches out and gently takes your hands in hers, her fingers warm and slightly trembling. Her gaze settles on your face, full of emotion, but also peace.

“I’ve always been Glen’s number one girl,” she says softly, a little teasing smile on her lips. “Since the day he was born.”

Glen chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Cyndy squeezes your hands a little tighter. “But today, that changes. Today, I give that spot to you.”

Your breath catches. You didn’t expect to cry again tonight, but the way she says it—with quiet grace and so much love—hits something deep.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she adds gently. “But I see the way he looks at you. And I know he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.”

You blink quickly, trying to keep your mascara intact and nod with a tearful smile. “Thank you… for trusting me with him.”

Cyndy pulls you into a soft hug that’s warm and maternal and full of acceptance. “Just promise to keep his head on straight,” she says, half-joking. “He’s always been a little stubborn.”

“I promise,” you whisper into her shoulder.

When she steps back, she takes Glen’s hand in hers for one more beat, then places it firmly in yours.

“You’ve got him now,” she says with a wink. “Don’t let go.”

And then she heads back toward her seat, dabbing her eyes with a napkin, while Glen leans in close and kisses your temple, his hand already twining with yours again.

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DRESS CHANGE & SUNSET PHOTOS (Reader’s P.O.V.)

As the reception continues you slip away with Glen, fingers intertwined as you make your way up to the house. Your dress rustles softly as you make your way upstairs to the master bedroom.

You step into the center of the room and glance back over your shoulder at him.

“Think you can help me out of this?” You ask, voice light and slightly flirty.

Glen’s already loosening the tie from his neck, tossing it to a nearby chair as he steps closer. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You turn, facing away from him, and feel his hands settle just below your shoulders. His fingers find the tiny buttons lining the back of your gown, working one by one.

“You looked beautiful in this,” he murmurs, his breath warm on the nape of your neck. “But I’m not gonna lie…I’ve been thinking about taking it off you since the second I saw you in it.”

You huff a soft laugh, but it dissolves as his mouth brushes the top of your spine, his hands skimming bare skin as the dress loosens and slips down your body. You let it fall, stepping out carefully as he loses his suit jacket and untucks his shirt, top buttons undone.

And then his hands are on your waist, tugging you back into him, your bodies flush. He kisses you — slow, deep, and wanting — like the moment has caught fire and he’s content to let it burn.

“You sure we gotta go back out there?” he mumbles against your lips, hands already trailing lower.

You smile against his mouth, catching his wrists before things get too carried away. “We’ve got a dance floor and people waiting. But...later?”

“Hell yes, later.”

You reach for the second dress — a soft satin number with delicate straps and a low, open back — and Glen helps you step into it, carefully zipping it up.

When you turn around, smoothing the straps into place, Glen goes quiet. His eyes drag over you slowly, the corners of his mouth lifting as he takes you in.

He takes a step toward you. One arm circles your waist, and the other slides over your bare back as he pulls you in and kisses you.

“We better get downstairs to get those last few pictures you wanted,” Glen says as he pulls away.

You nod and take his hand as the two of you make your way downstairs and to the backyard to meet the photographer for the last of the photos.

This time around the photos are effortless. There’s no posing. The photographer gives you and Glen a few gentle directions but for the most part, she tells you to just be yourself while she gets some candid shots. Glen twirls you again, this time watching the new dress catch the breeze. There are forehead kisses, laughter as you dip toward him dramatically, and one particularly steamy shot where his hands are low on your back, your lips just brushing.

The sun slips lower and lower, the sky painted in soft pink and lavender hues, and you steal one more quiet moment together before heading back inside to dance the night away.

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RECEPTION: OPEN DANCING (Reader’s P.O.V.)

The DJ shifts gears from slow romance to pure celebration. With a beat drop that sends a ripple of excitement through the room, the dance floor opens and it doesn't take long before it's full.

You and Glen are at the center of it all, hands intertwined, smiles wide. He spins you under his arm, and your laughter echoes above the music as your dress flares and floats with the motion. Someone lets out a cheer, and Glen dips you playfully—nearly to the floor—before pulling you back up into his arms.

The two of you dance like no one's watching, like you're the only two people in the world, even as guests surround you. Your friends are nearby, singing at the top of their lungs, drinks in hand. Glen’s sisters pull him away for a quick spin, and you find yourself dancing with your mom, both of you laughing when you mess up the rhythm. Leslie jumps back in with a live set of upbeat covers, keeping the energy high and the floor packed.

At one point, Glen slides up behind you, resting his hands on your hips as you sway together to the beat. He leans in to murmur in your ear, “You’re still the prettiest girl in the room.”

You glance over your shoulder, grinning. “Still?”

He kisses your cheek. “Always.”

There’s a moment where you're both dancing with your friends—Glen and Chord dramatically lip-syncing to an ‘80s anthem while your bridal party hypes them up. Then you and Glen link hands again and make your way through the crowd, greeting family members, sharing hugs, stealing cupcakes off dessert plates, and taking impromptu selfies with cousins.

Later, someone starts a conga line that Glen refuses to join—until you grab his hand and tug him in, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. He finally gives in, shaking his head but unable to stop smiling.

Everywhere you look, there are people you love—smiling, dancing, celebrating right along with you.

But somehow, every time your eyes meet Glen’s across the room, everything else softens.

✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧ ⋯ ⋯ ✧

RECEPTION: PRIVATE LAST DANCE (Reader's P.O.V.)

The reception has wound down to a slow hum, laughter lingering in the air like the last notes of a favorite song. Guests are grabbing sparklers, being gently ushered outside by the planner and DJ. The night air is cool, crackling with excitement and anticipation.

But inside, the world quiets. The dance floor is empty now—just soft candlelight flickering across the tables, a few petals scattered across the floor. And in the center, it’s just you and Glen.

The music changes. A soft, slow instrumental version of your first dance song plays through the speakers just for the two of you. No photographer, no guests. Just husband and wife, savoring the very last moment of the night before stepping into what comes next.

Glen extends his hand. “One more?” he asks, voice quiet but certain.

You nod, slipping your fingers into his. He pulls you close, arms around your waist, forehead resting against yours. The world falls away again. No chaos, no countdowns, just this.

You sway together, slowly, like it’s the first time and the last all at once.

“I don’t want to leave this night,” you whisper, your voice catching.

Glen smiles, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek. “Then we’ll carry it with us. Every day.”

You lean into him. Neither of you speak again. You don’t need to. Everything is already being said in the way he holds you, the way your heart beats steady against his.

The song fades into silence.

You pull back just enough to look up at him. “Ready?”

He grins, just a little crooked. “To spend the rest of my life with you? Always.”

You share one last kiss—slow, lingering, and full of promise—before the doors swing open.

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RECEPTION: GRAND EXIT (Reader’s P.O.V.)

Outside, your guests cheer as sparklers light the night. It’s like a pathway of stars guiding you forward. You and Glen run through them, hand in hand, laughter echoing through the night. Someone yells, “Don’t trip!” and someone else shouts, “Kiss again!”

At the end of the sparkler tunnel, Glen opens the car door for you like a true gentleman. You pause, turning back to wave at everyone gathered there—your people, your hearts, your family.

Then you climb in beside him.

He starts the car, reaches over to take your hand, and with a final honk and a flurry of cheers behind you, you both disappear into the night.

Not as guests, not as fiancés—but as Mr. and Mrs. Powell.

Officially starting forever together.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction #Glen Powell x reader #Glen Powell x you #Soft!GlenPowell #Spotify

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bunni-v1 · 3 months ago

Text

Genshin College Au (Intro)

Bunni College AU take. These are just a dump of thoughts. I wanted to include more characters but there's only so much my little brain can handle. You can also def tell who my favorites are so, uh, shut up. Idk if I'll continue this, idk if I even like what I wrote, don't be mean to me, please. Anyway, enjoy!

TW: Mention of Alchohol and Drug use; Suggestive in Navia's part

Info: Navia x Reader; Wriothesely x Reader; Alhaitham & Kaveh x Reader; Eula x Reader; Venti x Reader; Kazuha x Reader; Childe x Reader; Ifa x Reader

Sumeru Academia (Graduate Branch), the pride of Teyvat. A collection of the greatest minds spanning from the windy peaks of Mondstat to the fiery pits of Natlan. Students come from across the world just to study in its grand halls, all yearning for the honor of being added to the list of greats who came from the prestigious academy.

You were no different, of course, having left your home as soon as you could after receiving your acceptance letter. Bright and starry-eyed, you couldn't wait to finally finally start your time there. Moved into your dorm, books bought, and closet fresh just for your new life here. You really had thought of everything! Everything except... well... your social life.

None of your friends had managed to get in, so you were completely alone. You didn't want to let it stop you, though! So what if you were socially awkward and a bit in over your head, you got into Sumeru Academia, you could do anything you wanted to if you set your mind to it. Even making friends.

What you didn't expect, though, was to collect a harem instead. You were confident you were pretty cute, but... certainly not cute enough to have so many people vying for your attention. Yet, you did. You had managed to put yourself on a lot of people's radars, and while it was nice to have so much attention... it was starting to get in the way of your studies.

The first delightful face you meet is Navia. Your roommate and fellow first year. Her bright and bubbly personality made her easy to get along with, and you found it very easy to talk to her despite your awkwardness. She was far more outgoing than you were, which was great, forcing you to get out of your shell and explore the campus and Sumeru City. You already found yourself having sleepless nights gossiping with her, playing with each other's hair, doing each other's nails, all the cute girly things you'd expect from someone like her. She always made you feel so pretty, complimenting you no matter if you were dressed for the clubs or in your nightshirt with messy hair. The way she protects you from creeps is so sweet, always checking in with you and walking you to and from classes when she can. It was obvious she wanted nothing but the best for you, and you thought it was all friendly bantering... until one night. You were up chatting, it was three in the morning and both of you had an 8AM, and neither of you was completely sober. You don't know how it happened, but one second you were giggling about your annoying professors and the next you were making out with her. It probably wasn't a good idea, but she tasted like buttercream frosting and the sweet wine you'd been sipping on, you couldn't stop yourself from letting her tongue slip into your mouth. It's all a blur, really, but you wake up in her bed curled up in her arms and you think that it's not so bad. It was Navia after all.

The next person you'd met was enigmatic, and constantly tired Wriothesley. He was something of a local legend around campus, the tall buff law student with a permanent RBF and eyebags so heavy they could make you yawn at just the sight. You'd only found yourself in his intimidating presence thanks to Navia, who'd known him through one of her friends back home in Fontaine. It took you a long time to warm up to him, his reputation wasn't there for no reason, but once you gave him a chance you were positively charmed. Wriothesley was funny, clever in the way only someone in his field could be. He had a way of making you laugh without really having to try, and you'd always felt safe when he offered to walk you and Navia back to your dorm after spending too long out together. Truly you'd never hung out on one with him before, too nervous the conversation wouldn't flow too well, but when Navia gets sick right before a scheduled study session you feel too bad to cancel on him. So you haul your mousy ass all the way to the cafe on campus and explain the situation to him. You really expect him to reschedule, but he doesn't. In fact, he sits his ass right down next to you where Navia usually would be and talks to you like it's nothing. He even manages to sneakily pay for your drink without you realizing. It's, possibly, the least productive study session you'd ever had, but you can't complain when he's smiling at you like some kind of rugged prince. He even gives you his coat when you start shivering on the walk home, ever the gentleman. You only realize he'd forgotten it when Navia asks about it, too lost in your daydreams about how romantic he was all night.

Your next love interest came in a pair - well, not initially. Kaveh was your academic mentor, there to help you along with your classes and make sure your first year as an Academia student went smoothly. He was your reliable upperclassman, someone who'd helped you out plenty, but not someone you'd considered an option for a friend. He was technically in charge of you, right? That was until you met his shadow, Alhaitham, and more aptly, you watched said shadow completely destroy the calm and collected facade you'd always seen Kaveh hold. It was funny, really, watching how fast Kaveh got pissed at Alhaitham for simply scolding him for forgetting his keys. Calling him forgetful and insulting his scatterbrained tendencies. No amount of damage control would get you to forget what you saw, so Kaveh regrettably gave up the fight and just let you know just how much of a mess he was. Swamped with work, in debt from scholarship money, and completely exhausted. You'd gone out of your way since then to bring him an energy drink every time you saw him, delighted when his face lit up at the offering. It was odd how easily the two of them became a frequent part of your daily routine, usually ending your nights heading over to their (Alhaitham's, he always insisted it was his apartment that he allowed Kaveh to live in) apartment to hang out - usually watching shitty B-list movies and picking them apart for fun. (It was Alhaitham's favorite pasttime, and the only time you'd ever see Kaveh relax). Alhaitham, despite his abrasive first impression, was easy to get along once you understood how he worked. He liked quiet while he worked on things, he didn't like being bothered, and he liked to relax. Quite the opposite of the ever-stressed Kaveh. You'd fallen asleep during your movie marathons far too many times, somehow always waking up in one of their beds, tucked in while the other slept on the couch.

You had met Eula by complete accident and made quite the fool out of yourself in the process. Everyone knew not to bother using study room five in the hub during midterms, that was Eula's room. She always went to it, she studied for three hours, and then she left to get dinner before bed. Everyone knew that. Everyone but you, of course. You had a huge project coming up that you had, of course, neglected until the last minute. So with a six-pack of Red Bull, your computer, and a dream you'd reserved study room five for the night intent on getting it done in one go. That was, apparently, not a good idea as about twenty minutes into your session someone knocked on your door. Eula Lawrence was nothing short of annoyed as she peered down at you, the freshman stupid enough to take her study room. Why, it was inexcusable, unheard of even for her to be so blatantly disrespected. Yet, when you offered to just share the room with her, all the sharp words died on her tongue. She simply strutted in with a flip of her hair and a huff. It was hard to pay attention to your task with such a pretty person across from you, her concentrated features burning into your mind, and you were sure you'd be dreaming of her that night. Still, with four Red Bulls down and fifteen minutes left on the submission time, you'd managed to complete your project just as she closed up her book. It's a shock when she offers to buy you dinner when she finally looks up at you, it's even more shocking when she huffily gives you her phone number and requests that you join her again sometime soon.

There is one class that you never seem to enjoy, and that's poetry. You didn't have any issue with poetry itself, nor were you bad at it, just... the professor was the worst. The workload was ungodly, and the free elective you'd selected had become more stressful than your main class load. The only thing that seemed to make it bearable was your seatmate, Venti. He was a real hotshot with the poem stuff, and musically talented too, not to mention the funniest guy you'd ever met. He always had something to say about your professor that got the two of you in trouble for giggling too loud more than a few times. You only ever saw him in the class, but that 12:00-1:10 period went from your least favorite time to one of your most anticipated. An in-class tryst that you expected to stay that way. Until, of course, Venti asked you out of your first official unofficial date. He'd gotten you tickets to see his band play downtown, and while it might not be super romantic, it was the first time anyone had ever asked you out before. He'd catch your eyes in the crowd and you swear you saw his grin widening when you'd wave excitedly at him from the crowd. He even let you meet his band!

That's how you met Kazuha the lead guitarist and quite a heartthrob. He had a way with words that left your head spinning in confusion. Was he flirting, was he high, you had no idea. All you knew is he was cute and really sweet. He didn't technically attend the Academia, but he sat in on classes all the time. He was infamous for sneaking around campus and seeing what he could get away with before someone realized he wasn't supposed to be there. After meeting him, he started to show up around your classes a lot more, sometimes even walking with you between them and sitting in the back with you. He always had something poetic to say when you complained to him about classes or the campus, and while you didn't always understand the underlying meaning, you appreciated his flowery words regardless. He always went out of his way to compliment you on something new every day, making your heart race and face heat up in a way you hoped wasn't obvious. He was so constant in your life that you nearly forgot he wasn't supposed to be there until you had to pretend he was your boyfriend to get public safety off his case. He'd stuck with that story ever since, always introducing himself as your boyfriend to strangers with a cheeky smile... which only went over well with so many people...

Being as much of a recluse as you were, it was surprising to find that you'd caught the eye of the basketball team captain. Childe had completely ruined your favorite shirt barreling through the cafeteria one day, spilling greasy taco meat down the front of it in his rush to get to his table. He'd felt so bad that he not only cleaned you up but ditched his team to sit with you and keep you company since you usually ate alone. The gesture you'd expected to be a one-time thing happened now every Wednesday and Friday during your free period for lunch. He was flirty, but that didn't get in the way of his genuineness. He was a very heart-on-the-sleeve kind of guy, able to charm you with his straightforwardness and lighthearted teasing. Everyone you knew told you to keep your distance from him, but you couldn't help but like him! He was sweet, funny, caring, and not to mention pretty handsome. You just didn't know what was so bad about him. Not until you saw it firsthand. Being harassed by some creep as you walked to lunch as usual, you figured it would be over as soon as you got in and got to your regular table. You're quite surprised to hear Childe shouting after the guy accosting you, and more shocked when a loud crack sounds from his fist hitting the guy straight in the jaw. You spend your free period that day patching Childe up and scolding him for being reckless, even if it was helpful. With a fighting spirit like that, you'd have to be careful on what you let happen around him - sevens forbid he see you and Kazuha and mistake it for harassment from some random civilian.

Your one saving grace from all of this was the quiet of the cafe deep in the heart of Sumeru City. Its warm and inviting atmosphere was the perfect getaway from classes and people. Just you, the music, and a nice hot cup of coffee... and the super cute guy you had a secret crush on. You felt a bit like a stalker, watching him from a distance as he slaved over medical textbooks and endless notes, but he was just in your line of sight. It's not like you hadn't caught him staring a couple times before either, so at least you weren't the only one doing it. You don't know his name or anything about him, but you know that he goes to the same cafe as you every weekend and studies there way past when you leave. It's only by chance, and by that you mean bird, that you manage to finally talk to the handsome stranger. His cheeky little pet bird lands right on your shoulder as you walk around campus one day. Cacucu, as you learn, was Ifa's pet bird who had a knack for getting out of his dorm thanks to his forgetful roommate Ororon. He was a vet student in his fourth year at the academia, and it showed on his face, handsome features worn down from years of studying endlessly. It didn't take away from how attractive he really was, though, and was he attractive up close. As an apology for his bird bothering you, he bought you your next cup of coffee from the cafe. It was the first night you'd seen him there that he wasn't studying, instead, focused on talking to you. From then on. everytime he'd see you come in, he'd invite you to his table and chat until you got up and left. He'd complain about his roommate and Cacucu keeping him up until six in the morning, and you'd vent your woes about classes and personal drama. A symbiotic relationship of sorts formed between the two of you, becoming one another's sense of freedom from life stressors. It was so nice, in fact, that Ifa had asked you out. Not like Venti did, where it was implied, no. Ifa asked you out on a real date at a real restaurant with real flowers! It was all so perfect! Until, of course, news of it got out to the others.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #wriothesley x reader #childe x reader #eula x reader #navia x reader #ifa x reader #venti x reader #kazuha x reader

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locsandletters · 4 months ago

Text

ᯓ three of us; j.bellingham

──one shot/smau

pairing ➜ dad!jude x mom!reader

word count ➜ 1.1k

warnings/notes ➜ none

summary ➜ waking up to roses, a penthouse suite, and your baby girl’s sweet giggles—jude has valentine’s day planned to perfection, just like he always does.

valentine’s day has never been small with jude. you know this. he’s never been the type to half-ass anything when it comes to you, and God knows he loves a reason to go all out. so when you wake up to the smell of fresh roses thick in the air, when your sleepy eyes blink open to a room flooded in all shades of pink, you’re not even surprised.

a soft giggle pulls your attention, your heart melting before your eyes even land on her. your daughter. your baby girl. sitting right there on the bed between you and jude, still in her pyjamas, soft curls all over the place, chubby fingers wrapped tight around a plush teddy bear nearly bigger than her. the same bear you watched jude pick out himself a week ago. ‘it’s cute, yeah?’ he’d asked, stuffing it into the shopping cart even when you told him it was way too big.

and now there she is, sitting up straight, the bear nearly swallowing her whole as she grins wide at you.

“mama, wake up!” her voice is all sugar, sticky sweet with that innocence only babies have. “daddy say surprise.”

you shift onto your back, glancing to your right, finding jude already watching you with that lazy, smug smile. leaned up against the headboard, one arm resting behind his head, the other wrapped tight around your daughter’s tummy, like she might just float away if he lets go.

“morning, princess,” he murmurs, voice all soft and sweet.

you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or her. probably both.

the place is quiet except for the sound of the city humming outside the windows. jude always books a hotel for valentine’s day, just to switch things up, just because he can. this time, a penthouse overlooking madrid. a ridiculous suite in a ridiculous hotel, the type of place with staff that knows your name and an elevator that only opens with a special key. the type of place only someone like jude can make feel like home.

“you got my baby waking me up early for a surprise?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes, fighting back a yawn.

jude smiles, eyes gleaming. “she wanted to wake you up an hour ago,” he says, ruffling her curls. “had to bribe her with cartoons.”

your baby giggles, snuggling into jude’s side, tiny hands still gripping that bear for dear life.

“you ready?” jude asks, tilting his head, watching you carefully.

you stretch your arms above your head, the silk sheets slipping down your body, exposing bare skin and the delicate lace of the lingerie jude had peeled off you just hours before. his eyes darken slightly, flickering over your figure, but he keeps himself in check.

barely.

“where we goin’?” you ask, lips curling.

he just smirks. “you’ll see.”

but before that, before the extravagant plans, before jude even lets you leave the bed, there’s the first gift.

the one sitting up on her knees right beside you, her tiny hands behind her back, rocking side to side like she’s holding the best secret in the world.

“mama!”

“yes, baby.”

“close your eyes!”

you do, because what else can you do when she’s so excited, when her little voice is bubbling over with joy? you feel movement, the slight shift of the mattress as she crawls closer, jude’s deep chuckle somewhere to your right. then something soft, pressed into your palm.

“open!”

you blink down. a card, hand-decorated with uneven hearts, stickers, glitter smudged at the edges. in the middle, written with the careful grip of a child still learning her letters, it says:

happy valentines day, mama. love you.

the handwriting wobbly. messy. perfect.

your throat tightens.

you look up at jude. he’s watching you, both hands resting behind his head now, mouth twitching like he’s fighting back a smile.

“she picked it out herself,” he says. “even wrote it too, didn’t you, baby?”

your daughter nods, curls bouncing. “daddy helped me!”

“barely,” jude shrugs. “she’s a little genius, just like her mom.”

you should say something, but your heart is too full, your throat too tight.

“you like it?” your daughter asks, voice small, uncertain.

you shift onto your side, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her into you, kissing the softest part of her cheek until she giggles.

“i love it, baby. it’s perfect.”

she beams. jude leans over, pressing a kiss to your temple, warm and lingering. you turn your face into his, brushing your lips over his jaw.

you could stay like this forever.

but you don’t, can’t, because almost immediately after, jude runs you a bath.

insists, actually.

there’s petals floating in the water when you step into the massive marble tub, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sitting on the edge, a new chanel robe waiting for you on the vanity. jude is annoyingly good at this.

he’s already dressed when you come out—black trousers, a matching prada button-down, sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone, the gold chain you bought him for his birthday resting against his collarbones. he looks good, unfairly so.

“you’re staring,” he says, amused, adjusting the tiny bracelet on your baby’s wrist as she sits on the bed.

you roll your eyes. “shut up.”

he just grins.

you finally look around.

boxes stacked neatly on the dresser. dior. prada. fendi. chanel. birkins in every colour you can think of, jewellery in cases so beautiful they could be gifts themselves. an unnecessary amount, but that’s jude.

“jude.” you give him a look.

“what?” he shrugs, feigning innocence, lifting your daughter onto his hip. she immediately buries her face in his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck. “you know how this goes, baby.”

he’s right. this isn’t new. but still.

you shake your head, stepping closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his warmth through the fabric. “you didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, tracing a finger over the chain around his neck.

“i know.” he leans down, lips brushing your temple. “but i wanted to.”

you exhale, eyes closing for a second.

“open your stuff,” he nudges, stepping back, adjusting your baby on his hip. “then we’re going.”

“going where?”

he just smiles.

—

you soon find out.

a private brunch. a rooftop, a view of the whole city. live music, candles, a ridiculous amount of food.

your baby in her own little chair between you and jude, a plate full of mini pancakes, her curls tied up in two tiny puffs.

jude feeding you bites of fruit, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

the sun warm on your skin. the softest breeze. the quietest moment.

and then, jude, watching you, soft eyes, softer smile.

"happy valentine’s day, my love," he murmurs, reaching across the table, fingers sliding through yours.

you squeeze his hand, your baby giggling between you, syrup on her cheeks, happiness in her eyes.

"happy valentine’s day, baby," you whisper back.

money can buy a lot of things. but this? this is priceless.

ynusername

liked by tolami_benson, renee_downer and 791 835 others.

ynusername just a girl and her gorgeous flowers (bought by her equally gorgeous man).💐

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wag: stunner🫦

username: nah i’m hating

username: jude 🤝🏽 single-handedly keeping florists in business

username: you think you’re better than me?🤨

username: bellingham is such an unbelievably shit footballer but he's dating yn so he just wins even when he loses

ynusername

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ynusername valentines weekend dump (the PG version).💞☺️

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username: OH?!

judebellingham: my favourite girls.🩷

username: oh brother, baby #2 otw

jobebellingham: choosing to ignore what the caption implies. my niece is growing up too fast 🥹

username: bitch– RELEASE THE TAPE!!

#locsandletters #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham social media au

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levisjinchuriki · 6 months ago

Text

you look good spoiled - eren jaeger

summary: eren loves spoiling you and decides to splurge on christmas

warning: plug!eren, christmas with bf eren, reader getting spoiled, one curse

you’re surrounded by stacks of gifts wrapped in designer paper, each box more luxurious than the last. louis vuitton, chanel, and gucci logos peek through the meticulously tied bows. the smell of pine and cinnamon fills the room, but it’s mixed with the faint, earthy aroma of the blunt in eren’s hand. you’re curled up on the couch, a glass of spiked eggnog cradled in your hands.

“babe, you really didn’t have to go this crazy” you say, gesturing to the mountain of presents. your tone is light, but the sheer amount of it all is overwhelming—even for someone as spoiled as you.

eren, sprawled out next to you in black sweats that hang low on his hips and a fitted white tee that clings to his chest, smirks. his hair’s pulled into a messy bun, a few loose strands framing his sharp jawline. “you’re acting like you didn’t send me a whole list, princess” he says, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he takes a slow drag from the blunt.

you bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide. he’s got you there.

“well, yeah” you tease, setting your glass down on the side table, “but i didn’t expect you to actually buy everything” your voice lilts with feigned innocence as you cross your legs.

eren exhales a cloud of smoke, lazily blowing it toward the ceiling before flicking the ash into the crystal tray on the coffee table. “don’t play with me” he says, his smirk widening as he sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “you knew what you were doing, sending me links with ‘this would look cute on me’ in the captions. what kind of man would i be if i didn’t make it happen?”.

you haven’t heard the word “no” since the two of you got together, and honestly, you don’t expect to. your cheeks warm as you take a sip of your eggnog, using the glass as a shield to hide the grin tugging at your lips.

your eyes wander over the gifts, a mix of excitement and disbelief bubbling up in you. “you really got everything on the list?”.

“and then some” he says, taking another pull from his blunt. he tilts his head toward a smaller pile near the back. “those are surprises”.

you hum thoughtfully. since eren went all out, it’s only fair that he opens one of his presents first.

you lean forward and hand him a neatly wrapped black box.the ribbon glints gold, tied perfectly, and for a moment, eren just looks at it, his green eyes squinted playfully.

“this better not be socks, or i’m returning all your shit” he jokes, shaking it gently near his ear.

impatiently, he tears into the paper. when he gets to the sleek box inside, his hands slow, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mutters, lifting the lid.

for a moment, his usually cocky demeanor falters. inside is a custom diamond-encrusted lighter, the silver metal gleaming under the warm glow of the christmas lights. the diamonds catch every flicker, and engraved along the side are the initials “e.j.”

he’s quiet, which is rare for him. turning the lighter over in his hands, his thumb brushes over the engraving, tracing the letters like he’s committing them to memory.

“damn” he mutters, turning the lighter over in his hand, the engraved initials catching the glow from the tree. “this is fire”.

you watch him lean back, flicking it open to admire how it lights with a smooth, satisfying click.

“you like it?” you ask, your voice almost hesitant.

“like it?” he glances up at you, his green eyes soft in that rare way they only get when he’s looking at you.

before he can respond, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly tender. eren doesn’t let you go far. in one swift motion, he pulls you into his lap, his hands finding their place on your waist like they belong there. his thumbs rub slow circles against your hips as he kisses you in appreciation.

when eren pulls away, his thumb brushes your cheek one last time, and his smirk softens into something more genuine.

“thank you, baby” he says, his voice low and sincere. he glances down at the lighter still in his hand, then back up at you. “seriously”.

you’re about to brush it off, but then he shifts under you, sitting up straighter.

“alright” he says. “your turn”. eren leans over the side of the couch for a moment before holding a light blue bag. the name shines in elegant silver lettering, and your eyes widen in shock.

tiffany & co.

“eren—” you gasp, your voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

your hands shake slightly as you reach into the bag, lifting out a small box with a white ribbon on top. when you lift the lid you can’t believe your eyes.

inside is a diamond tennis bracelet, flawless stones shimmering against the velvet lining. it’s beautiful—too beautiful.

“babe” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you lift the bracelet out of the box. the diamonds feel cool and impossibly smooth against your fingers, and you can’t stop staring. “this is… i don’t even know what to say”.

“i know you’re gonna say i’m doing too much” eren murmurs, his voice soft as he carefully clasps the bracelet around your wrist, making sure it’s snug. “but you deserve it”.

the weight of the diamonds settles on your skin, and you can’t stop admiring how perfect it is. before you can find the words to respond, he tilts his head, his green eyes searching your face.

“what you think, mama?” he asks, his tone almost teasing, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the way he watches you.

you don’t answer—not with words, at least. instead, you lean in and kiss him, deeply and appreciatively, pouring all the emotion you can’t seem to articulate.

eren’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as he tilts your chin up with his other hand. his lips curve into a smile against yours, soft and full of warmth.

“guess you like it” he chuckles, knowing you have plenty more gifts to open.

---

a/n: thank you for reading. happy holidays everyone!!

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nottslove · 2 months ago

Note

my fav sang rn is melancholy hill by gorillaz. it's been in my head for WEEKS such a good song :)

event; profile; nav; hi anon!! thank you for sending in this request. it is a pretty good song. once again, it gave me angsty vibes...

it also gave me regulus vibes, i have no idea how, or where, but it just gave me reggie vibes. ITS ALSO VERY VERY LONG 3.4k words

song: melancholy hill, gorillaz slytherin boy: regulus black.

SINCE day one, he had always been your best friend. growing up in a strict, pureblood household was not easy.

especially with your six, younger siblings behind you, and a limited amount of gold in your parents' vault at gringotts.

unfortunately, that meant being betrothed to someone you hardly knew; at the young age of eleven.

your fate was sealed, the moment you got your letter to hogwarts.

augustus rookwood.

his name was augustus rookwood.

your future husband's name.

currently studying in durmstrang, and four years older than you, rookwood came from utmost wealth, which meant good news for your family should you marry him.

support for all your younger siblings.

and so, with this dark cloud of an eventually arranged marriage hanging over your head, you set foot into hogwarts, at the age of eleven.

naturally, you were sorted into slytherin. coming from a long line of slytherins, how could you be sorted into any other house??

being the oldest of seven, you had always been shadowed by the rest, and you often used to find yourself curled up on the chaise lounge with a book whilst you were given the responsibility of watching your siblings, making sure they weren't getting into trouble.

now, alone at hogwarts, you suddenly felt free, away from the burden of your future, and the responsibility of looking after your siblings.

your thoughts were interrupted when a boy sat beside you after being sorted into slytherin.

you recognized him. he came from the most noble and ancient house of black, one of the most prestigious wizarding families who lived in london.

your mother was close friends with his mother, so you had seen him a couple of times.

you'd never spoken to him before though.

the pair of you would simply make eye-contact before he went upstairs, and you buried your nose in a book.

now, however, you were grateful to have the slightly comforting feeling of having someone you knew sit beside you.

you had barely eaten anything; your anxiety was filling enough. an air bubble had wedged itself in your throat, preventing you from doing anything but staring at your food and rubbing your sweaty palms on your robe-covered thighs.

"you've barely touched your food," regulus had murmured with a small, sullen nod; his way of greeting you.

"so have you," you observed quietly, your eyes flickering to his untouched plate, then wandering to hazel-green eyes and dark, messy mop of curls.

no more words were exchanged after that, but regulus and you walked together to the slytherin common room.

you studied together too, and sat next to each other during classes, and even hung out together during the weekends.

one would even go as far as to call you friends.

that was what you had become.

you quickly noticed how similar he was to you. quiet, hardworking, same sense of humor... he even had the same taste in books as you did.

first year passed quickly, too fast for your liking, and before you knew it, it was summer, and you were back to looking after all your siblings and having your mother continuously chastise you for unladylike behavior, constantly reminding you of your upcoming marriage to rookwood as soon as you would graduate from hogwarts.

you were tired of being reminded of it. personally, you couldn't imagine being married to rookwood. you'd never even met the wizard, and you could only hope your parents would change their mind.

you exchanged letters with regulus all summer. yet you never once told him about your betrothal. in your mind, if you didn't speak of it, it would make it less true, and less likely to happen, which was what you wanted.

second year was uneventful, except for the time you and regulus got your first ever detention together.

regulus' brother, sirius had been ignoring regulus whenever the two of you tried to approach him about their mother's letter to regulus, and you had grown frustrated and hexed sirius with a spell you found in one of your books.

as a result, sirius had hexed you with a nose-growing spell and regulus, who was furious at his brother for doing this to you launched himself all over sirius and pummeled him with his fists.

you had to arrange all the borrowed books in the library according to category and author, but it was more rewarding than punishing, since you got to read books and hang out with regulus at the same time.

the summer after your second year was pretty much the same as the one the year before.

for regulus, it was one of his worst summers yet. his brother had run away from home, and got disowned, leaving his little brother to take the brunt of his parents' wrath.

he had immediately flooed over to your house in the middle of the night, and you nursed him back to health as he had suffered the cruciatus curse multiple times that night.

"thank you," he had told you, when dawn began creeping closer. you had hidden him in your room, hoping your parents wouldn't find out about an uninvited guest.

"any time," you whispered back, giving him the tightest hug you could muster. "it's what friends are for, right?"

you and regulus grew closer after that. two of your siblings joined hogwarts that year, and the heavy responsibilities you dealt with at home followed you to hogwarts, the place that had become your safe haven.

when the twins got into trouble, your parents sent you a howler for not looking after them properly, and regulus was there holding you as you cried into his shoulder late at night in the common room.

"it'll be okay, i've got you..." he kept murmuring.

and he was right. it was all okay, because he was there.

you and regulus didn't need anyone else's company when you had each other.

he was enough for you, and you were enough for him too.

third year was also the year you were allowed to go to hogsmeade. as usual, you and regulus went together, checked out the village and bought a few candies, before returning to the castle.

the rest of the visits, the two of you took advantage of the empty castle to hang out alone in the slytherin common room.

summer after your third year was uneventful apart from the fact that you met augustus rookwood for the very first time.

he had just finished his seventh year at durmstrang, and had come with his father to see you for the first time.

all at once, everything felt real.

you didn't want to do this; not one bit. you didn't want to marry rookwood.

still, you had come to terms with your fate, you had accepted it.

yet another one of your siblings joined hogwarts at the beginning of your fourth year.

regulus instantly noticed something was different about you this year. the whole train ride, you were completely silent, reading. or at least, pretending to read.

you didn't realize it, but you had been holding your book upside down, too lost in your own thoughts to realize.

regulus noticed, but he never said a word.

he merely smiled and shook his head.

regulus had thought you needed time and space, so that was what he gave you.

at christmas, when you still weren't back to your normal self, he had decided that he had had enough.

"okay, spill," he said randomly, when the two of you were doing homework by the black lake.

"i'm sorry...??"

"something's been bothering you. i want to know," he got to the point, his beautiful hazel-green eyes meeting yours.

and then, you broke.

all this time you had been holding yourself up, afraid that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn't be able to stop, you would start crying.

"reg— don't.... don't ask me that," you pleaded, your eyes watering. "ask me anything else, just.. just not that..."

you couldn't give him an honest answer; you didn't want to talk about rookwood.

you just wanted to forget.

you wanted to enjoy the rest of your hogwarts life and your childhood before your marriage to rookwood.

fully able to tell you were sensitive about the issue, regulus pulled you into an embrace, and that was where you began crying once more, sobbing and shaking as he held you.

"i'm betrothed to rookwood— i'm going to marry him as soon as we graduate from here.."

"oh, love..." your stomach fluttered intensely at the pet name, and as you buried your face into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck, the sensation only intensified instead of fading away.

when had he smelt this masculine, this good?? when had he felt so muscular, so safe?

you didn't realize it, but that was when you started falling for regulus black, your best friend.

summer after fourth year was no better than the rest. you got to meet regulus at all the pureblood parties and galas hosted by different wizarding families during the summer.

it was also when you shared your first dance with rookwood, and your first dance with regulus.

your best friend has asked you to dance when he saw you sitting pitifully on the stairs, right after your dance with rookwood had ended.

the two of you had ended up sneaking away from the party and into the piano room, where you played tchaikovsky together and stole a bottle of firewhiskey from the cellar.

safe to say that you both got drunk, but you had managed to take a sobering potion before either of your parents caught you.

your fifth year was when you realized you had caught feelings for regulus. every time he gave you that quiet smile of his, every time his eyes twinkled in mirth when you said something funny...

it made your stomach lurch in a completely pleasant way.

every time he would hug you, you would blush. every time his hands would brush against yours, you bit your lip to stop the grin forming across your lips.

it only made everything more painful; knowing that you couldn't act on your feelings because you were betrothed to rookwood.

regulus didn't realize; and you hoped he never would realize.

little did you know, he had already fallen in love with you.

but neither of you acted on your feelings. you simply grew closer to each other than ever.

during the slytherin christmas party, you and regulus got caught under the mistletoe, and he pressed the barest, gentlest of kisses on your lips.

it was your first kiss, but you didn't tell him that.

it lasted less than a second, but it meant everything to you.

it was hard pretending everything was normal after that. regulus was strangely oblivious to your feelings, and you often wondered how he couldn't see your painfully obvious feelings for him, and how he could go on pretending his kiss hadn't affected you.

the rest of your fifth year, you tried to distract yourself from regulus; knowing that if you confessed your feelings for him, it would ruin your friendship.

even if he did like you back, you were betrothed to rookwood anyway.

the summer after your fifth year, and before your sixth year, your parents hosted your official engagement party.

after much pleading and begging, you were allowed to invite regulus.

and as you watched another girl, who happened to be your cousin, chat him up and touch his arm, your blood boiled, your heart clenched, and tears sprung to your eyes, as you watched him lean against the wall with his hands in his pockets and shrug.

the girl moved on and before you knew it, your eyes met his.

a fierce jolt traveled through your entire body, tension suffocating you from all sides just from bearing the weight of his gaze.

that was when you knew you were in love with regulus black.

he was your life jacket in the stormy sea of like, and you simply could not live without him.

you needed him.

but you never said a word.

your fate was sealed. you loved him from a distance. he was so far, yet so close.

and this type of pain was worse than the cruciatus, even.

no, you smiled through it all, acted like you were happy.

only regulus saw through your façade.

your sixth year was your hardest year yet. another of your siblings joined hogwarts, and you and rookwood were expected to write to each other every week.

his letters were short. yours were the same length.

regulus had started to gain attention from the female population.

the tall, brooding, silent type is what they called him. he acted oblivious and uninterested to all of it, but whenever he was approached by a girl, you noticed the slight smirk on his pale, pink lips, and the slightest lift of his eyebrow, and his eyes would meet yours, as if he were waiting for your reaction.

that was when you would quickly cast your gaze down and hastily begin to pretend you were writing.

but regulus knew.

he could see.

and he wanted to confirm if you had feelings for him, so he looked at you cluelessly before he asked his question.

"should i go out with her?" he asked innocently, his face betraying no emotion. "she seems nice, doesn't she?"

it was all a ploy to get you jealous, but you didn't know that.

fisting your hands underneath the table, you forced a smile through gritted teeth.

"mhmm, yeah, she does. if you like her, go ahead— ask her out..."

and he asked her out right in front of you, fully aware of your reddening cheeks and your annoyed glare.

two could play that game.

with every letter that came from rookwood, once a week, you made a show of receiving it, reading it and replying to it.

"want to head to the library?" regulus would ask.

"can't," you'd say. "i need to reply to rookwood."

you would give him the same response when he asked you to accompany him to hogsmeade, and when he asked if you would play chess with him, unaware that your responses made his blood boil.

he decided to up his game.

every quidditch match he would play, he would always wink at you and smile, right after he caught the snitch and won for slytherin.

his win was always dedicated to you.

since his second year, his first year after getting on the team, he always won for you.

you were always there in the crowd, wearing his jersey, his number painted on both your cheeks.

this time, he winked at her.

at the stupid, stupid greengrass girl.

what's more, she ran to him right after his win, and kissed him full on the mouth.

in front of everyone.

your blood boiled, coursing through your veins, and the roar of the crowd around you was drowned out by the pumping of your heart in your ears, making your whole head throb.

hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, and your head felt heavy. without casting another glance backwards, you stormed off angrily, into the forbidden forest, without a care.

you didn't know how long you were there, feeding unicorns, talking to the centaurs, but you lost track of time.

it grew dark, and it even began raining.

and you were lost; you couldn't find your way back to the castle.

after wandering blindly through the trees, you managed to get out of the forest, tears mingling with the rain crashing down from the sky.

you were drenched. completely. you had worn regulus' quidditch jersey, as usual; the way you did every match.

now it was a soaking mess atop your shorts.

and then you heard his voice.

calling out your name.

you froze.

he saw you, a good distance from hagrid's hut, wand in hand, wearing his jersey, soaking wet.

you were shivering, freezing cold. but one look from his intense eyes and you felt hot all over.

you were on fire.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I WAS?" he roared, his angry gaze meeting yours. "YOU WERE GONE FOR HOURS— i... i thought something happened to you," he rasped, his voice losing its angry tone and taking a sad, defeated one.

he never lost his temper; it was a rare occasion. and at the moment, he was mad at you for making his heart go through the possibility of losing you.

and you, you could only stand in silence, angry tears spilling down your cheeks.

for once, you were glad it was raining, so regulus couldn't see your tears.

"well, i'm fine," you replied coolly, still completely pissed at regulus. it wasn't his fault. "no need to worry."

you shouldn't have been mad. after all, he didn't like you that way and you were meant to marry rookwood.

"that's all you're going to say?" he scoffed, as he couldn't believe you.

"should i be saying something else?" you prompted, irritation lacing your words.

"an apology, maybe?" regulus muttered, voice laced with irony. "for worrying me? for making me think... something happened to you? for making me think... that i... lost you?"

his voice were laced with vulnerability, spoken with a quiet sort of disappointment, as if he couldn't believe that you of all people would leave him.

in this world, he only had you.

no one else.

you were his family.

"well, why do you care what happens to me anyway?" you retorted, still furious at him for kissing the other girl. you simply couldn't get the image of greengrass locking lips with your best friend.

"i care because you're my best friend. you're all i have," regulus replied earnestly, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the thundering sound of rain. "and..."

his voice dropped lower as he broke off, averting his gaze to the floor before his beautiful eyes flickered back up to yours. "and i love you."

a deafening silence pounded through your ears, and though he spoke so so softly, it was fully audible over the sound of rain.

your heart lurched.

more tears poured down your face, and you swallowed hard.

"reg— i—" you stuttered, completely frozen, unable to string two words together. hope festered in your heart, and you guarded it fiercely, unable to tell if he meant it platonically, or romantically.

"it's... it's okay if you don't feel the same—" he began to panic, brows furrowing together in worry.

"i do," you gurgled, surprising him completely. "i love you."

before you knew it, he was kissing you, hands tangled in your wet, matted hair, your lips mingling with his.

you were freezing cold, and the rain drenched both of you, but the moment your lips touched his, your body was on fire.

you and regulus started dating, but in secret. you couldn't risk your parents finding out about you being in love with him.

they would forbid you from seeing him, and you couldn't live that.

your sixth year summer was uneventful, save for the fact that you convinced your parents to allow you to floo over to regulus' place every now and then.

they only allowed you out of pity.

it was your last summer to be free, to be unmarried.

it was also regulus' last summer to be free. he would be joining the dark lord immediately after graduation from hogwarts.

unbeknownst to you, regulus was hatching a plan.

he didn't tell anyone about it, in fear of failure.

your seventh year was bittersweet.

it was full of exams, and looking after your siblings.

and wedding preparations.

the year ended, and you were swamped with wedding preparations.

you had no time to see regulus.

every night, you would cry, as your wedding came closer and closer, and you were desperately in love with regulus.

the night before your wedding, regulus had managed to sneak into your room.

"pack your essentials," he whispered. "let's run away together.."

and you did. you grabbed his hand and let yourself fall, because you knew he would always catch you.

you knew he would always be there for you.

he would always catch you.

you put your entire faith in him, because everything was better when he was there.

and finally, finally, when you and regulus reached the house he had bought in france, the two of you stopped running.

you were safe.

you were home.

event; profile; nav;

#—jas' song recs event🧁#—jas celebrates🧁#regulus black #regulus black angst #regulus arcturus black #regulus black imagine #slytherin boys #regulus #regulus black smut #regulus black x reader #slytherin #enzo berkshire #slytherin boys imagines #mini fics #drabbles #writing #reggie black #reg black

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lazysoulwriter · 5 months ago

Text

Our Story in Film - Paul Mescal.

so cute and pure and omg

Paul had always been obsessed with photography, but it was never just about the art. It was about you. His camera was practically an extension of his hands, constantly capturing you in stolen moments—laughing mid-conversation, staring out the window lost in thought, cooking in the kitchen with a messy bun, or completely bare, skin glowing in the soft morning light. There was something about the way he saw you that made you feel ethereal, like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"You know you don't have to take a picture every time I breathe, right?" you'd tease him, but he'd just shrug, grinning behind the lens.

"Can’t help it, baby," he’d reply. "You’re my favorite thing to look at."

It wasn’t one-sided, though. As much as Paul loved documenting you, you loved capturing him just as much. The way he smiled when he wasn’t aware of it, the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he was genuinely happy, the way his hands looked gripping the steering wheel during late-night drives. Some of your favorite photos were of him completely lost in thought, his lips parted ever so slightly, or the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t looking back.

Your shared love for photography had become a part of your relationship, something deeply intimate. Your apartment was filled with printed photos—black-and-white shots, polaroids stuck to the fridge, strips of photobooth pictures from dates, and, somewhere in the chaos, a few carefully hidden nudes neither of you dared to frame but couldn't bring yourselves to delete.

And then, one day, as casually as if he were handing you a cup of coffee, Paul handed you a large, beautifully made book. The cover was smooth, deep brown leather, with a title embossed in elegant gold lettering:

"Our Story in Film"

You blinked at it, a little breathless before even opening it. “Paul…”

"Go on," he encouraged softly, watching you with an unreadable expression.

So you did.

The first pages were filled with early photos, from when you two had first started dating—grainy film shots of your awkward first dinner, candid laughter from one of your late-night walks, hands brushing but not quite touching. And as you flipped through, the timeline unfolded—morning coffees, road trips, birthday celebrations, winter nights under blankets, sun-kissed beach afternoons. It wasn’t just pictures; it was your entire love story laid out before you, each page a moment, a memory.

Your throat tightened when you found the ones of you asleep, unaware, tangled in sheets with sunlight spilling onto your skin. Then there were the pictures you had taken of him, the way you saw him through your eyes: soft, in love, always glowing.

And in the middle of it all, there was one of your more risqué pictures—nothing too explicit, just you, bare and beautiful, wrapped in the sheets, looking straight at the camera. You laughed, shaking your head. "I can't believe you put this here."

Paul just smirked. "It’s part of the story."

The further you went, the harder it was to hold back tears. It was you and him. Everywhere, in everything. It was your life together in photos.

Then, you turned to the very last page.

Unlike the rest, this one had words.

"Please, just marry me already."

Your eyes widened, and before you could even process the meaning, you looked up—only to find Paul in front of you, kneeling. His hands were shaking slightly as he held out a delicate ring, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his expression both nervous and completely in love.

You covered your mouth, laughter bubbling out through the tears spilling down your cheeks. "Paul—"

"Please," he murmured, grinning, his voice just as unsteady as his hands. "Before you say anything, just—look through that book again and tell me you don’t want to keep making memories like that for the rest of our lives."

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head, but there was no hesitation in your heart. No doubts, no second-guessing. You knelt down with him, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

"Yes," you whispered against his lips. "Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes."

Paul laughed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you tightly, holding you as if he never planned on letting go.

And as the camera timer beeped from where he'd set it up in the corner—because of course he’d planned this—you knew this was just the first page of the next chapter.

#paul mescal #paul mescal fanfic #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal imagines #paul mescal imagine #paul mescal x y/n #imagines #fanfic #normal people #gladiator ii #paul mescal one shot #paul mescal fanfics #paul mescal fluff #paul mescal cute #pm

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deathbyathousandspiders · 1 year ago

Text

“ guilty as sin? ,,

jj maybank x fem!reader.

IN WHICH you and jj don’t know how to face each other after he drunkenly tells you to leave your boyfriend for him.

a/n — this is my first JJ fic but hopefully of many so lmk what else y’all wanna see 🤭🤭

✨masterlist.✨

3.4k.

After the week you’d had, you never thought JJ would be the one gracing your presence. You never anticipated being stuck in silence with him like this. Typically, his company was welcomed. He was your safe space, your home. Your best friend. Quiet with him was something you always looked forward to.

Although, last weekend certainly changed that.

You two hadn’t spoken in a week. It was the longest you’d gone without talking to him since your parents moved to figure eight in the fourth grade; even then, that was only two days. You and JJ grew up neighbors before that. It was written in the stars that you were meant to be in his life, engraved in your bones. To grow up together, to laugh and cry together and to fall way too hard for him. And you knew JJ was messy. Messy and complicated and never someone you could tie down.

But he was your best friend.

JJ walked beside you as the sun set further off the shoreline, painfully ignoring the tears slipping down your face and the words bubbling up his throat. He clenched his jaw and grinded his teeth and fiddled with that stupid bandana to avoid wrecking the silence building up between the two of you.

Above all else, your friendship was of utmost importance. Hence why when you’d written a love letter to him for Valentine’s day in the eighth grade and he never responded, you acted like you hadn’t written anything at all. Hence why when Topper Thornton started to give you romantic attention last year, you tapped into it.

A little harmless flirting surely wouldn’t hurt, especially if it meant making JJ jealous. And, of course, he was. But did he say anything? No. And the more time that went on, the more you realized just how harmless being Topper’s girlfriend would be. You’d grown to like him, sure. But he’d never be JJ.

Not even after last weekend’s incident.

JJ held the front door to his house open for you, eyes glued to you like you’d valish if he happened to blink for too long. Despite the two of you not talking for a week, he still didn’t hesitate to answer your phone call when you’d dialed his number earlier. He didn’t hesitate to offer his house–his bed–when you told him your parents were divorcing.

They’d been shouting and arguing and bickering and forgetting your existence for the past week. Your boyfriend graciously offered for you to stay at his, and you had anxiously been waiting for him to send word that you were all clear to head over. But Topper stopped responding. He hadn’t texted you since.

That was three nights ago.

The thought of that sunk into you with edges much more rigid than you’d anticipated. And when JJ left you alone in his room, it finally hit you. Everything you were feeling set into motion, toppling every wall you’d been building down to the floor. Sobs choked their way up your throat and your entire body shook where you stood. You weren’t okay.

And JJ read you like a book. He always did.

You’d been written in a language that only JJ took the time to learn. He knew you better than anyone else did, and you couldn’t fathom how or why.

JJ was quiet when he walked back into his room. The only sound that announced his arrival was the clanking of the glass beer bottles against his wooden desk. He sat down the beverages before pulling you into a hug. He didn’t have to say anything to let you know that he wasn’t expecting you to reciprocate it. He just wanted to be there for you.

Your arms slowly wrapped around him, and he took that as a sign to pull you even closer. He held your head to his chest, stroking his fingers down strands of your hair to say you were safe with him. Vulnerability was a difficult thing for him, but he knew he couldn’t let you break down alone. He’d never let you go through this alone.

He stood there for as long as you needed, and you could tell he’d stay with you like that through the entire night if you’d asked. It was a breath of fresh air that you needed.

When the sobs settled, JJ cupped your cheeks to wipe your tears. He moved your head up to look at him, and finally met your eyes for the first time since he’d picked you up. JJ took you in, looking back and forth between one eye and the other before convincing himself that you were gonna be alright. He was going to make sure of it.

The way you leaned into his touch was a feeling he’d missed. He hadn’t let it hit him just how much he’d missed you, but his week had been rough without you. JJ took the moment to let his eyes fall shut once yours did, and his forehead pressed against your own.

And in that moment, silence fell between the two of you in the way you were used to. It was a silence you’d begun to ache for. Comfortability. Safety. For just a moment, you convinced yourself that everything would work out. Everything was going to be okay, and you had nothing to worry about. You chose to focus on that instead of the looming dread that the moment would end before you wanted it to. You could feel the words gnawing at JJ through the stillness of his breathing.

You’d stored the moment in the depths of your mind, knowing it would be safe there for the time being. It only took a minute before JJ took a hesitant breath, opening and closing his mouth like he knew the damage that he’d cause by breaking the silence.

“Are we never going to talk about it?” His voice was soft; it was a question only meant for the two of you, but the gravity of it sent you spiraling right back to the second he was talking about.

Watching your friends try to walk along the sand whilst tipsy never failed to make you smile. They were such a bunch of idiots, but they were the best kind out there.

You’d agreed that for this beachfront party, you’d be the designated driver. It gave you an opportunity to see just how dumb the lot of you came across when you were intoxicated. It also gave you the opportunity to feel the raw anxiety of how long your boyfriend had left you on delivered for.

“Y/N!” You heard a holler from nearby, looking up from your phone just in time to see JJ nearly trip over a stick in the sand. His stumbling brought you to your feet, walking over to him. He certainly was pie–eyed. He was drunk. He reeked of it. “Shit..” He tried to catch his balance, his barrings, holding onto your arms as you held onto his. “I–I’ve got something to tell you.” JJ slurred.

Your smile fell a bit at how serious he seemed. There was a look in his eyes that told you he was nervous to keep going. “Jay? What’s up?”

His eyes scanned you like they were sober, glistening with something that made your stomach flip. Your breath vanished, your heart leapt, and you felt sinful for the butterflies that he gave you. You felt ashamed.

“Leave him.” The words had more syllables than they were supposed to and were dripping with booze, but they still hit you like they would if delivered any other way. “Leave Topper–” JJ swayed a little too far to his right, almost toppling into you but catching his balance.

The two of you were a dangerous inch apart.

Your eyes met, glancing from one to the other as he glanced at your lips. You felt the world stop. “Leave him cause I…” You watched the struggle in his eyes. He was fighting back demons not to kiss you. “I love you.”

Wide eyes stared back into his own. You’d been waiting years to hear those three simple words from him. Hearing them drunk though felt like a jab to your ego. Part of you felt like it was wrong to accept them.

You thought about it though.

“JJ, you’re drunk.” You had to keep a stern tone with him, placing distance between the two of you. Stepping away to grab some water, his hand met your wrist to pull you back to him.

You didn’t mean to look at him with such a startle, but the way your eyes met, you could tell you’d triggered something in him. Something that might’ve made him feel like he was acting like his father. You watched the way his eyes widened, and gears turned, because he instantly let go of you.

He took steps back, muttering panicked apologies at your frozen figure. You tried to call out to him, to tell him that it was okay. You were okay and he didn’t have to stammer off, but he did. He ran off, and just like that, you didn’t hear from him.

You two didn’t speak until he’d answered your phone call thirty minutes ago. And now you stood toe to toe, chest to chest, head to head. You felt the air thin between the two of you at his question, and let out the breath that you’d been storing next to the elephant in the room. “I really don’t want to.” You gave an honest answer, keeping your tone as gentle as you could.

As you opened your eyes to meet him looking at you, your head craning up to look at him. Your nose traced the curve of his from the motion, but distance was instant to creep between you when your phone lit up. The screen was face up on his bed and flooded light into his bedroom. You looked towards it, taking paces over to check and see if it was a response from your boyfriend.

Maybe it was wrong of him, but JJ kept his hands on you for as long as he could before you slipped from his grasp. His fingers lingered at your hips, his eyes held you longer than he was able, and he watched the falling of your expression at whatever notification had come popped up on your phone.

His jaw clenched, hands running through his hair as he let out an exasperated sigh he’d been holding onto. “Christ, Y/N.. I can’t keep doing this..” JJ was flustered, both from frustration and whatever effect you’d had over him. He respected the space that stood between you, but never found the strength to look away, even as you caught the angered look in his eyes.

Your brows pressed together, one arching higher than the other. “Keep doing what?” There was both agitation and genuine confusion in your tone, “Does it bother you to see me in a happy relationship?”

JJ scoffed, tongue outlining the inside of his mouth as he fought back a laugh. He stared at the ceiling as if he’d find an answer there other than brute honesty. He was unsuccessful. “Don’t bullshit me. I know you.” His words were short, almost as short as his breath. Almost as short as his temper, yet he was more composed than you were. “I can’t keep watching him hurt you like this.”

He struck a nerve with his words. The sincerity he had, the audacity he had to question your happiness. Hell, you were far from happy; your relationship with Topper was nothing short of toxic and unfulfilling, but JJ calling it out? Like he had ever cared about you more than someone he could chest bump and catch a wave with?

You hoped smoke didn’t exhale through your nose with the breath you’d let out. Your fuse was growing short circuited. “God, you’ve got some nerve, Jay..” Angered paces closed the distance between you as you walked back over to him. “You’ve got some balls on you to say that after the stunt you pulled last weekend!” Your pointer finger poked at his chest with your accusation.

The air between you was so thick, neither of you had confidence that a knife could do any damage. But there was something addictive about the anger you stared at each other with, something in the humidity of the tension. You two couldn’t look away from each other if you tried to.

“Really? Do I?” His sarcastic, rhetorical questions carried with a snarky tone of voice. He almost mocked you. “Sorry that I actually care about you!” JJ couldn’t stop his voice from rising in volume. “I mean, God..” The last word snagged on a scoff, a chuckle. “How is he even your boyfriend? What do you guys even do together?”

Seeing JJ short tempered was one thing, but you’d never seen him this aggravated before. It almost made you smirk at how much you’d ruffled his feathers; just how much you’d gotten under his skin, made him jealous. It was entertaining.

But you were angered. Right. You were upset with him. You’d almost forgotten.

JJ’s tongue dared to make a short appearance, wetting the gap between his lips as he hesitated. He knew this comment would cause damage, but he was in the thick of the moment. JJ’s voice finally lowered in volume, speaking through gritted teeth when he asked: “When was the last time he’s even kissed you?”

And that fucking did it.

Toe to toe with him, you kept your head craned up to him, eying him from the two feet of space that kept you two separated. You couldn’t tell if your eyes sparked with tears or pure aggression. “Don’t you fucking go there, Maybank!” You snapped. “You’re walking a thin fucking line right now– I mean, seriously!” You were exasperated, cutting yourself off mid sentence from your loss of words, but you couldn’t lose this argument. You let out a scoff at him, narrowing your eyebrows. “Y’know, I bet you don’t even fucking remember what you said to me–”

JJ cut you off this time, only needing one stride to close the distance between you. “And what if I did remember?” His voice grew quieter, snagging on the ridged edges of his tone. The intensity of the room was still thick, but you’d suddenly forgotten to breathe with how little space there was between you. The atmosphere surrounding you changed appearance, revealing that it was never fully anger, rather than pure unadulterated attraction.

Your heart pounded in your ears, caught in your throat, and ricocheted off of JJ’s chest, as it now threatened to touch your’s. Any breath that slipped through your lips tickled his own, and you felt the heaviness in each of the exhales he fanned across your face. The containment of his composure, and how difficult he had keeping a hold and restraint on himself.

His eyes were glued to your lips despite the close proximity you stood at, and your own eyes were traitorous as they caught a glimpse of his. Soft, just slightly out of reach, and threatening any movement that you challenged.

“What if I did remember? And what if..” He drank you up, how speechless he’d left you. JJ didn’t showcase the cockiness he’d felt, stumping you, leaving you at his whim in front of him. He took in the moment, savoring the ghost of your body slowly pressing against him. “What if I meant every word? And I..” His voice had grown huskier, timid and low and just for you. “I want to show you just how you deserve to be treated..”

You felt the gentle, light, brushing of his fingers just beyond your silhouette. He knew he was teasing you, but he was just testing waters. JJ didn’t want to cross a boundary that you didn’t permit him to.

But it was you that began closing the gap, that brushed your lips against his. You left him speechless with just a taste, just a sliver of contact. You could hear the sharpness of his inhale; the breath that hitched at the back of his throat. It took every fiber of your body, every cell in your brain not to cave…but you were winning.

The outline of a smirk ghosted across your lips, your mouths a very hazardous distance away from each other. Each breath was shared, each feeling reciprocated, but you couldn’t be the first one to falter. “You want me that bad, huh, Maybank?” You let the coyness ring through your low–toned question, the triumph of your teasing sing to him. And it was all the more satisfying when he had to swallow some of the tension before giving his response.

It was almost too compelling, how high you got on his sudden nervousness. He was flushed, putty, speechless. There was a frog in his throat, and he couldn’t seem to let it out. Just by giving him a little preview of what you felt like, he couldn’t seem to catch a hold of himself. Alas, you couldn’t keep yourself contained forever.

“Yeah, I do..” A breathless whisper, and you felt every spark attached to it. Each syllable of sincerity, and it drove you wild.

You let the feeling soak in, letting your lips curl in victory. “Good.” You hummed, closing the aching gap between you and kissing him. You kissed JJ, holding his head in your hands and pushing him back against his wall. JJ was quick to reverse it, quick to bounce off the wall, and pin you there in his place. His hands traveled up the length of you, fingers pressing to your hips, your sides, padding dangerously close to sensitive spots you didn’t think he’d be so quick to find.

The kiss was filled with more than just the bubbling rage you’d felt just moments prior; the passion that wasn’t fueled by anger at all. Neither of you could fight back the rising smiles at the realization of just how long this had been coming. Both of you wanted this for so long, and you knew neither of you would let the other go anytime soon.

Especially with how turned on you were.

Your lips parted with a gasp, JJ’s entire palm pressing to your clothed breast. His other hand found a way up your shirt. Sinful touches and breathy moans filled the room, and you felt totally consumed by each other. Possessed by lust, and overcome with an undying need for JJ. You needed him everywhere, in every way. And you couldn’t even believe this was happening.

As JJ’s hands found your ass, kneaded the plush of it, you hopped into his arms and wrapped your legs around him. The grunt that he’d let out into the kiss only added to the knot growing in the depths of your stomach, the ache throbbing between your legs. Your hips rolled to meet him as he walked over to his bed, quick to lay you over his comforter and kiss down your jaw and your neck.

His fingers locked with yours, holding your hands beside your head against his mattress. When he’d parted from your neck, the look in his eyes could’ve killed you. The look on his face alone could’ve driven you mad—his lips plump and red from kissing you senseless, JJ’s entire face gaping at you, silently begging you for more. But his eyes were asking, giving you the choice. It was your call.

You combed your fingers through his hair, grabbing his chin to pull his lips back to yours, when your phone interrupted the two of you with its blinding light. Both of you peered over at it, not the least bit indulged with what pulled you from the heat of the moment.

“Are you going to check that?” JJ asked, some edge to his voice. And you couldn’t tell whether it was protective demeanor, harmless competition, or his composure not to take you right then and there.

Meeting his eyes again, you found yourself smirking, breaths still heavy from how worked up you were. Your eyes didn’t leave his as you turned your phone over. “Not tonight.” You spoke with a hum, quick to take off your top in a quick motion afterward.

Maybe part of you should’ve felt guilty, or guilty for not feeling guilty. But you couldn’t care less. Especially because you felt like the luckiest person in the world.

#imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #outer banks angst #outer banks smut #outer banks fluff #drabble #blurbs #blurb

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