#and finally it's done in this messy state

[aastroopheel]

Plz do another Cook one you write him so well!!

I'd love to see an enemies to lovers kind of thing where reader hates him after they had hooked up at a party a year prior and Cook ghosted her immediately after. She ends up with an arsehole boyfriend that ends up abusing her at a party and Cook walks into the bathroom (in his usual party state, pissed drunk and all) and he finds her crying in the bathroom and sees whats done to her. He tries to act like he doesn't care much for her but deep down he feels protective of her. (And he probably would bash the bf lmao 🙈💗)

Thanks sm!!

Hey babes! Sorry for the wait I had exams to take care of lol (RELEASE ME) (i am finally free so HERE YOU GO)

GOOD PARTIES AND HARD WORDS

You two were definitely NOT on good terms. Actually, there were no terms between you two. He fucked you in some random bathroom at one of the many parties you attended and then…he left, like nothing, like it didn’t even happened. 

It was one night. One of those parties: bodies pressed tight, music so loud it made your ribs vibrate, and Cook, wild-eyed and charming in the way that made girls throw themselves at him like it meant something.

You weren’t that girl. Or at least, you told yourself that. But he caught your eye that night, really looked at you, not like everyone else did. Not like a game. Not like a conquest. It felt real, raw, messy. However, later you found out he was just high and horny. 

“That was mad, thanks!” and he left you there, panties still undone and your heart still going crazy, your reflection in the bathroom mirror  laughing at you.

You didn’t forget though. It wasn’t your first time, thank god, but you did have a crush on him and he just…he was Cook, what were you expecting?

Since then, your paths cross more than you’d like, mutual friends, shared parties, college events. Every time he walks in, your stomach knots. And he? He still acts like the same arrogant, messy boy. But every so often, he watches you  when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he wants to say something. Like he regrets it. 

He jokes about screwing girls that are his friends when you’re near. No one gets it, they think he’s talking about Effy or even Panda but you know, of course you do.

You took a long drag from your cigarette, the end glowing like the rage bubbling in your chest. The rooftop was cold, but not enough to numb what was clawing its way out of you.

“God, Cook is such a twat.”

Katie snorted. “What’d he do now?”

“What hasn’t he done?” you shot back, gesturing vaguely toward the group of teens sitting behind them where his laugh—loud, obnoxious, way too confident—filled the air. “Honestly, it’s impressive. Like, Olympic-level assholery.”

“You used to like him.”

You raised a brow. “Correction: I liked the idea of him. Briefly. Very briefly. Until he reminded me he’s emotionally unavailable with the maturity level of a feral cat.”

The red headed grinned. “So you’re totally over it?”

You laughed. “Oh, 100 percent. I’ve transcended. I'm on a whole new spiritual plane where Cook doesn’t exist, except when he opens his mouth and reminds me why birth control should be handed out with his name on it.” There was a pause. Then you added, more casually: “But really… imagine shagging someone and then pretending they don’t exist the next day. Like, bold of him to assume I’d be begging for round two.”

The straight twin gave you a look.

“What?” you said, shrugging. “I’m fine. I’m great. I just hate him with the fire of a thousand suns and hope he trips over his own ego someday. That’s all.” You crossed your arms and looked out toward where he was, loud as ever, like nothing could touch him.

And you told yourself again: You don’t care.

“Oi.”

You flinched before you even turned around, that voice had a way of cutting through any noise, somehow always managing to sound like it belonged and didn’t at the same time.

Cook stood a few feet behind you, bottle of something cheap in hand, expression unreadable. His usual swagger was there, chin tilted, eyes heavy-lidded, like he didn’t care. But his jaw was clenched.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Eavesdropping now?”

“Didn’t have to.” He took a sip. “You were basically narrating it to the whole roof.”

Katie suddenly found the sky fascinating and backed away with a mutter, “Gonna go find Effy…”

Now it was just you and him. Again.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said coolly. “It wasn’t about you. It was just… inspired by you.”

He chuckled once, dark and low. “Right. Just casual slander.”

You rolled your eyes again. It seems it was a natural reaction to his presence. “If it was slander, it wouldn’t be true.”

He stepped closer, not close enough to touch, but close enough that you could smell the smoke and whiskey on him. “You’re still pissed.”

“Nope,” you lied, arms crossed. “I’ve evolved, remember? Leveled up. Transcended.”

“You called me a twat,” he reminded you, like that somehow proved he cared.

“You are a twat,” you said, voice calm. “One who thinks ghosting someone after sleeping with them is just part of the Cook Experience™.”

He winced, just a flicker, but you saw it. “I thought—” He paused. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

You scoffed. “Wow. Did you rehearse that apology or is it just naturally that pathetic?”

That one hit. You watched it land. 

He looked away for a second, back toward the group, then at you again — a little quieter now. “Look, I’m not good at the whole... aftermath bit. I mess shit up, alright? You’re not the only one I’ve ghosted.”

“Oh, cool,” you snapped. “So it wasn’t personal? Just part of your routine? Great. Really makes me feel special.” You turned to walk off, adrenaline buzzing, but his voice caught you.

“It was personal.”

You froze.

He didn’t move, didn’t step closer — just stood there with his stupid messy hair and his cracked voice and the look of someone who actually gave a shit but didn’t know how to say it.

And that made you even angrier.

You laughed under your breath. “Too little, too late, Cook. Go back to your little crowd. Be loud. Be funny. Be forgettable.”

And with that, you walked away.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You’d told Katie at least five times that you were “definitely staying in tonight”, which was code for lying in bed with cold tea and ignoring texts. But then she showed up at your door with eyeliner, cheap wine, and that look that meant you weren’t winning the argument.

So now you were here, in someone’s too-warm kitchen with music pulsing through the walls and the overwhelming smell of weed and deodorant wafting in from the hallway.

You stood with your back to the fridge, one hand wrapped around a drink you didn’t really want, the other tugging absently at your sleeve. You were zoning out, not at anyone in particular, just… out, when someone bumped your arm.

“Shit- sorry,” came the voice, not aggressive, just surprised. You blinked, pulled yourself back to earth, and turned your head. He wasn’t familiar. Which was rare at these things.

Tall. Dark hair curling just slightly at the ends. A hoodie thrown over what might have once been a school uniform shirt. There was something soft about him, even in the dim kitchen light. The kind of guy who didn’t lean too close, who kept his hands visible like he was careful about taking up space.

He glanced at your cup. “Didn’t spill it, did I?”

You looked down. “Still intact.”

He grinned. “Then I’ve officially done better than last time I tried to pour myself a drink here.”

You gave a quiet laugh, despite yourself. He stuck his hand out. “Matt.”

You hesitated just long enough for him to notice, then shook it. Your name left your lips before you had time to overthink it.

“Nice to meet you, mystery fridge girl,” he said.

You snorted. “Terrible nickname.”

“I know. I panicked. I’m working on it.” There was a pause, but not the awkward kind. More like an exhale. You realized, distantly, that it had been a while since someone new made you feel… not on edge.

He didn’t ask what school you went to. He didn’t scan the room for someone hotter mid-conversation. He didn’t ask to go to a more private room. He asked about your hobbies, your friends, what drink was of your liking, the name of your pet and he even asked for your phone number!

“Alright, you better expect a call from me soon” he told you after his friend came to take him away from you and ‘your fridge’ as he called it. You smiled and he waved goodbye to you until he couldn’t see any more.

The first time Matt kissed you, it was raining.

You didn’t realize how starved you were for simple kindness until it came in the shape of someone like him.

Not the dramatic, rom-com kind, just a fine mist, the kind that made your hair stick to your forehead and your clothes dampen in patches. You were walking home after a late-night convenience store run, a plastic bag swinging between you, filled with biscuits and some terrible energy drink he swore by.

He stopped under the awning of a closed-off bakery and looked at you like it was obvious.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just… you look like someone I don’t want to stop looking at.”

And then he kissed you. Soft, unsure at first, like he was giving you a chance to back out. You didn’t. It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t adrenaline. It was warm.

And warm was what you needed.

He was warm every time after that. He never grabbed. Always asked. He noticed things, when you were too quiet, when you picked at your nails, when you looked at your phone and sighed like the weight of everything was sitting in your chest.

“You overthink too much,” he said one night, tracing circles on your thigh as you lay in his bed, your head tucked under his chin. “You can just be… with me.”

And maybe it was cliché. Maybe he’d said that before to someone else.

But that night, you let yourself believe it.

It started small.

The first time was when you wore that sheer black top to a party.

 You’d barely made it past the front door before Matt appeared at your side, his hand gentle on your arm, his voice light but firm.

“You going out dressed like that?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, not sweetly, not cruelly. Just… tightly. “Just thought we talked about that one. It’s a bit much, yeah?”

You looked down at yourself. It was nothing you hadn’t worn before. Nothing you hadn’t felt confident in. But suddenly, your skin prickled. You tugged your jacket tighter.

He kissed your cheek. “Didn’t mean to upset you. Just saying. You're better than needing to show off like that.”

You nodded. Even smiled.

He loved you. He just didn’t want other people to look.

The second time, it was about Cook.

Of course it was.

It was after another party, one where Cook had barely even spoken to you. Just nodded across the room, that cocky half-smirk on his lips, like he knew something you didn’t.

You hadn’t even acknowledged him.

But Matt saw.

And the second you stepped outside, his hand found yours — too tight.

“Still into that dickhead?” he asked.

You yanked your hand back, shocked. “What?”

“Cook,” he said, like the name tasted bitter. “You looked at him.”

“I didn’t-” You paused. “Matt, seriously?”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. He just sighed. “I just don’t want to be a joke to you.”

You stared at him. “You’re not.”

He nodded. Kissed your forehead. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

And you didn’t say anything after that.

But you stopped going to parties if you knew Cook would be there.

Just in case.

You still remembered how he could be soft.

Like when he rubbed your back while you cried after failing that exam. Or when he biked twenty minutes to your house because you texted, I just don’t want to be alone right now, and he was there before you’d even closed your phone.

It made the cold moments harder to hold against him. Because he could be warm. He was good. Most of the time.

And when he wasn’t…well, maybe you just said the wrong thing. Or looked at the wrong person. Or wore the wrong shirt. Or stayed quiet when he needed you loud. He didn’t hurt you. He just… made you feel like you could hurt him, if you weren’t careful. And that made you careful. All the time.

The vibration of your phone cuts through the quiet. You glance at the screen. It’s a message from Katie.

Party tonight at Nate’s. You’re coming, yeah?

You hesitate. You’re curled on the couch, legs tucked under you, your phone clutched tight. From the kitchen, Matt is rummaging through drawers, swearing under his breath about something insignificant, again.

Dunno. Might be staying in.

Katie replies in under ten seconds.

Babe. Don’t do this again.You haven’t been out in weeks.

Before you can type a reply, your screen lights up: Incoming call from Katie.

You answer in a whisper. “Hey.”

Her voice is all brightness at the surface, but there’s an edge underneath.  “Please don’t tell me Matt’s got you locked down again.”

“It’s not like that,” you say automatically. Too fast.

“Mmm,” she says. “Sure.” There’s a beat of silence. You pick at a loose thread on your hoodie sleeve.

“He just… doesn’t love parties. Says they’re full of idiots. And I went to the last one without him and he-” You stop. You’ve said too much.

Katie doesn’t miss a thing. “And he what?”

“Nothing. It was stupid.”

“Is he watching you right now?”

“No,” you sigh. From the kitchen, a cabinet slams. You flinch. “I just don’t want to fight tonight,” you add, softer now.

Katie’s voice softens too but it still cuts.  “You wouldn’t need to fight if you were with someone who actually respected you.” Silence. The heavy, guilty kind. “Look,” she says, gentler now, “you don’t have to drink. Or dance. Or even talk to anyone. Just come. Be around people who love you. Remember who you are.”

You swallow hard. Your eyes sting unexpectedly. “I don’t know if he’ll let me,” you whisper — and immediately hate yourself for the wording.  Let me.

Katie doesn’t say anything at first. But when she does, her voice is quiet, heavy. “That’s not love, babe. That’s a cage.” You can’t speak. You just sit there, staring at the floor. “I’ll send you the address,” she says. “I’ll be waiting outside. One hour.”

The call ends.

You stare at your screen. The text with the party info buzzes in seconds later. Your thumb hovers above it. The kitchen has gone silent. You hear Matt’s footsteps getting closer.

You lock the phone, shove it under a pillow, and paste on a smile. He walks in from the kitchen, two beers in hand. That familiar grin on his face, all charm, all ease,  but you can already feel it: the weight of his gaze scanning you like a spotlight.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks casually, settling beside you.

Your throat tightens. “Katie.”

He hums like the name itself is a warning.

“What’d she want?”

“Party invite,” you say, eyes flicking toward the muted TV.

He hands you a bottle, pops open his own with a hiss. “You told her no, right?” It’s not a question. Not really.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Of course.”

He leans in, kisses your temple, and murmurs, “Good girl.” The conversation’s over. But your heartbeat doesn’t calm. Not even close.

Later, he’s passed out next to you, one arm thrown across your ribs like a lock. His breath is heavy with beer. His weight anchors you to the bed. You lie there staring at the ceiling, chest tight, jaw locked. Then, carefully, you slide out from under his arm like you’re escaping something dangerous. Because you are.

He mumbles something. Your heart skips. But he rolls over and starts snoring.

You dress in silence. A loose t-shirt. Jeans. A flick of eyeliner, not too much. Just enough to feel a little more like yourself.

You check your phone.

Outside. I’ve got shots and zero judgment. —Katie

A small, shaky smile tugs at your mouth. You slip out the front door without a sound.

Nate’s place is alive when you arrive. Lights glowing behind the windows, music pulsing through the floor. The kind of night that swallows you whole.

Katie finds you in seconds. Arms wide. Grinning. “There you are,” she breathes, pulling you into a hug that squeezes the tension from your bones. “You look like shit. In a cute way.”

You laugh. And it feels strange  but good. Like remembering an old language.

The night unfolds around you like something you almost forgot existed. Drinks are pressed into your hand. Compliments. Faces you recognize. People who don’t ask you to apologize for existing.

You dance. You smile. You breathe. And for a little while,  maybe longer, you forget Matt even exists.

Until you see him.

He’s there, leaning against the hallway wall near the stairs. Arms crossed. Gaze fixed on you like you were never really out of his sight.

He doesn’t look angry. That’s worse. He looks calm.

“Hey,” he says, as if you just bumped into each other at the grocery store.

Your smile vanishes. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the wall, all smoothness. “Funny. Was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Your pulse spikes. You turn to leave.

But he’s already at your side, fingers looping around your wrist — not bruising, not rough. Just… firm. Too firm.

“We need to talk.”

“Not here,” you whisper, eyes darting around. No one’s looking. No one sees or at least that’s what you think. 

There’s a pair of blue eyes on you. Always.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The bathroom door creaks open. He pulls you in. Clicks the lock. The sound is deafening.

“What the hell, Matt?”

“You lied to me,” he says. Still calm. Still smiling. “You looked me in the face and said you weren’t going. And yet…”

“I just wanted to go out,” you say, breath shallow. “You were asleep.”

He laughs. But it’s empty. “I’m asleep for one hour and suddenly you’re off playing single. Dressed like that. Grinding on strangers.”

“I wasn’t- Matt, I didn’t do anything” You say as if you were defending yourself to the cops.

He steps closer. The air changes.

“You think I’m stupid?”

“No, I- please, I’m not-” your words choke you, his gaze is drowning you.

“You’re making me look like a fucking mug in front of everyone,” he hisses, heat rising in his voice now. “You want them thinking you’re available? You want someone else to take you home?”

“I never said that,” you plead, your voice cracking. “You’re twisting it-”

He takes another step. Your back hits the sink. Nowhere to go.

“You lied,” he growls. “You lied to me. And you let her poison your head. Katie’s been whispering shit for weeks.”

“Stop,” you whisper. You push at his chest but he doesn’t budge.

“You were mine,” he says. Voice trembling now, like he’s the one breaking. “And you threw it all away for one night.”

Then he lifts a hand, you flinch but the slap hits you anyway. You gasp as you touch your –now read and stinging— cheek. Your eyes burn. Your breath turns shallow. Panic coils in your chest.

He stares down at you, he is furious, jealous. You beg him but soon his hands are on you, he kisses you roughly as if he was apologising but for you he was just making it worse. You move your head away from his and he grabs it to kiss you again. He bites your lip so you open your mouth and he can get his tongue inside of it. 

“Stop it” he almost growls in your mouth. “Stop fucking crying!” he shouts and you sob, your hands clinging on his jumper. He looks at them and then at you and he sees a crying mess with her lip bleeding and her left cheek red and swollen. He sighs and steps back to give you some space. “Listen, I’m going to get a beer and then we’ll leave. You hear me?” You say nothing “I’ll take that as a yes. Fix your face before coming down, I don’t need any more attention to you” 

The door slams shut behind him, and the bathroom feels too small, too quiet. You slide to the cold tile floor, arms over your head, hands trembling.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper to yourself, the words heavy with salt and shame. Because how the fuck didn’t you see this coming? How many excuses had you made for him? How many times had you lied to your friends, to yourself,  pretending it wasn’t this bad?

Your cheek still stings. Your lip’s throbbing now, the metallic taste of blood sticking to your teeth. You breathe in too fast and it hitches, comes out as a sob.

A knock, no, more like a bang, hits the door a minute later. Then a twist of the handle. You freeze.

“Bathroom’s in use!” you shout from outside, annoyed. Another rattle. Then the sound of the lock being picked.

Your heart spikes — what if it’s Matt again?

But when the door swings open, it’s not him.

It’s Cook.

Half-drunk, eyes red, jacket hanging off one shoulder like it always is. A bottle in one hand. He stumbles slightly, then catches himself. His mouth opens with a cocky line already forming. 

Then he sees you. Everything changes. He goes still. Completely still.

His gaze drops to your face. The cheek. The blood on your lip. Your puffy eyes. The bottle in his hand lowers slowly. “What the fuck,” he mutters, voice suddenly raw.

You flinch. Try to wipe your face. Look away. “Get out,” you whisper. “I don’t want anyone seeing me like this.”

“You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he snaps, not cruel, not angry, but furious in a different way. Furious for you. “What the hell happened?”

You shake your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

His eyes darken. “It was him, wasn’t it?” You don’t answer. But that’s answer enough. Cook’s jaw tightens. His fists ball. He looks like he might tear the walls down with his bare hands.

You close your eyes. “Please. Just… don’t. I can’t handle you being a dick on top of everything else.”

“I’m not gonna be a dick,” he says, and his voice has dropped again. This time softer. Wounded, almost. “Not to you. Not right now.” A long pause. Then, quieter: “I didn’t know he was like that.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, bitter. “Neither did I.”

Cook crouches slowly in front of you. Not touching. Not even reaching. Just… there.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

You laugh. Or maybe sob. It’s a broken sound either way. “Bit late for that, Cook.”

He looks at you then, really looks. And suddenly there’s nothing reckless in his eyes. No party-boy shine. Just something fierce. Protective.

“I didn’t mean to leave you like that,” he says. “That night. After the party. I should’ve called you. Texted. Anything.” You don’t say anything. You can’t trust yourself to. “Let me help now,” he says. “Please.”

That word hits harder than anything else: please. He’s still crouched in front of you, waiting. No rush. No pressure. Just there. Like he’s not moving unless you say so.

“Help me how?” you ask him, he is staring at you with dizzy eyes and a scowl on his face. “You’re not- you are too wasted to do something for me” 

He shakes his head, disagreeing with your words. “I can do what I’m best at” You look at him with a brow raised. “I can ruin his night” He has that devilish expression on his face as he moves his feet closer to yours, touching the front of your shoes with his dirty ones. You look there and then back at his face and somehow he does look like he means it. Like he wants to help you. “I’ll call Katie for you and then I’ll do my part of the plan” 

“What plan?” You watch him get up.

“I already told you” He rolls his eyes, steading himself on the wall. “I’m fucking ruining that motherfucker night” His words don’t really uh…form? or at least for you because he just mumbles them before getting out of the bathroom. 

Cook slams the bathroom door behind him, jaw tight, breath ragged. His fists are still shaking. He can feel your broken voice still echoing in his ears, feel the heat off your cheek like it’s burning into him instead.

That prick put his hands on you.

He charges down the stairs, pushing past a couple making out on the landing, past music and bodies and noise, all of it blurred, all of it background now.

He needs to find Katie.

It doesn’t take long. She’s near the kitchen, laughing at something some guy just said, drink in hand. But as soon as she sees Cook storming toward her, that laugh dies instantly.

“Where is he?” Cook growls.

“Where’s who?” Katie frowns, eyes scanning him.

“Matt.”

Her expression shifts. Sharp. Focused. “Why?”

Cook doesn’t answer right away, just runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding. Then he steps closer, so only she can hear.

“He hit her.”

Katie goes completely still. “What?” she says, voice quiet, deadly.

“In the bathroom,” Cook mutters, glancing back over his shoulder. “I found her on the fuckin’ floor, Katie. Cryin’. Cheek red, lip split. Said he slapped her. Tried- tried to force himself on her. She told him to stop and he didn’t listen.”

Katie’s jaw clenches so tight her teeth grind. The plastic cup in her hand cracks a little under the pressure of her grip. “Where is she now?” she says, already moving.

“Still in the bathroom. Locked it behind me. Didn’t want anyone to see her like that.”

Katie’s eyes flicker with something dangerous. Protective. Almost maternal. “I’ll go to her.” Cook nods once, and steps back.Then she grabs his arm. “And you?”

His voice is low, lethal. “Gonna find that cunt.”

Katie doesn’t try to stop him. She just looks at him, something fierce behind her eyes. “Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t.”

And with that, they part ways. Katie disappearing back up the stairs like a bullet, and Cook storming through the crowd, fists already clenching, gaze burning like a lit fuse, ready to find Matt. 

The door rattles gently. Your head jerks up.

“It’s me,” Katie’s voice says, soft through the wood. “It’s just me. Open up, babe.”

You hesitate. The idea of anyone seeing you like this, puffy eyes, trembling hands, lip bloodied, it feels unbearable.

But it’s Katie, your best friend. And you can’t hold this alone anymore.

You reach up, unlock the door. She pushes in carefully, slowly, like she’s afraid you’ll break if she moves too fast. Her eyes find your face, her breath catches. A hand flies to her mouth.

“Oh, my god…”

You look down. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Katie’s already on her knees beside you, wrapping her arms around you without hesitation. “No. Don’t. Don’t shrink like that. This isn’t on you.” You sob into her shoulder, and she holds tighter. “Cook told me,” she whispers. “He’s going after him.”

You lift your head, heart skipping. “No, no- he’ll- Matt’s gonna lose it, he-”

“Good,” Katie says, fierce. “Let him.” She pulls back just enough to look at you, hands framing your face so gently it makes your chest ache. “Listen to me. You’re not alone anymore. You hear me? You’re not.”

Cook’s heart is still thudding from the bathroom. He doesn’t care who sees him now. He barrels through the crowd, eyes locked on one thing: Matt.

Matt’s still by the kitchen, casually chatting like nothing happened. Drink in one hand, leaning back against the counter like he owns the place.

Cook wants to take a shot and then shoot that stupid cunt. But he won’t, he knows you wouldn’t want to see him in jail..again. He pushes past two people and grabs Matt’s shirt with both hands, slamming him hard against the cabinets. Bottles clatter. A girl nearby screams.

“The fuck did you just do?” Cook spits, nose inches from Matt’s.

Matt stumbles, confused, caught off guard. “What are you-?”

Cook doesn’t wait. He swings. The punch lands hard, right across Matt’s cheekbone. The same place he had slapped you. He crashes sideways into the counter, groaning. Beer spills, glass shatters. The music dips for a second, just long enough for people to realize something’s happening.

Matt tries to recover, shaking it off, but Cook’s already in his face again.

“You laid your fuckin’ hands on her?”

Matt coughs, tries to shove Cook off. “You don’t know what she-”

Cook shoves him again, harder this time. “She was crying on the floor! You think that makes you a man, yeah?”

Matt swings this time, a clumsy, panicked jab. It grazes Cook’s jaw, barely. But Cook sees red now. He lunges, grabs Matt’s hoodie, drives him back against the fridge.

“Touch her again and I’ll put you in the ground,” Cook hisses through gritted teeth Now people are really watching. Someone yells for Nate.

A pair of arms grab Cook from behind, pulling him off. “That’s enough, mate!”

Cook resists, trying to break free. “Let me go!” Matt slumps against the fridge, panting, face red and lip busted. He wipes his mouth, eyes darting nervously.

“She lied to me,” he mumbles. “She fucking… she fucking used me!”

Cook’s voice is deadly calm now. “Are you victimizing yourself right now?” Matt opens his mouth, but Cook just shakes his head. “Nah. Don’t. You’ve said enough.”

Cook yanks himself free from the arms holding him and turns toward the stairs, toward you  jaw tight, knuckles raw. Someone mutters, “Jesus, what the fuck happened?”

But Cook doesn’t look back.

“I’ll be right behind that door, oaky?” Katie smiles softly at you before she walks by Cook. “Behave yourself” Cook winks at her and closes the door softly .It’s quieter up here, away from the chaos of the party. Just the muffled thump of bass through the walls, far away now.

You sit down on the edge of the bed slowly. Not because you want to, but because your legs feel like they’re giving out. The ache in your cheek is sharp now. Your lip stings every time you move your mouth.

Cook stands near the door. Still. Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to come any closer. You don’t look at him. You stare down at your hands, knotted together in your lap.

“I know you don’t like violence but he deserved it,” he says finally. His voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You swallow, barely nodding. “I know.”

He runs a hand down his face, rough. “Listen, what he did….” That makes you look up. He catches it, shakes his head. “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Silence.

“I thought you didn’t care about me anymore,” you say. It comes out smaller than you mean it to.

He huffs, almost a laugh but there's no humour in it. “Yeah, well. Thought ignoring you would make it easier.” He shrugs, still not moving. “Didn’t.”

You meet his eyes.

There’s something new there. Still wild. Still restless. But softer, somehow. Guilt around the edges.

He finally steps forward, slow like he’s walking up to a ledge. He crouches in front of you, hands on his knees, but doesn’t touch you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, low. “About before. That night. After.”

You nod, just a little, but it’s too much. You look away quickly. “I don’t know why I let it happen,” you whisper, voice tight. “Matt. All of it. I thought he loved me.”

Cook is quiet for a long moment.

“You’re not stupid, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says. “He’s just good at acting like a decent person until he’s not.”

Your throat clenches. “He told me no one else would want me. Not really.”

He exhales hard. “Then he’s a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.”

You manage a shaky breath.

“I would’ve wanted you,” he says, softer now. “I mean. I did. I do. Just didn’t know how to be… enough, I guess.”

You finally look at him. His face is all sharp edges and shadows. But his eyes, they’re open now. Unhidden.

He stands slowly, offering you a hand.

You hesitate.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he adds. “Just… let me get you out of here.”

You take his hand.

“Didn’t know you were this nice” you joked.

It’s warm. Solid. The first safe thing you’ve felt in weeks.

“It’s probably the vodka in me” He says back to you with his usual smirk.

He doesn’t let go.

I think this is the longest i've ever written lol.

Let me know what you think!!!

Bye bye queen

[sporco-filth]

Om a different note, has your tumblr banner been changing? Every now and then I look at the picture of the amazingly filthy room, and I swear it got messier/dirtier the last time I looked at it

No, the image has not been changed since this blog was made (I mean the file on my computer, and so the image in the banner can't be different either).

BUT... this actually alludes to something and I will reward your question with a sneak peak. Because, you see, this picture is from my still-in-development slob game (it's fallen to the wayside over the holidays but I'm planning to start work again soon). And in that game, the room actually does in fact start out neat and becomes messier. The version shown is the end result.

The image though is based off this shot from this episode of Portlandia:

In the game, everything starts out clean:

And then if you lower the cleanliness points to 0 it looks like this:

I'm still working on the in-between stages though.

There are other rooms (lounge, bedroom, bathroom) but those I started from a clean room and am building up to a messy room, so they're relatively cleaner currently:

(this is the messiest one so far, but it's still got a long way to go. It's not even halfway yet)

I know I said I wouldn't spoil things by showing my work in progress but eh... you lot have been waiting too long for me to draw these things so at least you can see I've made some progress.

[curseluvr]

ONE LAST TIME (AGAIN)

You broke up, but they’re not done with you yet. When you sleep with your ex, they bring love, lust, and delusion to the table.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 3.8k

content: fem!reader, p in v sex, unprotected intercourse, fingering, oral (f receiving), face sitting (suguru), riding (toji), crying, degradation, possessiveness, spitting, pet names, break up/make up sex, exes-to-lovers(?), lowkey emotional manipulation, toxic dynamics, creampie, light choking/breathplay, overstim, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, foot on head (sukuna lol), heian era sukuna smoking (toji), dubiously romantic, “what are we?” girl idk

SATORU

Satoru laughs, but the sound is void of humor. He fucks you deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you nice and open for him.

“Hope your next boyfriend can rearrange your guts like I do,” he pants. “Actually, no I don’t. I hope he cries after. I hope his dick’s pathetic.”

“Shut up,” you gasp, trying to hold onto whatever pride you have left.

He smirks, blue eyes flashing like a dare. “Make me.”

You try—God, you try—but your body is betraying you, shivering under every thrust, slick soaking down your thighs as he ruins you all over again.

“You said we’re over,” he growls in your ear, “but your pussy’s saying otherwise. And honestly? I’m inclined to believe her.”

His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, mean circles. The kind that sends your legs trembling, your mouth falling open.

“Gonna cum already?” he teases, voice infuriatingly sweet. “That’s so cute. Did you miss me that much?”

You scratch at his back, biting your lip to keep from screaming. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, kissing your cheek. “And you’re still letting me fuck you raw. So what does that say about you, princess?”

It says you’re still his, no matter what you tell yourself. You hate how good it feels, and you hate that he knows it as well as you do. Satoru leans back just enough to spit in your mouth, unprompted and messy, eyes locking with yours as he does it.

“Swallow. ‘Atta girl.”

You do. Of course you do. And when your orgasm hits, Satoru leans back down and kisses you breathless, swallowing your moans. You can feel Satoru smile as your body jerks beneath him. 

It’s all teeth and tongue and hunger, like he needs to mark you from the inside out. A mix of your saliva surrounds both of your mouths.

“Tell me no one else gets to have you like this,” he whispers against your lips. “Tell me this is mine.”

You hesitate.

He fucks you harder, lips brushing your ear as he speaks again—lower, darker.

“Say it.”

“…It’s yours,” you admit, barely able to breathe it.

“There we go,” he grins. “So fucking pretty when you admit you’re mine.”

You fall apart again seconds later, cumming hard around him, clenching and gasping as your body gives out. And he keeps going. You push at his hips, weak and shaking, a pathetic attempt to give your body a break. 

“You know the safeword,” Satoru gives you time to speak up, but you don’t. “I’m gonna make you cum ‘til you forget why you left.”

“Ngh! Please, Toru—fuck,” you babble, completely fucked out, body going limp as he uses you. 

Satoru coos at the pitiful sight beneath him. His heart swells with pride, possession, and something dangerously close to devotion. Your fragile state, entrusted to him, even after everything. He wants to give you the whole world, but for now, he’ll start with his cum.  

“Gonna give you every drop,” he groans, holding you still as he pushes himself in as deeply as possible. 

When he finally cums, it’s with a long, guttural moan—hips twitching, his hand gripping your jaw to make you look him in the eyes as he fills you up.

He stays there for a moment, forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your chest still heaving beneath him.

Without a single ounce of shame, Satoru rolls off the bed and grabs the hoodie you’d come to return. He slips it back over his head, looks at you, ruined and blinking on the mattress, and smirks.

SUGURU

He'd left you a voicemail:

“Left your necklace. Might drop it off. Might keep it. Might wear it while jerking off to the sound of your voice.”

The second you walk into his place, Suguru raises an eyebrow, leaning back on the couch with the kind of smirk that makes you want to slap him (or ride him, but you wouldn’t admit that).

“What happened, baby?” he says smoothly. “Get tired of pretending you can stay away?”

You glare. “Do you have amnesia? You literally called me.”

“Mm. I might recall that.” He pats his lap. “Now come sit on my face and lie to me again.”

That was all it took for you to find yourself on top of your ex-boyfriend.

“Still tight,” Suguru murmurs against your inner thigh, stopping right in front of your pussy. 

He inhales deeply. “Still smell so sweet. ”

“Fuckin’ do something,” you demand, pushing your hips towards his face.

His teeth graze your clit before he dives in. 

You arch, panting. “Suguru—”

He doesn’t stop. He speeds up, and your words melt into moans.

Then he pulls his mouth away and spits on your clit, rubbing it in with his thumb as you squirm.

“I should block you just to humble you,” he says casually over the wet sounds. “But then who’d fuck you like this? Your poor pussy would be miserable without me.”

You slap his shoulder. He laughs, genuinely delighted.

“You want someone boring?” he goads, flipping you under him. “Someone soft? Respectful?”

He drags the head of his cock through your slick folds, taking delight in how soaked you are for him. He leans down until your noses almost touch, voice dipping into a whisper:

“Or do you want me—the one who knows how to split you open and make you thank me for it?”

Your hips try to move, but he holds them down. 

“Beg for it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out, looking him dead in the eye.

Suguru grins wickedly. “Fine.” 

And he pushes in with one long, slow thrust, groaning in your ear as your walls clench around him. You gasp, nails digging into his back.

“Fuck—Suguru!”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” He kisses you hard, deep, possessive. “You missed me.”

He fucks you with a calm, brutal rhythm. There’s no rush, no hesitation. Just deep, hard, confident strokes that make you feel like you’re unraveling inch by inch.

“Still pretending this means nothing?” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nod weakly.

He laughs again, low and mean this time. “That’s okay. I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”

You try to keep quiet, but the pleasure is blinding. He grabs your throat, gently tilting your chin up so your eyes stay locked with his.

“Are you ready to come back yet?” he asks, breath hot against your lips. “Or should I just keep making you cum instead?”

You whimper. He grins.

“I’ll take that as keep going.”

He fucks you harder, mouth latched to your throat, praising you through every twitch and cry and broken moan.

“Such a good girl for me,” he pants. “Still mine. Still fucking mine.”

You cum around him a second time, legs shaking, vision white.

He follows shortly, groaning your name like a brand, gripping your hips as he fills you like a promise he has no intention of breaking.

Afterward, he doesn’t even pull out. He stays right there—cock twitching inside you, knuckles stroking your cheek like you’re already home.

“You can stay the night,” he says lightly, kissing your collarbone. “Or move your stuff back in. Your call.”

You roll your eyes.

Suguru’s smirk deepens. “Just trying to be a good ex-boyfriend.”

KENTO

“Tell me to stop,” Kento growls, breath ragged against your neck. “Say it, and I'll stop right now.”

You don’t say it. You pull him closer, digging your nails into his shoulder like you’ll die if he lets go.

He groans, carrying you effortlessly to the bedroom. His tie comes off with a violent tug, the silk slipping to the floor. The dress shirt stays on, because he knows what it does to you. His slacks are half-undone when he bends you over the bed and pushes two fingers into your dripping core. 

His movements are deliberate and unforgiving, like he wants you to feel every twitch of his fingers. You gasp, hips jerking as he curls them inside you.

“Already soaking,” he mutters, breath hot against your spine. “You walked in here knowing exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You try to deny it, try to bite your lip and hold your ground, but the sound that escapes you betrays everything.

He adds a third finger, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and rough. “Say it so I don’t have to pretend this isn’t exactly where you want to be.”

You cry out his name, and Kento thinks it’s enough. That’s all it takes for him to pull his fingers out and replace them with the thick, aching length of his cock.

He pushes in from behind—no teasing, no mercy, just a stretch so deep it knocks the wind out of you.

“Fuck,” he pants, gripping your hips. “Feels like you were made for me, angel.”

You cry out, white-knuckled on the sheets, body already shaking as he rocks into you with ruthless precision. He leans over you, body draped along yours, one hand sliding up your chest to wrap around your throat. It’s not choking, but just enough to make your heart stutter as he makes eye contact with you.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” he growls, voice hoarse. “No one else could get close. Couldn’t even kiss someone else without wanting to tear my skin off.”

You whimper, shoving your hips back against him in desperation. “Me neither,” you whisper. “Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He curses under his breath like that admission breaks him. His hand moves to your jaw, turning your face toward him, and he kisses you from the side—messy, wet, frantic—like he needs to taste you to breathe.

Then he flips you over and pins you flat to the bed, gaze burning. He hesitates just long enough to look at you, really look, and remember everything.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters, before he fucks you like he wants to erase the space that ever existed between you. 

It’s rough, obsessive, borderline feral with how deep he hits. Kento’s hands won’t stop moving—stroking, gripping, holding you open like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. But never careless. Kento’s not clumsy in his desperation. He’s calculated. Precise. Like a man who’s gone mad with longing and still knows exactly how to break you down.

“You were always mine,” he snarls, thrusts growing sharper. “Even when you hated me. You belonged to me the second I laid eyes on you.”

Tears slip from your eyes, but not from pain. From the unbearable way he’s holding your hand, fingers interlaced, anchoring you while he fucks you senseless. From the way he kisses your temple like it’s a fucking farewell.

“Never hated you,” you gasp. “Love you too much.”

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, “even if I can’t have you.”

His confession does it for you. You fall apart on him, crying out his name as your orgasm tears through you. Kento fucks you through it, never slowing, until his own release breaks out of him with a low, guttural moan. Cum spills deep inside you as he buries his face in your neck.

You're both trembling when it's over—sweaty, breathless, quiet. Then he lets out a long exhale and mutters against your skin, “Well. That was deeply irresponsible.”

TOJI

You came to get your stuff, all the pieces of yourself still lingered in the mess of his apartment after the breakup. But the second Toji opened the door, low sweatpants slung on those hips and half-lidded eyes raking over you like meat, you knew you’d lost the fight. Again.

You don’t remember how you got to the bed. Just the way he grabbed your throat and kissed you like he was pissed you ever left. Like he wanted to punish you for walking away.

Now you’re on top of him, straddling his hips, riding him with shaky thighs while his hands rest behind his head like this is routine. Like he’s letting you get it out of your system. His cock’s buried so deep inside of you that it aches. 

“We’re still done,” you spit through gritted teeth, taking him deeper with each bounce.

Toji laughs, low and dark, before delivering a loud smack to your ass.

“Then why are you dripping all over me? Try again, mamas.”

You glare, but your hands press to his chest for leverage as your pace quickens. His cock drags perfectly against your walls, hitting that spot that makes your breath stutter, your resolve crack.

“Keep running your mouth,” you pant. “See where it gets you.”

“Gets me here, doesn’t it?” Toji mutters, gripping your hips now. “Every fucking time.”

He plants his feet flat on the bed and starts thrusting up into you, taking control even while you’re on top. The rhythm turns punishing, filling the room with vulgar noises of skin on skin and wet squelches. Toji fucks you real loud and nasty, the mattress shaking under you both. You collapse forward with a moan, forearms braced on his chest, head bowed as your body clenches around him.

“You break up with me every week,” he pants against your jaw. “Still come back to this dick like it’s rehab.”

Your lips part in a moan—half denial, half surrender—as his cock drives into you like he’s trying to reach your fucking soul. You try not to say his name.

“You like this?” he taunts. “This is all you needed, huh? Some sense fucked back into you?”

You tighten around him on instinct, and he grins—that filthy, cocky grin that used to piss you off so much you’d ride him just to shut him up.

His hand wraps lightly around your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. The pressure makes your head swim.

“I should’ve never let you leave,” he growls. “You’re mine.”

“Toji—fuck—”

“C’mon, mamas. Say it.”

You shatter on him, orgasm ripping through your core as you ride it out helplessly, body convulsing in his grip. He fucks you through it, filthy and relentless, until his thrusts turn erratic and his hips are twitching against yours.

“Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you tell him shamelessly. 

For once, Toji listens to you. He bites your shoulder as he lets go, breathlessly moaning into your skin. He stays like that for a second—still buried in you, breathing hard against your shoulder—before he pulls out with a slow drag and a satisfied groan.

Then he leans over, grabs the half-crushed cigarette off the nightstand, and lights it like nothing happened. Toji takes a drag, smirks at your limp body on the sheets, and exhales smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Should I move back in now?”

You glare at him, chest still heaving, legs sticky and spread.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” he mutters, straddling you. Your eyes drop to his cock—he’s already hard.

He shrugs, smiling with the cigarette in his mouth. “Still have a lot to say. Thought I’d let my dick finish the conversation.”

SUKUNA

Walking back into the throne room destroys the last of your dignity.

“Came crawling back again, eh?” Sukuna gloats, red eyes filled with amusement. “I’d say it’s cute, but it’s really just pathetic.” 

Your chin tilts up, masking shame with bite. “Not as pathetic as how easy you’ll give it to me.”

That earns a laugh, and the sound is cold. Cruel. Excited.

“Stupid girl,” he growls, already in front of you, gripping your hair and yanking you to your knees. “You belong to me. There is no leaving.”

His fingers press into your throat before he forces your mouth open and shoves his fingers in, eyes locked on yours.

He drags you to the floor like prey, strips you with no gentleness, and folds your body beneath him into a mean arch, like you were made to break. He doesn’t warm you up—doesn’t need to. You’re soaked already, shamefully so.

“Fucking knew you’d come back. You need me, don’t you?” he taunts, grinding into you, teasing the tip against your folds before slamming in hard enough to knock the air out of you.

Your gasp is lost beneath a strangled moan. He fills you like he owns every inch, as if he’s branding you from the inside.

“You always say you’re done,” he chuckles, voice thick with venom and heat, “then come crawling back with your needy little cunt dripping for me.”

You claw at the floor, unable to answer as he fucks you deep, merciless. Every stroke is brutal and precise. But that’s not enough for him.

With a sneer, he plants one foot on the back of your head, pressing your cheek to the floor as your cries shake the walls. “That’s it. Cry for me. Let them all hear who you belong to.”

Tears smear down your face, not from pain, but from the overwhelming fullness, the humiliation, the filthy goodness of it all.

“S-Sukuna—”

“Shut up,” he growls, slapping your ass so hard it stings. “Just take it.”

He doesn’t let up—not until your thighs are shaking and you’re begging for mercy he’ll never give. Not until your body gives out and he holds your hips up anyway, forcing you to take everything he gives, even when you’re sobbing into the floor.

“You’ll never leave,” he pants against your neck, fucking you through your second orgasm. “Because no one else can fuck the brat out of you like your king can.”

You lose track of time, barely awake after your fifth orgasm. When he cums inside you, it’s with a growl and a bite to your shoulder—marking you as his.

You don’t move even after he’s done. You just lie there, used and full, heart thudding with something that feels too much like belonging.

He strokes your hair mockingly, almost like you’re a pet. 

“Sweet little thing,” Sukuna hums. “You can crawl back to your chambers. I’ll see you next time you feel like lying to yourself.”

CHOSO

You show up at his door, arms crossed, trying to act like this isn’t what it looks like.

“You gonna let me in, or just keep staring at me like a sad puppy?”

Choso blinks once. Twice. Then he grins.

“Oh, you wanna fuck.”

You feign offense. “I—”

“Don’t worry, baby. I do too,” he hums, tugging you inside and kicking the door shut with one smooth move.

“You broke up with me,” he says, mock hurt. “You don’t get to be mean and horny.”

“Oh, I can be both,” you challenge, and he groans into your neck like he’s obsessed.

Choso can’t even wait to get to bed. He turns you around and pushes you against the door, already dropping his sweats. The second he thrusts two fingers into you, the teasing stops—just for a moment. Because fuck, you’re so tight. And warm. Choso moans, deep and breathy, burying his face in your neck.

“God, I missed this. Missed you.”

You claw against the door, breath stuttering. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

“I’m gonna make you cry in five minutes,” he growls. “And then I’ll get sappy.”

He replaces his fingers with his cock and starts slowly. It’s sweet, almost romantic. But that doesn’t last.

Choso’s cocky, but he’s also needy. He starts grinding into you deeper, faster, desperate to feel you fall apart, hear you whimper his name in that way that always made him lose it.

“You still take me so good,” he pants. “You didn’t let anyone else fuck you, did you?”

You roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it. “What if I did?”

He slams into you, cock twitching.

“You didn’t.”

���…I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he grunts into your ear. “Didn’t think so. You’re still mine.”

Choso drags you to the bedroom in a blink of an eye, throwing you onto the bed and entering you once more. You arch under him with a moan, and his mouth is on yours, kissing you hard, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to mark his territory.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he mutters, reaching down to pinch your clit. “Gonna soak me like you always do. Be good and let me make you feel perfect again.” 

And you do. There are stars behind your eyes as your back arches off the bed, and Choso doesn’t stop once. Your legs are still trembling from the first round, chest heaving as you lie flat on your back. Choso hasn’t moved far—just leaned over, brushing kisses down your collarbone, hands trailing gently over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it all over again.

You groan. “You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty,” he says simply, nuzzling your jaw. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

You try to snort. “Naked?”

He laughs into your neck. “No. Relaxed.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s tugging at your lips anyway. You gasp softly when Choso licks at one of your nipples, pinching and tugging at the other one. 

This time when he pushes in, it’s not a rough snap of hips—it’s slow. Deliberate. Deep enough that you both sigh at the same time. You blink up at him, and he looks so soft in the moonlight. Heavy-lidded, sweat-slick, eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch every second.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he murmurs, rolling his hips into you with an almost lazy rhythm. “Of you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, body already pulsing with heat again. “You gonna get sappy on me now?”

He smirks. “Only a little.”

He keeps it slow, letting you feel every inch of him. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, but he’s gentle about it this time—more coaxing than claiming.

“Missed how you sound when it’s like this,” he says, voice low. 

You grin, tipping your hips up to meet his thrusts, breath hitching when he brushes deep inside you.

“Choso…”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “There it is.”

It’s easy to fall into this rhythm with Choso. Bodies rocking together in sync, breath ragged and warm. You cling to him when your high crests, face buried in his neck. You cum slower this time, legs wrapped around him, hips rolling with his like you’re moving in sync. You cling to him tighter when you cum, burying your face in his neck, and he groans right in your ear like he can feel how much you still want him.

When he cums, his voice cracks, but it’s quiet—intimate. Just a broken moan as he presses his forehead to yours and lets it all go. He stays inside you this time, body slumped over yours, his arms wrapped around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“So,” he says, breathing hard. “Still broken up?”

You stretch under him, muscles sore but satisfied. “You gonna let me go this time?”

Choso pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “You gonna ask me to?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t leave either. And then he collapses next to you with a smug little grin. 

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[cwittr]

ONE MORE ೃ࿔

pairings. kang dae-ho x fem!reader

warnings. cunnilingus, overstim, fingering, squirting

an. no sg au !

“i need you. right now.”

those five words was all it took for you to end up like this. naked, legs spread impossibly wide, with dae-ho’s head buried into your cunt as he ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. his tongue wildly lapped at your swollen clit like he was a dog dying of thirst. his fingers plunged into you, his fingertips kissing the spongy spot deep inside you until your mind was fuzzy.

you didnt know what gotten into him. he had never been this messy and relentless with you before. you desperately tried to unlatch your cunt from him by pulling away only to be met with his whiny voice. “pleasepleaseplease angel just one more then we’ll stop,” he sputtered against your pussy. “j’st can’t get ‘nough of your pretty pussy, doll"

if it weren’t for your dazed state you would’ve known it was far from the last orgasm. you should've pushed him away and saved yourself from the hours of torture he was about to perform on you pussy, but you simply nodded and let out a squeaky "okay".

your body felt numb, yet you felt every little graze at the same time. you felt so utterly exposed. his long fingers thrusting in and out of your squelching cunt. the sounds were pornographic, the loud wet sounds coming from between your legs mixed with both of your moans made your pussy throb and your stomach tighten.

“m’ close !!” you cried out.

“c’mon sweetheart,” his voice was muffled. “you can do it baby, give it to me”

the feeling of your gummy walls contract around his fingers only made his desire to make you cum stronger. his tongue swirled around your clit, his fingers curled deep into you. and with one final thrust of his fingers and caress of his tongue, you came undone.

it was if the earth stopped moving on its axis. all the oxygen was ripped from your lungs as you screamed through your orgasm. you gushed all over his face, spraying your sweet juices all in his mouth.

“d’ you just squirt, dolly?” it came out as a laugh more than a question.

“mgfh” you groaned, rolling over on your side and curling up into a fetal position.

he grabbed your ankles and pulled you back towards the edge of the bed.

“ah ah ah, we’re not done yet baby,” he smirked.

[h8aaz]

RED MEANS GO.

premise ; you and matt finally reach a stop light.

content warnings ; blowjob + handjob . sub!matt kinda?? .

wordcount ; 708.

matt was nearly speeding down the highway, eager to get home. “slow down, matty,” you whispered as your hand continued to twist up and down his shaft. “ca-can’t, too—” he swallowed, breath shaky. “too good—hah!” he gasped softly, involuntarily bucking his hips as you had swiped your thumb on his slit.

“shh, shh,” you cooed. he was struggling to keep his eyes open, the pleasure of your grip mixed with his precum being too much.

matt’s eyes practically lit up as a bright spark of yellow beamed just a bit further down the road. the car began to move even faster to match your rhythm. he stared at the street light like it was a sign from heaven, and the urgent look he held made you want to suck him off even more.

you had promised it later, which is what got your hand wrapped around his dick in the first place. but you could see it in the way he squeezed the steering wheel, desperately trying to stay in his lane and not swerve—even though it was just you two rolling down the empty cement. he wanted it now.

he stopped as the light had barely turned red, turning to you with a pretty puppy-dog look in his eyes. and you couldn’t resist. you practically pounced on him after swiftly unbuckling yourself with your free hand. you were bent over the center console, knees propping you up from your seat.

you immediately wrapped your mouth over his tip, hearing a mix of a whine and a groan bubble out from him. “faster, ma—please!” he bucked his hips up. you sunk further down his length, your hand getting what you couldn't fit.

you had about a minute and a few seconds to get him there, and thank god you jerked him off on the way here.

your head bobbed quickly, hand moving in sync. matt felt like he was on cloud 9 with the pace you were going. he gathered your hair in his hand as a way of grounding himself. his eyes were squeezed shut, head flown back against the headrest, and his other hand raking through his hair.

“oh my—fuuuuuuck,” he moaned as you swirled your tongue on his tip, slightly dipping into his slit. you hollowed your cheeks as you took him back in again, spit drooling from the sides of your mouth and down his shaft.

“please, ma- pleasepleaseplease, shit!” you could tell by the twinge in his voice that he was close. dangerously close. you moaned around him, sending vibrations on his dick and causing him to squirm. “mama, please. please, m’so close,” he begged.

you picked up the pace, bordering unruly at this point. you had maybe 30 something seconds left, and you could tell he was panicking. sloppy sounds of your spit and choked moans of you gagging filled the car alongside his mewls, and all you did was nod.

he was done for.

he got your signal immediately, balls tightening and body jerking as he let out a low moan. spurts of his arousal coated your mouth and throat as you swallowed, continuing to bob your head through his orgasm.

“yeah, yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah.” he gently pulled you back up as his softening cock became sensitive. “god, i love you,” he whispered, putting himself back into his pants.

“mm, i love you too,” you sat up and wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb, licking the last bit of his cum off. you gave matt a sweet and chaste kiss on his lips before settling back in your seat.

“fuck.” he huffed, trying to calm his heaving chest. he looked so gorgeous like this. sweaty and messy haired. all because of you.

the rumble of a car filled your ears as it began to roll down next to matt’s side of the car. he cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair, lifting his brows to move them out of their scrunched state.

a smile crept onto your face as he tried to be normal, especially when the light turned green and he sped off before the other car could stop and see him. “we’re continuing when we get home.” he said, face still flushed.

gabs yaps ; i made this kinda match my new theme, which is literally based off of that picture LMFAOO. i'm obsessed with it like he looks SO GOOD he needs to be in red forever n ever.

tags ; @starzify @sunsbaby @deansbeer @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @legalmente-loca @rositaslabyrinth @berry-xoxo @y2kstarr @slut4christopherr @passionfruitchris @angelxsturns @courta13

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ ex-husband john price - 05

cw : suicidal thoughts, sexual assault

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcollection - prev ⋆ next

a year. a whole damn year.

38 today, and john was miserable. this wasn’t the life he thought he’d have at almost 40.

sitting behind a desk should have been a dream—after everything, he’d earned a quiet life. but after you left, all he wanted was to be back with the task force. except that door was shut. simon had stepped into the role of captain effortlessly, proving himself in ways no one could ignore. price returning? not a chance.

so here he was. stuck behind a desk, in an empty house, with nothing but silence for company.

he had stopped drinking. after that dreadful night, he swore he’d never touch alcohol again. he knew that had been the breaking point—the moment everything truly fell apart. the reason you handed him those papers.

but what haunted him most was the date. they had been signed months before his birthday. you had them long before you finally gave them to him. had you been carrying them with you, just waiting? waiting for him to slip up? for an excuse to finally end it?

and he had handed it to you on a silver platter.

the divorce hadn’t been clean. he had fought your decision, unwilling to accept the custody arrangement. you wanted the kids full-time, with him only having them two weekends a month. but they were his as much as they were yours—he wasn’t going to settle for that.

you had played dirty, bringing up that night—the alcohol, the mess, all of it. but his rank in the army worked in his favor. he never liked using his position for personal gain, but this was different. you were trying to take his kids away.

he swore it had been a one-time mistake, promised he’d never touch another drop of alcohol again.

in the end, you settled. joint custody, alternating weeks. but the agreement was clear—one misstep from him, and full custody would be yours.

everything else, he gave to you. the house, the car, the furniture—every last thing. none of it mattered. the only thing he couldn’t let go of was his kids.

his boys were the only light left in the darkness that had swallowed his life whole. his other boys—the team—were still out in the field. they visited when they had leave, but it wasn’t the same anymore. nothing was.

your life was just as miserable as john's. all you had were your job and your boys. and for two weeks every month, even they were gone. you had never really functioned on your own. after more than a decade with john in your life, you had forgotten what it was like to be just you. to exist without him.

and you hated it. this was supposed to be the part of your life you had looked forward to the most—the house, your husband home, your kids. but he had to go and ruin it all.

before that night, you had considered working on your marriage. you just needed time alone, time to heal after everything. you loved john—that was a fact—and that love wasn’t going anywhere. but you couldn’t move past it. not after seeing the state he was in.

in court, he swore he had stopped drinking, and for the first time in your marriage, he fought you. you knew he wouldn’t let it go. you were trying to protect your kids, but all he saw was you taking them away. so he did something he had never done before—he used the army to his advantage.

he used it against you.

he was a respected captain, and it worked. the betrayal filled you with so much anger that you hadn’t spoken to him since. anything he needed to know about the kids, he called your mom, and she called you.

it was messy, but you didn’t care. if he wanted to play dirty, so could you.

you dropped your kids off in his driveway, watching as they ran to your ex-husband’s front door. you waited just long enough for him to open it before driving off. gone were the polite conversations at the threshold. gone were the shared christmases, the birthdays.

so why did it hurt so badly when your kids told you john had a girlfriend? this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. normally, the woman moves on first, finds someone new, and the ex is the one who gets jealous… right?

you hadn't been touched by a man in over a year—the last time had been with john. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to date, but compared to your husband—well, ex-husband—everyone else felt bland.

as if that wasn’t hard enough, you had to sit and listen as your kids gushed about her. how beautiful she was. how nice she was. how her cooking was better than yours. he had her around your kids, and you hated it. this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

what your kids didn’t tell you was how much she looked like you. same height, same build, same hair color—almost a carbon copy. it was a terrible coping mechanism, but john was exhausted from feeling so damn alone.

it hadn’t lasted long. she broke up with him a week before his birthday, anyway. she had found a picture of you, and the resemblance had shattered her. she told him he was sick, that he needed help. searching for his ex-wife in someone new wasn’t love—it was a problem.

he hadn’t even denied it.

that’s how he ended up alone, on his couch, blowing out an overused candle on a small cake he bought for himself. it wasn’t even his week with the kids. he had tried to negotiate with you—through your mother—but you refused.

38 years old. it would be a lie to say john hadn’t thought about putting a bullet through his brain over the past year. his life had veered off course, and he needed to take control again. the only thing keeping him on this earth was his babies—he couldn’t do that to them.

those thoughts were long gone, but in the silence of his home, watching the wax melt, they came back, nagging in the back of his mind. tempting him.

not too far away, you were on a terrible date. you had finally accepted the blind date your colleague had been begging you to go on for months. she was tired of seeing you miserable and insisted you needed to get laid. the latter was true, even if you didn’t particularly feel the urge.

the man was a walking nightmare—older than you, working in finance, and completely full of himself. he wouldn’t stop talking about the stock market, never once showing interest in what you had to say. it felt like sitting through a ted talk—except painfully uninteresting.

he even split the bill. you weren’t offended, you actually preferred it that way, but instead of splitting it evenly, he only covered what he ordered, pointing out that your meal was more expensive than his.

it was then that you regretted being petty with john, refusing to let him have the kids for his birthday. they were at your mother's house instead, confused and disappointed. even they had asked why they weren’t spending the night with their dad.

you had told them he was busy with his girlfriend—venom lacing your voice.

but the date had been such a disaster that it made you realize—john truly was an angel among men. your anger toward him dulled, just a little.

you had made a mistake, though. you had let the finance guy pick you up. and as he leaned in to kiss you by his car, you knew just how big of a mistake it was. you turned your face just in time for his lips to land on your cheek instead.

and just like that, he became someone else.

before you could react, he shoved you against the side of his car. his lips latched onto your neck, teeth scraping, hands roaming. one pushed your skirt up, the other shot toward your mouth just as you opened it to scream.

no, this wasn’t happening. this wasn’t real.

but the hand creeping up your thigh, rough and insistent, yanked you back to reality.

"fear is a powerful motivator," john had told you once, back when he taught you a bit of self-defense. but right now, that training felt like a distant memory. your mind was blank, your body frozen—until the sting of his teeth on your neck sent a jolt of clarity through you.

you did the only thing you could think of. you bit his hand. hard.

hard enough that you tasted blood.

he yelped, cursing as he jerked away. his shock bought you precious seconds, but as his eyes darkened with rage, you knew he was about to lunge again.

you didn’t wait. you ran. fast.

the only time you glanced back, he was staring at his bloody hand, screaming after you.

you must have looked insane, pounding on john’s door like your life depended on it. maybe it did.

you had no idea how you ended up here. the restaurant was closer to his place than yours, sure, but it was more than that. your body had made the decision for you—because deep down, it knew exactly where to go. john would protect you. he always did.

when the door swung open, he had a gun in his hand, eyes sharp, body tense—ready for a fight. then he saw you. for a split second, his expression softened, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. his jaw clenched, and the anger returned.

not at you. at whatever—whoever—had done this.

"what the fuck happened to you? who did that?" john demanded, his voice sharp with urgency. he barely gave you a second to breathe before he was pulling you inside, eyes scanning the street for a threat.

who did this to you? the question barely registered. your mind felt foggy, your body light, like you weren’t fully there. then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught your reflection in the hallway mirror—and everything came crashing down.

god. your hair was a mess, a tangled, chaotic reminder of what had just happened. your makeup was smudged, dark streaks running down your cheeks from where your tears had ruined it. and then—the blood.

your lips, your chin—painted red.

you didn’t even fight it when john’s arms wrapped around you. the warmth, the comfort—everything his embrace had given you over the years—it was still there, still strong, still safe. you melted against him, letting the sobs wrack your body, shaking you from the inside out. your legs buckled, but john held you up, his grip steady, unyielding.

even through the haze of panic and exhaustion, a thought crept in—you were probably ruining his birthday night with his new girlfriend. guilt twisted in your stomach, making the sobs come harder. between gasps for air, you forced out broken, half-formed words, something about not meaning to bother him, about leaving him alone now.

you squirmed weakly in his embrace, a feeble attempt to pull away. but deep down, you hoped—prayed—he wouldn’t let you go.

"no one's here, my love," john murmured, his voice softer than you'd heard in years. his arms tightened around you, grounding you, steadying you. "no one is more important than you anyway."

his words sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but this time, it wasn’t just fear or panic—it was something else, something deeper. as your body finally stilled in his embrace, he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his touch careful, reassuring.

everything after that had been a blur. john had showered you with a gentleness that nearly broke you, his rough hands careful as they washed away the remnants of the night. he dressed you in one of his old army shirts and a pair of boxers, the familiar scent of him wrapping around you like a shield. then, he tucked you into his bed, his warmth never too far.

it took everything in you not to say the finance guy’s name, no matter how many times john asked. you knew what he would do with it. what one name in the wrong hands could mean.

but wrapped in the safety of his arms, exhaustion crept in, and your lips betrayed you. the name slipped.

the last thing you heard before sleep took you was the rustling of sheets as john left the bed.

and two words, low and deadly.

"good girl."

[chrissonnyangel]

➤ chris helping you get ready for bed

The tv glow flickered in front of your sleepy state. You and chris were sprawled out on the couch together, tangled in between on another for warmth. The unspoken intimacy that pulled you two together like glue. Both of you were watching a movie, but that had ended a while ago. About 20 minutes from the end your eyes fluttered shut and you feel into a deep slumber. Chris' eyes watched you tentatively, not wanting to wake you. He couldn't help it though, you looked so peaceful, so perfect.

You stirred slightly, jolting yourself awake unexpectedly. Chris laughed under his breath and patted your shoulder twice. Indicating it was time to hit the hay. "C'mon baby, it's late." He grumbled, clearing his throat. "Can't move, 'm too tired." You smiled at chris with your eyes still sealed shut. "M'kay." He replied, standing up abruptly.

Chris hooked his arms under your to carry you to the bedroom. Bridal style. You hooked your arms tiredly around his neck, leaning into his chest for some warmth as a shiver ran down your spine.

Chris kicked the door open and sat you on the bed carefully. He shuffled around the messy room for a while. You opened your eyes finally, and saw him scrambling through your draws. Piling your pyjamas over his arm, he looked over his shoulder back at you and flashed a sweet, loving smile. You raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't expect me to send you to bed without you in your pyjamas did you?" He stepped over to you sitting down, his frame towering over you.

"Arms up." He announced. You snorted, "Chris I can dress myself."

Your boyfriend looked down at you with a confused and sarcastic expression on his face. "Oh, i'm sorry. I thought you were the one who was tired?" He smirked and grabbed a hold of the hem of your day shirt, riding it up your body. "I mean,- I am. But I didn't want to cause any trouble." Chris scoffed, in the mean time he unclasped your bra and brought it off your shoulders, bringing your sleep shirt over your head quickly. "You could never cause me any trouble baby." He kissed your cheek quickly and dragged your shorts down your legs and replaced them with a pair of chris' sweatpants that he knew you adored.

"All done." He smiled down at you before making his way to his side of the bed and laying down next to you. "Now you can get your much needed rest, sleepyhead."

Chris turned towards you and landed his lips on yours once more before you both drifted off into your slumbers.

If you liked this, then you may enjoy - chris helping you after an accident

taglist - @whore4chris @courta13 @cherrystainss @leila-marie4 @csturnioloswifey @l0s3rhaha

[vraiao]

✰ . drunk sex, kazuha's wasted, reader is ALSO drunk😭, this is really short, messy creampie, fem reader

kazuha fucking you while ur both drunk lol

"pretty.. so pretty,' the drunken kazuha murmured as he slowly and erratically rocked his hips back and forth, his thick cock kissing every one of the sweet spots inside your cunt, a truly euphoric feeling.

your moans were music to him, a melody sweeter than the songs of the winds. his head hung low, heavy breaths that were just short of whines falling into your ears like a soothing lullaby. he brought a hand up from your waist, moving your hand that was strung over your mouth to the side, pressing it against the mattress and intertwining his fingers with yours.

in between the messy kisses kazuha started to place all over your neck, he mumbled, "mnh.. 'want you to be my girlfriend, pretty girl.." his other hand tightened on your waist, making sure to hold you still while he stuffed his dick into you.

your free hand moved to tangle in his hair, and with a whine of his name, you softly laughed because, "i am your girlfriend," you stuttered out, your fucked out state barely allowing your words to leave your mouth coherently.

he let out a shaky, strained sigh, his warm breath and the faint scent of the one too many drinks he had tonight tickling your skin. "mmh.. how lucky i am," he muttered, his hips slightly stuttering at your words.

releasing your hand, he lifted one of your legs up and pressed your thigh against your chest, his pace slow and rough to make sure he properly filled up every inch of you. his hands gripped firmly on your waist and the back of your thigh, hips thrusting in an unsteady rhythm while he murmured sweet praises into your ear. "perfect.. 'feels so fucking perfect," he whispered, shamelessly whimpering and moaning right into your ear with half-lidded eyes.

lifting his head up just enough, he crashed his lips against yours, suddenly speeding up his thrusts, nails digging into your skin. he barely pulled off of you, breaking the kiss for short seconds at a time before eagerly pressing his lips back onto yours. he hardly gave the two of you any time to breathe, until you were frantically tapping his shoulder-- to which he responded by pulling off only for a few seconds longer each time he did so.

within minutes, he was losing it, biting at your bottom lip as the coiling knot in his stomach finally snapped. he pulled off of your mouth, leaving both of you panting messes as his cum spilled all into you, the sensation tipping you too over the edge of your orgasm-- your juices creating a creamy white ring at the base of his cock while his hips slowly stuttered into a stop.

his head hung low, heavily panting into your ear for just a moment. you thought he was done until he started shortly rutting his hips again as he pulled his head up to meet your gaze with a desperate look in his eyes. "one more, baby?"

kazuha, your beautiful and loving boyfriend. how could you ever say no to him?

[puppybei]

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 4 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Past pov, in depth description of anxiety, reader and Sukunas first meeting explained, this entire chapter focuses on their past, reader is called a charity case by Sukuna, Sukuna threatens reader, lwk stubborn reader, Highschool au!, Their first kiss!!

Word count: 2.7k

The first time you met Sukuna was in High School, you had managed to get a scholarship into one of the more prestigious schools in your district. The sun glared above you, the straps of your bag suddenly feeling light compared to the weight of the swirling anxiety in your stomach. 

The school was huge, no amount of adjectives you used would truly be able to capture the magnificent and almost fantasy-like essence. The bare bricked walls freckled with the overgrown foliage that was just a bit too messy to be considered purposeful. A georgian style building with gabled roofs, large windows that let sunshine peak into the corridors and classrooms with silk furnished curtains. The whole campus just screamed old money.

It just made you feel more out of place if anything, sticking out like a sore thumb against similar sixteen year olds. The white uniform shirt felt too scratchy against your skin, your tights sticking to you like second skin, heart heavy like something was weighing down every step you took forward. 

But you couldn’t let a few stray butterflies in your stomach stop you from going into the school your fifteen year old self worked her ass off for. You had gotten into the culinary department, mixed with a few other classes that were compulsory to all students. 

The Home Ec lab from this school was praised even in professional settings and you were buzzing at the thought of finally seeing it, state of the art equipment along with teachers that personally taught you. Graduating from their course would basically give you a head start into the culinary world, well at least that’s what you learned from reading comments on reddit and the official school website. 

Your feet basically carried you to the lab on instinct and that's when you saw him for the first time, sitting on the marble countertop next to the electric stove top. His blazer strewn across the stove, tie haphazardly done, sleeves folded upwards to show the tattoos that corded against his muscle. Head turned away from the door, a cigarette placed in between his index and forefinger, smoke clouding the room in a haze. The silk curtains were pulled halfway open, letting the smoke filter out.

The window was propped open, an unfinished garden with multiple cigarette butts on the garden bed found underneath it. Sunlight poured through the window, casting half his face in a shadow as he blew smoke outside, your breath stilled for a moment and for a second all your worries had vanished, that was until he turned his head around and scowled at you, eyeing your very obvious second hand clothes with a condescending look. 

“The fuck you looking at newbie?” 

He got off of the countertop, throwing the cigarette butt out of the window and switching off the exhauster. The pink haired male pulled the blazer over his broad shoulders, uniform shirt straining from where it was tucked into his pants. Shoving your shoulder aside as he left the lab murmuring under his breath about some kind of charity case. 

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you fortunately fought the urge to curse at him. You quickly learned that the boy you saw was Sukuna Ryomen, the heir of the corporation that basically funded the school as well as the Student Council President. He was feared by the student and staff bodies, no one dared to go against him except his group of friends, and it was apparent to everyone else to not go near the Home Ec lab before the morning assembly and after the last bell. Well at the very least you didn’t seem to piss him off too much. 

Contrary to overexaggerated teen shows about scholarship kids, most of the student body were from upper middle class families, and just 10% of the school were heirs of some kind of corporation. You made friends with the kids in the Home Ec and they filled you in on all the people to avoid at every cost, as well as the people you should get close to.

Unfortunately for Sukuna, you were someone who used the facilities given to you as much as you could, this was also backed up by the fact that unlike the other kids that went to the same course, you were not provided with a fully furnished kitchen and high end ovens. So if you wanted a fair chance at competing with the other kids you were going to have to use the facilities, Sukuna or not.

The next time you met Sukuna was in the compulsory English Literature classes. Surprisingly enough, to squash any rumours of the heir being favoured over other students, and to avoid any bribery scandals he was placed in the same class as the ‘scholarship student’. He was sitting a few rows behind you, looking way more like a President than when you first saw him, his gaze bore into the textbook in front of him, spinning a pen around his finger lazily. He didn’t notice you stealing glances at him. 

The minute you got permission from the Home Ec teacher to use the lab after school, you immediately made your way to the culinary labs, spinning your keychain around your finger, humming a happy tune as you basically skipped to the lab.

Though you did expect to see Sukuna, it still stirred a feeling of irritation in your chest to see him walk around like he owned the school- granted he kind of basically did, but that’s an abuse of power. 

Only this time Sukuna was completely lying down on one of the plain countertops, set there so that students could present their dishes in bulk. His eyes were shut in slumber, chest rising up and down in slow breaths. Pink hair fell against his forehead, a rare display of when he didn't have it gelled upwards, mouth set into a loose scowl, which came as a shock to you because you were sure he was born with that permanent frown stuck on his face. 

You moved to the other side of the lab, pulling the curtains open to let as little of light in without waking up the heir. Cooking came easy to you- or atleast baking did, the quiet repetitive movements, the sweetness of the pastry, the swirl of the whipped cream. Your dream was to hopefully become a baker, or a patissiere- you hadn't yet decided. Being a patissiere meant you got to work directly with just pastries and sweets, while being a baker meant you got to work with broader horizons. 

By the time you were done thinking to yourself the oven beeped and you almost fell out of the high stool chair, scrambling to shut it down and pull mittens over your hands.You had made madeleines, a comfort bake of yours.The madeleines came out near perfect if you had to say so yourself, smooth crispy outer layer with a contrasting softness when you bit into it. A giddy smile danced across your features, happy that the first thing you made in the lab came out so well even if you baked them on stealth mode to not awaken the short tempered President. 

What you failed to notice when you were too busy stuffing your face with madeleines was the dark figure that loomed behind you, snatching one from your hand, 

“So you’re the little rat that decided to disturb me,”

His voice came out in a low growl, threatening almost, and you stiffened up at the heat that seeped through your clothes even though he held an appropriate amount of distance between you both,

“Is this some kind of new tactic? Playing housewife to garner for my attention?,”

As you turned around he popped the baked good into his mouth, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, 

“At least it doesn’t taste like ass, should’ve expected that from the charity case,”

He wiped the crumbs off his fingers on your apron, gripping your shoulder tightly, bending down to meet you at eye level, 

“The next time you pull this shit again I’m going to fucking kill you. Capisce?” 

You felt your eyebrows tug upwards in shock, shaking your head no while you muttered something about facilities. You remember his face twisting into something dark before he pushed you, the back of your hip hitting the counter, 

“Get the fuck out of my way pest,” 

The six foot man snarled, pushing past you once again as he left the lab, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air long after he left.

No way in hell were you going to let a man boss you around after how hard you worked to get into this school- especially if he was some kind of stuck up spoiled brat.

The next day you went to the lab again, this time baking a rose tea pound cake. Sukuna sat on a stool opposite to the oven, glaring at you- basically seething as he grumbled curses every time you moved past him to peek at your creation. You ignored every word he said though, mind steeled down, no matter what offensive insult he spewed out. By the end of the day he even stole a slice of the pound cake and a small part of you was smug, there was no one who could fight the goodness of your pastries, you didn’t get into this school without a reason after all.

This cat and mouse game continued for the next few weeks, at one point the insults had boiled down to mere grunts when Sukuna would spot you. Most afternoons he spent lying across a cushioned bench underneath the huge windows, letting the sunlight dance across his features as he dozed off. He would always grab a slice of what you made though, you figured he was taking it as some kind of compensation for letting you bake in peace. 

Some days his friends would come over, barging into the room and interrupting the comfortable silence you and Sukuna had formed. A loud group consisting of Gojo, Geto, and Toji who got in with Sukuna’s help, though he excelled in sports and could've gotten a sports scholarship if he wanted. Sukuna would always leave immediately when they came, casting you a glance backwards. You always left behind a little of what you made on those days, finding them gone when you checked the next morning, though you said nothing to him. 

The quiet sort-of-friendship you had formed changed completely when the English Literature teacher paired you up for a project, forcing you both to talk to each other and be in slightly uncomfortable proximity. Your irritation had long disappeared for the KOC heir, now replaced with something akin to fondness. 

“You smell sweet,” 

Your head jerked up from where you were bent over trying to make sense of the poem you were assigned to analyse, 

“Sweet?” 

You questioned, quirking a brow upwards.

“Like that brown thing you use when making your shit,”

You pondered for a second, Sukuna’s sharp eyes gaze resting on your features, 

“...you mean vanilla essence?”

A giggle erupted from you and Sukuna looked like you had personally offended his entire family, his ears heating up as he rested his face on his palm, elbow propped up on the table,

“Whatever. Finish your work pest,”

You smiled in return, watching Sukuna turn his concentration back to researching more about the poet’s life, 

“You smell good too,”

You hummed, turning your attention back to your own work, sneaking glances at Sukuna in between. Unbeknownst to you both, Sukuna had fallen for you- hook, line and sinker. He felt his heart stutter in his chest when you giggled, nothing had sounded more soothing to him and he had already staked his claim on you long before you were even his. 

You on the other hand, had started to regret your notions about the heir, unknown to the general student population, Sukuna was quite the hard worker. He would never skip a Student Council meeting, coming to the lab afterwards with a heavier gait, exhaustion weighing down on his shoulders. Other days he would bring his work into the lab, face scrunched up as he worked through the papers. He always stayed at the top of the grade, Gojo and Geto falling right behind him. 

The English project lasted a week exactly, though the after effects lasted far longer. Sukuna had now deemed it okay to constantly be in your vicinity, brushing his arm or thigh against you whenever he moved closer. Even after you had moved back to your old place, Sukuna shot one look at the guy sitting next to you who scrambled away without a peep, giving the heir his seat.

The pink haired man had even started asking about your day and unfortunately your heart was betraying your brain with every month that passed by. The small physical contact you and Sukuna shared sent electric shots down your spine. Heat creeping up your neck once he moved from vaguely admitting your skills were up to standard to complimenting them. You had also started to talk more with him, he was a quiet man at heart and you were more than glad to fill the silence with your chatter. 

Quiet evenings in the lab turned to him following you around or sitting right opposite to you as you baked, following your every movement with a softer gaze. He would still fall asleep occasionally but it was always after acknowledging your presence and making small talk with you. When he worked on his documents he sat right opposite to your workstation, taking breaks where he would just bore holes into your cheek as you talked. 

On colder days he would drop his blazer over your shoulders, complaining about hearing your teeth chatter with a blush across his face. You accepted, perhaps even more flushed. The goods you baked were now put in a little plastic bag with ribbons, ones he pocketed and never returned. 

One day he had fully switched to calling you by your first name, stopping you in your tracks as your heart thumped so hard against your chest you were sure he could hear it too. In response you started to call him by his first name too and when you accidentally called him ‘Ryo’ and he didn't seem murderous, you let it continue. 

Sukuna did not allow anyone else the privilege of that and your feelings for him grew stronger by the start of the third year. When Sukuna caught you getting confessed to by one of the underclassmen in your program, he merely whisked you away with a grip on your arm, crowding you against a wall in the Home Ec lab, lifting your chin up using his hand to cup your cheek as he silently motioned for consent. You nodded and Sukuna pressed his lips against yours, it was an inexperienced naive kiss but within a few months he had mastered the art- as expected of Sukuna, even with something so intimate he would not fall second place.

Sukuna’s favorite part of the day was when he got you all to himself after school, nuzzling his head into your shoulder like some kind of overgrown bear while he had you seated on his lap, petting his hair as he grumbled about the rest of the incompetent members of the Student Council. Freshly baked goods sat on the countertop and he forced you to feed them to him while you giggled, fuck he could just die there and be at peace.

You never asked Sukuna about the nature of your relationship, not when he cornered you almost daily in the lab, not when he had you seated on his lap whenever he was in need of a little more comfort, not when he had his head on your lap while he dozed off, not when he forbade Gojo from touching your pastries, not when he glared at any guy who approached you and not when he allowed only you to see him vulnerable.

This unlabeled relationship continued well into college, where you both denied having a significant other but neither of you touched another human being on campus, he was yours and you were his and that was all that mattered back then.

Previous Current Next

A/n: Omg this was so much longer than my last one!! I put my blood sweat and tears into it haha. I hope yall enjoyed!! Feeling a bit evil as the confrontation doesn’t happen yet.. hehe.. I was so tempted to split this into two chapters but I really just wanted one chapter for the flashback. Likes, reblogs and Comments appreciated!!!

Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @nina-from-317 @katsukiseyebrows

[happy74827]

White Lies

[Spencer Reid x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You have constantly lied to your mother about your private life, as she was one to disapprove of everything, but those "harmless lies" become a lot more serious when you forget to cancel plans with your closest friend.

WC: 3036

Category: Fluff, Fake Dating, Sassy!Reid {TW: Reader’s mom is Authoritarian}

Another drafted idea that I finally wrote up because Spencer is the definition of pookie, and you cannot change my mind. This is also a dedication to my girl, @yoursacredqueenmother, for matching my crazy delulu fantasies 🫶💖

『••✎••』

Your mom has always been a force of nature—a whirlwind of opinions, expectations, and unsolicited advice that sweeps through your life like a hurricane. She’s the kind of woman who believes she knows what’s best for you, even when you’re pretty sure she doesn’t. Ever since you turned 30 last year, her visits have become more frequent, and her nagging has reached a fever pitch.

"You’re getting old, sweetheart," she’d say, her voice dripping with concern that felt more like judgment. "You need to settle down, find a nice man, start a family. I’m not going to be around forever, you know."

The words were always delivered with a smile, but they stung like a slap. You love her, you really do, but her constant pressure makes you feel like you’re failing at some unspoken test of womanhood.

So, to get her off your back, you’d started lying. Little white lies at first—"I’m seeing someone, Mom, it’s just early stages"—but they quickly snowballed into more and more elaborate fibs. Soon, you were telling her that you were dating a doctor who wanted nothing more than to start a family with you but was waiting for the right time.

It was easier to make up a fictitious doctor than to explain the real reason you were still single.

Because the truth is that the man of your dreams is already in your life, he's been here for years, and he's always been the perfect friend. The problem is that he's a little hard to read. You have no idea how he feels about you or if he sees you as more than a friend.

You'd tried to tell him how you felt about him before, but the words had stuck in your throat. He’d seemed so confused, so shocked by the mere suggestion of romance. Maybe he just didn't see you that way. Maybe you’d ruin your friendship by even mentioning the idea.

This led to where you are now: alone, frustrated, and trying to figure out how to keep your mother from butting into your personal life. You’d thought maybe she’d drop the issue after your birthday, but she’d come by to "surprise you" last night and is now currently sitting at the kitchen table, looking around your apartment with an expression of vague disappointment.

"Honey, you’re an adult now," she says, not looking up from her coffee cup. "You can’t keep living like this."

She gestures at the living room, which is scattered with discarded letters and half-read books. The mess is a symptom of the chaos in your head as you’ve been too preoccupied with thoughts of him to worry about cleaning up after yourself.

"It’s not that bad," you mumble, though you know it is. Even he’d commented on the state of your apartment when he’d last stopped by, and his place is usually worse than yours. Messy, not dirty. He’s a bit of an organized hoarder.

"Well, maybe not for a single girl," she sighs. "But what if Doctor Whoever comes over? Don’t you want to impress him?"

You bite your lip, trying to keep your temper in check. This is the problem with your mother—she has a habit of steamrolling over your feelings, and you've never been able to stand up to her. You’d thought you were done having this argument when you turned 30. Apparently, you’d thought wrong.

"Mom," you begin, your voice firm. "I told you, he doesn't care about stuff like that. He's more concerned with things like—"

The doorbell rings, interrupting you mid-sentence. Thank God. You’re not sure what you would have said, but any excuse is better than none. You figured it was the mailman, late with that package you’d been expecting, but when you just so happen to glance at the calendar (the one your father bought you last Christmas, with pictures of cats wearing hats), your stomach drops.

March 21st, which may not seem important, and it really isn’t, unless you look closer and realize that the cat in the picture is wearing a lab coat and is holding a beaker. Because that, my friends, is not just a picture. It is a reminder.

The one thing you had not wanted to forget.

The one thing, apparently, you had forgotten.

You’d been so busy trying to avoid your mother’s questions about your non-existent boyfriend that you’d completely lost track of time. The calendar sits there, taunting you, and all you can think is:

Oh, no.

Because the person who had rang the doorbell? It was him. He and his adorable grin, hazel-like eyes, and messy brown hair. He probably even brought a bag of those terribly expensive chocolates you love.

You want to cry. Of course, it had to be that day, the day of all days, the day you'd been secretly anticipating for all month.

Chess day. It was a monthly ritual you'd started with him when he'd discovered that you, too, were a fan of the game. You were absolutely terrible at it, and he won every time, but honestly, you didn't care. Chess day was just an excuse for you to spend time with him.

Except today, you have company, and it’s not exactly the kind you want him to meet.

You were supposed to call him, but in your haste to please your mom, you completely forgot.

Your mother’s gaze shifts to the door, and her eyebrows rise as if she can sense his presence on the other side. "Well, aren’t you going to answer that?"

No.

That's what you wanted to say. Instead, you hear yourself saying:

"Yeah, just a sec."

And, like a complete idiot, you open the door.

You open the door, and he’s there, all bright-eyed, smiling, holding a box of chocolates and his perfectly polished travel chess set. You feel like the biggest jerk in the world.

"Uh, hey!" he chirps, his voice making your stomach flip. He doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the air or the fact that your mother is standing right behind you, peering curiously over your shoulder. "I know I’m a little early, but I needed to pick up some things and..."

He trails off as his gaze settles on your mother. She’s eyeing him like a hawk and doing what she does when meeting a new person: leaning forward slightly, squinting her eyes, and tilting her head. You can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"Is this him?" she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

Before you can stop her, she grabs your wrist and pulls you aside. You stumble into the kitchen, and she takes your place, smiling warmly at him.

"So, you’re the doctor," she says, her voice full of approval. "My daughter has told me so much about you!"

Oh, this is bad. So, so bad.

"Uh," he begins, clearly caught off-guard. His eyes dart to yours, and you were expecting his classic confused puppy look, but this time, it’s different. He looks... honored? No, that can't be right.

"She… talked about me?" he stammers, looking back at your mother.

She nods. "All the time! In fact, I was starting to think she’d made you up. It’s good to know my daughter has such a handsome young man in her life."

You want to die. Right there, on the spot. But, somehow, you manage to force a smile, even as your heart pounds with anxiety.

And your mother? She beams.

"It’s lovely to meet you finally," she gushes. She reaches out and shakes his hand, and he stares at her with a dazed expression. "My daughter has always been a bit shy, and she tends to keep things close to the vest if you know what I mean."

"Mom, please," you cut in, mortified. "Stop."

He still hasn't said a word, and the silence is killing you.

"Well, come on in, then," your mother continues, ignoring your protests. "I insist. After all, I can't wait to learn more about my future son-in-law!"

And this is when the situation goes from bad to worse.

This is when he freezes, and the box of chocolates threatens to slip from his fingers. You watched as he struggled to form a coherent sentence.

"I... Uh, that's not... we’re not..."

"Yes! Yes, we are!" you shout, desperate to cover up his stammering. He looks at you, his expression shifting from confused to shocked, and it’s like a punch in the gut. "That’s right, Mom. This is him. My boyfriend. Doctor Whoever."

"Oh, sweetie, this is so wonderful!" Your mother is so busy clapping her hands with delight that she doesn't notice his reaction.

"Doctor… Whoever?" He looks offended and a bit hurt. "What’s that supposed to mean—?"

"Shush!" You hiss, silently pleading with him to keep quiet. He must have caught your desperation because he shuts his mouth.

It allowed you a moment to process everything. Your mother is smiling widely, her face filled with delight. She doesn't even seem bothered by the fact that he’s currently dressed like a college professor with an evident love for scarves.

Meanwhile, he’s standing there, blinking stupidly, looking as if his entire world has been flipped upside-down. He seems torn between anger and elation, and honestly, it’s confusing as hell. You want to grab him and apologize and explain that this was all a mistake, but you can’t. Not with your mother right there.

So, you knew what you had to do.

"Mom! Say, would you mind doing me a huge favor and just give us like a few minutes? We have some important totally-not-boyfriend stuff to discuss."

"Sure, honey." She grins. "I'll do some unpacking. How about that?"

"Perfect!"

She practically skips into the other room, leaving the two of you alone. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

The sigh you let out is one of relief, tinged with the faintest hint of dread.

Though, he was the first to break the silence with words.

"I didn’t realize we were dating," he says, his voice low. He's not quite glaring at you, but it's a close thing. "Last time I checked, statistically, dating requires at least two people. Which leads me to the logical conclusion that you are, in fact, a liar. Unless this is some strange, newfangled term for friendship, in which case, I think it would be more appropriate for me to refer to you as the "teller of lies" rather than a—"

"I know, I'm sorry." You blurt out, your cheeks flushing with shame. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She was asking all these questions, and I couldn't tell her the truth, and then she just kept talking, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise, and... I panicked. Okay? That’s all."

"What do you mean, couldn’t tell her the truth?" He narrows his eyes. "Is something wrong? Did you get yourself into trouble?"

"No! No, nothing like that."

"Then, what is it that you can't tell her?"

He steps closer, and the concern in his eyes makes you feel even guiltier.

"Look, don't worry about it, alright? It’s not important." You turn away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"If it isn’t important, then why are you so embarrassed?"

"I’m not embarrassed."

"Your cheeks are flushed," he points out. "And you tend to rub your thumb against your forefinger when you’re feeling nervous or stressed. Which, coincidentally, is also something you do when you’re lying."

Damn it. You should’ve known better than to lie to a profiler.

"You don’t know what it’s like to be interrogated by my mother," you snap, harsher than intended. You soften your voice before continuing. "It’s like she’s constantly see-sawing between disapproval and pity. She means well, but when she’s around, I feel like I'm being crushed under the weight of her expectations."

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

"And I know, I know, that’s not an excuse for lying. I just... I’m sorry, okay? It was wrong and selfish and... I didn’t mean to drag you into it."

You brace yourself for the inevitable rejection, the anger, the disappointment. Instead, you hear him let out a sigh, followed by the familiar look of resolve that comes over him when he's faced with a challenging puzzle.

"You know, when we first met, you used to lie all the time." He glances at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You would say things like, 'I don't watch rom-coms,' and, 'I have a real job,' and, most infamously, 'there's no such thing as aliens.'"

"Hold on a minute—"

He ignored your protests, his smile growing wider.

"You’re not that bad of a liar. Actually, you’re pretty decent, considering your lack of social skills. So the fact that you’ve managed to fool your mother is pretty impressive."

"Hey—"

"And, honestly, it’s a little flattering."

"I— Wait… what?" You gape at him, trying to figure out what's going on. "Flattering?"

He shrugs, but you can tell he's trying not to blush.

"Liars tend to use people they know well or trust implicitly when they need a cover story because they have more information about them and are therefore more believable. So, by lying about your fake boyfriend, that being me, it suggests that you trust me enough to make a convincing cover story, and the fact that you are embarrassed about the deception implies a certain amount of fondness."

"You can't know all that from a simple lie."

"Can’t I?"

There's something in his tone, the slightest hint of a tease, that makes your heart flutter. He's always been like this, so damn perceptive. You never knew what to make of it.

"It’s actually a well-established behavioral theory," he continues. "Deceivers typically show affection toward the person they are attempting to deceive. In fact, a study in the 1970s—"

"Spencer, please." You hold up a hand. "I get it."

"I'm not so sure that you do."

There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your stomach do backflips.

"Because," he murmurs, moving a little closer, "if you did, I wouldn’t have had to spend the past three years of my life wondering why my best friend keeps avoiding my gaze."

"You noticed that?" You squeak, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"I notice everything."

He takes a step toward you, and it’s so quick, so unexpected, that you can't help but glance up. He's actually extremely close, his face mere inches from yours, and you find yourself frozen, unable to speak, unable to think, as his eyes lock with yours.

"I notice that the color of your eyes changes depending on the lighting." He pauses, and his voice grows softer. "And I notice that your pupils dilate when I'm near. I notice the way you breathe, the way you laugh, the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought. And I can’t help but notice that the closer I get, the faster your heart rate becomes. That could be a number of things, of course, and not just an indication of arousal, but considering the context, the likelihood that it’s due to anything other than sexual excitement is simply—"

"Spence," you breathe, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re not sure what to do, so you blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind. "Do you want to be my fake boyfriend?"

There’s a moment of silence, followed by a quiet snort.

"I thought I already was."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but the tension between you has lessened. Now, he’s simply staring at you with a smug smile, and it's like a dam has burst. The words tumble out of your mouth, spilling out like water from a leaky faucet.

"Well, then, you should know that my boyfriend is absolutely infuriating and has a tendency to ramble about obscure facts at inappropriate moments. And he’s really, really bad at taking a hint."

His smile widens, and his voice takes on a teasing tone.

"Oh, he is, is he? Tell me, is he good at chess?"

"No, he’s terrible at it."

"Then, he sounds like a total loser."

"Yeah," you admit, biting back a smile. "He’s the biggest loser I know."

"In that case, you should know that my girlfriend is incredibly frustrating and a compulsive liar who uses her boyfriend for cover stories. She also tends to cheat her way to victory despite still losing most of the time."

"I do not cheat!" You protest, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"No, you just make up rules on the spot in order to justify why you lose so badly."

"You’re one to talk. You’re the one who’s been letting me win all this time."

"Perhaps," he grins. "Or maybe I’ve been letting you believe that."

You narrow your eyes.

"Are you admitting to me what I think you're admitting?"

"What is it that you think I’m admitting to?"

"I think you’re admitting to me that you’ve been throwing our chess games all this time."

"That sounds like the ramblings of someone who cheats and is trying to project their own faults onto others."

"Oh, you know what—"

And that's when the bedroom door swings open, and your mother's voice cuts through the air like a knife.

"Ahem."

She's standing there, smiling, and holding a box filled with old pictures and baby toys. Your father had sent it to you last year, hoping that you’d have children soon and use it, but you’d put it in storage, intending to deal with it later. Apparently, your mother had decided now was the perfect time.

The both of you share a look, and it's clear that he’s thinking the same thing as you.

"Not interrupting, am I?" She asks, glancing from him to you and then back again. Her smile was practically glowing, and she had a strange look in her eyes as if she were a cat watching a bird. "I was just looking for a place to put these old things and thought maybe my daughter's boyfriend might be interested in seeing them."

The shared look between the two of you solidified what was going through both of your minds. This was indeed going to be a long, long afternoon.

[jhyoos]

Off Limits

chapter one : cold hearted snake

soccer player vi x talis reader

mentions : player vi, besti ekko, romance, lesbianism, modern au, college au, drama, abby tlou, ellie tlou, cheerleader reader, mention of sex, mentions of overdosing

notes: semi long chapter so get some snacks, turn your fan on and rub your feet together

edit: i ended up changing nyu to asu (arcane state university)

next chapter ->

"Jayce… don’t piss me off," you mumbled groggily, swatting at the air as you turned away from the light creeping in through the curtains. Your brother had this awful habit of waking you up early, and this time, it was no different. You groaned as you felt the edge of his foot on your nightstand, a clear sign that he wasn’t planning to leave until you gave him the attention he craved.

"Please, sis. Just tell me if they go good with my outfit. It's my junior year. I gotta look fresh," Jayce said, his voice high-pitched and over-the-top, just the way it always was when he was seeking validation.

You blinked open one eye, then the other, squinting up at him. The sight of his goofy grin—complete with his messy hair—did nothing to help the headache that was already forming. He was holding a pair of sneakers in one hand, his new must-have shoes for the school year.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed, giving him the most unimpressed look you could muster. "Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you said flatly, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. He let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped down on the edge of your bed, his body taking up far too much space. "Don’t go back to sleep, c’mon! It’s your first day here at ASU. You gotta make a statement," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, clearly proud of his well-meaning, annoying attempt to motivate you.

You cracked open an eye again, giving him a deadpan stare. "I don’t want to hear it, Jayce. You’re lucky I’m even awake right now."

Jayce chuckled, nudging you lightly with his foot. "Get up, you lazy bum. I need to know if this shirt works with my new kicks or not. It’s important!"

You sighed, sitting up slowly, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Looking at him—his eager face, his ridiculous outfit—wasn’t helping your mood. You glanced at his sneakers, then his shirt, then his whole vibe. Jayce looked like he was trying way too hard to impress everyone on his first day back. He had his typical “I’m cool” swagger on display, and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or just roll your eyes harder.

"Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you muttered, not really caring but knowing that was the answer he wanted to hear.

Jayce leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, all dramatic as he asked, "Really? I mean, really? You sure about that? ‘Cause I need you to be my fashion consultant today."

You shook your head, not even bothering to reply to his antics. You were too tired for this. But he wasn’t backing down. He was, after all, Jayce—a master at annoying people to no end.

"Don’t make me get Mom on the phone, you know she’s got the best opinions," he teased, but you could hear the hint of excitement in his voice. He wasn’t just annoying you for attention; he genuinely seemed to need your approval.

You shot him a glare. "If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Mom you’ve been wearing the same pair of socks for two days."

Jayce’s grin faltered, just for a second, before he playfully shoved your shoulder. "Low blow, sis. Low blow."

Finally, you could hear him sigh in defeat. "Fine. I’m leaving, I’m leaving. Get up, though! Or I swear, I’ll drag you out of bed myself."

You stared at him as he got up and headed toward the door, but not without another remark. "Oh, and don't even think about that raggedy bus today. We’re taking my car. And you're making a statement whether you like it or not."

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, there was silence—glorious silence.

You glanced at the time on your phone. 5:47 AM. With a groan, you threw the covers off and rolled out of bed.

The thought of the first day at ASU made your stomach churn with nerves, but you couldn't show it. Not after all the teasing and endless talk of “making a statement” from your brother. You needed to at least pretend like you had it all together. So, with a loud sigh, you shuffled into the bathroom for a shower, hoping the cold water would wake you up enough to deal with the day ahead.

As you stood under the stream of water, you tried to clear your head. You'd never been one for drama, but here you were, starting college at one of the most prestigious schools in the country. It was supposed to be exciting. New people, new opportunities, new everything. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something much bigger than you were ready for.

Still, there was no turning back now.

You had spent your freshman and sophomore years in Italy, a place you quickly grew to love. It was a dream come true—walking cobblestone streets, sipping espresso in tiny cafes, and studying architecture and art history in a country that felt alive with culture and tradition. At first, you were nervous about being so far from home, but Italy embraced you with open arms, and soon, it felt more like home than your actual home ever had.

The plan had been simple: you would study abroad, and Jayce would come with you. Your mom had made it clear that he had the option to join you. “Think about it,” your mom had said, “two years of sibling bonding while experiencing a whole new world.” But, of course, Jayce had shrugged it off.

"Pass," he'd said without hesitation. "All my friends are here. Plus, who's gonna keep the soccer team alive without me?"

You’d rolled your eyes when he said it, but deep down, his refusal stung. He didn’t even consider it. And as much as you hated to admit it, part of you had wanted him there. Sure, he was annoying and constantly in your space, but he was also your big brother—the one who always knew how to make you laugh when you were stressed, the one who looked out for you when no one else did. Without him, you felt a little more alone than you were ready to admit.

But Italy had been a journey all its own. You’d found your rhythm there, made lifelong friends, and grown in ways you never expected. You learned to navigate bustling markets in Florence, spent lazy afternoons sketching by the canals in Venice, and even picked up enough Italian to argue with locals over gelato flavors. It wasn’t just a study abroad experience; it was a transformation.

Then, two years flew by faster than you thought they would. And just like that, it was time to say goodbye to everything you’d built in Italy. The narrow alleyways you knew like the back of your hand, the corner cafe where the barista always greeted you with a warm "Ciao, bella," and the friends who had become family. It wasn’t easy leaving it all behind, but the opportunity to finish your degree at home on a full-ride scholarship was too good to pass up.

There was one silver lining to returning home: Ekko. Your best friend since middle school. He’d been the one constant in your life before you left for Italy, and as much as you loved your new friends abroad, no one quite compared to Ekko. He was like a brother to you, but cooler than Jayce ever could be—not that you’d ever tell Jayce that to his face.

Ekko was in ASU with a full ride scholarship majoring in Engineering, balancing school with being on the soccer team alongside Jayce. The two of them had always been close, despite being complete opposites. Jayce was loud, confident, and always seeking the spotlight, while Ekko was more laid-back and analytical, content to let his skills speak for themselves. The idea of seeing them again—especially Ekko—was one of the few things keeping you grounded as you prepared to face New York after two years away.

After your last class wrapped up, you decided to head over to the campus coffee shop to grab something to eat. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods hit you as soon as you walked in. You ordered an iced coffee and a bagel sandwich before making your way outside, where small tables with umbrellas dotted the courtyard.

Finding an empty table near the edge of the patio, you set your things down and took a seat. The campus buzzed around you as students chatted or hurried to their next destination. Sipping your coffee, you opened your book and began reading while occasionally taking bites of your sandwich.

As you lost yourself in the story, two hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, making you jolt and nearly drop your sandwich. Your head whipped around, your heart racing, only to be met with a familiar face—Ekko.

“Holy—Ekko!” you exclaimed, standing up with a wide grin.

He laughed, his grin just as big as yours. “Surprise!”

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I missed you so much,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Missed you too,” Ekko said, his arms wrapping around you firmly. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he took a good look at you.

You twirled around dramatically, giving him a full view of your outfit. His brows shot up in surprise as he took it all in. “Damn… Italy changed you in more ways than one. What happened to my (Y/N) who wore oversized hoodies and partied like a rockstar every other weekend?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “She’s dead, but I still love a good party,” you quipped.

Ekko leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed and a playful smirk on his face. “There’s gonna be a first-day bonfire tonight. Good music, new faces, and…” he paused for effect, “…Caitlyn Kiramman, the cheer captain, might be there. You could ask her about whether there’s a chance you’re on the team since you submitted that video for tryouts.”

Your face lit up with excitement. “You always come in clutch,” you said with a grin. “Only if you’re taking me, though.”

Ekko shook his head, his smirk turning into a sheepish grin. “Can’t. I’ve got a date for the bonfire.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Aw, really? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“A girl named Jinx. She’s in most of my classes. Thought she was cute, so I asked her out,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “She surprisingly said yes.”

“Surprisingly?” you teased, folding your arms and leaning toward him. “Please, Ekko, you’ve got more game than you think. Good for you, seriously.”

He chuckled, his cheeks dusted with a hint of pink. “Thanks, I guess. What about you? Got your eye on any girls here yet?”

You grinned mischievously, your voice dripping with confidence. “Always.”

Ekko leaned in slightly, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, really?” he asked teasingly.

“Yup. Vi,” you said with no hesitation. “She’s really hot—pink hair, tattoos on her back. God, I would love to take a ride on h—”

“Oh, fuck no,” Ekko interrupted, his voice sharp as his expression shifted to something between disbelief and warning.

You blinked, startled by his sudden tone. “What?!”

Ekko groaned, running a hand down his face. “She’s a player, (Y/N). I should know. She’s on the soccer team with Jayce. Don’t mess with her—you’ll get hurt. Real shit.”

You frowned, confused by his sudden seriousness. “What are you talking about? She seemed fine when I talked to her earlier.”

He pushed off the wall and crossed his arms again, his expression dark. “I’ve seen it happen. She’s got game, yeah, but not the kind you want. I don’t like the way she moves. I used to hang out with her, but I stopped for a reason. The only time I’m even around her is when Jayce is.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Okay, but maybe she’s different now.”

Ekko narrowed his eyes at you, unimpressed. “Look, I’m just saying—don’t let her mess with your head, (Y/N). You’re better than that. Just…be careful, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you appreciated his concern. “Fine, Dad.”

When you got home, Ekko’s warning was the last thing on your mind. Vi was texting you, and there was no way you were going to ignore her. She was too hot not to respond to. Balancing your bag on your shoulder and your coffee cup in one hand, you pushed the door shut with your foot. As soon as the door clicked behind you, you checked your phone again, a grin spreading across your face as you read her latest message.

Heading upstairs, you scrolled through the playful back-and-forth between you and Vi, feeling giddy. The attention she was giving you was addictive. You were so lost in the conversation that you didn’t notice Jayce stepping out of the bathroom until you nearly bumped into him.

He stood there with a towel slung around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the stupid grin on your face. “The fuck are you smiling about, dopey?” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. “You look a little too gay right now.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him. “Ha, ha, hilarious,” you muttered, holding your phone a little closer as you tried to move toward your room.

But Jayce wasn’t going to let it go. He reached over and snatched the phone right out of your hand.

“Jayce! What the fuck!” you yelped, spinning around and reaching for it.

Jayce held it out of your reach, laughing as he glanced at the screen. But his laughter quickly died when he saw the name at the top of the conversation. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You’re fucking around with Vi?” he asked, his tone dripping with judgment.

“It’s the first day, so not yet, clearly,” you snapped, grabbing your phone back with an irritated glare.

Before you could retreat to your room, Jayce stepped in front of you, blocking your path. His expression shifted to something more serious, almost protective. “Whatever you’re doing with her, stop. She’s a close friend of mine, and she gets around, (Y/N). It’ll be awkward as hell, and on top of that, I’m not trying to get embarrassed by you.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Whatever,” you muttered dismissively, though his words stung.

Jayce didn’t move from where he stood, following you with his eyes as you turned toward the stairs. “Hey, wait. Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

You stopped and turned to face him. “Yeah, Ekko has a date, so I need a ride. Can you take me? Mom and Dad still haven’t gotten me a car yet, so I’m stuck.”

Jayce shook his head immediately, folding his arms again. “Oh, you’re not going. No way. Vi’s gonna be there, and that’s officially off fucking limits.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “What? What the fuck, Jayce! I can’t even go socialize?”

Jayce gave you a hard look. “You’re not going to socialize, (Y/N). I know how you are when it comes to alcohol and…other shit. Or do I need to call Mom and tell her you need to go back to Italy after I let you relapse?”

His words hit you like a slap. Your stomach dropped as anger flared in your chest, and your eyes burned with unshed tears. “Fuck you, Jayce,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and hurt. “What a low blow.”

You yanked your arm out of his grip and stormed up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door shut behind you. You locked it for good measure, leaning against it as hot tears began to roll down your cheeks.

Outside the door, Jayce’s voice softened, guilt creeping into his tone. “Wait, sis… I didn’t mean it seriously,” he said, knocking lightly.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t even look at him right now.

When it became clear you weren’t going to answer, Jayce sighed. “Let me know if you want anything to eat when I get back,” he said quietly before walking away. The sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

While you sat on your bed, still upset over the argument with Jayce, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it was a text from Vi.

Vi: Are you coming to the bonfire party? I wanna see you.

You hesitated for a moment before typing back.

You: Can’t. My brother’s not letting me go. And I don’t have a car. He was my only ride.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Vi: Well, I have a car. Give me your location and get ready. I’ll pick you up, beautiful.

A grin spread across your face despite everything, and you quickly sent her your location. Tossing your phone onto the bed, you sprang up and went straight to your closet. You scanned your options until you finally settled on a black fitted mini-dress paired with, a denim jacket draped off your shoulders, and chunky black boots. The look was edgy yet flirty—perfect for a night out.

You glanced in the mirror and realized your makeup was a mess from crying. Grabbing a makeup wipe, you cleaned up the smudges, reapplying your eyeliner and lipstick carefully. After smoothing out your hair and giving yourself one last look-over, your phone buzzed again.

“I’m parked outside the complex,” the text read.

“Shit,” you muttered, scrambling to find a cute bag. You tossed your phone, keys, wallet, and lip gloss inside, then rushed out the door.

As you left your apartment complex, you gave the doorman a quick wave. “Goodnight!” you called, like always.

“Have fun!” he replied with a knowing smile.

Outside, a sleek car idled by the curb. You spotted Vi leaning against the driver’s side, her pink hair glowing under the streetlights. She grinned when she saw you, and as soon as you slid into the passenger seat, she leaned over and kissed you.

You froze for a second, caught off guard, but then you melted into the kiss, returning it shyly. When she pulled back, her smirk was devilish.

“Nice place you live at,” she said, glancing at the complex as she started driving. “A friend of mine stays in one of these apartments. You must have a lot of money to live here.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Vi gave you a quick side glance, her smile softening. “Well, good for me. I like spoiled girls,” she teased.

As soon as you and Vi stepped onto the sandy beach where the bonfire party was in full swing, she casually draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. The heat of the fire reflected in her smirk as she held you there like she had no care in the world.

Immediately, you pulled away, glancing around to make sure no one—especially your brother—had noticed. “Stop,” you hissed, swatting at her arm. “You’re going to blow my cover. I’m not even supposed to be here, remember?”

Vi chuckled, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her ripped jeans, clearly enjoying your paranoia. “Fine, fine,” she relented. “But text me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Where are you going?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna go find Jayce and keep him occupied,” she said with a smirk, already scanning the crowd. “Don’t worry, princess. I got you.”

“Cool,” you said with a nod before slipping away from her, weaving through the bodies of drunken students and the glow of the bonfire’s flickering flames.

Your eyes darted across the party until they landed on Ekko. He was in the middle of a crowd, dancing with a girl who had strikingly light blue hair, her movements wild and carefree as they swayed to the music.

“Hey, Ekko!” you called out over the sound of the music.

Ekko turned his head at the sound of your voice, a grin forming when he spotted you pushing through the crowd toward him. “(Y/N)!” He gestured for you to come closer. “This is Jinx. Jinx, this is (Y/N), my best friend since middle school.”

You smiled, sticking out a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Instead of shaking your hand, Jinx’s face lit up, and she immediately pulled you into a tight hug. “Sorry, but I’m a hugger, girl,” she said, squeezing you before letting go. “And middle school? That’s so adorable!”

You chuckled. “Yep. We used to do chemistry projects together in high school and blow shit up. My parents had to pay millions.”

Ekko laughed, shaking his head. “Yup, we were menaces,” he agreed, nudging you playfully.

Jinx grinned, eyes flickering between the two of you. “I like you already.”

The party was loud, the music pulsing through the air as laughter and shouts filled the night. You were mid-conversation with Jinx when suddenly, a random frat guy shoved an opened Cayman Jack into your hands. The condensation from the bottle chilled your skin as you instinctively curled your fingers around it.

“Chug, pretty thang,” he slurred, grinning like he had just offered you the holy grail.

“Oh, um… no, it’s okay. I’m taking a break from drinking,” you said, trying to hand it back to him.

Instead of taking the rejection, he popped the cap off with his thumb and shoved it back toward you, his eyes wild with excitement. “Chug!” he chanted.

At first, it was just him, but soon, others joined in, the word picking up like a wave, echoing louder and louder around you. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Ekko shot you a worried look, his lips parting as if he was about to intervene, but before he could, the pressure of a dozen eyes on you—waiting, watching, expecting—became too much. Without thinking, you tilted your head back and downed the entire drink, the carbonation burning your throat, the alcohol hitting your stomach like a rock.

“There, happy?” you said, shoving the now-empty can into the frat guy’s chest.

He let out a cheer, eyes gleaming with drunken satisfaction. Then, in a final act of bravado, he crushed the can against his forehead with a loud crack and stumbled off into the crowd.

Ekko’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant, his grip firm but gentle. “Fuck…” you muttered, your stomach twisting. Your fingers trembled slightly, your body already remembering the ghosts of your past. “I haven’t had a drink since I…”

Ekko rubbed your shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll get you some water.” His voice was calm, but you saw the worry in his eyes. He turned to Jinx. “Watch her for me?”

Jinx gave a quick nod, her face uncharacteristically serious.

Ekko disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with the taste of alcohol still lingering on your tongue.

“What’s wrong?” Jinx asked, tilting her head.

“I—I just…” Your voice faltered.

Before you could finish, a voice sliced through the noise, sharp and furious.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see Jayce standing a few feet away, his face twisted with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m just hanging out, Jayce,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

Jayce scoffed, stepping closer. “(Y/N), I can smell the alcohol on your breath.” His eyes darkened, his voice tight with frustration. “Shit, dude—not even a whole two weeks and you’re already relapsing?”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not relapsing. I was just pressured into taking a drink by those stupid frat boys,” you argued.

“Bullshit,” Jayce snapped.

Ekko returned just in time, a bottle of water in his hand, but he barely had time to process what was happening before Jayce was right in your face again.

You barely heard him, your mind spiraling as the weight of his words sank in.

Yes, you were an addict in high school.

After your dad’s death, you took it harder than anyone else in your family. You fell in with the wrong people, numbing the pain however you could. The night you overdosed, you had been left in an alley, a needle in your arm, your body convulsing, vomiting, barely clinging to life.

Your mother couldn’t handle it anymore.

Instead of sending you to rehab, she sent you to Italy—far away, somewhere new, somewhere she hoped you could start over. And you did. You got therapy. You worked on yourself. You fixed yourself.

But now, standing here with Jayce looking at you like you were a failure, it felt like all that progress meant nothing.

His next words shattered whatever was left of your resolve.

“Go home,” he said coldly. “I don’t care how you get home—just go.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your vision blurring with tears.

Ekko’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Jinx nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah, I’ll come too.”

You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Thanks. Just—let me say goodbye to someone first.”

Ekko nodded. “Cool. We’ll wait by the car.”

He took Jinx’s hand, leading her toward the parking lot, leaving you alone in the middle of the party, feeling like the ground beneath you was slowly cracking apart.

You pushed through the crowd, weaving between sweaty, drunken bodies, the pulse of the music thrumming in your ears. The fire in the middle of the yard crackled, casting flickering orange light over the partygoers gathered around it. Your breath was shallow as you scanned the area, searching for Vi.

And then you saw her.

She was standing by the fire, her red hair illuminated by the flames, her toned arms flexing slightly as she laughed at something. But she wasn’t alone.

A girl with long blue hair stood close—too close. She traced her fingers up and down Vi’s arm, her nails dragging over the inked skin like she had every right to touch her. Vi smirked, that signature, cocky grin that made your heart race earlier in the night. But now, it only made your stomach twist.

Then, before you could even process what was happening, Vi grabbed the girl by the waist and pulled her in. Their lips crashed together in a deep, messy kiss—not just a casual peck, not like the ones you and Vi had shared. This was something more. Their bodies were flush, Vi’s hands gripping the girl’s hips, their mouths moving like they’d done this before.

You felt a lump in your throat, but not because you were heartbroken. No, this wasn’t heartbreak. It was disappointment.

Because everyone was right.

Vi was a player. A flirt. She wasn’t the kind of girl to settle down—not even for you.

Without a second thought, you turned away, pushing through the crowd with more force this time, ignoring the people who grumbled or stumbled in your wake. Vi didn’t even see you.

By the time you reached the car, Ekko and Jinx were already waiting.

“You good?” Ekko asked as you slid into the backseat.

You didn’t answer. You just stared out the window, watching as buildings and trees blurred past. The streetlights flickered across your face, casting shadows that stretched and disappeared.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t even feel angry.

You just felt disgusted.

For the first time in two years, that familiar, suffocating feeling crept back in—the one that made your skin crawl, the one that made you want to disappear.

taglist <3 : @mommymilkers0526 @rhian88 @wrappedinvines @nanajustnana-a @prettybunnyscorner @s7nburn @ghutzz4gutz @pornoangelz @veladeangl @chaengluva @hauntedbydreams @taurtel @lorasdolly @catvi6luvr @savedforlaterr @eggphobic @alex-thegiraffeboyy @artfairyyyyy @jordynhartley2001 @ellieslefttit @h0n3yf0rlif3 @rizzscary @bjjeweledx @cherrybomb2298

[mattsstarlet]

fully introducing…dealer!matt and goodgirl!reader

in which…your friend brings you along to a trap house party, where you meet the dealer himself.

warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, and suggestive content. no smut.

note: my first ever prompt is here! i’m not the best writer so i really do hope u enjoy.

your heart thumped the same rhythm as the loud bass blasting off the walls. as you walked into the trap house, the more you saw, the tighter your hand gripped your friend.

it was much wilder than you had ever imagined, or maybe it was because parties weren’t your thing. you’d rather be cooped up in your cozy bed with your nose stuck in some romance book. 

the lights are down low, and a small disco ball flashes colors, matching the pace of whatever rap song is playing. you scrunch your nose as you smell a whiff of weed and alcohol lingering in the air. 

 a bunch of rowdy boys huddle up over a table, playing some sort of game involving alcohol, though it looks like they’ve done a lot of drinking and less playing. as you walk in further, each corner is busy with horny couples sticking their tongues down each other's throats.

your friend looks back at you, tightening her hold as you two make your way past a busy crowd. she’s only been here a few times, but she’s already familiar with the layout, having some sort of relationship with a guy who lives here. 

squeezing past the sweaty bodies, your friend pulls you towards the direction of a couch. one of the guys sitting there raises his head, a small grin appearing on his face.

“what’s up, baby?” he lifts himself off the couch and snakes his arm around her waist. “y’made it.” 

“hi,” her voice soft and gentle. she motions to you with a wave, signaling you to get closer. “chris, this is my friend and roommate.”

he nods, “s’nice to meet you. heard a lot about you actually,” he smirks. 

chris goes on, joking about how much of a yapper your friend is. you on your end, block out their conversation, distracted by the items on the coffee table. 

teeny tiny bags of colored pills lay on the flat surface, as well as lines of white powder and expired credit cards. in the middle, cold bottles of high-quality alcohol sit next to an ashtray with stones of a certain green plant and cut-up brown paper. 

a tattooed arm brings you back to focus when it reaches over, picking up a pre-rolled joint and a lighter. your eyes shift towards the owner, chewing on your bottom lip as you take in the mysterious man.

the first thing you noticed was his stubble, and how well it defined his sharp jaw. the messy hair look makes it seem like it was made for him. it just fell perfectly into place around his sculptured face. 

“y’starin’ mad hard, sweetheart.” his low, husky voice snapped you out of your daze. “y’tryna buy or… jus’ like whatcha see?” a slight smirk appeared as he finally pulled his gaze from the joint to your wide eyes. he glances at your pouty lips, licking his own before meeting your gaze once again. 

you shake your head; the thought of trying pills or weed alone makes your skin crawl. it’s no secret that you’ve at least tried alcohol, but then again, it was just a tiny sip.

“oh, no thank you... I—I don’t do that,” you say nervously.

he chuckles lowly, “of course you don’t…” he mutters. he looks around, noticing chris had taken off with your friend to most likely fool around in his bedroom.

matt takes in your nervous state; he shouldn’t care if you'll be fine on your own or not. the drugs in his system have already been fucking with his head, but the thought of a pretty innocent girl being all on her own didn’t sit right with him—or maybe he was already making you his… and matt hates when people take what’s his.

“sit. lemme keep you some company, yeah? you...your uh friend dipped. can’t have a quiet little angel all by herself in a place like this.”

you clear your throat as you slowly make your way next to him. being this close to him makes your head foggy; he’s intimidating, and the scent of his spicy cologne mixed with a hint of weed doesn’t help either. he’s got this…thing that creates an unfamiliar warm fuzzy feeling in your core. 

you play with the hem of your skirt as you sit inches away from him, rubbing your slick thighs together. the action doesn’t go unnoticed by matt, his imagination running wild, wanting to throw you over his shoulder and into his bed. his cock hard as a rock just imagining your pouty face as he eats your sweet cunt out. 

matt runs a hand through his brown hair, trying to shake off the dirty things he wants to do to you. he places his rough, clasped hand on your knee. it’s light and gentle, yet it doesn't help the growing fire in your tummy.

“easy, sweetheart… i'm gonna be honest, angel,” he rubs your thigh in an up-and-down motion, going as high as where the end of your skirt touches his fingertips.

 “that thing you’re doin’… ‘s’makin’ me think some things… naughty things.” 

you stop the action immediately, your skin filling up with goosebumps as his hand moves to your inner thigh, not that close where you need him but close enough that matt could feel the heat. glancing at him with those big eyes, you mutter a little ‘sorry.’ 

matt squeezes your thigh, his mind too caught up in the way you’re nervously biting on your bottom lip, “relax, babydoll. jus’ sit back and be a good girl, yeah? i got you, angel.” 

he smirks slyly when you nod again. swallowing thickly, you relax your shoulders and sit back. matt’s hand moves higher, up your soft skin when your skirt rises. “there we go, gooood girl,” he praises, his smirk growing wider. he leans in, his hot breath fanning your ear, “y'know...i think we’re gonna get along jus’ well, angel.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

interact under this post to be notified when i upload posts like this!

a/n: been in my drafts for so long, i can’t keep hiding there. also feel free to send me some inbox’s about these two!

TAGS: @mbbsgf

[sturniolo04]

TOUCHY M.S.

Bf!Matt x Gf!Fem!Reader

Summary: in which Matt is extremely touchy.

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

It's not an unknown fact that your boyfriend Matt's love language is physical touch. Any chance he can touch you in any way, he will find a way. Whether it be holding your hand as far as him or even putting his hand in the back pocket of your pants.

Fortunately for me today was one of those days that his physical touch need was on a max requirement, the only problem is we have a fully busy day.

"Matt come on we have to get up we are filming today"

"nooo just five more mintues"

he states bringing your body closer to his in his warm bed

"matt i gave you like 10"

you huff out, trying to wiggle out of his tight grip around you. Eventually, succeeding which resulted in a groan from your boyfriend admitting his defeat.

"come on move your butt"

you state playfully ruffling his messy brown hair, and heading into his bathroom to get ready for the day.

You finally got out of the shower, walking back out to the main room to you and Matt's shared closet, trying to decide ultimately what you wanted to wear for the rest of the day. In doing so, your back was turned to the bed not realizing that your boyfriend, with his clingy self, making his way to your figure only covered in a towel.

Matt finally reaches you standing in the closet, proceeding to grip your hips suddenly, yanking you backward and colliding with his crotch and chest.

"MATTT I DONT HAVE ANY CLOTHES ON YET"

you squeal giggling. As he wraps both of his toned tattooed arms around your chest, squeezing your breasts, as you place your hands on top of his arms around you, nuzzling his head in your neck.

"You dont need them for what we are about to do"

he states smugly as he leaves kisses on your neck, as you giggle in the process through the fact his kisses tickle your skin slightly.

"Mattheww, you are going to get us in trouble"

you exclaim leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"So.."

he trails off as you turn around in his arms, staring seriously into your boyfriend's blue orbs.

"So, we have to leave in 20 minutes to get to our meeting with Laura"

you state as your boyfriend gives you a unphased look.

"so get in the shower"

"Are you lovebirds ready yet we are going to be late, LET"S GO"

We all finally managed to get to our meeting with Laura and during the meeting, Matt couldn't keep his hands off of you still. Whether it be gripping your leg under the conference table or even slightly touching your shoulder as he reaches to grab something on the table.

Once our meeting was over, we headed to Target to refill our groceries in the house.

"Chris do we really need that much Pepsi"

he exclaims already ready to go home after a long day, wanting to just finally have his girlfriend close to him.

"yes what kind of stupid fucking question is that"

Chris argues with his brother.

"Chris just put them in the cart please"

you state simply trying to avoid an altercation. Heading out of the aisle with the triplets following behind.

After a little while you wandered off with Matt into the makeup aisle of Target. Matt bored out of his mind lets out a deep sigh, gaining your attention.

"you okay"

you simply state still focused on finding the products you were out of at home. As your boyfriend makes his way closer to you, slipping his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, slightly gripping your ass through them.

"how much longer till we go home"

"almost done my love then you can have my full attention"

you state as he sighs patting your ass lovingly, and proceeding to go look for Nick and Chris.

You guys finally get back home, you and Matt wandering back into your shared room in the house.

"Oh my hi"

you exclaim quietly as Matt lifts you off of the ground kissing your supple lips as you place your hands on the sides of his face, deepening the kiss.

" hi.. i missed you"

matt says finally breaking the kiss.

"i was with you all day baby what do you mean"

you giggle out, caressing his cheeks in your hand looking in his blue orbs filled with love.

"yeah but i just wanted to be close to you"

he states simply giving your lips another quick sweet kiss as you giggle into his lips.

"just touchy today hm"

you state back, finally wrapping your arms around his neck tightly as he hugs your waist in the same position you were currently in.

A/N: leave requests in my inbox if you want a specific type of story 💗

Taglist

@mintsturniolo @adirtylittleheart @wh0resstuff

[willowsnook]

i need you back

Charles leclerc x wolff!reader

request from @dovesboccianoifiori

—--------------------------------------

“I can’t do this anymore, Charles,” you said, tears streaming down your face as you stood by the front door of his Monaco apartment with your suitcases. Your boyfriend stood broken in front of you, eyes begging you not to leave. 

“Please, y/n, it will get better,” he tried to reason, but you laughed, shaking your head. 

“You don’t get it, Charlie, you don’t get it because you’re the prince of Ferrari; everyone loves you. You don’t have people constantly commenting on your appearance, what you say, what you wear, or anything you like on social media. They hate me because they love you,” you finished sadly. “I love you more than you could ever know, but I also love myself.”

“I love you,” he whispered, bringing his hand up to your cheek. You leaned it to it gently before pressing one last kiss on his lips and leaving. 

You cried the whole way to the airport, feeling like you had ripped your own heart out, but you knew this was for the best. It had been a long time since you were really happy; the hate you consistently got had finally broken you down, and you knew you needed to be alone to build yourself back up. Charles hadn’t done anything wrong, but he also didn’t get it, so it was frustrating when you didn’t feel like you had anyone to talk to about it with. 

This would be good for you.

—------------------------

It had been a couple of months since your breakup with Charles, and though it still stung, you were adapting. You moved back to your family’s estate in Vienna and had connected with a bunch of old friends who were getting you through. 

You hadn’t seen Charles since you left, but according to social media, he wasn’t out in public often. He looked half-alive in the PR videos Ferrari had been posting. He had tried calling you a lot the first month, but now it was silent between you. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” your dad said, knocking on your bedroom door. You were snuggled up in your blankets, watching a movie. 

“Hi, dad,” you greeted softly. His face looked around the room in concern, not used to the messy state it was currently in. 

“Why don’t you come to the race with me this weekend?” He asked. “I think it will be good for you.” 

“I don’t know…,” you trailed off. 

“Come on honey, F1 is yours too,” he said, and you thought about it. You had missed being in the paddock for race weekends these past months. He was right; Charles didn’t own F1, and you were allowed to enjoy it. 

“Okay,” you said, agreeing, and Toto smiled. 

—----------------Belgian GP—--------------------------

The hot sun beat down on you as you stepped into the paddock, dressed in Mercedes colors. You made it a couple of feet before the eyes got to you, making you falter. It felt like everyone was looking at you, and you started to panic.

“Keep moving forward,” a voice said from next to you, pushing you forward. You gave Lewis a grateful smile as he fell into step with you. 

“I thought it would be easier,” you murmured to him. 

“It’s just because it’s your first race back,” he told you. “They’ll move on to the next thing in a few days.”

His words comforted you as you walked with him. Smiling at familiar faces and ignoring the flashes from cameras. Your dad was waiting for you in the garage, and he gave Lewis a nod of appreciation as you approached. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted you. “Excited for today?” 

“Yeah,” you told him with a genuine smile. “Is Kimi here?” 

“Yeah, he’s on his side,” your dad said, waving you off. You and Kimi had grown close when he joined as a reserve driver since your dad was obsessed with him, so he was around a lot. You were closer to him in age than George, so your friendship was natural. 

Kimi lit up when he saw you jogging over to you, and you giggled. 

“Hi Kimi,” you sai,d and he wrapped his arms around you, spinning you around. 

“Ciao Bella,” he said, happy to see you. “I’m so glad you are here.” 

“Me too,” you said, smiling. 

“I need to see someone at Williams. Will you come with?” He asked, and you nodded. The two of you set out and you were temporarily distracted from your sadness until you spotted him. 

He came to a stop, mid-conversation with Carlos as he saw you. Carlos followed his line of sight, and his eyes looked pained when he saw you. 

Your heart raced as you locked eyes with Charles. He looked thinner, his usually vibrant green eyes now dull and rimmed with dark circles. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as you both stared at each other across the paddock.

Kimi noticed your sudden tension and followed your gaze. "Ah, merda," he muttered under his breath. He gently touched your lower back, ready to steer you away if needed.

Charles took a hesitant step forward, his expression a mixture of hope and heartbreak. But before he could approach, Carlos grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear. Charles reluctantly nodded, casting one last longing look in your direction before allowing Carlos to lead him away.

You released a shaky breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "Thanks, Kimi," you said softly, and he smiled at you sympathetically. 

Kimi greeted another guy who appeared to be around your age as you made it to Williams. You were racking your brain trying to remember who he was, knowing he was a reserve driver. 

“Franco, this is y/n wolff,” Kimi introduced, and Franco’s eyes widened at your last name. 

“Who knew the daughter of the wolf would be so beautiful?” he said, recovering and bringing your hand up to kiss its back. You laughed as Kimi snorted, and Franco grinned at both of you. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n; Kimi has said a lot about you.”

“You too, Franco,” you said, and the three of you chatted for a bit. You instantly grew to like Franco, and his jokes and laughter made your day a little better. 

It was getting closer to practice, and Kimi had to head back to Mercedes, as he was driving George’s car, but Franco held your arm back. 

“Do you want to just stay here with me?” He asked. “I can keep you company.” 

“Sure,” you said without a second thought. You said goodbye to Kimi and hung around with Franco, interested in seeing what another team’s garage was like. 

Franco kept the conversation going with you, and at one poin,t the two of you looked at the broadcast to see yourselves on the screen. Franco grinned widely as you shied away. 

“Not a fan of the spotlight?” He teased, and you gave him an uneasy look. 

“More so, not a fan of what comes with it,” you said, and he nodded in understanding. 

“Is that why you and Charles broke up?” He asked bluntly before blushing. “Sorr,y that’s none of my business, but Kimi had mentioned it.” 

“It’s okay,” you told him. “But yeah, I was pretty much getting ripped apart every day online so I needed a break.” 

“I know it’s easier said than done,” he stated. “But you shouldn’t even worry about what those people are saying. They are losers, and you are a beautiful girl who shouldn’t pay them attention.” 

“Thanks, Franco,” you said, tears in your eyes. He let you rest your head on his shoulder, and you were thankful that a new friendship was starting to blossom. 

—-------------------------------

You and Franco kept in touch over summer break, and you even met up when you were both in London. He quickly became one of your closest friends; you found it easy to open up to him, and he gave excellent advice. Charles was not pleased about this new development. 

“Would she really move on that quickly from me?” He asked, irritated. Carlos gave him a pointed look from across the table. He was tired of hearing Charles spiral whenever he got wind that you had hung out with Franco. 

“Rebecca said that they are just friends,” Carlos said. “She’s allowed to have friends.”

Charles scoffed, “Of course she can have friends. But why do they have to be involved in F1?” 

“Maybe because her dad is the most popular team principal, and her mom is in charge of the academy?” Carlos reasone,d but Charles wasn’t listening. 

Charles shook his head, his frustration evident. "I just don't understand. We were so happy together. How could she just move on like this?"

Carlos sighed, setting down his coffee cup. "Charles, my friend, you need to let this go. It's been months. Y/N made her decision, and you need to respect that."

"But I love her," Charles insisted, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't just forget about her."

"I'm not saying you should forget," Carlos said gently. "But you need to focus on yourself, on your racing. Obsessing over who she's spending time with isn't healthy."

Charles slumped in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. It's just... seeing her at the track, with Franco... it hurts."

Carlos reached across the table, squeezing his friend's shoulder.

—----------------------------------

You were in the Williams garage again for the weekend because it was officially Franco’s first F1 race. Monza was electric, and you couldn’t help but feel excited for Charles as well. You’d been nervous when you arrived, but many people in the Tifosi stopped you, commenting on how much they missed seeing you with Charles. It definitely was a stark contrast to what you were used to seeing online. 

You didn’t stop the happy tears from coming when you watched Charles take the podium, and Franco getting points was the cherry on top. Everyone was going out that night, and Kimi invited you to tag along as his plus one. You threw on a cute red mini-dress and headed to the upscale restaurant with Kimi. Most of the other drivers were there, and you were having a good time until you realized the girl Charles was sitting next to was clearly his plus one. 

You tried to focus on your conversation with Rebecca and Carlos, but your eyes drifted back to Charles and his date. The girl was beautiful, with long dark hair and a dazzling smile. She seemed completely at ease among the drivers and team members, laughing at their jokes and fitting in seamlessly.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" Rebecca asked, noticing your distraction.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired I guess."

Carlos and Rebecca exchanged a knowing look. "We can leave if you want," Carlos offered kindly.

"No, no. I'm fine," you insisted, taking a large sip of your wine. But then you looked over again to see Charles date. Right as she pressed a kiss on his cheek, it was over. Tears instantly filled your eyes, and you pushed out of your chair, ignoring people calling after you as you moved toward the exit. A sob escaped your mouth as the fresh air hit you, and two arms were quickly around you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Carlos soothed, rubbing your back as you clung to him. 

“It hurts Carlos,” you cried, and his heart broke at the sight of you. 

“I know,” he said. 

Charles had seen you bolt out of the restaurant and was only a few paces behind Carlos on the way out. He saw you in Carlos’ arms and was very confused. 

“Y/n,” he called out your name, and you whirled on him, anger rising through your body. 

“What do you wan,t Charles?” You asked harshly. His brows furrowed at your tone. 

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said, and you laughed humorlessly. 

“I’m fine, just go back to your new girlfriend,” you spat out, and he flinched before matching your anger with his own. 

“Oh, so you’re allowed to move on but I’m not?” He sneered, and you stepped towards him angrily. 

“Please enlighten me with who I’m apparently moving on with,” you snapped. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, all I see are you and Franco going out to dinner, you in the Williams garage, you with him in London.” 

“Tell me this, Charles, have you ever seen any pictures of him touching me?” You asked icily. “Pictures of him whispering into my ear like your date tonight? Or of him kissing me?” 

Charles stilled at your words, finally realizing that maybe you and Franco were just friends. But you weren’t done. 

“I can’t believe you would throw this in my face,” you seethed at him. “I still fucking love you Charles! I’m fucking miserable, and you think I just threw our whole relationship away for someone else this quickly. Do you even know me?”

Your voice cracked at the last word, and pain flashed across his face as he took another step towards you. 

Charles reached out to touch your arm; his eyes filled with regret. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

You jerked away from his touch, tears streaming down your face. "Don't. Just don't, Charles.”

Carlos stepped between you, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. "I think it's time for you to go back inside, Charles," he said firmly.

Charles looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Carlos' expression made him think better of it. He cast one last pained look at you before turning and heading back into the restaurant.

You sagged against Carlos, suddenly feeling drained. "I want to go home," you whispered.

"Of course," Carlos said gently. "I'll call a car for you."

As you waited for the car to arrive, you couldn't help but replay the encounter. The hurt in Charles' face burning in your mind.

—--------------------------------------

Charles was desperate to get you back. He had sent flowers, jewelry, clothes, literally anything that would make you even consider answering one of his many calls. You accepted the gifts but weren’t giving in to him yet; his words from Monza still echoing in your mind. 

You currently were in the Williams hospitality suite, grabbing a coffee with Franco, who had his precious mate. 

“I like your bracelet. Is it new?” Franco asked innocently, and you shot him a look. It was one of the many gifts from Charles that had shown up on your door this past week. 

“Thank you,” you said, not commenting on it further. Franco rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. 

“I want to show you something,” he said, and you leaned over curiously. He had a bunch of screenshots of comment sections on instagram and twitter on his phone. “I know that you got swept up in all the hate you were getting, but look closer at it; look at how many people reply to those people defending you.”

Hesitantly, you took his phone from hi,m and you scrolled through. He was right; for every one hate comment, there were at least ten telling them off and in support of you. 

Your eyes widened as you continued scrolling through Franco's phone, taking in all the supportive comments. "I... I never noticed these before," you said softly.

Franco gently took his phone back. "That's because you were too focused on the negative. But Y/N, there are so many people out there who adore you. You shouldn't let a few trolls dictate your happiness."

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions wash over you. "Thank you for showing me this, Franco. It really means a lot."

He smiled warmly. "That's what friends are for."

Just then, your phone buzzed with a text from Charles: "Can we please talk? I miss you so much."

You stared at the message, your heart racing. Franco noticed your expression change and raised an eyebrow. "Charles again?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "He wants to talk.”

“You should meet up with him,” Franco said. “You still love him, and this break isn’t doing you or him any good. You two belong together.”

After thinking about it for a second, you decided that you agreed and texted him back, saying you could meet him in the hotel lobby this evening. 

The rest of the day went by fast, and you soon found yourself waiting on a couch for Charles in the lobby, twiddling your thumbs nervously. 

You saw Charles before he saw you. He walked into the lobby, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His face lit up with a mixture of relief and apprehension as he approached.

"Y/N," he said softly, sitting down beside you. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me."

You nodded, your heart racing. "Of course, Charles."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, both of you unsure where to start. Finally, Charles took a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything. For not understanding what you were going through, for not being there for you the way I should have been. And especially for what happened in Monza. I was jealous and hurt, and I lashed out. It was wrong of me."

You felt tears prick at your eyes. "I'm sorry too, Charlie, for running away that night in Monaco. I should have talked to you about my feelings instead of just leaving."

“I need you back y/n,” he begged. “You belong by my side, I can’t take another weekend of seeing you not in Ferrari colors.” 

You let out a small giggle at his request, and he relaxed. He reached for your hand and held it tightly, caressing your skin gently. 

“Okay,” you said softly. “I’ll come back, if you’ll have me.” 

Charles's face broke out into a grin, and he pulled you into his lap, your cheeks reddening with the embarrassment of being in public. 

“Charlie, we are in public,” you complained, nestled against his chest. 

“I don’t care, mon cheri,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.” 

For the first time in months, you felt a glimmer of hope—hope that things could be different this time. Together, you’d rebuild what was broken, stronger than before.

[prael]

An Oral Agreement

QWER Magenta x male reader

Masterlist word count: 3,008 Kofi(donations/commissions)

She's equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

Magenta.

No last name. Or maybe that is her last name. Either way, that's all it said on the rental agreement and her bedroom door when you first moved in: Magenta. The letters were all lowercase like she was too cool for proper grammar. You know Magenta, in the Biblical sense (and it didn’t take long).

She's always in her room streaming or recording or...doing whatever it is social media influencers do when they aren't online. But she likes candles, fried rice and catcore aesthetics. She thinks pumpkin spice season starts September 1st and she loves reality TV. Not exactly the makings of a deep and spiritual connection.

Now, living with Magenta, well, it has its ups and downs.

There are some things that never get done around here without you doing them; she rarely cooks, which wouldn't bother you so much if she at least did dishes once in a while. It doesn't help that she takes long hot showers. In a house with only one bathroom, this can really put a cramp in your morning routine.

Magenta doesn't clean the place very often either. At first, you just let it go because everybody has their own ways of doing things, right? But after a few weeks of living together, you realised that she's just...not going to do it. Like ever. So then there's nothing for it but to either live in a constant state of messiness or bite the bullet yourself.

Sometimes you feel like you're not living with a roommate so much as providing lodging for some kind of freeloading spirit that passes through periodically.

When you first moved in, you were worried about what your roommate might think of you: would they be weirded out by your habits? Would they judge your taste in decorations? Would you get along? Would you have enough space for both of you?

Those fears melted away pretty quickly once you met her. You could tell from the moment she opened the door that day (and didn't even look up from her phone) that she didn’t care.

You soon learned that Magenta is messy but friendly. She stays up all night and sleeps during the day. She's everywhere online: Instagrammer, Tiktokker (is that what they call it?), live streamer or these days she’s even on the radio and TV. She doing something for one of those things right now, with her bedroom door closed and music playing faintly behind it.

You're standing in the kitchen, staring down her latest infringement. Now, these empty take-out boxes were here this morning when you left. They were also here last night, and yesterday afternoon, and...you get where this is going.

"Hey, you awake in there?!" you shout towards her bedroom but get no response.

With a sigh, you walk over to her door and knock. Twice. Then again, louder when you still get no response. Finally, you resort to pounding on it repeatedly until it suddenly swings open to reveal your roommate shouting, "What!?" You step back, slightly taken aback by how loudly she said that single word. Her eyes soften instantly, though when they land on you.

She looks good. Not even just in a 'good for someone who hasn't slept yet today' kind of way. Just straight-up hot. Magenta wears a faded pink crop top emblazoned with an anime character and little cut-off cotton shorts covered in cookie prints. The low waistband of the shorts hangs off her hips, exposing the start of a light purple thong that cuts diagonally across her hip bones.

"I think our apartment might get condemned if you don't clean sometime soon."

Your roommate leans against the door frame. She pushes some dark brown hair behind her ear as she says, "Can't you do it for me? Just this once?"

"Just this once?" you repeat, crossing your arms. Your lips curl into a smile as you ask back to her, "Can't you do it just this once?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm always reminding you to clean, and you never do it. So guess who does it? It's not the magical cleaning fairy—it's me."

Her eyes roll skyward so forcefully you imagine you can hear them squeaking in their sockets.

"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?" she says. "This seems really petty."

"It's not petty," you protest. "I have stuff to do and I shouldn't have to keep picking up after my adult roommate." You say the word 'adult' laden with implications. She gets your meaning immediately. Her lips twist.

"oh, I get it," she says with a smirk. "I guess it's been a while since I gave you a little thank you. Well, I need to get this video finished, so could you maybe clean it up and come back here after?"

So there's the perks. Two of them actually, as she pulls up her pink crop top and flashes you what's beneath. A pair of purple lace bra cups strain to contain your roommate's ample endowment. Pale skin pours out from beneath them, flesh squeezing together into a deep cleavage that entices you closer even as you shake your head.

"You can't keep pulling tricks like this, Magenta," you say, trying desperately to hold onto your train of thought while also enjoying the view. It helps that you know those breasts intimately. Hell, you've worshipped those breasts. They've spilt around your hands, smothered your face and laid upon your thighs. You know what the soft warmth inside each cup feels like. And, God, they feel really fucking good.

"I really appreciate your help and everything," she says, her bottom lip suddenly pushing out into a cute pout that goes well beyond suggestive. "And I'd like to show you just how much I appreciate it..."

Your resolve lasts right up until Magenta runs a finger down one of her tits to tease along the edge of the lacy purple material. That's when you give up. There's no point in fighting anymore—she has won this battle (just like all others).

"Just go finish your work already," you finally say, letting out a sigh.

Magenta smiles and giggles, lowering her shirt. "Thanks. Love ya!"

With a wink, she slips back into her room. You stand alone for several seconds before shaking your head. Back to cleaning, then.

-

It's not exactly easy to focus on sorting the recycling into the correct bins when your roommate has just reminded you how nice her tits are. They're on your mind a lot, to be honest. More than they should be probably. Sometimes they're on your cock, though not as often as they should be. Probably.

You're counting your blessings that none of the neighbours are doing late-night recycling because then you'd have to explain why your face is red and your pants are bulging.

That doesn't stop the occasional glance towards your neighbour's house, where Mrs Kim likes to smoke on her front porch some nights. You think she smokes more than she should, but that's really none of your business. Her watching you from across the street, however, is very much your business, so you peek over your shoulder once in a while to check if she's spying. Again. Or still. Whatever.

One last box. The light outside is fading rapidly, but you can just barely make out that it comes from...the Greek place you love?

Oh. Oh no. Did she eat gyros and not bring you any? Damn, that girl knows how to be cruel!

When the recycling is finally squared away you dust off your hands. It's a symbolic gesture since all you've done is shove cardboard and glass into the right bins, but it makes you feel accomplished nonetheless.

Back in the apartment and lock the door behind you.

"There you are. Where have you been?"

"The bins, have you ever seen them before?" You mock while still fiddling with the lock chain.

"That was quick," comes her response. Your eyes follow the sound of her voice. Magenta is lying upside-down on the couch. She swings her feet lazily in the air while looking at something on her phone. Her dark hair cascades nearly to the floor. Those short shorts mean you can see most of her long legs. Then there's the curve of her hip, the crease of her thigh... "Get over here."

It's a rare occasion that Magenta voluntarily puts her phone down, yet she does just that as you walk over. The closer you get, the more enticing her position becomes: laying across the couch, head tipped backwards off the cushions to watch you approach her.

"So," she says. Her fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her belly. The fingers trace lines up and across her abdomen, moving between the edge of her shorts and her top. The motion catches your eye—and she knows it. "I owe you, don't I?" Her eyelids flutter innocently. Or rather, far less than innocently.

"For today? Yeah. Definitely." You clear your throat and try again, "For quite a few days, actually."

"Quite a few," she echoes in agreement. Her hand continues to crawl upward until it reaches the peak of her breasts rising beneath her faded pink crop top. The movement presses the supple skin together in a way that has you standing right in front of her before you even realize you've walked over.

She pushes them hard together before letting them settle back to normal. Gravity spreads them apart, flesh pouring across her chest from the tightly gathered fabric keeping them barely contained. She reaches out over her head, to you, and grabs you by the belt buckle. Pulls you forward until you are stood over her. Even though she's upside down, she makes such effortless work of unbuckling the leather strap that you barely notice. One second it's on; the next it's flapping loose.

It takes only two sharp tugs to force your pants and boxers down past your knees. Magenta doesn't waste any time reaching out to touch your cock, gently running her hands over it until she can wrap her entire hand around the warm shaft and pull you until you fall to your knees. Her head hangs right in front your your length, and you see the teasing sparkle in her eye even upside down.

Her hot breath hits the skin of your bare cock. Lips press a series of soft, wet kisses down from your tip towards your balls. Then back up again, trailing even more tiny pecks that leave your skin tingling. You let your cock nudge against her cheek, feeling it slide along the smooth skin.

With both hands wrapped around your cock, Magenta holds your tip right in front of her mouth. Her tongue sticks out from between her lips, slowly, methodically lapping circles around the crown of your cock.

"Oh, God," you mutter, and you need to hold onto something, anything. First, it's the couch, then it's her tits.

Your hand lands heavily atop the nearest swell of flesh and squeezes tight, pushing it further out of her crop top. She hums approvingly at the groping and wraps her lips around your cockhead. Suckles sweetly. Slurps noisily until spit pools at the corner of her stretched lips.

She lets gravity help guide your cock into her waiting mouth. The further you slip inside, the more she relaxes her jaw to accept you. But then she reaches up and pulls on your hips. You glide up against her grateful tongue. Until her nose meets your stomach. She gags. It's so fucking lewd.

The whole thing makes you squeeze her chest harder. So big in your palm and yet somehow always bigger than you remember. You forget sometimes just how incredible these tits are. When they bounce in a video she's recorded, you remember—but never quite how heavy they are when you hold them; the way they give to your grasp in exactly the right amount; or the way her nipple puckers just slightly as it stiffens beneath your kneading grip.

"You're so sexy like this," you say.

The compliment elicits an appreciative groan from Magenta. Her head moves with your hips now, bobbing to meet each thrust, spit dripping down her cheeks. The messiness of the sloppy blowjob matches her other personality traits frighteningly well.

With her head pinned and her arms on you, you're free to pull up her shirt and expose her. The dirty minx has taken off her bra, so the expanse of her milky skin greets you. You cup them in each palm, feeling the heft of them, squeezing them greedily. They push back, moulding into the shape of your desire, and she moans, a low guttural note vibrating right through your length.

Her body writhes beneath your attention. Her thighs spread outwards, feet rolling at the ankle in time with each gently guided thrust into her throat. Fingers squeeze you, scratching lightly at the skin above your ass to encourage you deeper inside her hungry maw. Deeper into her throat until she chokes—

You let up, panting, admiring the sight of her stretched out for your viewing pleasure. Her eyes flutter open, looking up at you from her upside-down position. The intensity in them draws you in again.

"Oh shit," you groan as you drive into her, plunging your cock balls deep until her purple-painted nails dig into the small of your back. You pump faster, lost in the warm embrace of her greedy sucking.

Magenta squirms beneath you, whining and groaning and bucking, begging you for more. Her cunt must be throbbing with anticipation. Poor thing wants your cum. You can tell.

You want her tits.

She gasps when you fully withdraw from her mouth. Her face is a fucking mess of saliva and smudged makeup. Before she can question you, you reposition yourself in front of her, straddling her beautiful face as you lower your rigid length between her breasts.

She's quick to pick up what you're putting down. With both hands pressing the creamy flesh of her boobs inward, she creates a tunnel for you to slide your dick into.

It feels as good as it looks. Soft pressure envelops your slick length, wrapping around the sensitive skin and creating a delightful sleeve for you to hump into. You can't get enough.

As soon as you hit a good pace, fucking your roommate's chest hard and fast, she starts giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"It tickles." Her laugh is breathy but not as loud as it usually is. "Keep going."

So you do. Thrust after thrust you plunge deeper, drawing more and more of yourself into the valley between her perfect tits. The more you use her, the further she parts her legs that run up the back of the sofa. Soft thighs splayed for nothing but display. Then, just as you start to admire them, she clenches them together. Your eyes trace down the pale skin until they arrive at her crotch where the bottoms of her cookie-patterned shorts have ridden up against her wet slit. She's gyrating her hips in all sorts of directions and rubbing herself against the material in some attempt to satiate her growing needs.

The soft flesh of her midriff jiggles between the thrusting into her tits and the twisting of her hips below. You can't stop staring. Fuck. How does this girl have every single curve?

At first, you try holding back—you want this to last longer. But after a few seconds, you realize you can't fight this feeling. Not when you've got such a good view. And certainly not with her nipples so hard under the press of your thumbs. She arches up when you pinch them, and you know you're done for.

And then, as if she can feel it by the way you're thrusting, she begins to coo and beg under you. She knows she's getting you close, and she wants it. Bad.

"Cum on me," she coaxes sweetly, the words barely audible over the slapping sounds. "I've been so bad, baby. You deserve to paint my body."

That's all it takes. That final little plea. Your eyes roll back, your hips snap forward and your cock explodes. Thick ropes over her body, the first reaching her thighs before you adjust your aim and finish across the plane of her belly. Soft curves take your load while she encourages you through soft, little pleasured mewls. You may have got some on her shorts, but you paint her stomach white before pulling up and jerking the final drops onto her chest.

"Mmmm, messy boy," Magenta laughs breathlessly as your cum drips down her curves. She lays there beneath you, her smile wide and wickedly innocent, one hand slowly running circles over the sticky mess on her tummy, smearing it across her skin.

After a few seconds of panting and trying to gather yourself, you climb off of her and sit back against the couch. She turns so her head rests in your lap, facing your spent and dripping length. Magenta teases you still by using her own fingertip to collect your seed and place it across her lips, then licking them clean while making sure you're watching. And fuck are you ever.

"So, about my room," she purrs, eyes twinkling mischievously up at you.

"What about it?"

"Well... It needs cleaning, and I was thinking—"

"No," you feign protest, knowing you've already agreed. "Just clean it yourself." Her negotiation will come next. You can see it on her lips. "I'm not doing it."

Magenta leans up and whispers, "But you might change your mind if you find out what's waiting for you beneath my shorts."

That damn purple thong, still visible at her waistband, calls you toward her like a beacon. "What's beneath your shorts?"

Her laugh is playful. A little shrug as her fingers toy at the hem of the garment in question. "Agree to clean my room and you’ll find out."

[paceprompting]

a knot problem

written for ‘alpha/alpha’ | wc: 2,519 # | rated: e | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: alpha!steve, alpha!eddie, past stommy, knotting sex, alternate first meeting

@stmarchmm

It was a secret he needed to keep hidden.

That Steve Harrington liked hanging off a knot.

It had happened by accident the first time. Not the fucking part—he and Tommy got horny when they smoked and handjobs had escalated to blowjobs, and then escalated again to lazy fucking in Steve’s bed.

Steve didn’t mind bottoming for Tommy, even if they were both alphas—and honestly, probably should have been his first clue—since Tommy still wanted to maintain every public image that he was straight while he and Carol were currently off.

When it happened, Tommy had Steve pressed face down into the bed, thrusting into him from behind. Steve had his face shoved into a pillow to muffle his moan, since Tommy didn’t want to hear them, and had otherwise let himself fall deeper into the feeling of Tommy’s dick hitting his prostate. Par for the course.

He hadn’t been paying attention. And all Tommy cared about was getting off.

So, neither of them realized that the base of Tommy’s dick had started to swell, catching on the rim of Steve’s hole. All they knew was that it felt fucking good, and so Tommy thrust in hard…and locked them together as he came.

Swearing from the orgasm and the dawning realization of what he’d done, Tommy had nearly tried to pull out.

Steve managed to stop him before he caused any irreparable damage, and it nearly sent the two of them careening off the edge of the mattress. But, for thirty minutes, they rode out Tommy’s orgasm together. Every wave of cum spilling inside, filling Steve to the brim with a heavy load of alpha spend for being outside of a rut.

So distracted with his own release, Tommy didn’t notice Steve spill onto the comforter underneath with a surprised gasp.

And when Tommy finally eased his cock from Steve’s pliant body, and the sheer amount of cum spilled out after, Steve was fully hard again.

“Sorry about that, Harrington. Think I’m just pent up. But Carol and I should be getting back together soon, so…better not to mention this, huh?” Tommy had said immediately, dismissing the whole thing with a few sentences.

Steve only nodded, his voice gone, while keeping a blanket over the damning evidence of his erection. Which only twitched with interest as much of Tommy’s release gushed out of him.

Tommy fled to sleep off the rest of his high on the living room couch.

Steve had turned back over onto his front, stripping his cock with one hand while he shoved two fingers of the other into his messy, ruined hole—cumming again to the thought of Tommy Hagan’s knot stretching him out.

It was a secret that could ruin him.

And yet, he kept wanting other alphas.

He couldn’t go to Tommy again. Not only had Carol taken him back not long after that, but to Tommy, the whole knotting thing had been a result of too much weed and his dick not being able to tell the difference between a warm alpha body and an omega.

And he didn’t dare ask around school. One wrong word to the wrong person, and all of Hawkins would know that Steve Harrington wanted to get dicked down hard.

He subsisted on the memory of his one night with the real thing, up to four of his fingers at a time, and growing fantasies of nearly every other alpha in school.

Then, the summer he worked at Scoops, he met Robin.

An omega who only liked other omegas.

And she was a hell of a lot more in the know than he was. She knew of a couple bars in Indianapolis where he could ask around for what he wanted, without worrying about getting jumped.

Which was where he met Eddie.

Eddie Munson, Dustin’s new best friend and dungeons & dipwads game master. Eddie Munson, two-time super senior who stood on top of lunch tables and shouted about the state of the world.

Eddie Munson, alpha.

To his credit, Eddie immediately assumed Steve was messing with him and blew him off with a harsh scoff. Steve hadn’t even gotten to potentially hooking up—just the fact of Steve talking to him after four years of otherwise treating Eddie like he didn’t exist was enough.

Steve tried his luck with someone else, an average guy with blond hair and rough hands. Was more successful, getting as far as making out in the corner and the question on his lips to go back to his motel room and finally get what he’d been looking for.

And then the guy’s boyfriend had showed up.

And the guy threw Steve under the bus, shoving him toward a furious alpha with no time to throw his hands up and block the boyfriend’s fists slamming into the side of his face.

The bouncers caught on pretty quickly by then, and both the guy and his boyfriend were dragged off toward the door while Steve waved them off and headed for the back exit.

He stumbled out into the colder air, face throbbing and a thread of blood spilling down from a split near his temple. He wiped it off with the heel of his hand and swore into the relative silence of the empty alleyway.

Well, almost empty.

“Strike out in a bad way this time?” another voice called out, and Steve’s head snapped up toward it.

Behind an exhaled plume of smoke, Eddie Munson’s face came into view, smirking haughtily with a raised brow. Half a lit cigarette hung between two fingers, providing a barely-there glow of light for the darker side of the alley.

Steve, on the other hand, was directly underneath the light by the door, his disastrous appearance in clear view.

“What do you care?”

His head still fucking hurt where a bruise was definitely forming, and Steve knew he was leaving tonight without finding anyone to scratch his itch. So, sue him if he wasn’t in the mood to be polite to the other alpha that had rejected him.

Eddie let his eyes travel over the current state of Steve, the disconnect between his pressed red and blue-striped polo and jeans, and the half-twisted sneer on his face, along with the blood and bruising.

“Hard to see you as prom royalty with your face smashed half to hell. Lost some of your shine there, Harrington,” he said, pulling a drag off his cigarette.

“I never won prom king.” Steve stood up straight, but the light from above the door made his bruised eye sting and he shied away with a hand raised to block it. “And don’t call me that.”

Eddie cocked his head as Steve stumbled from the light, lowering his cigarette from his mouth. He stepped forward to get a closer look at the state of Steve’s face. Steve tried to turn away, but Eddie grimaced at what he saw.

“What happened?”

Steve rubbed at a spot in his jaw that ached. “Asshole clocked me.”

“Mackin’ on his boyfriend?” Eddie said, immediately back to being an annoying nuisance. Like maybe Steve had it coming in the first place.

“I didn’t know that. Dude basically set me up.” Steve sighed and searched for somewhere to sit on some empty crates beside him. Eddie stayed where he was, taking long drags and watching Steve with a curious, focused gaze.

“So, you’re really here. Looking for another alpha.”

Steve nodded, risking a glance toward Eddie. He stood with his weight resting back on one hip, arms crossed over his chest. The last bit of his cigarette rested in his hand, and Steve nearly grabbed it to finish it off himself.

“Run through the omega population in Hawkins already? Trying out the next best thing?”

“No, I—” Steve rubbed at his temple, forgetting that it was currently bruised and a little cut-up. He flinched and let his hand fall back down to rest on his knee. “I’m not looking…for that.”

“Then what are you—” Eddie narrowed his eyes, curls flying as he stood straight up, remnants of his cig falling to his feet. He didn’t seem to care, mouth hung open and brown eyes wide as deer. “Holy shit.”

Steve shot to his feet, even as the rush made his head throb. “Eddie, wait, it’s not what it looks like.”

Eddie was grinning now, his eyes alight in that way they did in the cafeteria when someone tried to tell him to shut it, when really then his tirade had a live victim. “You want an alpha. You want to be knotted.”

Okay, it was exactly what it looked like.

And Steve hadn’t really even said it to himself. Not so much more than saying he wanted to sleep with an alpha. Not that he didn’t want to be the one dominating, but to be…well…

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

Eddie let a sharp laugh, and Steve’s attention caught for a moment on the deep dimples that formed at the corners of his mouth. Eddie’s deep voice brought him back, laced with sharp sarcasm. “Oh my God, who the fuck would even believe me? Between the two of us, you are not the one who’s reputation precedes them as being unconventional.”

Steve frowned. “And you’re protecting that reputation? Don’t you belong to a satanic cult or something?”

“Hey, now. I thought we were starting to get along. Breaking down cultural barriers. Opening our hearts and souls on this fine evening, alpha to alpha.” Eddie spread out his arms, clearly not taking the situation that he’d just figured out the blackmail material to end all blackmail material seriously.

“Well, my face hurts. I’m going back to find my friend.” Steve sighed, turning back toward the door—only hoping that it wasn’t locked from the outside and he didn’t have to sidle past Eddie to get out of the alley.

He’d just have to deal with the ever-present knowledge that someday, Eddie might finally cash in on what he knew, and Steve would have to find a way to deal with that so he wouldn’t tell.

“Y’know, if you asked nicely, I might just invite you back to my motel room. Has a decent ice maker.”

Steve froze, having barely started his path to the door. He looked over his shoulder enough to see that Eddie had not moved, except to crush whatever was left of his cigarette under his boot. He asked, “And do what? Let you belittle me until morning?”

“I mean, if you’re into that.” Eddie shrugged.

“Jesus Christ, Munson.” Steve grabbed and yanked the door open, the heady warmth of a crowd of bodies and intense lights washing over him full force. His grimace had the bruise on his face throbbing, and the pause he made was enough for Eddie to call out to him again.

“Or I could knot you.”

Steve whipped around to face Eddie, the door slamming shut behind him. For his dark clothes and wild curls, Eddie had dropped all his teasing and his back and forth with Steve—leaving only his brown eyes staring wide and…goddamn it, maybe hopeful.

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, stepping closer. The light over the door shined on him, revealing a denim vest over his leather jacket, covered in pins and patches. His hands hung at his side, not reaching. His steps were slow as he approached.

“I…What?” Steve’s head swam with Eddie’s offer, the words echoing around in his head. Maybe that hit to the face was harder than he thought.

“Didn’t believe you, when you started hinting at it inside. I’m sorry about that. You and me, y’know, not exactly the usual. But if you’re serious…well, we could have some fun together.” Eddie bit at his bottom lip, one hand pulling at the hem of his jacket. Nervous.

Steve exhaled, and wasn’t sure if he’d done that for a while. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Like you said,” Eddie let out a soft laugh, a bit of his earlier bravado returning. “My reputation tends to precede me. I’m all in if you are, Harrington.”

Steve’s feet seemed to move on their own, pushing him forward now that he had the permission and the invitation to finally get what he had been chasing for years. He crossed the last foot between he and Eddie, grabbing onto the denim fabric of his vest.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, and then planted his mouth on Eddie’s.

For a second, Eddie’s surprised made him freeze against Steve. His eyes shut, but his hands were slow and hesitant to find a place on Steve’s hips or his shoulders. Steve let a rumbling moan echo in his chest and pushed against Eddie, forcing him back a step.

Whichever one worked, it knocked Eddie back into the present. His hands clamped hard on Steve’s hips, hooking in his belt loops and using the grip to roll their hips.

Eddie bit and licked at Steve’s mouth, trading playful growls between them that Steve had never done before. He’d always been in charge, with girls and omegas, and then as close to submissive as he could get with Tommy.

This was different. Trading the lead with wet togues and rough teeth, the back and forth swell of them clutching at each other’s clothes and hair. He wasn’t giving anything up that he didn’t want to wasn’t taking any more than Eddie was willing to give.

Eddie didn’t care to hide that he was an alpha, hands rough as one grabbed hard at the swell of his ass and the other slid into Steve’s hair. He tugged until Steve growled into his mouth again and then kissed it away.

And he didn’t seem to care about letting Steve be one, either. Got this dazed look in his eyes for a second when Steve pulled at his shirt so hard he tore it a few inches from the neckline. Seemed to like it when Steve dragged his teeth along the side of his neck.

He was doing that to the sharp tendons in Eddie’s throat, his head tilted back to give Steve room when Eddie spoke, breathless and half-laughing.

“I might just think I was dreaming, but even my subconscious knows better than to imagine something like this.”

Steve huffed against his skin, and pressed the hard line of his dick straining through his jeans against the sizable bulge of Eddie’s. He knew he shouldn’t get too excited just yet, but he also knew it was going inside him pretty damn soon and he was starving for it.

“Am I going to have to imagine your dick?” he said back, with a small bite at Eddie’s collarbone.

“No,” Eddie answered, his hand in Steve’s hair tugging again. Steve let out a warbling moan and Eddie preened at the noise. “You’ll get it all.”

“Have you…done this…before?” Steve asked, panting, through lazy kisses.

“Both ways.” Eddie winked, and Steve shuddered. His hands tightened so hard in Eddie’s jacket, the leather creaked, and he was already a goner before Eddie said, “Don’t you worry, big boy. I’ve got you.”