#and then i go to bed. wait i need to pack a bag for tomorrow ... can i be arsed to bring all my laundry home...

[dullahandyke]

ok i booked the train for tomorrow yayyyy i heart the train... okay so im gonna leave the house at 11 to be super duper early for the train and then at the station/on the train i will do assignment stuff. laptop battery is kinda dogshit so i might have to resort to doing html on my phone which Feels Wrong but whatevs. and ill bring a library book for company. and thenn idk actually ill probs have to get food at my transfer point. idk what train stations have. i know some of them have cafes and shit. shrug i can live off of crisps. and thenn my psych appointment and THEN go home and finish my assignment AND THEN THE TOY SHOWWWWWWW you fucks have better be prepared for me to be SOOOO ANNOYING... block the #late late toy show & #llts tags in advance if you dont want your dash to be nuked

[yasministration]

can i pleaseeee request something for harry potter and spring!! i barely see anyone write for himmmm

What boyfriend? - Harry Potter

ʀᴀɪɴʏᴅᴀʏᴀᴛʜᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛꜱ' 3ᴋ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! summary: when you are bed ridden due to your period, Madame Pomfrey comes to check in on you and play match-maker. wc: 0.6k+ this isn't so harry focused, but i was writing this anyway when i saw this request, so enjoy!

A knock on your door had you groaning, turning over in your bed, a slick layer of sweat coating your skin. You mumbled something incoherent, curling into your stomach, hoping to ease your cramps away. Your door opened on its own, so you assumed it would just be Pansy since you had locked it behind you. It wasn’t. Madame Pomfrey’s voice wrung out in the room, a concerned yet understanding tone in her voice when she said “Oh darling” at the sight of your pained state.

You pushed yourself up on your bed so you sat up straight, a slightly horrified look on your face at the realisation that a member of staff was seeing you in your worst state possible. “Professor McGonagall asked me to check on you. Said your dorm-mate told her you weren’t feeling well.” You nodded, fixing the bun atop your head just to busy yourself. “I’m just, uh, I’ve got my period.” Madame Pomfrey nodded along, pulling things out of her bag, so you continued speaking to fill the empty silence. “I took a potion last night to help with the pain today. But I couldn’t sleep and the potion didn’t seem to work. And I feel nauseous.”

Madame Pomfrey pulled out a temperature checking sticker, sticking it to your forehead and checking for a fever. “Can I give you something to help with the pain? Did you have any tea to drink?” You nodded, then furrowed your eyebrows “Uh, I didn’t drink tea. It’s too hot.” Madame Pomfrey raised her eyebrows at you, and you felt your cheeks heat up. You were wearing a jumper and joggers, fluffy socks, and now you were complaining about the heat? “If I take my jumper off I’ll be too cold.” You defended, letting the older woman remove the sticker from your forehead.

“Right, you don’t have a fever. I’ll absence you from lessons today and tomorrow, but if you feel better tomorrow, by all means go to class.” You nodded, watching closely as she poured you a portion of painkilling potion. “Your boyfriend asked about you.” She added, to which you shot her a confused look. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Madame Pomfrey.” She pulled a face of surprise, though it wasn’t very convincing. “Well Mr. Potter came-” “-And it’s especially not Potter!” You screeched, the vial halfway to your lips. You apologised when the healer shot you an annoyed look, looking down at your lap. The last thing you needed right now was for people to ruin your chances with Harry by spreading rumours of you already dating. “Mr. Potter came running up to me when he saw me approach the common room. Asked if I was coming to see you.”

You chugged the potion, wincing slightly at the foul taste before your eyes widened. “Wait he came to the common room?” Madame Pomfrey hummed, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Was waiting right out the entrance when I was coming in. He tried to sneak past me but I told him students couldn’t come in without a password.” And with that, the healer packed her things and left your dorm, leaving you with hot cheeks and a fluttering heart.

What she didn’t tell you was that when Harry had approached her, she had asked him “Going to see your girlfriend?” Harry had huffed, putting his hands on his hips “I’m working on it Madame Pomfrey. If only you could let me pass through with you?” But the woman had shut down his attempt. Surely, she had to give you a heads up if your crush was trying to come and see you. Especially if you’ve been rotting in bed all day and crying about your cramps.

At least when Pansy came back from lessons, finding Harry outside the common room, she had smirked and made fun of how smitten he was with you. But unlike Madame Pomfrey, she let him sneak inside, telling him exactly which dorm you were in. And when a knock came at your door, and you were fresh out of the shower, a white robe wrapped around your wet skin, you weren’t exactly surprised to find Harry standing at your door.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes

[casssmalefantasy]

MEET ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: your flight home for christmas gets canceled, leaving you stuck in connecticut over the holidays. paige bueckers isn’t about to let that happen.

| warnings: tons of dialogue, soft emotional moments, flirty paige, suggestive tension, kissing, holiday fluff

| word count: 4.3k

you’re halfway done packing your duffel when azzi starts telling a story about her brother throwing a snowball at their grandma once and blaming it on a neighbor kid. you’re only half-listening, distracted by the sound of your phone vibrating on the desk.

at first, you ignore it. probably just your airline confirming the itinerary.

but when you check the notification, your stomach drops.

flight canceled. rebooked for december 25th. earliest available.

“no, no, no…” you mutter, already refreshing the app.

azzi stops mid-sentence, voice soft with concern. “what’s wrong?”

you turn slowly, lips parted but struggling to form the words. “my flight… it’s canceled. they rebooked me for christmas day. i was supposed to fly out tomorrow.”

her face immediately shifts into a sympathetic frown. “wait, seriously? that’s so messed up. did they say why?”

“weather,” you say, trying to keep your voice even, though the lump in your throat is growing. “and everything’s booked. earliest they can get me out is the twenty-fifth.”

azzi moves to sit beside you on the bed, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “i’m so sorry… that sucks.”

you nod, swallowing. “it’s fine. i’ll call my parents.”

“if i wasn’t going to my grandparents’ house, i’d tell you to come with me. you know that, right?”

“i know,” you murmur. “thanks, az.”

you turn away slightly, clicking into your contacts and pressing mom. azzi stands, giving your arm a squeeze before quietly leaving the room.

your mom picks up on the second ring. “hey, sweetie! flight excitement?”

“uh… not exactly.” you explain, voice cracking halfway through. your mom immediately offers to look at other options, even talks about flying out to get you, but you shut it down.

“don’t spend the money,” you say softly. “it’s not worth it. i’ll be okay. it’s just… disappointing.”

you don’t know paige is standing outside the door until there’s a knock—gentle, hesitant.

you quickly wipe your face. “just a sec!”

you open it to find paige in sweats and socks, leaning against the frame like she hadn’t just accidentally overheard everything.

“i wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she says quickly. “but… are you really stuck here for christmas?”

you nod.

she hesitates for a second, then says, “come to minnesota with me.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’m serious,” she says, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “drew and my dad would love to see you again. you know they’re obsessed with you. it’s just a drive. we’ll leave in the morning.”

“paige…” you trail off. “i can’t just crash your family christmas.”

“it wouldn’t be crashing,” she insists. “i’m inviting you. actually, scratch that—we’ve been hoping you’d come. i just didn’t want to be annoying.”

you exhale slowly. “can i… think about it?”

her expression softens. “of course. let me know in the morning.”

—

you didn’t sleep much.

your suitcase stays half-packed. you scroll your camera roll at 2 a.m., stopping on an old photo of your parents in the stands at your first home game.

it hurts. but not in the way you expected. it hurts more to imagine spending christmas alone.

so when you hear paige moving around the hallway at 9 a.m., keys in hand and hair still wet from her shower, you grab your bag and meet her at the door.

“you still need a ride partner?” you ask.

she grins, taking your bag. “thought you’d never ask.”

—

the car is warm and smells like her cologne and vanilla air freshener. she’s playing something soft—sza, maybe—and when she pulls out of the parking lot, she does that thing where she puts one hand behind your seat to look over her shoulder.

your stomach flips.

“i could’ve driven half,” you offer.

“you could’ve” she smirks, glancing at you. “but i got this.”

you roll your eyes. “so humble.”

“only when i’m behind the wheel.”

hours pass with soft banter, shared snacks, and stolen glances. she catches you watching her once, her profile lit up by winter sunlight and she smirks.

at a gas station in illinois, you both get out to stretch and grab snacks. you try to pay.

she swipes her card before you even pull yours out. “too slow.”

“paige.”

“nah,” she says, holding the door for you. “consider it a christmas pre-game.”

—

minnesota is cold. colder than you remembered.

but when you pull into the bueckers’ driveway and see her dad on the porch with a huge smile and drew waving frantically from the window, your chest warms instantly.

“you made it!” her dad says, pulling you into a bear hug.

“barely,” you joke.

“we saved you a room—well, technically, you’re sharing paige’s. hope that’s okay.”

your heart skips. “totally fine. we’ve shared worse. like… bus seats.”

paige chokes on her spit beside you. you both laugh.

—

dinner is loud and warm and full of love. you sit beside paige, who keeps sneaking bits of her mashed potatoes onto your plate.

“you weren’t eating,” she whispers.

“you weren’t giving me a chance.”

—

that night, teeth brushed and flannel pajamas on, you both crawl into bed. the room is dimly lit by a lamp, and you’re lying shoulder to shoulder.

neither of you speaks at first.

then out of nowhere.

“you believe in soulmates?” paige asks.

you glance over. “damn. starting heavy, huh?”

she shrugs. “we’re having a moment.”

you think. “i think some people just… find each other. and they stick. maybe not soulmates, but something close.”

she hums. “i like that.”

you roll to face her. “you ever been in love?”

her brow arches. “asking the real questions now.”

you smile. “we’re having a moment, remember?”

she pauses. “i don’t think so. i’ve liked people. really liked them. but… it’s hard. with everything. sometimes i feel like people want the version of me they see online. or in games.”

your chest aches a little.

“you deserve someone who wants you,” you say.

she looks at you. really looks at you.

“what if i already know who i want?” she says, voice low.

you open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

so you lie there, heartbeat in your ears, and wonder if she can hear it too.

—

two days later, it’s christmas.

the bueckers’ house smells like cinnamon and pine. kids’ laughter echoes from the living room, where drew is showing off his new video games.

you’re curled up on the couch when paige appears with a small box and a larger gift bag.

“for you,” she says.

you blink. “what?”

“merry christmas.”

you open the box first. inside: a pair of jordan 4s in frozen moments gray.

your jaw drops.

“paige. how—?”

“you’ve been talking about them for weeks,” she says casually. “figured you deserved to stunt a little.”

“they’re sold out everywhere.”

she shrugs. “i got connections.”

you’re speechless.

and then you open the bag.

“no way.” you gasp.

an ipad.

“for facetime,” she says. “and also so we can be ipad kids together. mine’s already got a matching case.”

you bury your face in your hands. “i didn’t get you anything.”

she laughs softly. “you being here is the gift.”

you peek at her. “you’re unreal.”

“i know.”

—

after dinner, you’re both in the kitchen washing dishes.

her hands brush yours.

“you know,” she says casually, “i heard there’s mistletoe under that door.”

you glance up, then snort. “you’re so cliché.”

“maybe,” she grins, drying her hands. “but what if we were under it?”

“paige.”

“what?” she asks innocently, stepping closer.

you laugh, but it dies in your throat when you realize she’s moved right in front of you. her hands slide to your waist, slow and sure.

“do you?” she whispers.

you blink. “do i…?”

“want to be under the mistletoe. with me.”

your throat goes dry. your hands find her forearms without thinking.

you glance up.

mistletoe.

you look down.

she’s already looking at you.

and then she kisses you—soft and slow and sweet and everything you didn’t know you were waiting for. you melt into her, fingers curling in the hem of her sweatshirt. she deepens it, just a little, and it’s perfect.

when you finally break apart, breathless, you rest your forehead against hers.

“merry christmas,” she murmurs.

you smile. “best christmas ever.”

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → SMUT!! 18+, mention of period, oral (f receiving), fingering, P in V, aftercare, Peter being a horny little shit, language, College AU

Summary → You're done with your period, after Peter found that out, he couldn't wait any longer.   

You lay in bed, scrolling mindlessly through social media, half-heartedly watching funny cat videos. A faint chuckle escaped your lips, but then suddenly a sudden realization hit you. The pads. Peter had dropped them off earlier before rushing out the door, claiming there was a robbery he had to stop. Sitting up, you grabbed the paper bag he left on your desk and peered inside.

You pulled the pack out, blinked at it, and immediately facepalmed. Extra long night pads with wings.

"Extra long night pads with wings," you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. Peter always meant well, but his superhero life often left him a bit too distracted for the details. He probably grabbed the first thing he saw.

With a groan, you flopped back on your bed, grabbed your phone, and texted Peter.

You: Peter, I said non-winged pads.

It didn’t take long for him to reply, even though he was probably swinging through the city right now.

Spider-Baby: What did I get you?

You exhaled, already knowing the confusion that was about to unfold.

You: extra long night pads 🙂

The little dots popped up instantly, meaning Peter was scrambling to respond.

Spider-Baby: well, isn't it better? You'll be all secure, no leakage 😎

You let out an amused huff, shaking your head. Secure, no leakage? As if that was his primary concern. You could just imagine the innocent, clueless look on his face as he texted that.

You: babe, I’m on my 5th day, I don't really need them. It’s just for safety when I go out tomorrow.

There was a brief pause.

Spider-Baby: oh

There was a beat, and then:

Spider-Baby: wait.......

Your fingers hovered over the screen, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

Spider-Baby: your period is done? 👀👀

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your brain. Of course, that’s where his head was at.

You: I’m gonna lock my window.

Another buzz.

Spider-Baby: noooooo baby please, I didn't get anything for 5 days! Please please please, you said you were horny yesterday too, don't deny it!

You flopped back onto your pillow, laughing despite yourself. He sounded like a desperate kid who’d been grounded for a week.

You: Exasperated sigh

You typed the words with a grin on your face. Peter knew exactly how to get under your skin, but in the sweetest way possible. You knew you could say no and he’d back off, but a part of you enjoyed teasing him.

Spider-Baby: baby, come on, I’ve been patient. Sooo patient. You don't know the struggle. 😩

You rolled your eyes again, imagining him dramatically pacing on a rooftop, phone in hand, giving puppy eyes to the empty space.

You: okay, come over when you're done, you horny little spider.

The response was almost immediate.

Spider-Baby: YES! I love you, see you in a bit.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. This boy. Five days apparently felt like an eternity to him.

You: Love you too.

You tossed your phone to the side and stretched out on your bed, a grin still tugging at your lips. Peter acted like he'd been deprived of water in the desert, when really, it was just his hopeless obsession with you that made him this way. You glanced at the window, imagining him swinging through it in his suit later, all buzzing with energy and excitement.

Your mind drifted back to his response; 'sooo patient' and you snickered. Peter and patience didn’t exactly go hand in hand when it came to this. The irony was almost too much.

"He can’t even keep it in his pants for five days," you muttered, shaking your head. But deep down, you loved that part of him. The way he was so infatuated with you, how just the thought of your period ending had him all flustered and eager. He made you feel desired, loved, even if his approach was hilariously obvious.

Five-day prison sentence? To Peter, that’s exactly what it was.

--------

An hour later, you heard the familiar knock on your window. You sighed, already knowing who it was. Standing up, you unlocked the window and slid it open, watching as Peter crawled inside with his usual grace, his mask still on.

Peter pulled it off and pouted dramatically. “You said you wouldn’t lock it,” he whined, tossing the mask aside.

“I never said that,” you corrected, rolling your eyes. “You asked me not to lock it.”

Peter’s pout deepened, his big brown eyes widening in mock hurt. “Same thing!” He protested, making his way over to you, those puppy-dog eyes working their magic. No matter how hard you tried, you could never stay mad at him when he gave you that look.

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, still trying to keep up the act, but the smile on your face gave you away.

Peter took full advantage of that, his lips curling into a grin. “Okay... Sooo... Can I kiss you now?”

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you sighed dramatically but couldn’t help but smile. “Come here, you dork.”

Without missing a beat, Peter pressed the spider emblem on his chest, his suit loosening and pooling around his feet. He stepped out of it, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, nearly tripping over his eagerness, as he crawled onto the bed to hover over you.

His lips met yours in a desperate kiss filled with need and longing.

You could tell immediately just how desperate he was. The way his lips moved, his hands gripping your waist like he was holding on for dear life, it all screamed I’ve been waiting for this for five days.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin, trailing down to your collarbone.

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head to give him better access. “You saw me this morning, Peter.”

“Yeah, but that was before you told me about the whole, you know...” His eyes flicked down between your bodies, clearly hinting at your period being over. The eager grin on his face was almost too much.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You really can’t go five days without touching me, can you?”

“Not when I’ve got the most beautiful girlfriend in the world,” he replied, his voice low and full of that familiar lovesick tone. His hand rested on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. “I’ve been going crazy thinking about you all day.”

“Alright, alright. You big sap,” you teased, but your smile gave away how much you loved hearing those words from him.

Peter's hands slid under your shirt, his warm palms brushing against your skin as he slowly tugged the fabric up and over your head. Without missing a beat, he unclasped your bra with practiced ease and tossed it aside. His lips found your nipple almost immediately, and you gasped as his mouth worked over your sensitive skin, his tongue flicking teasingly.

"Peter..." you breathed, but he was already lost in his own world, lavishing your chest with attention as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks. One of his hands massaged your other breast, his thumb circling the soft skin while his lips alternated between each side.

"I missed these," he muttered between kisses, moving from one breast to the other. "Your boobs are perfect. I could do this all day."

You let out a soft laugh. "You're such a boob guy."

"Can't help it," Peter mumbled, his voice muffled as he nuzzled against your chest. "They're so soft..." He trailed kisses down your neck and over the swell of your breasts, making you arch into him, a breathless moan escaping your lips.

Peter’s kisses began to trail lower, leaving a wet path down your stomach. He made quick work of your shorts, tugging them off and tossing them to the side, revealing your panties, already damp with arousal. His lips hovered teasingly over your clothed core, his breath hot against the wet fabric.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice husky and full of desire. “You're already so wet.”

You groaned in embarrassment, your cheeks flushing. “Shut up.”

Peter smirked, pressing his finger over the wet patch on your panties, teasing you with just enough pressure to make you squirm. Slowly, he peeled the panties down your legs, kissing your thighs as he went, drawing out every second. You bit your lip, your breath quickening as the anticipation built.

“Peter…” you whispered, fingers tangling in his messy hair.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you squirmed beneath his touch. "What is it, babe? You sound so... needy."

You let out a frustrated groan. "You're literally the worst. Quit teasing me."

"But I love teasing you. Your little sounds are adorable," he teased, his lips hovering dangerously close to where you wanted him but never quite giving in.

You glared down at him. "Peter, if you don’t stop playing around, I’m gonna ban you from sex."

That got him moving. "Alright, alright. No more teasing." With a mischievous grin, he finally leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your core. A gasp escaped your lips, your back arching slightly at the sensation.

“There we go,” Peter muttered, glancing up at you with dark, mischievous eyes. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

His lips moved exactly where you needed him the most, and you let out a soft moan as his tongue expertly worked over your most sensitive spot. Your hips bucked involuntarily as the pleasure began to build, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation.

After a few moments, Peter added his fingers, slipping one inside you while his mouth focused on your clit. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed as he slowly added another finger, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure building quickly as he continued his relentless assault on your senses. Every flick of his tongue against your clit sent sparks of ecstasy shooting through you, making your thighs tremble and your grip on the sheets tighten.

“Peter… oh my God,” you gasped, your hips bucking slightly against his face. He was always so good at this, too good, really. He knew exactly what you liked, how to push you right to the edge but never let you fall until he wanted you to.

His free hand reached up, gently squeezing your breast while his mouth and fingers worked their magic below. The combination of his fingers curling inside you, his tongue flicking against your clit, and the way his other hand toyed with your sensitive nipple was almost too much. You were so close.

Peter’s gaze flicked up to you, and even though his mouth was still busy, you could see that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. He loved watching you come undone for him. Soon enough you were clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” He mumbled between kisses against your inner thigh, pausing just long enough to speak before diving right back in.

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, but you managed to choke out, “Y-yes… oh, fuck, yes.” His fingers pumped faster inside you, curling just right to hit that sweet spot that made you see stars.

The pressure in your core tightened with every stroke of his fingers and every flick of his tongue. “Peter, I—” Your voice broke off into a moan as the pleasure became overwhelming, your whole body shaking.

“Come on, baby,” Peter urged softly, his voice muffled against you. “I want to hear you.”

With one final flick of his tongue, your body tensed, and the wave of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, gripping the sheets even tighter as you came hard, your entire body trembling as Peter guided you through your orgasm.

“I missed this. Missed the way you taste, the way you sound… You’re perfect,” he whispered, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

He didn’t stop until you were a panting, quivering mess beneath him, only pulling away when your breathing began to slow. Even then, he pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs, soothing you as you came down from your high.

His lips brushing softly over your clit one last time before he moved up, kissing you softly. You could still taste yourself on him, but it only made the kiss more intimate. “God, I love you,” Peter whispered, his face hovered over yours. His brown eyes were full of adoration, his lips swollen and red.

When he finally pulled back, you watched as he stood and slid off his boxers, your eyes immediately drawn to his hard length.

You always loved admiring him like this, vulnerable, exposed, and completely yours. He was beautiful, every part of him. Peter noticed you staring, his face turning red as he mumbled, "Stop staring."

You grinned, unable to help yourself. "Can't help it, you're hot."

His blush deepened, but he didn’t say anything else as he reached over to your bedside table, pulling out a condom. You watched as he rolled it on, his eyes dark and full of hunger when he looked back at you. He hovered over you again, his body aligning with yours as he kissed you deeply. Then, without further delay, he pushed in, and both of you let out a moan at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," Peter groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly began to move. You could feel every inch of him stretching you, filling you completely.

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. "I missed you," Peter whispered breathlessly, feeling the familiar heat between your legs intensify with every thrust.

"It was only five days, Peter," you teased, though your voice was shaky, betraying how much you really had missed him too.

"Felt like five years," he panted, his pace quickening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Peter's movements became more urgent as he buried his face deeper into your neck, his breath coming in hot, uneven puffs against your skin. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it hard to think about anything else. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little crescent-shaped marks on his skin, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he angled his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered against your neck, his lips grazing your skin with each word. His voice was low, rough, filled with so much need that it made your heart skip a beat.

"I love you too," you managed to gasp out between breaths, your body arching into his, chasing every ounce of friction you could get.

Peter pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his eyes clouded with lust but still full of that familiar adoration. "You're perfect," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss before he picked up the pace again, his hips snapping harder against you.

“Peter…” you gasped, your nails raking lightly down his back as you felt yourself nearing the edge again.

“You feel so good,” he panted, voice thick with emotion.

You could feel that tight knot in your core winding tighter with every thrust. Peter could sense it too, his breathing becoming more erratic as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he groaned, his voice husky in your ear as he kissed your jawline, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit in quick, circular motions. The added sensation sent you spiraling, your body tensing as your orgasm washed over you. You moaned his name, your legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

Peter followed right after, groaning into your neck as he buried himself deep inside you, his thrusts becoming erratic before he finally stilled, his entire body tensing as he reached his peak. His breathing was ragged, his body heavy on top of yours as he rode out the last of his pleasure.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, both of you too caught up in the afterglow to care about anything else. Peter eventually pulled out, discarding the condom before collapsing beside you, pulling you close to his chest.

“Sorry for the whole pad mix-up earlier,” Peter murmured with a soft chuckle, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. “It’s okay. You more than made up for it.”

Peter grinned, “Good. Because I really do love you. And I promise I’ll get the right ones next time.”

He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You good?”

“More than good,” you replied with a sleepy smile, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all. You let out a content sigh, “You're such a dork.”

“Yeah, but I'm your dork,” he teased, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly.

After a moment, Peter got up and headed to the bathroom. You lay there, still catching your breath as the aftershocks of pleasure tingled through your body. When he returned, he had a warm towel in hand, his eyes soft as he knelt beside you.

“Let me take care of you,” he said softly, parting your legs carefully. You shivered at his touch, feeling the warmth of his affection envelop you.

"You're still sensitive," he whispered, kissing your thighs as he gently cleaned you up. His touch was tender, almost reverent, and you let out a soft sigh, feeling a bit of that sensitivity linger.

“You should go pee,” Peter reminded you softly, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

“In a minute,” you said lazily, still too blissed out to move right away. But Peter wasn’t having it.

“Come on, you don’t wanna get infected,” he urged, giving you that playful yet concerned look.

With a groan, you finally pushed yourself up and went to the bathroom, freshening up before crawling back into bed beside him. Peter immediately pulled you into his arms, both of you still naked and cozy under the blankets. His body was warm, and you felt his fingers tracing light patterns on your back.

It didn’t take long for you to start teasing him. "You really couldn’t wait five days, could you?" You said with a grin, poking his chest. "You’re such a horny little spider."

Peter whined like a child, burying his face in the pillow. “It was torture, babe. Five whole days,” he complained dramatically, his voice muffled by the pillow.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You act like you were starved or something.”

“I was starved,” Peter insisted, peeking out from the pillow to pout at you. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to not touch you? To not be in you? I was dying, Y/n.”

You couldn't help but laugh harder at his theatrics. “You’re adorable.”

“You love me,” Peter grinned, pulling you closer until your bodies were completely tangled together under the blanket. His hand drifted down to your waist, and he squeezed you gently. “Admit it, you missed me too.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before nodding. “Maybe just a little,” you teased, but the smile on your face gave you away.

Peter's grin widened as he leaned in to kiss you softly. "I can work with that ."

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[redr0sewrites]

not possible - Viktor x reader

🥀A/n: this was originally a request but it strayed wayyy too far off course... the writing had a mind of its own and im not sorry. but i AM sorry for not posting in a while.... ive been super hyperfixated on DC sorry

🥀Cw: fluff, non-sexual nudity, bathing, exhaustion/overworking

🥀Word Count: 1.2k words

🥀Synopsis: Viktor is overworking yet again, yet upon your insistence, finally takes a break.

Viktor was well aware that the candle at his side had long since burnt out, yet he was unwilling to find a replacement. the moon was bright tonight, and, combined with the soft blue glow emitting from the hextech he was working on, Viktor could make out the tools in front of him without any assistance.

he knew that working in the dim light was not a good idea, considering how straining ones' eyes could lead to faulty vision, but he couldn't bring himself to care. the ache in his bones ran deep, and his fingers shook with each breath. of course Viktor knew he should turn in for the night, but he found himself stuck in his chair, mindlessly fiddling with his most recent hextech project.

he was so engrossed in his work, he barely noticed your approach until you were practically on top of him. familiar hands find purchase on his shoulders and he jumps, only to melt back into your touch.

"ah, it's you," Viktor murmurs, turning around to face you. "may i ask, what are you doing up so late?"

"collecting you," you murmur, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. "it's already two in the morning. you've been here long enough."

Viktor sighs, and allows you to press a few more kisses to his face. the bags beneath his eyes were heavy, he was stiff and sore, and above all, he was exhausted.

joining you back home was certainly enticing, and hextech could always wait until tomorrow. and yet, the troublesome, burning itch beneath his skin wouldn't dissipate. he needed to complete just one more ruin combination, just finish this one little task, and then he'd let himself rest. at least, that's what he'd been telling himself for the past three hours.

"i can tell your overworking yourself again," you whisper, and Viktor huffs indignantly.

"overworking is, eh, a strong word. i am perfectly capable-" you cut him off by cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Viktor, i am in no way denying your capabilities. however, you still need sleep. so, come back with me, and you can continue working tomorrow after a full nights rest. does that work?"

Viktor heaves another weary sigh, but agrees. you silently watch as he stands and steadies himself with his cane, not wanting to appear too overbearing but still concerned about his exhaustion. you wish you could alleviate some of the stress and burden that he carries, even though he relentlessly assured you that loving him was enough.

meanwhile, Viktor wordlessly packs up for the night. he knew you were trying to mask it for his own dignity, but the concern on your face was evident in the slightest furrow of your brow and pinch of your lips. he found it hopelessly endearing how you worried over him, and only wished that you would stop for your own sake.

after all, he was doing this for you. for the chance to live happily with you someday, after saving the lives of so many others. hextech consumed so much of his time, yet Viktor intended to make it up to you tenfold when you two would grow old together.

"you ready to head home?" your voice slices through his thoughts like a knife through warm butter, and he finds himself unable to do anything but nod. you did not hesitate to take his hand as you two walk back towards your shared abode, nor did you complain when he had to pause and catch his breath after some particularly bad pain in his leg. by the time you both arrived at your home, Viktor felt even more exhausted.

"i know it's late, but do you want to take a bath before going to bed?" your question lingers in the air for a few seconds before Viktor nods, and you begin setting up. you both know the warm water would only soothe his aching joints, and provide momentary relief from the pain he suffers from.

🥀

its not long before you and Viktor are curled against eachother in your large bathtub after washing off. he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he absentmindedly washed your back, and you let out a relaxed sigh. you were both night-owls, but Viktor was much more accustomed to fighting off exhaustion.

you bite down on your bottom lip as more worries begin to seep into your mind. you feel almost selfish for missing him when he works so hard, and yet you want nothing more than to take all of his stress away. Viktor is quick to notice as you slip deeper in thought, between your tense muscles and quickened breathing, he can read you like a book.

"what are you thinking about, darling?"

another weary sigh escapes you.

"its just... you've been so stressed lately, i just wish i could alleviate some of the burdens you carry.. i know what you do is important, but i still wish i could be around you more often and help you.. y'know?" you let out another sigh. "i just.. miss you sometimes. and i worry. you know i worry.." Viktor chuckles at your words before turning you around to face him, the warm water around you both sloshing gently against the edge of the bath.

"you do more than enough already. believe me, everything i do, i do for you. for us. i love you," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to your forehead, "and nothing will change that. i can't guarantee that i'll always be around... but i will try to stop staying in the lab so late." Viktor's lips crinkle into a soft smile, and you can't help but kiss him in response.

Viktor always feels as though he's floating when you kiss. your soft lips against his, the contrast of his nimble, calloused hands against your smooth skin, your scent, your taste, it was all gloriously intoxicating. you hum against his lips before slowly pulling away, lashes fluttering against his cheek from your proximity.

Viktor leans in to whisper in your ear, his lips just ghosting your temple.

"i think it's high time we went to bed, dear. the waters getting cold, and i wouldn't want my beautiful darling to be exhausted tomorrow, hm?" you sigh at his flattery, yet agree regardless. as Viktor leans against the tub to stand up, you suddenly remember something and grab his hand to get his attention.

"hm?"

"by the way, about what you said earlier.... i love you more."

"that is not possible, my dearest."

GRRR SO HAPPY THIS IS DONE LMAO- sorry i havent been super active ive been on a huge DC kick (specifically the batfam/dick grayson) and suffering from writers block BUT HERE I AM AGAIN!!!!!!!!! ANYWAYS HOPE U ENJOYEDDDD PLS FEEL FREE TO SEND IN REQUESTS (esp dc... HEHE)

[sereia4skz]

Hi, love your works so much! Congrats on 1k!!

For the 1k event could I request poly!ot8 x brat!reader? Fake texts, Drabble, or one shot, your choice. Thank youuuuu!

1k Followers Event | everything comes to an end?

pairing: poly!straykids x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: group sex, oral, deepthroating, DP, spanking, choking, cum play, overstimulation, brat taming, collaring, petplay elements, cumflation, public teasing

event masterlist: #1kShootingStars

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A.N: I had so much fun with this event. I can't believe it's over... But I will defintely have to revisit the hybrid au for other future projects. I will be openning my asks again soon, dw a blog update will come with. Thank you so much for following along.

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You hadn’t even zipped your suitcase when a soft weight pounced into your open bag.

“Felix,” you groaned, watching the kitten hybrid roll in your clothes like they were made of catnip. “I need to pack that.”

“Mmm…” he purred, headbutting your folded shirts, “But I don’t want you to go…”

His tail curled around your wrist as he blinked up at you, all wide eyes and visible pout.

“It’s not goodbye, sunshine. Just ‘see you soon.’”

That’s when Seungmin passed your door, did a double-take, and growled, “You’re still packing?” The puppy hybrid padded in, immediately grabbing your hoodie and gnawing at the sleeve, trying to pull you away from the suitcase. “I told you to stop making it harder.”

Behind him, Jeongin slipped in uninvited, flopping belly-down across your bed with his tail swishing. “We voted. You’re not allowed to leave.”

“…You what?”

“Democracy,” Jeongin said, clearly lying.

You narrowed your eyes. “That's not how that works?”

“Thats how it works here,” Seungmin muttered, 

“Oh my god.”

You tried to be good, you really did. You gave goodbye cuddles. You kissed Hyunjin’s pout away when he tried to shove himself between you and the front door. You let Changbin bounce in your lap like a bunny on a sugar high and left scratches on Minho’s back when he bent you over the counter 'for closure.'

But now… now, you were naked, sore, and gagged, because someone (read: Chan) had declared that your ‘I’m leaving tomorrow’ tantrum meant you 'wanted attention.'

It's not like you have a flight to catch or anything…

Chan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, shirtless and scenting the wall, you should’ve known you wouldn’t be allowed to leave without a proper goodbye.

"You really thought you could just pack your bags and leave?" he asked, tilting his head. His sharp canines peeked out when he grinned. “Did you ask permission?”

Minho was beside him, eyes sharp, tail flicking. “She didn’t even thank us.”

“For what?” you challenged, chin high, even as Seungmin approached from behind, breath warm on your neck.

“Oh, you’re feeling bratty tonight,” he whispered. “Good. That makes this more fun.”

That’s how you ended up here: flat on your back in the center of the den’s massive mattress, wrists pinned over your head by Jeongin and legs spread wide by a surprisingly rough Changbin. Your clothes were long gone, your body already dripping, and your thighs trembled from being teased by soft kitten licks from Felix and fluttering kisses from Hyunjin’s drama-queen mouth.

“You’re drooling,” Jeongin chuckled from above. “What happened to all that attitude, huh?”

“Still there,” you hissed. “Just waiting for someone worth submitting to.”

The room froze. Hyunjin let out a little gasp. Felix pouted. Minho’s brow twitched.

Then… A sharp, possessive bite sank into the inside of your thigh, Changbin. He nipped you like an angry rabbit before lifting his head. “That mean I can fuck you stupid now?”

Felix purred, crawling up your side, his fingers teasing your nipples. “She likes when we get mean.”

“She likes getting used,” Seungmin growled, finally freeing himself from his shorts and straddling your chest. “You should hear how wet she got when I spat in her mouth earlier.”

“You liked it,” you mumbled. “Said I swallow so pretty.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Seungmin fisted your hair, shoved his cock between your lips, and groaned. “Just like that.”

You tried to respond, and failed because he hit the back of your throat instantly, too thick and hot, his hand guiding you like a toy. He wasn’t rough but the sound of him fucking your mouth had Minho groaning low in his throat.

“I’m gonna mark her tits,” the fox hybrid said casually, stroking himself just above your stomach. “Make sure she leaks us on the plane.”

“If we let her on it,” Minho added, stroking himself too as he leaned over your shoulder. “Could just keep her in a collar.”

Felix was already fastening one around your neck, baby blue, with a delicate gold bell. “There,” he murmured, licking your jaw. “Now you’re ours.”

Hyunjin moaned at the sight. “Can I eat her out now? Please?”

Chan finally moved. You hadn’t even realized he’d stayed back, arms crossed, just watching, but now he was stripping off his sweatpants, cock heavy, tip flushed, eyes gleaming with something feral. 

“She’s not gonna remember her name by the time we’re done.”

Hyunjin slid between your legs first, licking a long stripe up your cunt while Binnie leaned over, rutting gently against your thigh as if he couldn’t help himself.

“She’s soaked,” Hyunjin whined. “Sweet like laundry.”

“She always is,” Felix cooed, trailing kisses down your neck.

You moaned around Seungmin’s cock, then gasped when Minho tugged Seungmin away by the hair.

“Let me fuck her throat before you bust,” the cat hissed. “You know how tight she gets when she’s gagging.”

Seungmin grumbled but moved, just in time for Minho to shove his cock past your lips with no warning.

“Open up,” he snapped. “Show me that bratty mouth’s good for something.”

You obeyed, moaning as he started to thrust, slow but deep, letting his balls slap your chin while your hips squirmed from Hyunjin’s tongue flicking your clit.

Felix mewled. “Sweets, you’re dripping all over my fingers…”

“I can’t wait anymore,” Han groaned from behind. “I need to fuck her.”

“Not yet,” Chan growled. “I go first.” Chan kneeled between your legs, grabbed your thighs, and lined up, not at your pussy, but at your ass, slowly pressing in with a breathy groan. “Tight,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

You choked on Minho’s cock, eyes rolling, body twitching under all the stimulation.

“God, she’s gonna pass out,” Han mumbled.

“Not yet,” Minho said, fisting your hair. “I still haven’t come.”

Felix was still curled at your side, sucking on your nipple while Binnie straddled your waist, grinding against your belly for friction.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Changbin whined. “Your tummy’s so soft.”

“Her mouth too,” Minho muttered, then hisses when you gagged around him. “And so is her fucking throat.”

Han slid in next, stretching your already dripping pussy beside Chan’s cock, fucking you full-full, so tight and thick you couldn’t even beg. Chan thrust deep again, and you whimpered, every hole filled, your body shaking, used, loved, ruined.

“Take it,” Han grunted. “Take it all, baby, just like that.”

“Shit,” Seungmin gasped, stroking himself. “I’m gonna cum on her face—”

“Her tits are mine,” Jeongin muttered, and with a choked groan, he spilled across your chest, streaking your collar and stomach in his release.

Minho followed seconds later, coating your jaw while Seungmin tugged you up by the hair to finish across your cheek.

“Look at her,” Felix whispered. “So pretty covered in us…”

Hyunjin was between your legs again, lapping up the mess from where Chan and Han kept fucking you, slow now, deep, possessive.

“You gonna cum?” Chan asked, lips pressed to your ear.

You nodded frantically.

“Say it.”

“I-I wanna cum! Fuck- please, daddy!”

Everything broke after that.

Felix was sobbing as he painted your stomach with his cum. Binnie came from humping your belly, whining and twitching as Minho grabbed him and kissed him hard. Jeongin licked your lips while Seungmin growled and came all over your tits.

Chan grabbed your jaw, kissed your mouth desperately, and buried himself in your ass with a deep, snarling growl as he came. Han followed, his cock twitching inside your cunt as he groaned your name against your ear.

You blacked out.

When you came to, you were warm, wrapped in limbs, cum leaking out of every hole, someone stroking your hair. Felix. Of course.

“Hi, sugar,” he whispered. “You okay?”

You blinked. Nodded. Barely.

“Think you can leave us now?”

“…No?”

Chan chuckled from somewhere behind you. “Didn’t think so.”

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taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

[aubvrns]

"Longer Than A Fortnight"

| SVU & Headcanons

Synopsis — Their love languages towards you, and the kind they want to receive.

Note — Olivia Benson, Elliot Stabler, Alexandra Cabot, Casey Novak

(Female centered, but no pronouns used.)

———————————————————————

!!

Olivia Benson

• — Olivia Benson is 100% acts of service.

• — She is the kind of lover that will tie your shoelaces, even if she’s running late.

• — WILL AND I MEAN WILL, do the simplest tasks for you just because she can!

• — "What you do mean you went out to get groceries? Without me?"

• — Her way of saying "I love you." is to comb your hair after you finished showering, and she asks you to sit on her lap as she does. (biting my fists rn)

• — Though, she craves for words of affirmation.

• — She didn’t grow up in a home where she felt appreciated, nor did she ever felt the comfort of her parents.

• — But she knew she loved you when you told her the sweetest sentence ever.

• — "I love you so much that you make me get out of bed to get groceries."

• — Seconds later, you felt arms behind you. Not long enough before your shoulder dampens.

Elliot Stabler

• — This man is so quality time.

• — He knows he has a dangerous job that occupies his time, hours and hours in the precinct.

• — But any chance he gets, he will come home to you.

• — "Pack your bags, we’re going to Italy!"

• — He’s afraid of losing you, or letting you go to the plane’s bathroom because you’re comfortable in his arms.

• — Amidst the turbulence, he enjoys your physical touch.

• — From all the abuse and torment he witnessed, it’s rare for him to feel safe nowadays.

• — That’s why he isn’t afraid to admit that he loves the way you kiss his forehead, trace patterns on his gentle calloused hands, or spooning him when he gets nightmares.

• — "Italy won’t run away, let’s just stay 5 more minutes in bed."

• — More so, your vanilla scented hair was his view of a vacation.

Alexandra Cabot

• — Shoot me when I say this blonde’s love language isn’t giving gifts.

• — Being a lawyer with an amazing conviction rate also means having money, money, money!

• — She enjoys spoiling you, giving you everything you need and want just because she can. She refuses to let you reach for your wallet, at all.

• — "I bought the necklace you stared at earlier!"

• — Besides your lips, Ms. Cabot also tracks your eyes. (i would like to have you for christmas)

• — Staring at you, she never noticed how much she longed for acts of service.

• — Her parents were always away, and she was left alone. Her parents’ money were their way of saying they’re sorry they couldn’t come to her graduation.

• — She was surprised when you called in sick, even though she was the one coughing like there’s no tomorrow.

• — "What do you mean I could’ve bought myself medicine instead of your necklace?"

• — You can’t help but smile as you sat beside her laying body, wiping her warm face with a wet cloth as she explains how much your necklace reminds her of your eyes.

Casey Novak

• — This redheaded loser in a hot body cannot go on a day without physical touch.

• — She was raised as an affectionate child, expressing her love greatly as her parents did.

• — Her auburn hair is as warm as her as you lay between her arms, her face on the crook of your neck as she sleeps soundly.

• — "If only court saw how soft and adorable you are when you sleep, you wouldn’t seem so intimidating." You say, playing with her hair.

• — Smiling lovingly, she unconsciously pulls you closer.

• — Aside from her comfort, she adores your words of affirmation.

• — She was the kid who would wait in her teachers’ approval, hoping that she did good enough for their expectations.

• — Luckily for her, she didn’t have to wait anymore.

• — "You think I look soft and adorable when I sleep? I think I want to kiss you right now."

• — And she did, like the soft and adorable loser she is.

!!

[foreingersgod]

Kiss Me ? . CC

pairings: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: caitlin should be focusing on practice, but she finds it incredibly hard to take her focus off of you

“please baby can we just go home?” caitlin groaned from the gymnasium floor, the ball that was once in her hands now bouncing carelessly on the ground.

you rolled your eyes with a brief chuckle, moving your eyes from your phone to look at her pleading expression. you adjusted yourself in your seat as you watched her drag over to your spot on the sidelines.

caitlin had been in and out of the gym, going to practices and running drills nonstop recently, and it was starting to drive her crazy. she loved basketball and she felt more than comfortable when she was playing, but damn did she miss you even more. the longer she spent at the gym was more time spent away from you, and lately it was taking a toll on her. most days she just wanted to stay in bed with you and never leave. and even though you would absolutely love that, you’d feel guilty if you were the reason she wasn’t sticking to her schedule.

you tried to be a supportive and motivating girlfriend by doing everything you could. you'd do homework on the bleachers and come to practice with her to keep her company, packing her a small lunch and making sure her water bottle was filled. and, on days you couldn't attend, you'd write her a small note and put it in her duffle bag for a small pick-me-up.

but unlike you had hoped, your company had only made it more difficult for her to stay focused. caitlin found every excuse in the book to wander over in your direction. sometimes it was to tell you joke, other times she claimed she wanted to help you with homework, and most of the time it was just to touch you in some sort of way. kiss your cheek, rest her head on your shoulder, rub her hand along your thigh...any sort of touch, you name it and she'd abandon her drills just to do it.

"cait, we've only been here for like 20 minutes" you chuckled when she sat down in front of you, her head lolling back to rest in your lap "you need to practice"

"but i miss you" she whined with a pout "i'll practice tomorrow"

"yea you said that yesterday. and the day before that...and the day before that..." you teased as your hands instinctively came up to play with her hair, fingers toying with her head band and ponytail. she laughed at that, shaking her head although she knew it was true. you were her weak spot, that was clear "come on babe, just a little while longer and we can go home. what can i do to motivate you?"

"i dunno" she shrugged as she sat up, pulling up her socks and hoisting herself up. she pondered for a moment, eyes traveling across the room in deep thought before her face lit up excitedly "oh, i think i have an idea"

"hm?" you questioned, expecting her to ask you to run drills or pass her the balls to shoot.

"kiss me" she said, hands on her hips proudly, sly smirk tugging at her lips.

"kiss you?" your eyebrow quirked up, letting her know that you were beyond confused "how's that gonna get you to focus on practicing?"

"okay okay hear me out-" she defended, but you were still skeptical. hearing her out probably didn't entail anything good, you thought.

"alright, i'm listening" you egged her on "let's hear this idea of yours"

"so i'm thinking," the smile on her lips now even bigger "that every time i make a shot...you reward me by kissing me! it's a win-win, really, you know cause i get a kiss for doing a good job, and you get to kiss a basketball superstar"

that earned a dramatic eyeroll from you, although you couldn't suppress the lovesick grin that formed as well. she was quite creative, you knew, but you hadn't expected this sort of ploy from her. through an infectious fit of laughter, you saw her waiting for a genuine response with the repetitive tapping of her foot on the varnished floor. as corny as it was, you couldn't help but give into her plan.

"okay fine, you dork" you sighed playfully as you stood up, walking over to her "but only if you make it, no distractions"

"yes ma'am" she saluted, rushing over to her discarded ball to get started as quick as possible.

and so it started, a pattern consisting of deep kisses and effortless three pointers. you'd watch her take her position at the curved line, knees and elbows bending ever so slightly before she shot the ball straight through the net, she was flying through each shot with ease. then, after retrieving the ball, she'd jog over to you giddily, lips puckering as she waited for her promised kiss. and each time you'd smile as your arms looped around her neck and your lips pressed into hers. that feeling would never get old.

time seemed to fly by as you two continued your little routine, 20 minutes soon turned into 40 and then into over an hour. it felt as though you could have done this all day long, missing the feeling of her lips every time she ran back to the three-point line. and maybe you could have, but cailtin began to get tired, her shots getting sloppier with each passing minute. you knew that the both of you were ready to head home and get some much-needed rest.

caitlin slumped down into a seat, wiping her forehead with her exceptionally sweaty gatorade towel before pulling a spare hoodie over her head. meanwhile you helped her collect her things to make it a little easier for her. with a comforting hand on the small of her back, you guided her out of the gymnasium and made your seemingly long trek out to the car.

you got behind the wheel with an exhausted slump, caitlin already buckling herself up in the passenger's seat. you turned on the a.c. to a medium setting, just the way cailtin liked it, and turned the radio to her favorite station. she hummed, heart swelling as the fact that you knew her so well. the cold air emitting from the vents soothed her almost instantly, causing her to flutter eyes shut in content.

"babe?" you called out to an oddly quiet car, normally she was a chatter box after practice, never letting you get a moment of silence. you never complained, you loved everything she had to say "baby?"

still there was no response, only the soft buzz of a taylor swift song in the background. you shifted your eyes off the road for a quick second to look to your right to inspect the situation. you could have sworn your heart exploded in that moment, seeing her sleepy state in her seat. she had sunk deep into the leather fabric, one arm propped on the center console to hold up her head. her lips were parted ever so slightly as soft breathes escaped her, one of her hoodie strings caught between her teeth. she was completely knocked out. if your hands weren't steering, you would have taken a picture. she looked so soft and sweet, the perfect depiction of your girl.

in the public eye, she was most known to be strong and resilient no matter what was thrown at her. and it was more than true, caitlin was the toughest person you knew. but what most people didn't get to see, was this side of her, gentle caitlin who let her guard down. the caitlin who snores and drools when she sleeps, the cailtin that would turn down practice just to be with you.

the cailtin that can't help but smile when you reach over, eyes still closed as you run your thumb across her cheekbone, wanting the feeling of your touch to last forever.

[mononijikayu]

merry–go–round–of life — ryomen sukuna.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.” Your reply is instant. 🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’” 👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.” He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words. 👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babes.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lovers, Marriage, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Long Distance Relationship, Frustration, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Husband! Sukuna, Wife! Reader;

Words: 9k words.

Note: i wrote this in a rush while im constipated and suffering in bed about it. and honestly, im glad i did because this is going to be a happy one, i know a rare treat. but there will be quite a lot of heartache here soon enough. also, yes, the signatures were created by me. i write like that irl. and yes, they both have autographs (reader gets asked by little kids who are interested in science for her signature). anyway, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do. i love you all so much!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

lovesick playlist

THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT. It was fulfilling to be able to go and pursue your passions in your respected fields, that was true enough. But you knew this would happen. Your schedules aren’t overlapping the way you need it to be, and you hate it.

You hate how you and Ryomen Sukuna, your famous Olympic volleyball fiancé are like two stars in separate galaxies, orbiting each other from too far away to touch. You both were wanting to meet each other but the thousands of light years prevented you from even finding each other. 

It wasn’t always like this. Back when his training was domestic and your research wasn't demanding 80–hour weeks, you used to cook dinner together at least twice a week.

He’d lift you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, kiss you until the pasta boiled over, and say things like “We’re gonna have the loudest wedding in Japan.”

But now it’s missed calls, unsent voice notes, messages like “call me when you wake up.” followed by hours of silence because time zones are ruthless and the Olympics don’t wait for love. You’re lucky if you catch his voice once a week, muffled through tired laughter and stadium noise. 

And it’s bad that you were the same as him too.

You weren’t just the one being left behind you were running too, just in the opposite direction. You hated that about yourself. Hated how the very ambition that had once made him fall in love with you was now the same thing keeping you from each other.

The worst part?

Missing ten missed calls.

Sometimes more than that.

Seeing his name flash on your phone hours after he tried to reach you — each notification a little wound that you picked at without meaning to. Not because you ignored him. Never.

But because sometimes, you genuinely didn’t hear the phone ring over the sounds of your team discussing propulsion flow models or thermal regulation equations.

You’d come home and find the lunch he packed still untouched in your work bag. Rice cold, vegetables a little soggy from condensation. A sticky note on the lid with his handwriting which was messy and fast, like he was rushing out the door but still thinking about you: “Eat well, genius.”

You didn’t. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you forgot. Or because you were calibrating simulations past lunchtime. Or because you were sitting in some dark conference room answering questions from engineers twenty years your senior.

And the coffee, the one he brewed at 5:30 a.m. with the beans you like, poured into your favorite thermos? You’d leave it on the kitchen counter by mistake, still warm when you got home twelve hours later. That’s how you realized how bad it had gotten. You weren’t just missing him, you were starting to miss yourself too.

Ever since they assigned you to the development of a new rocket mechanism system, this new revolutionary propulsion array meant to change the trajectory of long–range space travel—you knew, in your gut, that this would take everything.

And it did. Your time. Your sleep. Your calendar. Him.

He was lucky to see you after 10:00 p.m — not in the romantic way, but in the “quick, I have five minutes before I pass out on this couch” kind of way. You'd sit side by side, half in your work clothes, his shirt still damp with sweat from training. 

You’d hold pinkies like kids and talk like strangers trying to remember the rhythm of your old conversations. Sometimes you’d fall asleep mid–sentence. Sometimes he would. Everything about it has just been rough.

It’s been a year and a half since he proposed to you. A year and a half since you said yes with tears on your cheeks and his forehead pressed to yours in a moment so still, so real, you swore nothing could ever pull you apart. And yet here you were. Not even a date set. No dress. No venue. No plans.

Not because you didn’t want it. Hell, you’d marry him in your scorched lab coat with grease stains and ink on your fingers if it meant being next to him when you woke up. If it meant not having to count days between kisses. You knew that. He knew that.

But life doesn’t care about how much two people love each other.

Every time you tried to plan, something got in the way. A training camp for the upcoming FIVB league, where he was captain and poster boy and MVP all rolled into one.

Then a week later it was the National League games or in the International Qualifiers. Or a media appearance. A charity match. A recovery period he had to take seriously or risk injury.

And for you, it was just the same. A last–minute research grant that couldn’t be passed up, not when it would fund your entire next project. A call from the head of the department asking you to lecture at an aerospace symposium.

Sometimes it was a request to mentor new hires or new interns. A sudden data spike that cracked open a new theory, one that would require late nights, recalibrations, endless documentation.

It always felt like one step forward, two steps away from each other.

No one was to blame — not him, not you. But that didn’t make it hurt less.

Because when he told you “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

And you told him “Then let’s do it, babe.”

The world said, “Not yet.”

And you both obeyed silently, painfully, hoping one day it would stop asking so much of you.

You’re sitting in the corner of the office lab today, shoulders slumped over your desk, staring at an untouched to-do list. You’re not crying, not really. But certainly, there’s a tiredness in your bones that not even coffee can fix.

Maryu Hana notices first. She always does. She walks over quietly, sits next to you, and just wraps her arms around your side like she's trying to hold the pieces of you together. Her hair smells like cherry lip balm and lavender softener. She doesn’t say anything yet, just rests her cheek against your shoulder.

“You okay?” Hana asks after a moment, voice soft and small, like she’s afraid that being too loud might break you further.

“No….not at all.” you admit. You don’t bother sugarcoating it. There’s no energy left to pretend you’re fine. “I miss him. We’re supposed to be planning our wedding right now, Hana. I don’t even know when he’s going to get home from his match abroad.”

Your voice cracks slightly on that last word. You hate the way it does. You hate that your chest feels heavy every time you think of him, of Sukuna with his duffle bags, his passport tucked into his pocket like a lifeline, his voicemail always full. 

You used to tease him for being impossible to reach. Now it just feels like the universe is playing keep–away with the one person you’re trying so desperately to hold onto. You could only sigh into your hands and feel the devastation.

Kenji, ever the loyal office goblin and chaotic gremlin of the lab, rolls over on his squeaky stool like a knight on wheels. His hoodie is inside-out, and he’s clutching an energy drink like it’s a sword.

“You need me to hack into the work calendar and ‘accidentally’ reschedule his matches?” he says, completely serious.

You let out a breathy laugh, weak but real. “That would start an international incident.”

“I’ve started worse, bestie.” he deadpans to you. And he was not lying. You knew he had. That’s why they can’t fire him. “Just say the word.”

“I’d….rather not.”

Haruki looks up from his soldering station, holding a screwdriver like it’s the Holy Grail. “Wait. WAIT. I volunteer as a wedding planner.” He rises with the gravity of someone delivering life–altering news. “I’ve been watching Downton Abbey. I’m emotionally equipped.”

“Yeah, me and Haruki could help!” Hana says, looping her arm around yours with a bright, unbothered smile. “After all, it would be like me and Haruki planning our own wedding. Since we had a court wedding.”

You blink. You’d almost forgotten that. It happened so quietly. A lunch break turned into a courthouse appointment. A blurry photo of them holding hands and a paper certificate posted in your group chat with no caption. You remember being stunned, speechless. But not surprised. They made it work.

You found yourself envious of that. Not in a bitter way, not in the why them, not me way. But in the aching, quiet kind of way. The kind where you smile and congratulate them and then cry into your pillow later because it reminds you that love can happen right now if you let it. If life lets you.

And yet here you are. A year and a half into your engagement with Ryomen Sukuna, and still floating in that weird limbo where you’re so in love and so ready but so impossibly stuck with the needs to please the roles you were meant to play.

Your colleagues, they had trouble even getting a proposal out. Haruki couldn’t string a proper sentence together and Hana had to say, “Do you want to marry me or not?” with a pen already in her hand.

But they got married. Quick. Simple. Straight to the point. No ceremony. No guests. Just them and their decision. And it was beautiful in its own way. It was what suited them and their personalities and wants, after all.

But you and Sukuna wanted something different, however. Not necessarily bigger, but shared. You wanted time. The time to plan, to invite everyone you loved, to dance until the floor cracked beneath you.

You wanted him there to argue over cake flavors and sigh at venue tours. You wanted photos in a sun–drenched field and stupid wedding favors no one would keep but you.

But time has not been kind.

“I’m happy for you guys, really.” you say softly, glancing at Hana and Haruki. And you mean it. But your next words are a little quieter. “I just wish we’d had that chance too.”

Hana squeezes your hand. “You will. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will.”

“Unless Sukuna gets abducted by aliens.” Kenji adds. “Then I’m legally your backup husband.”

Haruki gasps. “Unacceptable. I already wrote my vows.”

Hana raised a brow. “Um, I am right here, as the actual deserving title of wife?”

“Well, if he does show up, I promise you, the wedding would be perfect if I plan it with you.” Haruki says, winking at you.

You snort through the lump in your throat. “Yeah? You're gonna walk me down the aisle too?”

Haruki grins. “In full 1920s suit attire. Ruffles and everything.”

Kenji adds, snickering. “And I’ll build you a hologram of Sukuna to stand in until the real one gets back. Super realistic. Only mildly cursed.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. Really laugh out loud. and it spills out of you in a way that’s raw and grateful and a little watery around the edges. Like your ribs were too tight until now, and something cracked open.

“I just…” You tug the sleeves of your lab coat down over your hands, swallowing the knot in your throat. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Being in love with someone whose life is on a global clock.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Hana murmurs, pulling you in closer, her cheek resting against your shoulder. “It’s hard. But not impossible. You and Sukuna are like… built different. You’ve always made it work, even when it sucks. And you know he hates it just as much as you do.”

You nod slowly. “He texted me last night… paragraphs of it. He said if he could, he’d cancel everything. Just to eat instant ramen with me on the couch. No cameras. No schedules. Just us. In our socks. Watching the same dumb reruns we’ve already memorized.”

Hana lets out a soft sigh, like your pain settles into her chest too. “That’s love right there. Instant ramen and reruns.”

“Haruki doesn’t even like instant ramen,” she adds with a pout, throwing a side-eye at her husband, who glances up, blinking in defense.

Haruki frowns. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just make healthy options for us. Gotta keep you from living off potato chips and soda.”

Hana gasps dramatically, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Excuse me, sir, do you know how much junk I sneak when you’re not looking?”

“Yes!” he says, flinging his hands in the air. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, babe!”

“You say that,” Hana points at him like she’s presenting Exhibit A, “as if you don’t drink an absurd amount of Asahi Dry every night.”

Haruki, affronted, gestures to himself with wide eyes. “That’s my only vice! And it’s cultural!”

“You’re such a hypocrite, aren’t you?” she groans, nudging him with her foot.

Kenji, never one to waste a perfectly chaotic moment, raises his energy drink like he’s toasting at a wedding. “Ah yes. Romantic, romantic ramen. Love brings you together!” he says sagely. “The cornerstone of any healthy relationship.”

You cover your mouth to muffle another laugh. “You guys are idiots.”

“Correct on that, captain.” Kenji says proudly.

“But you’re my idiots, to be sure.” you add, blinking away the dampness in your lashes. 

And for the first time in days, you feel… lighter. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not even okay. But held. In this tiny lab full of solder smoke, caffeine, and nerds with poor sleep schedules, you are loved. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.

You look down at your phone, Sukuna’s texts still sitting there, glowing softly against your palm like a heartbeat. Instant ramen, huh? You think you’ll message him back soon. Maybe you should even leave a voice mail.

Maybe even send him a picture of the lab gang yelling over takeout later.  Let him know you're not alone. Let him know you’re still here. Still his, still waiting for some time to just be together again and love each other again.

You tuck your phone into your pocket, your gentle fingers lingering against it like maybe….Just maybe. You could go on and press hard enough. Maybe, you might let him feel you from wherever in the world he is right now.

Hana gently nudges your side again. “You should text him. Or call, if he’s awake. You’ll feel better.”

You nod, already thinking about it. You’ll do it. After this moment. After sitting in the warmth of people who don’t ask you to be okay before you’re ready to be. “Yeah….I should….”

Kenji spins once on his stool, as if the energy drink has finally hit his bloodstream. “Alright, I’ve made an executive decision. Emergency wedding planning simulation. Just for morale.”

Haruki blinks. “What?”

Kenji claps his hands. “You’re going to hate this, but—boom. Picture this: rooftop wedding. At sunset. Hana officiates. Haruki cries.”

“I don’t cry!” Haruki objects.

“You absolutely do, a lot!” Hana says, smirking. “You sobbed at that ad with the puppy and the blind man.”

“It was emotional!”

Kenji continues like he’s narrating a movie trailer. “Reception at a space museum. Guests get party favors that are actually mini thrusters. There’s a robot bartender. And instead of a first dance, you and Sukuna spike a ceremonial volleyball at a target shaped like all your problems.”

“I can 3D print that target.” Haruki mutters as he opens his tablet. “Give me two days. I can reuse the program from the last rocket thrusters. Just need to edit them to smaller size, of course—”

You throw your head back and laugh again, tears still clinging to your lashes but now glinting with amusement instead of grief. “Stop, stop.” you groan, covering your face. “This is the dumbest thing—”

“—and yet you’re smiling,” Hana sings, pulling you closer. “Which was the point.”

You drop your hands and meet her eyes. “Thanks, everyone.” you whisper. “I’m grateful for all of you.”

Kenji gives you a goofy little salute. “Anything for our favorite overachiever–in–love.”

“You mean resident astrophysicist–in–love, no?” Haruki corrects, tossing a bolt across the table like a mic drop.

You shake your head, heart sore and full. There’s still that ache, that missing piece in your day-to-day rhythm that only Ryomen Sukuna fills. But tonight, for just a little while, it’s dulled by something soft and familiar. Love that stays close, even when your person is far.

Later, maybe after everyone’s gone home or dozed off at their stations, you’ll sneak into the break room and video call Sukuna. He might be in a different timezone, maybe halfway through his physio routine or brushing his teeth in some hotel room you can’t pronounce.

And when he picks up, and sees your face lit up under the sterile break room light, you’ll tell him: "Let’s eat ramen together this weekend. You, me, whatever city you’re in. I’ll bring the pocket Wi-Fi, baby. You bring the cup noodles. I love you."

Because if there’s one thing this moment reminds you, it’s that love like yours doesn’t disappear. It adapts. It lingers. It waits. And finds its way back. Always. Because love wins all in the end. It will always win in the end. 

IT HAS NEVER GOTTEN THIS BAD BEFORE. But now it has and there’s just really no way to stop it. Usually, there was a way to calm himself down. Yet, it's not working right now.

Since you are busy like him and you can’t call him often or spend time with him. Ryomen Sukuna is just as frustrated on the other side of the world. No, maybe not just frustrated. Since his spikes are getting everywhere.

The volleyball slams against the court floor with such vicious precision that it echoes like a gunshot, ricocheting off the walls in a wild blur of movement.

Coaches flinch. Teammates keep their distance. Balls aren’t just being served. It was like they’re being launched like warheads, and everyone knows better than to say anything about it now.

Everyone except Vice Captain Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru stands just beyond the service line, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses still on like he’s at a beachside photo shoot and not inside a national Olympic training gym. His expression is unreadable, but even he knows something’s off.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t talk.

He trains. He spikes. He glares. He barely sleeps.

And it’s getting bad. Because he misses you. Because he hasn’t held or seen you in over a month at the very least. Because he hasn’t heard her voice since three time zones ago. And it was obvious to everyone that he was just upset.

His chest is tight. His lungs feel too small. Every part of his body is coiled with an energy that doesn’t know where to go. Except into the ball, into the court, into whatever’s in front of him that isn’t her.

Another spike. Another blur of motion. Another dull ache in his wrist. But that didn’t matter. He doesn’t care about that right now. He cares about being able to air his feelings. And probably hearing your voice later, if you pick up.

“You’re gonna fracture something, Captain!” Satoru finally calls, breaking the silence.

Sukuna says nothing, panting through his nose. He’s drenched in sweat. Muscles straining. Every vein on his arm is a live wire right now. He huffs a breath as he goes on and picks up another ball.

“Y’know, Mr. Lover Boy….” Satoru continues casually as he fixes his jacket. “Most people go for a walk or write sad poetry when they miss their fiancée. You? You look like you’re trying to kill the floor.”

Sukuna turns his back on him, fists clenched, shoulders rigid. “I haven’t seen her in weeks, or spoken to her in days.” he mutters, so low Satoru barely catches it. “Didn’t even get to call last night. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.”

His voice is rough. Like gravel dragged across asphalt. Like the exhaustion finally caught up to him. But that’s probably how it just is with his schedule.

He’s both in the National Team and in the V.League. Then there’s the training camps and the other stuff like the press. And it’s rinse and repeat, as always.

Satoru sighs and strolls over, dropping down into a squat like a coach babysitting a storm. “That’s rough, really.” he admits to him, still a bit playful. “Real tragic. Definitely calls for alcohol and sad jazz music.”

Sukuna’s jaw ticks. “We’re supposed to be planning our wedding, you know that?” he says after a long pause. “It’s been a year and a half. We haven’t even picked a damn date.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to offer empty platitudes. “She’s got this new rocket system project. Her team’s finally getting funding, which is good. She deserves it.”

“Hm, you said that the other day.”

Sukuna’s voice is softer now, but bitter–edged. “But every time we try to plan anything….anything and absolutely anything, something comes up. Her lectures. Our training camp. Her research. The World Cup qualifiers. Another damn seminar or match or trip across the globe.”

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Satoru says gently.

“She doesn’t say it, but I know it’s wearing on her too.” Sukuna looks down at his hands. The same hands that have sent balls flying like missiles, the same hands that haven’t been able to hold hers. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s putting everything on pause for me. Or that I’m putting her last.”

Satoru’s expression softens, sunglasses slipping down just enough for his eyes to show. “She wouldn’t stay if she felt that way.”

Sukuna finally meets his gaze. His voice is low, threaded with an ache he rarely lets show. “She’s the only thing I want more than this game.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Ryomen Sukuna, who loved volleyball with everything he was. Whose entire life has been volleyball since he was tall enough to touch the net. But he loved you more. He loved you more than volleyball. You were his life. You were his everything.

Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Then keep wanting her. But don’t burn the rest of your world down in the meantime. You’ll get back to her. Sooner than you think.”

But Sukuna’s heart is elsewhere. With you. Always with you. He dreams of the way you tug at your lab coat sleeves over your hands when you're tired.

The sound of your laugh through the phone when you’ve got your headset still on. The way you’d always try to make time, even when you couldn’t. Even when the world was pulling you in a thousand directions too.

He’d give up all of it in a heartbeat. He knew that. All the fame, the medals, the arenas, if it meant just waking up beside you every morning he has in this life, then he’d give it all up. No alarms. No training. Just you in his arms. Breathing soft against his chest. Home, in its purest form.

But he can’t. Not yet. So he breathes, barely.  And spikes another ball, like it’ll keep his heart from shattering. Sukuna’s next spike hits the far wall so hard it rattles the bleachers. It echoes loud and sharp, like the crack of something breaking. Satoru doesn’t flinch. He sighs, long and theatrical. 

“Well, that’s something.” he mutters, “He’s officially in full sad, long–distance lover mode. Talk–jutsu failed. We’re in phase two: Rage Despair.”

“Is that like a boss level, Gojo–san?” Itadori Yuuji asks, jogging over with a towel slung around his neck. His cheeks are pink from drills, hair stuck to his forehead, sweat still trailing down his temples. “Because he looks like he’s about to go feral.”

“Yuuji–kun.” Satoru turns to him, hands on hips. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

Satoru grins, wide and devious. “Operation Cheer–Up–Sukuna–With–Sheer–Stupidity.”

Yuuji blinks. Then lights up like a puppy who just got the go-ahead to fetch. “YES.”

Before anyone can stop him, Itadori Yuuji barrels toward Captain Ryomen Sukuna like a human golden retriever missile, arms open for a completely uninvited hug. Sukuna glared at him as he saw him coming towards him.

“RYOMEN SUKUNAAAAAA!” he yells mid-run. “YOUR SOULMATE WOULD WANT YOU TO SMILE!!!”

Sukuna turns just as Yuuji launches at him. His first instinct is to side-step and deck him. His second instinct is still to deck him. But he hesitates just long enough for Yuuji to latch on, full koala-style, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs bracing like he’s riding a moving train.

“You smell like rage and heartbreak!” Yuuji wheezes against his chest. “Let it out, Captain!”

“I will kill you, Itadori!” Sukuna growls, trying to shake him off. “You best be fucking ready to do dive serves, you punk!”

“You need love!” Yuuji cries.

At the same time, Satoru pulls out a Bluetooth speaker from absolutely nowhere, presses play — and suddenly “Hopelessly Devoted to You” from Grease begins blaring through the gym. All the staff and coaching team were either about to laugh or disappointed. The rest of the team looks like they were used to this. 

“Oi, are you actually serious right now?” Fushiguro Megumi barks from the sideline, dropping his water bottle.

Nanami Kento walks in from the hallway, pauses at the doorway, and squints at the scene. Ryomen Sukuna dragging Itadori Yuuji across the court like a furious god with a clingy barnacle.

Gojo Satoru dramatically sings into a protein shaker. The ridiculously loud Grease soundtrack echoing like it’s karaoke night in hell. It was just not something that anyone can see everyday. And yet, this was the normal of the Japan National Volleyball Team.

“No, no.” Nanami says flatly, “No. Absolutely not.”

He marches toward the chaos with his usual calm menace. “Itadori–kun, get off him. Satoru, turn that off. This is a place of discipline. Not a high school musical.”

“Aw, come on, man!” Satoru whines back at them.“It’s a classic!”

“Sukuna doesn’t need musical numbers, Vice–Captain.” Megumi deadpans as he drags Yuuji off the fuming captain. “He needs peace and a phone call with his fiancée, probably followed by a ten–hour nap too.”

Yuuji flails dramatically in Megumi’s grip. “He needs love! Let the man feel things!”

“I am feeling things, you punks!” Sukuna growls, voice low and dangerous. “Like the urge to end your entire career.”

“You see?” Nanami says out loud. “This is what happens when you let emotions run unchecked. He needs focus. Structure. Calm.”

Sukuna, despite himself, lets out a sharp breath. Almost a laugh. Almost. “I need her, right now.” he mutters instead, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. “That’s it.”

Everyone goes quiet for a beat.

Megumi, releasing Yuuji with a shove, glances at him sidelong. “Then call her.”

Satoru grins. “Yeah. Do that. And then I’ll serenade her on speakerphone so she remembers how charming we are.”

“Try it, Gojo. I’m telling you it will not end well.” Sukuna mutters, grabbing his towel. “See how fast I put you through a wall.”

But there’s less venom in his voice now. And maybe, just maybe…. a flicker of peace behind his eyes. Because even halfway across the world, in a gym where every breath feels like a battle, he can still hear her voice in his head. And maybe, if he hurries through the cooldown, he’ll get to hear the real thing.

Sukuna sits on the bench, finally. Shoulders hunched, towel draped over his head like a ghost of defeat. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers threading into his hair as he exhales sharp through his nose.

He’s not broken, he knows he’s not. But god, he’s tired. Of the distance. Of the ache. Of pretending it doesn’t chip away at him every day.

Megumi hands him a water bottle without a word. It’s cold. Reliable. Exactly what you’d expect from him. Sukuna takes it, mutters, “Thanks.”

Nearby, Yuuji’s still pouting on the floor with a bruise forming where Sukuna elbowed him. “I was trying to be supportive, you know!” he mumbles. “Hugs are powerful.”

“They are, Itadori. We know.” Megumi replies blandly. “But not when they come from a hyperactive golden retriever on suicide watch.”

Yuuji gasps. “I am a comfort animal, I’ll have you know.”

“More like a feral street dog, with Gojo around.” Nanami mutters, adjusting his glasses as he heads toward the exit. “You two make it too much when you’re together.”

Satoru lounges next to Sukuna now, tossing a volleyball from hand to hand like the whole near–homicide was just another Tuesday. “You know…..” he says casually at you. “You could surprise her. Hop a flight, spend a day with her before qualifiers start. No press, no entourage, no distractions. Just you and the astrophysicist hottie of your dreams.”

Sukuna gives him a side–eye like he’s grown a second head. “You do know how training schedules work, right?”

Satoru shrugs. “Yeah. But I also know how you work. If you don’t see her soon, you’re gonna combust and take the rest of us with you. God help us, we might even lose a game and miss international spots if this keeps up.”

“He’s not wrong, Captain. Stupid as he is.” Megumi adds, already back to stretching. “You’re like a ticking emotional bomb right now.”

“I could forge some documents, you know.” Yuuji pipes up from the floor. “Like a fake conference about biomechanics in volleyball and propulsion—”

“Absolutely not.” Nanami cuts in from across the court without even looking back. “We’re not being fined by the FIVB because of that, Itadori–kun.”

“But come on!”

“We’re abiding by propriety. No other words.”

Sukuna’s quiet now. Still. Because the idea’s in his head. You’re probably in her lab right now, probably up to your ears in data and test simulations. Probably hasn’t eaten since noon. Probably sipping cold coffee because you’re too focused to remember it’s there. 

You’ll have a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even with the heater on, hair in a bun you forgot to redo, typing with that deep furrow in your brows you always get when you’re close to a breakthrough.

God, he wants to see you. He wants to hear you mumble something scientific he won’t understand and then laugh when he repeats it wrong. He wants to lean against your chair, press a kiss to your temple and feel the tension in your shoulders melt. He wants to hold your hand. Fall asleep beside you all day in your comfortable bed, for once.

He stands. “Where are you going?” Satoru asks, though there’s a smirk forming already.

“To shower, you punks.” Sukuna mutters, already walking. “Then maybe check flights.”

Yuuji gasps. “IS THIS A ROM–COM AIRPORT MONTAGE IN THE MAKING?”

Sukuna points at him without turning. “You say one more word and I’m dumping you in baggage claim.”

“Don’t worry, you can come back in two days, one day at most.” Gojo Satoru says with a beaming smile. “We can say you needed the break. So, don’t worry too much. Plus, I’m sure Yuuji–kun here can cover your spikes while you’re out.”

“I’d be honored to do it in the name of love, Captain, Vice–Captain!” Yuuji beams at them, blush echoing in his face. “Let’s go, Fushiguro! I need to practice some spikes!”

“Itadori, wait! Fuck, you’re shoe laces are untied!”

For some reason, he didn’t hear that. What mattered to him right now was that his heart already feels lighter. And somewhere, even across time zones and orbit paths and Olympic demands, you’ll be surely feeling that too.

Steam still clings to his skin when Ryomen Sukuna steps out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, hair wet and dripping onto the tile.

The exhaustion that weighed heavy on his shoulders during practice hasn’t disappeared, not completely, but it’s dulled now. It has softened at the edges like an ache he can almost bear.

He rubs the towel over his hair, muscles tense and jaw tight, still debating whether he should risk flying out or at least try to call again. And then his phone buzzes on the sink counter.

He doesn’t even bother drying his hands, just grabs it, breathless with the kind of hope that still manages to knock the air out of him.

It’s from you.

🧪🌌: “Just made instant ramen. No one to eat it with. Kinda dramatic of the universe, don’t you think?”

He stares at the screen. And for a long, quiet moment, his heart actually hurts. Not in the dramatic, movie-score way. In the real, gritty. It was like the ‘I’d give up gold medals and glory if it meant I could teleport into your kitchen right now’ kind of way.

Another buzz.

🧪🌌: “Don’t worry, I made two bowls. Yours is getting cold.”

He sinks down onto the bench, towel around his neck now, water still dripping down his back. For a man who could crush a ball at 130 km/h, his hands are shaking. It always is like that when it comes to you. 

👹: “I’ll eat it. Even if it’s cold.”

👹: “Save it for me.”

He stares at the screen for a second, then types again. This time slower, like the words are peeled straight from the ache inside his chest. In this moment, he feels like he could breathe again, even just a little bit.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.”

Your reply is instant.

🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’”

👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.”

He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words.

👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babe.”

There’s a pause. You were taking your time to reply to him once again. He stares at the screen, every second dragging like an eternity until the typing bubble finally appears. He blinks at your reply.

 🧪🌌: “Come home, Ryomen Sukuna. Even just for a couple hours. Let me kiss you and love you. Please.”

He lets the phone drop onto the bench beside him, chest rising with something like relief, something like need. And then he stands. He felt renewed, unstoppable. It was like nothing could hold him down now that you're waiting with ramen in hand and love in your voice.

Because cold noodles and long-distance calls weren’t meant to be the shape of your future. You were. And he was going to get on the next flight home. Even if it was just to eat that cold bowl of ramen while holding your hand under the dim kitchen light.

YOU RUSHED AS SOON AS YOU GOT HIS TEXT. You barely told your lab mates where you were going. Just a rushed sentence was left in a haste: “Cover for me, I have to pick up my fiancé.”

And then you were out the door, heart pounding like a reactor core, goggles still pushed up on your head, lab coat half off one shoulder. You could feel everything in you alive for the first time in weeks.

Hana yelled something like “GO MARRY HIM ALREADY!!!” as you ran down the hallway, and you think you heard Kenji dramatically play wedding bells through his phone speaker. You didn’t care.

Not when you were already halfway to the airport, biting down the grin on your face like it might escape and take flight without you. And then you see him. He didn’t pack much. He just brought his so little with him. He had to leave in two days, after all.

Through the arrival gates, in sweats and a hoodie and still somehow the most magnetic thing in the entire terminal. Ryomen Sukuna, Olympic volleyball menace, shoulders hunched under the weight of sleep deprivation and a duffle bag, eyes locked on you like a man who’s been starved for years.

You drop your bag. He drops his. And when you run, you run. Straight into his arms, into the kind of kiss that knocks all the loneliness out of your lungs. You felt laughter bellow through your body, with him following.

“Hey, my love.” you murmur against his mouth. “You’re real.”

“I’d say pinch me, but I’ve been doing that all flight.” he mumbles into your hair. “You saved me some ramen?”

“Half of it.”

“Liar.”

You grin. “Okay, none of it.”

He laughs into your neck, voice low and raw, and holds you tighter like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored to this planet. And then, while you’re still pressed into his chest, flushed and breathless and so deeply in love it almost hurts, you murmur it.

“Let’s get married.”

He stills. Pulls back just enough to look at you. You meet his gaze, steady and sure, eyes bright even in the cold artificial airport light. “Not next month. Not next season. Not when everything settles. Now.”

His brows raise slightly. “Like… now now?”

You nod. “I don’t care if I’m in my lab clothes and you’re in flip-flops. I just want to be your wife already. We can do the big wedding later, during the off-season, when your training calms down. When I’m not deep in grant applications or papers. But right now, I just…” you breathe, “I want to marry you. Today.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

And then, he grins.

Big. Wide. Unbelieving.

“You really mean that?”

“Dead serious.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, you are so lucky I look this good in sweatpants.”

You laugh, swat his chest, then tug him closer with fingers curled in his hoodie. “So, my love? Is that a yes?”

“Hell yes, babe.” he says, already pulling out his phone. “Let’s find the fastest courthouse and the slowest cab.”

And just like that, as the world rushes by in blurry foot traffic and airport announcements, you and Ryomen Sukuna make a decision that was never really a question. You’re getting married. Right now. No frills. No formalities. Just love, loud and impulsive and completely yours.

You ended up in a government office less than two hours later, still in your lab coat, with Ryomen Sukuna beside you in his travel hoodie and scuffed–up sneakers.

Both of you were flushed with adrenaline, sleep-deprived, and radiating that wild, half–delirious joy that only comes when two people finally give in to the gravity between them.

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. The walls were horribly beige. The seats were squeaky and plastic. A toddler was crying somewhere in the background and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, like a glitch in a simulation.

But your beloved Sukuna was holding your hand.

And that was all that mattered.

This was all you could ever want.

He kept sneaking glances at you while you filled out the paperwork, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Like at any second, you’d change your mind and vanish back into the lab, sucked up by equations and theories and spaceflight mechanisms.

But you didn’t. You squeezed his hand instead. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered, voice hoarse from flying and feeling too much.

You turned toward him, eyes glassy but steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, my love.”

His throat worked around a quiet swallow. Then: “I love you too.”

You signed your names.

Handed over your IDs.

And when the officiant finally called you up and asked, “Do you take each other—” you didn’t even wait for the full sentence. Your yeses overlapped, rushed and breathless, like neither of you could wait another second.

There were no rings. No music. No fancy outfits or curated vows. Just the sound of your heart thudding in your chest and the feeling of Sukuna’s hand trembling ever so slightly as he slid a makeshift band, his silver thumb ring, onto your finger until you got something more permanent.

It was messy. It was spontaneous.

It was perfect.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Afterward, he kissed you outside the courthouse under gray city clouds, holding your cheeks in his hands like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. You were just laughing, happily against the tenderness of his warm skin.

“We’re married, my love.” you said, stunned.

“We’re married.” he echoed, forehead resting against yours, breath caught between laughter and awe. “Wow.”

You ended up eating convenience store ramen in the backseat of a rideshare, legs tangled together, laughing with your mouths full like you were teenagers again. You fed him from your cup. He pretended not to burn his tongue. 

And when he leaned back and looked at you, really looked at you. It wasn’t the Olympic athlete who stared at you. It was Ryomen Sukuna. Your husband. The one you knew was the love of your life. Your beloved one and only.

“Okay, okay.” he said, mouth tugging up in that crooked grin. “Big wedding after the league. Deal?”

You nodded, cheeks hot and full of stars. “Yeah. With a venue and guests and upgraded rings this time.”

“And cake.”

“And fireworks.”

“And you in a real dress this time.”

You reached for another bite of ramen and grinned. “I dunno. You kinda like the lab coat.”

He groaned, collapsing dramatically into the seat. “God, I married a nerd.”

You turned toward him, your heart finally quiet, finally full. 

“Yeah.” you said. “You did.”

He laughs for a moment. When he calms down, he finds himself leaning close to you and kisses you with all his heart. This time as your husband, right there in a cab filled with instant noodles and laughter and the quiet, steady hum of forever.

IT WAS INSANE. The crowd is deafening. The overseas lights are blinding, white-hot and cinematic as the announcer calls Ryomen Sukuna’s name and the stadium roars like it’s shaking the foundation of the earth. 

He walks out of the tunnel with his signature swagger, jaw tight, warm-up jacket half-zipped, the captain’s patch sharp against his arm. He’s calm. Focused. Unshakeable. More than usual. Something’s different. Very different.

The people in the crowd began to notice it before the cameras did. Before the commentators do. Before even Vice Captain Gojo Satoru, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a lollipop between his teeth, leans forward slightly and mutters with a grin. “Oh, look at that.”

It’s small. Just a glint.

But unmistakable.

It was a bright shining ring.

Plain, silver, worn on his left hand.

For a second, the crowd is silent. It’s like the whole stadium collectively holds its breath, squinting as Ryomen Sukuna stretches out his fingers, flexing them as he preps his stance. There it is again. It was a shimmer of metal against calloused skin, just below his knuckles.

“Is that…?” someone whispers from the VIP box.

“No way fucking way—"

The commentator nearly chokes on his mic. “Wait—wait, do we have confirmation that that’s—?”

He doesn’t say it. But everyone’s thinking the same thing. Ryomen Sukuna was married. And as he takes his place by the net, tossing the ball with deadly precision, his eyes flick up, not at the court, not at the crowd but at you.

Seated just behind the bench in a crisp jacket, your hair pinned back lazily, badge still clipped to your belt like you came here straight from the lab. Which, in a way, you did.

You flew in two hours before the match started, thanks to a miraculous two–day leave and Haruki nearly forging an emergency form just to make it happen.

Ryomen Sukuna catches your bright eyes and grins, subtle but real. Then, as casually as if it were part of his routine, he walks toward you during warmups, slipping the ring from his finger. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t explain. 

He just approaches the barrier separating the court from the sidelines, hand outstretched. You stand up, breath caught in your throat. And when he places the ring in your palm, his fingers linger over yours like a promise.

“Hold this for me, yeah?” he murmurs low, so only you can hear.

You nod, fingers curling around the warmth of his wedding band. “Always.”

He smirks. “If I lose this match, it’s your fault.”

You smile, teasing, “If you win, I get the credit.”

“Deal, babe.” he breathes, leaning in close just enough to brush his forehead to yours. “....My wife.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Go do your thing, my love. My husband.”

And then he’s gone, with a grin that could never be wiped from his face ever again. 

Back on the court. Back in his element. The game starts, and it’s brutal. Fast. Electric. Ryomen Sukuna spikes like he’s got fire in his veins and gravity’s got nothing on him. Every serve is a message. Every point, a love letter sent from across oceans and time zones.

But that ring, that ring is safe with you. Pressed to your heart, warm in your hand like the echo of his pulse. And every time he scores, every time the crowd loses its mind over the King of the Court.

Your husband giddily glances at you, just for a second. Because the whole world might be watching him now, but he only ever plays for one. And you know who it was.

The final whistle blows, and the stadium erupts. The crowd is a storm of cheers, roars, and flashing lights, but amidst it all, the most intense sound Sukuna hears is the pounding of his own heart.

The adrenaline is still rushing through him, every muscle humming with energy as he pulls off his jersey and throws it to the side. He’s sweaty, bruised, and panting but the grin on his face says everything.

They’ve won. They’re in the semi–finals of the World Cup. He stands at the edge of the court, fists raised to the sky, basking in the electric atmosphere. His team is all around him, celebrating, high–fives and back slaps, but Sukuna’s eyes? 

They’re already searching for you. He doesn’t need to look long. You’re there, right in the front row of the stands, looking at him with that warm, steady gaze that’s always been his home.

His heart shifts. The crowd might be screaming his name, but there’s only one person he’s looking at. A reporter catches his attention as they move in for the first interview.

“Sukuna, congratulations on the victory! Amazing performance tonight! You’ve led your team into the semi-finals — how does that feel?” the interviewer asks, microphone outstretched, camera flashing.

He grins again, though it’s different this time. Not the typical cocky. ‘I’m untouchable’ grin. This one’s softer. Real.

“Feels like we’re one step closer to the real prize.” he answers, voice cool, collected. “But you know…” He pauses, glancing over at the crowd, catching your eye again. “It’s always worth more when the right person is watching.”

The interviewer blinks, confused, and the camera operator swivels to follow his line of sight. “Ah….” the interviewer says with a raised brow. “Is that—? That’s your wife?”

Sukuna’s smirk returns, a devilish edge creeping back into it. He nods, a single motion that sends the reporters scrambling to adjust. The camera zooms in on you as you wave back at him, smiling.

Your hand still holding his ring like a token, your face a picture of pride. In that same hand, your own wedding band was present with your engagement ring.

“That’s her, everyone.” he says, the words surprisingly quiet, but they carry more weight than the roar of the stadium. “I promised her I’d be back for her ramen. So I did come back.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd catches on. Laughter and gasps ripple through the reporters, murmurs and shock sweeping through the air. Sukuna, the ever–intense, world-renowned athlete, has just casually dropped that he’s married.

“You’re married?” the interviewer asks, genuinely taken aback. “Since when? How did we miss that?”

Sukuna shrugs nonchalantly, “Two days ago. A bit spontaneous, but when you know, you know.” He’s almost too cool about it, though there’s a softness to his voice that gives away how much it really means to him. “This game… this whole journey? The merry go round of life, of everything, doesn’t matter without her.”

The crowd’s whispers grow louder. “And the ring?” the reporter asks, now genuinely curious. “Why wear it in the match? You took it off before the main bout, but you still wore it. Why?”

“I wear it because she holds the game for me,” he says quietly, though the words carry in the microphone, clear and true. “She’s my anchor. Keeps me grounded, keeps me sane. So yeah, I’ll wear it every time I step onto this court. She’s got my back. Always.”

The camera pans to you in the crowd once more, this time catching your reaction. You blushed hard, clearly overwhelmed by the attention, but you hold up his ring in your hand like a silent promise.

Sukuna catches your gaze again and, for just a moment, the world quiets down. The noise of the stadium, the flashing cameras, the cheers of the fans. Everything fades. It’s just him. And you. The way it’s always been. And then the interview continues, but his focus is only on you.

When it’s finally over, and he’s walking off the court, his teammates high-fiving him and calling out congratulations, he spots you at the exits to the back stage rooms.

You’re already standing, pushing through the crowd, and he’s there in an instant, his steps purposeful and quick. He’s still sweating from the match, still in his jersey, but nothing’s more important right now than getting to you.

You barely have time to meet him halfway before he’s pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing against your temple, his breath fast and heated, still catching up with the victory and the emotions all swirling around him.

“We’re in the semi-finals, wife of mine.” he whispers, grinning. “It’s gonna be amazing!”

You smile, gazing up at him. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“You better be, babe.” he says, his tone playful but genuine, eyes sparkling. “Next stop, finals. Then we’ll get that celebration.”

You laugh, bright eyes softening as you glance at the ring still safely cradled in your palm. “And then we can plan our real wedding. Just the way we want it.”

Sukuna leans in, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief, quiet moment. “I think the ‘real wedding’ has already started, don’t you think?”

You nod, your fingers curling around his hand, where the ring once rested. It’s just the beginning. The semi-finals are just a step on the way. But you and him? You’re already winners. And that, above all else, is the prize.

epilogue 

The day the statement went live, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. It was carefully calculated, perfectly timed. The World Cup season had come to a close, and the volleyball world was already moving on to the next tournament, the next match. 

But for Ryomen Sukuna and you, it was a different story. You both knew that the media storm was coming. The moment was too significant to let slip by.

So, you’d crafted a statement and not just a post, but something real. Something that would speak to everyone about the choices you’d made, the life you were choosing to live together.

It had taken a little longer than expected. Between the match finals and the whirlwind of excitement after Sukuna’s performance, you both finally found a quiet moment to put it together. The statement would go live at the same time, both on your accounts — a simultaneous declaration that would make waves.

[ Sukuna's Instagram Post : ]

The caption was simple, a few words that carried so much weight. He posted it with a picture of the two of you from the day after the World Cup finals.

The two of you standing side by side, laughing, relaxed, far from the intensity of the courts and the public eye. Your smile was soft, his grin was wild and carefree.

“Hello, this is the Japan National Volleyball Team Captain, Ryomen Sukuna.

For the past several years, my life has been defined by training, by competition, and by a relentless drive to be the best.

But none of that means anything without the people who support you. Without the person who truly makes the journey worth it. 

My incredible and loving wife, who’s been my backbone, my partner, and my everything for almost all of our lives.

Today, I’m announcing the effectivity of my break from the Volleyball field in order to have some adequate rest and focus on my personal life.

A break from the national team, from the spotlight, and from the game I love, to focus on what truly matters — her and us. Our marriage. And of course, our beloved dog.

I’ll be back, stronger than ever. But for now, I’m going to be the husband I promised to be all those years ago.

Thank you for all your support, not only for me but also for my beloved wife. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for respecting this decision.”

[ Your Instagram Post : ]

You followed the post up almost immediately, a little more formal, but still deeply personal. The photo you chose was one taken earlier that morning, the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms.

You both were leaning against the window in your shared apartment. The light from the early morning sun illuminated both of your faces, your eyes soft, your hearts content in each other’s company.

“Hello, this is astrophysicist of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, Ryomen [name].

After supporting my husband at the World Cup, it became more than clear that my work, my research, and everything else I’ve dedicated my life to doesn’t matter nearly as much as the person standing next to me.

I’ve spent countless hours in the lab, in meetings, in papers, all for the sake of progress. Doing what I can for our country and continuing my passions.

But today, I’m choosing progress of a different kind in my life. Ryomen Sukuna, my husband, my partner, the love of my life, have decided that we deserve some time for us to build something beautiful with this time.

I will be stepping away from my research and academic work for the foreseeable future to focus on resting and enjoying the beginning of our beautiful marriage.

This is a break I’ve been waiting for, and one I’m so grateful to take. Thank you for supporting me in this decision.”

As soon as you both posted, the world’s attention shifted. The responses came flooding in, and it didn’t take long for the media to catch up to the news. Headlines erupted from every corner of the internet.

“Olympic Star Ryomen Sukuna Steps Away From National Team for Personal Time”

“Breaking: Award–Winning Astrophysicist Ryomen [name] Takes Hiatus to Focus on Marriage” 

“Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen [name]: Power Couple Taking a Break from Their Respective Careers”

It was unprecedented. No one had expected it. No one had ever seen athletes or academics alike step away from their careers at the peak of their success, especially after such a massive season.

Fans were stunned, others were supportive, and some were even more curious than ever about the couple who had kept their relationship so private, so guarded, up until now.

And then the follow–up began. Interviews with close friends and teammates started popping up. The bright eyed Gojo Satoru, ever the wise and eccentric vice–captain, was the first to speak out about the happy news.

“I can’t blame him. The man’s been running on fumes for years. And [name]? She’s been working like a machine, too. It’s about time they take a breath, enjoy life a little. I told him after the finals to take a damn break, and I’m glad our beloved Captain finally listened!” Gojo Satoru laughed in an interview with a sports outlet.

“Yeah, everyone’s talking about how he’s taking a break from the sport, but… he’s been juggling this whole marriage thing for a while.” Itadori Yuuji added when he was asked by a local news outlet. “He’s been way more chill lately. I think it’s the wife effect. Everyone needs balance in their life.”

Meanwhile when the Astrophysics department of the NAOJ were interviewed about this situation at a recent project you had finished together by the press, Keiji was the one who stepped in and spoke for everyone.

"It's important that Ryomen–sensei gets some time to just enjoy being married right now." Keiji smiled, leaning into the microphone. "Ryomen–sensei's worked incredibly for the past few years without any break whatsoever. This is the only time she's asked. Someone with such incredible contributions to the field like herself should get the chance to just relax too. Congratulations to Ryomen–sensei and her husband!"

Hana sent you a message in the middle of all the press: “You two are seriously the most chaotic but adorable couple ever. You deserve this break more than anyone I know. Have fun with it! You earned it. Me, Haruki and Keiji are cheering you on!”

The reporters were relentless, asking about future plans. Was Sukuna leaving for good? Would you ever return to the lab full–time? But you and Sukuna, in your quiet way, just smiled at the chaos from your apartment, reading the headlines side by side.

It wasn’t about what the world expected. It wasn’t about making any more headlines. It was about what you both had decided. To take the time to truly be together.

A few days later, as the media storm began to settle, Sukuna took your hand as you sat together on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “You know, babe, we’ve got all the time in the world now. So... when should we take our honeymoon?”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. “When you’re ready to let the press calm down a bit. I think we’ve given them enough for now.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, my lovely wife.” He smirked, his scarlet eyes glinting mischievously. “I’m just happy to spend everyday with you.”

And in that moment, as the world calmed down around you, you realized that this was the true victory. It was not the World Cup, not the research papers, not the games or the acclaim. It was simply being together. And for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

You looked up at Sukuna, catching his gaze. “Let’s take it one day at a time. Together, my love.”

He smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Deal, wife. Let’s take it all in.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.

[ishestillapunk]

The right side of my neck

pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader

summary: You never meant to end up alone with the patroller, but two nights, snowed in between silence and shared space, leave you both with a bond too fragile to name and very dangerous to keep.

tags: age gap (30-56), grief, death, mention of suicide, alcohol.

w/c: 3.1k

notes: you'll hate me for this, i know

edit: part 2!

“So, by protocol, we’re gonna start sending a nurse on every patrol” María says from behind her desk, her momma-warm voice filling the silent office… smelling like incense and baby powder for some reason.

“I don’t carry guns.”

Silence. María moves some stuff through the desk, rummage through some papers with names.

“Ain’t necessary you use one” she assures you. “Might wanna keep a knife on you, just in case, but if you don’t wanna use firearms, we won’t force you. You can when you’re ready, but for now it ain’t needed.” She writes your name on the patrol roster, stamps it, and hands you a slip of paper.

“This here’s your assigned partner for tomorrow morning. You’ll find him at the stable” she says as you read: Joel Miller. Rancher St. “Here’s his address if you wanna stop by and meet him beforehand.”

You slip the paper into your scrub pocket and look at her.

“What if someone tries to hurt me out there?” you ask.

“That ain’t gonna happen. Joel’s…” María trails off for a second, thinking through her words. “He’s alert. Real alert. Before anything touches you, it’s gotta get through him first. But you know, if you wanna feel safer you can—”

“I’m not carrying a gun” you cut in.

“Good.” She nods. Not tired, you can feel the understanding in her voice. “Pack yourself a bag with food, warm clothes, a lighter, first-aid kit, water, etc.” She stands and opens the door.

“Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”

Walking out of City Hall, you head straight home. Doesn’t strike you to go meet your new partner. Why bother? Just to stare at each other?

The thought of stepping outside again after so long makes every inch of you tremble. Freezes your marrow. Once, you were a wild creature and the outdoors was your playground… but those instincts got lost. Now, you feel like the world outside will eat you alive.

And maybe it will.

The new patrol policy is kinda rough, but it means more supplies and maybe a few privileges.

“Hey, I’m the one keeping your ass safe! Give me that last bag of coffee!” Sounds good.

Your bag’s a bit heavy. Maybe because you rolled around in bed more than you slept. Still, you reach the stable and see him. Joel’s brushing his horse like it’s showtime, whispering to it as he strokes its neck—tender.

“Hey” you say, no frills, standing on the other side of the fence. “You Joel?”

He turns, looks at you for a second, then glances away.

“Roll out in fifteen. Grab a horse and sign in” he says, returning to the horse and stuffing a few things into his bag and adjusting the girth.

His demeanor irks you at first: no hello, no eye contact. You shrug and head to the end of the stable, find the sign-in sheet with a pencil dangling on a string. You jot your name beneath his.

“Which one’re you taking?” Joel asks, leading the horse out by its reins.

“This one’s available…” you read off the board: “Shimmer.”

“No, leave that one in.”

“But I need—”

“You ride mine. Easier that way. If I gotta wait on you, we ain’t gettin’ back.”

A silence settles. You watch him settle the last few things on his horse. The jab stings. He turns his head and meets your eyes.

“Get on the horse.” He gestures you to the animal. You glance at it and then back at him. Joel closes his eyes, massages the bridge of his nose and sighs heavy. “Come ‘ere”

He makes you stand fancing the side of the horse and suddenly you're in the air. A small sound blurt past your lips but you keep it in by clamping your lips shut. Your hands go to the horn of the saddle, his strong and large hand grasp you by the hips over your jeans, when you set your foot inside the stirrup, his hands go unannounced straight to your ass, pushing you up.

Once you're sat, your eyes go briefly to his. Not staring much. You're probably beet red.

The ride’s quiet. Like you’ve both silently agreed you don’t wanna know much about each other. Your arms around his waist over his coat, it’s alright. The landscape stuns you, the sun reflecting off the snow like in a dream. Jackson’s mountains look even more intimidating close-up.

“Ain’t we going too far?” you ask over the wind.

He glances back. Doesn’t answer right away.

“You never been assigned a long route before? You think they’d send a nurse on a thirty-minute patrol? They only send someone if it’s risky.” He speaks as he guides the horse across a little stone bridge over a frozen river.

“I’ve never done a route.”

Silence.

“Well. This will be your first.”

The blizzard bites your skin, snow flicking your cheeks. You close your eyes, lean into his back, taking refuge from the wind’s assault.

A grunt rumbles in his chest.

“We gotta stop. Storm’s comin’ in,” Joel says, voice louder to fight the storm’s howl.

Soon you’re standing in front of a worn sign: “Jackson Hole Golf & Tennis Club.” Following a trail, you find a small cabin. He helps you down with a tug so abrupt it nearly throws you off balance. You give him a sharp look he doesn’t notice as he hands you the bags and gestures toward the door. After a moment, he steps inside after you.

“Where’d you leave it?” you ask as he sets his rifle on a desk and pulls a flashlight from his bag.

“What?” He’s matter-of-fact, not looking your way.

“The horse.”

“He’s got a back room. I’ve spent nights here before in the same kinda mess” he says, handing you the flashlight. Through the windows, nothing but white, daylight storm in full force.

“How long we stay here?” you ask, stammering as you turn toward the window.

“Could be two hours. Could be a day.” He draws the curtains and closes them. “Unpredictable.”

You nod, sinking into one of the chairs in the small living area.

“I brought water, some cans of food, extra matches…” You plop your backpack on your knees and start unpacking.

“Yeah, what everyone should carry when they patrol,” he mutters, pulling a small single-burner stove from his bag and lighting it on the floor. “Next time, bring a lighter, not matches. Snow melts and ruins ‘em.”

You nod again. Accept wisdom from someone who’s been around.

Afternoon rolls in silence. The cabin creaks as wind tosses around it. Joel fiddles with the radio, scanning through static. No signal, storm’s blocked it.

“I’m gonna check the horse” he whispers, getting up with a tired groan. He tries the cabin door. It won’t budge. He peers through the peephole. Only darkness. “Dammit, the snow… Shit.” He clicks his radio on his belt.

“Jackson, do you copy? Amy, do you copy?” he repeats, voice tense all afternoon.

“It’s almost six PM. They can answer, but we ain’t goin’ no place tonight. Rescue teams roll out at six AM.” Joel sets the radio on the desk and sinks into a chair, rubbing his forehead.

“We could cook something” you say, knees brushing the floor as you grab a can of chickpeas in tomato sauce and set it on the burner. “Something hot in the belly, the night’ll pass easy.” He’s staring at the cans now.

“How we divide the night watch?” you ask.

“I got it. You ain’t got a gun, and I’m sure you don’t know how to handle one” he says, lifting the rifle from the wall, then grabs a cloth from his pocket and wipes the barrel.

“Aren’t you gonna sleep?” you ask, arching your brow. “The door’s buried in snow, ain’t nothing getting in.”

He stares for a long beat, raises both eyebrows.

“All right. Fine.” You turn away and focus on the cans. “Just saying, if infected came calling, you ain’t doin’ much.”

“Infected? There’s things out there way worse than a bite. Worse for folk like you.” He studies you, wondering if you’re naive, or stupid. Maybe both. Or maybe you just prefer ignoring danger.

“How long since you haven't been out there?” he asks after a long look. Your hands, your sweater, your tired braid.

“Couple years” you murmur. “Been in Jackson for three years. Since I walked through Jackson’s gate, I never went back outside. I told María I ain’t goin’. I got good at everything inside, became indispensable.”

“You saying patrollers are disposable?” he frowns.

You meet his gaze, steeled a bit.

“No. I mean everyone’s indispensable for somethin’. You’re indispensable on patrols. I’m indispensable at the clinic.”

“Apparently not that indispensable, ‘cause they still sent you out here without a gun.”

Silence.

Your eyes go back to the open cans.

He swallows hard. He knows he stepped on a nerve.

“But they sent you with me. Means they knew you’re safe with me.” he remarks, setting the rifle aside.

You take a can with a rag around it, careful not to burn yourself, and hand it to him. He takes it. Doesn’t say thanks. Just nods.

You eat in silence.

Night comes, and you start nodding off, arms crossed, knees to your chest, coat over your legs. He watches you from his spot, stares at your form that expects nothing. Never does, never asks for anything.

There's a poor drop of sweat falling down your temple. Gladly you got to make some warmth in that little corner, Joel's wonders if you have layers and layers of other clothes beneath the one's he can see. Why is he so cold? Why aren't you?

The idea is erased by the memory of what he did this morning. He meant to push you up by thighs, not by your fucking ass but he slipped. He still has the feeling impregnated in his hands. He swears he felt the warmth of your skin seep through the denim that he squeezed.

Joel closes his eyes taking a slow deep breath.

He saw you before. At the clinic, strolling around, staying beside the ill. Going home, sometimes crying because you've lost somebody, sometimes with a neutral expression.

You're another townfolk. Another someone. Everyone has been for years to him. No one more than his family lights that protective side in his chest.

But you're slowly moving something in him. And he can't let it happen.

Joel rises and gently touches your shoulder.

“Help me move that cot from the bedroom. You’ll be more comfortable” he says softly, not wanting to interrupt your drifting rest by alarming you.

You follow him down the narrow hallway and into a cold, dark room. He takes one end of the cot and you the other, carrying it back into the living room. Then he fetches the mattress.

“I got some blankets. You got more, right?” he grabs two rolled-up blankets from his bag.

“I’m here with mine. Keep yours, you’ll freeze on that chair otherwise.”

Joel watches you crawl into the cot, curling around yourself under both blankets. After a few minutes, he hears your soft breathing, you’re asleep.

Static crackles from the radio and wakes you in the morning. You turn and see him, collapsed on the sofa, forehead against the radio, thumb gripping the volume as he naps. Rifle resting on his lap. He snores softly, almost hidden.

You notice two blankets draped over you. You sigh and rise quietly. That's why you're sweating then, you think. You move over and cover his back and legs with them. After a couple hours, Joel wakes.

“What’re you doin’?” Joel asks, confused, squinting at the clear morning light as you warm a chickpea can on the stove.

“Warming up food” you mumble, tilting your head, unable to hide the soft rhythm in your voice.

“No. Why the hell didn’t you wake me?” he grumbles, pulling the blankets off and suddenly looking at you. “You wanna get us killed?”

“...They didn’t kill us” you chirp, narrowing your eyes a bit, regretting that response.

“I’m aware. But anything could’ve gone down in a millisecond and you wouldn’t’ve woken me. Got that little survival instinct? Did nobody teach you? How’d you survive before Jackson?” he snaps.

Silence.

“I just wanted you to sleep. You looked worn out.”

Joel breathes heavily. Rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.

“I don’t need sleep. I need us to stay alive.”

“Sorry” you murmur.

Joel blinks, surprised at your words. “Don’t apologize. Just say you get it.”

“Got it. I’ll wake you next time.” You meet his gaze and sound steady, and he notices. A flicker of fear. It makes his stomach turn water.

Afternoon finds the storm raging still. Door won’t budge, radio’s out again. You’re rationing water and gas like it’s the last on Earth. Joel’s in the spare bedroom where you moved the cot, breaking up old furniture into firewood for the chimney you both sort of cleaned in the living room.

While you’re sniffing through drawers in the cabin, you find an old photo album, pictures of a family. You settle at the desk and flip through, imagining the story behind each.

“When Tommy and I found this spot, there was some guy dead in here—gunshot to the head. Lost everything, gave up,” Joel says from behind your chair. “This shit can drive you nuts.”

He tosses the sticks into the chimney.

“I don’t think it drives you nuts” your eyes stay on the photos: a baby on a woman’s lap, a man smiling wide. “One day you got it all, and then... boom, the universe yanks it away. Not everyone can live with that memory flash in their head. Some follow those eyes anywhere they go.”

He’s quiet. Takes a seat across from you, arms crossed, watching the chimney. Reaches for a sip of whisky from his flask, splashes wood with it, lights the fire, closes the cap from the flask.

“I tried following those eyes,” he whispers. “But I couldn’t. She was fourteen that night… she died in my arms.”

Silence.

No “I’m sorry”, you know he’s sick of hearing it.

“It’s a pain that never quits.” You close the album, set it on the desk. “It’s… cruel, right? Something so familiar just disappears.”

Joel watches you.

“You don’t know where to look. You get mad at everything… The sun, the wind, anything. And then you feel a burst of happiness you think means you’ve accepted it. Then you wake up and remember. They’re gone.” You shrug, and meet him. His eyes hold that same familiar, recognized grief.

“It comes in waves” he says.

“Yeah. Never really goes away.”

Silence.

“Who?” he asks. It is understood.

“A lot of people.”

He gets it, even if it’s vague. Feels resentful for asking. Doesn’t want to show his own bottomed-out softness.

The radio clicks.

“Miller, do you copy?” Amy’s voice crackles.

“Miller here. We’re stuck in the cabin at Cottonwood St., the Golf Club” he replies.

“Copy that. Security station north. Rescue crew’ll be sent first thing tomorrow. Hold tight."

With luck, this’ll be the last night.

As the sun sets, the temperature drops lower than the night before. Both of you sit by the fire, on the cot, warming your hands.

“It’s funny,” you murmur, chin resting on your knees, eyes fixed on the fire “how quick a person can get used to comfort after livin’ so long like this, huh?” You glance over at him. His profile, that hawkish nose, his graying hair, eyes reflecting the flames.

“Never got used to it, to be honest. Feels like if I start takin’ it for granted, it’s all gonna fall to shit” he says low, arms crossed, shoulders hunched.

You look at him for another moment, then turn back to the fire.

“I think I spent so long just runnin’ that the only goal I had was makin’ it here. A safe place. The... sort of silence.” You shrug. “I think if somethin’ happened to me after this, I wouldn’t mind much."

He finally looks at you.

“It’d just mean I got somethin’ good to tell those eyes when I see ’em again” you whisper. When you turn your head again, you see it… a flicker in those tired eyes, the shimmer of tears he won’t let fall.

Joel stands and heads into the other room, the same one you both got the cot from. You don’t hear him for a couple of hours. You stop feeding the fire because the wood’s gone.

You crawl under the blankets, arms wrapped around yourself, backpack tucked under your head like a pillow. After a while, you hear him come back.

“Mind if I lie down? I’m real tired. Don’t think I got it in me tonight,” he says and it doesn’t sound like he’s just talking about sleep. Feels like he’s saying he wants to stop everything. The world. Life.

You nod, lift the blanket, and he climbs in beside you. Face to face. He exhales, the cold seeping into him, his hands clenched tight to his chest.

Your hands reach for his, guide them around your body. He doesn’t pull away. His eyes search yours in the low light, barely lit by the dying embers.

“Could we actually freeze to death in here?” you ask softly, like a secret.

“Probably... if we hadn’t gone through the wood like it was endless.”

You let out a quiet laugh, tucking yourself into the crook of his shoulder. A few minutes pass. Then you feel it, the damp of a tear soaking the neck of your shirt, your skin. Then a quiet sniff. His body trembles. His arms tighten around you. He clings to you. Your hands run over his nape, scratching gently, running your fingers through his hair, holding him close.

In the morning, they finally manage to clear the door. Jesse smiles at Joel once he pushes the door open, shovel in hand. Tommy gives Joel that usual brother-hug, then Jesse walks over to you and kindly takes your backpack.

Outside, two more patrollers are tending to the horse they pulled from the garage.

“Shall we? I’ll take you back. Tommy’s stayin’ with the rest, they gotta deal with the horse and a few other things.” Jesse looks at you as he ties your bag to the saddle. Your eyes drift past his shoulder. Joel, talkin’ to Tommy, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“You alright?” Jesse asks, frowning a little at how far away your gaze has gone. You snap back to him.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Jesse climbs on his horse, then reaches out to help you up. Once you’re settled, you glance back as Jesse starts the ride toward Jackson.

And Joel doesn’t look back.

hey! so this was inspired in a tweet i saw a while ago:

it's kind of short and i made it my way. it hurt me a bit to write this, idk why, I'm kind of sensitive today. anyway. I have a smut version in drafts soooo if you'd like me to also post that one, leave a comment!

thanks again for every repost, like and comment. it makes a writer really really happy on this side of the screen.

kisses!

[wendichester]

⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ practice makes perfect²,

summary. dean finds out you never really had your first kiss. he's determined to change that for you. platonically so, of course.

pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader genre. giggling even more

wordcount. 802

notes / warnings. teen awkwardness not knowing how to handle emotions. lingering touches. prom crisis.

ᯓ★ heavily inspired by this c.ai bot! ★ read part 1

It’s been a week since The Kiss.

Or, as you call it internally: That Time Your Best Friend Kissed You and the Earth Briefly Left Orbit.

You haven’t talked about it since. Not really. Which is fine. Totally fine. Super normal and healthy to pretend like it didn’t completely short-circuit your brain. Like you didn’t replay it six million times while brushing your teeth and scream into your pillow every night.

Dean’s been acting weird. But like… Dean-Weird™, which means he’s just Dean but with more inexplicable hovering. He’s suddenly always around. Sitting a little closer on your bed during movie nights. Tugging on your sleeve when he wants your attention. Laughing way too hard at your dumb jokes in biology.

And the touching.

Oh my god, the touching.

Not in a gross way—just… casual. Shoulder bumps when you’re walking in the halls. His hand lingering on your back when he lets you go through a doorway first. Fingers brushing when he hands you a pen and then not pulling away immediately like a normal person with boundaries.

You’re losing your damn mind.

It all comes to a head on a random Tuesday, when some girl named Bridget says the word prom and detonates your brain like a glittery nuclear bomb.

“I still need a dress,” she whines to your shared lunch table. “I swear if Jeremy asks me last-minute, I’ll say no.”

“Prom’s still, like, a month away,” someone mutters.

“Exactly,” she says. “Which is basically tomorrow. Everyone knows you need time to coordinate colors.”

You giggle into your juice box.

And then, like a heat-seeking missile, Bridget turns to you. “Wait—Y/N, who are you going with?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Reboots like a dial-up modem.

“I—uh—”

You feel Dean stiffen beside you.

You glance over. And that’s when it happens.

Your eyes meet.

It’s one of those moments—like in the movies. Time freezes. The hallway noise dulls. You’re looking at each other like it’s the first time, even though you literally know everything there is to know about each other. Inside and out.

And it’s like, Oh, are we supposed to go together?

Dean clears his throat and looks away, scratching behind his ear. “Prom’s lame.”

Your heart drops a little.

“Oh. Yeah. Super lame,” you echo, forcing a laugh that sounds a lot like heartbreak.

Bridget snorts. “You guys are so boring.”

Dean doesn’t respond. Shrugs. And then grabs a gummy worm from your bag like he’s never been affected by a kiss in his life.

The weirdness multiplies after that.

Dean’s still around. Constantly. But now there’s static. Like every brush of his hand against yours is electric. Like every “see you later” is packed with something unsaid.

He starts walking you to class more often.

Offers to carry your backpack one day when your shoulder’s sore. (He doesn’t even make a snarky comment about the sheer weight of it, which is extremely un-Dean.)

You catch him looking at you in chem, chewing on the end of his pen like he’s solving a particularly annoying equation. You’re not even doing anything—just doodling in the margins of your notebook. But his gaze feels warm. Heavy. Like he’s memorizing you for something.

You’re both dancing around it. The Thing. The maybe-sorta-crush that’s reached boiling levels of unbearable.

And then you’re both in the library one afternoon, doing absolutely zero homework, when he says it.

“So, uh,” Dean starts, voice low, “if you did go to prom… like, hypothetically… who would you wanna go with?”

You blink up at him. “Hypothetically?”

He shrugs. Looks anywhere but at you. “Y’know. Just curious.”

Your heart is thumping like a kettle drum.

“I don’t know,” you say, watching him carefully. “Depends if the hypothetical guy thinks prom’s lame.”

Dean’s lips twitch into a smile. He’s still not meeting your eyes, fiddling with the strap of your bag where it rests beside his thigh.

“Maybe he changed his mind,” he mutters.

You lean in a little. “Oh, really?”

He finally looks up. And you’re not ready for how serious his face is. It’s not a joke. He’s not teasing you this time.

“I’d take you,” he says. “If you wanted.”

The world goes silent.

“Put on one of those uncomfortable as hell tuxs and all.”

You forget how to breathe.

And then your voice comes out all high and soft and stupid: “Yeah. I’d want.”

Dean’s smile could light the damn sky.

“…Cool.”

You sit there for a second, hearts going a hundred miles an hour in tandem, pretending you’re not both blushing like morons.

And then he reaches out—like it’s nothing—and takes your hand under the table. Just laces your fingers together, slow and gentle.

No one says anything else after that.

Because it’s not practice anymore.

You're going to prom with Dean Winchester.

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[thewritingrowlet]

The Crazy Lesbians pt. 1, ft. tripleS Sohyun, Xinyu

tags: creampie, anal, strap-on, threesome—just read the damn thing, please.

length: 7k+

author's note: I know I'm late, so please don't yell at me. Also, I apologize in advance if it's too messy; I was trying to get this out as soon as possible.

edit: took me a few hours to realize that I forgot to credit @dreamcatchers-husband for the idea, so sorry and thanks. <3

-

“Yes, yes, baby! Fuck, yes!”

Xinyu has always been so expressive in bed, taking the submissive role almost all the time to complement Sohyun’s dominant side.

“I-I’m about to cum, baby,” Xinyu announces breathily. “Please keep going—p-please, I’m so close.”

Sohyun grits her teeth as she moves her hips as fast as possible, impatient to make her girlfriend cum. She finally gets what she’s wishing for: Xinyu screams very loudly when orgasm hits her hard. Usually, she’d stay inside and wait for the wave of ecstasy to die down, but today, she immediately pulls out. “T-thank you; I-I’ve been desperate for that,” Xinyu expresses her gratitude. “I love you, baby.” “I love you too, sweetie.”

Xinyu demands a cuddle, so Sohyun pulls her in for one. “Are you okay, baby? You’re thinking about something, aren’t you?” “I’m fine, sweetie,” Sohyun deflects with a smile on her face, “just had some thoughts but nothing serious.” “You can talk to me about your worries, you know; we’re in this together.” “I know, but trust me, I’m fine.” Xinyu presses her face against Sohyun’s chest. “If you say so,” she lets out a yawn, “thank you for today, baby.”

Once Xinyu goes silent, the thoughts in Sohyun’s head start running rampant. Xinyu is clueless that Sohyun has been longing for something more in bed; something that can please her in different ways, because as much as she hates to admit it, she’s getting tired of being the pleaser and would do anything as long as someone would take care of her, the same way she’s been taking care of Xinyu. Not only that but using a fake penis during sex just doesn’t feel… alive.

“Do I need a man?” Different variations of this question have been clouding her mind recently. The problem with that, however, is that everyone at campus knows her as a lesbian—how could she possibly get close enough to a man for him to get in her pants, especially since she’s in a relationship (with another woman, at that)? She’d like to think about this further, but time isn’t her friend right now; she has to go to sleep very soon, or she’ll miss the first class tomorrow.

-

A gay woman is a man’s best friend.

You’ve known Sohyun since the first day of high school, and the fact that she has come out as gay has made it so much easier for you to hang out with her, because neither of you needs to worry about falling in love with each other, thus enabling you to talk about a bunch of topics about relationships and love affairs freely.

Over yonder, you see Sohyun walking alone while her gaze is aimed at the ground, as per usual—at least, that’s what someone who’s not close to her would think, but you’re not that kind of person; there are always subtle differences in her gestures whenever her mind or body isn’t at peace, and you’ve learned how to pick it up over the years.

“Yo, hello,” you greet Sohyun, who seems to be very exhausted. “You okay?” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” You ask if she wants to talk about it, and she beams for a second before her face tenses again. “Not now, but let’s have lunch together—maybe we can talk then.” You accept her invitation without thinking twice. “Sure, see you later, then.”

Sohyun arrives in the packed classroom shortly after parting ways with you. She pulls out her laptop from the bag and gets ready for class, but no matter how hard she’s trying to get her mind to focus, it keeps popping out different questions and topics to discuss with you, her friend of over 5 years at this point.

“Fuck, can’t I just skip this class?” Her heart races as she contemplates while her eyes scan her surroundings, from where her classmates are to the big door that the professor will enter from. Sohyun isn’t a fan of skipping classes, especially the important ones, but she simply isn’t in the right head space for this. “Ah, fuck it, I’m fucking leaving.” She closes the lid of her laptop again and carries it in her hand out of the classroom, not giving a piss whether someone is talking behind her back—Sohyun is an adult; she can make these decisions for and by herself.

Sohyun rushes towards the student council’s office space where she presumes you are, mixing her fast steps with short bursts of jogs. Once she arrives, she peeks through the tinted glass door to look for you, and when she sees that you’re sitting alone, she enters the room right away, not bothering to knock.

“Changmin-ah,” she calls to you, “c-can we talk?” You almost threw your phone thanks to the shock. “Goodness me, Sohyun-ah—you couldn’t fucking knock?” She sets her belongings at the desk in front of you. “P-please, Changmin-ah,” she begs, “I need your help.” “Okay, okay, sure—my God, what’s so pressing?”

Sohyun grabs an empty chair and sits on it after setting it next to you. “I need help with Xinyu,” she begins. “What about her? You want to surprise her or something?” She shakes her head. “I-I need help with bedroom stuff.” Your eyes blink in confusion. “Bedroom stuff? What are you on about?” Sohyun takes a deep breath before continuing. “Sex has been dull recently, Changmin-ah, and I’m desperate for something more.” “Okay, go on.” You see her biting her lip, visibly hesitant to speak her mind. “Ah, fuck it,” she says, “can we have sex?”

Her question stuns you for a few different reasons; she is gay and has a girlfriend—why would she want to have sex with you, a regular, straight guy?

“Say it again?” “Can we have sex, Changmin-ah? I-I want to remember what it’s like to do it with a man.” “Isn’t that cheating, though?” Sohyun shakes her head. “I-it would be cheating if I had sex with another woman, but you’re a man,” she reasons. You’re not sure if that’s the most logical reason (or the most convincing), but she seems serious about this.

You place a palm on your forehead as you think about it. “Please, Changmin-ah; I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.” You chuckle. “Worth my while? When’s the last time you had sex with a guy, by the way?” “F-five years ago,” she says in a quiet voice, and you swear that she’s about to cry.

You take her hands in yours. “Sohyun-ah, listen to me,” you say, “it’s not that I don’t want to help you, but how would having sex with someone that you’re not into help with your own sex life?” “I don’t know,” she says tearily, “I-I just wanted to see how it’d feel.”

While she’s busy sobbing, you’re busy pondering. “Alright, hear me out,” you break the silence. “Let’s do it; let’s have sex, and then you can tell me what you think about it.” Sohyun looks at you with her weepy eyes. “A-are you sure?” “You seem serious about it, so let’s do this.” She wipes the tears off her cheeks. “W-what’s the catch?” You say to her that the only condition is that no one—including Xinyu—can hear about this, which she agrees to. “Can I ask where Xinyu is first?” Sohyun tells you that Xinyu is at her campus and won’t be home until evening. “Are we doing it at my place, then?” You shake your head. “No, mine; can’t risk Xinyu suddenly arriving and catching us red-handed, can we?”

-

“Come in, make yourself at home,” you guide Sohyun into your apartment. “Wow, nice place, Changmin-ah,” her eyes roam around the interior, taking in the sights of your unit. You invite her to sit on the sofa in front of the TV. “Until we’re done today, Sohyun-ah, I will act as if you were my girlfriend; I will talk to you softly and call you by pet names—would that be okay with you?”

Her heart starts racing. The prospect of getting a soft treatment (from a man, nonetheless) makes her both excited and nervous; she’ll be dropping one side of her coin to make room for the other, one that hasn’t appeared since she started dating Xinyu.

“Can I have an answer, please?” Your question interrupts Sohyun’s train of thoughts. “Y-yes,” she says, “please take care of me.” You put on a kind and loving smile for her. “I love you, sweetheart,” you kick off the girlfriend-boyfriend play. “I-I love you too, babe,” she replies, and she can feel her cheeks getting hot.

You pull Sohyun by her hands until she’s seated on your lap. “I bet you don’t do this ever.” “No, never—if anything, Xinyu usually sits on my lap.” “It’s nice to change every now and then, isn’t it?” Sohyun nods shyly. “Never thought I’d be with a man again, but here I am.” “I’ll make sure it’s worth your while, sweetheart,” you use her words against herself, making Sohyun look away to hide her hot cheeks behind her thick hair. “Oh, please don’t say it like that,” she says. You start massaging her forearm gently. “I’ll take care of you, though—I promise you that.”

Over her head, you can see the clock that’s hanging over your TV, and you’re reminded about something. “Sweetie, have you had breakfast?” Sohyun shakes her head. “Would you like to order something, then?” Sohyun nods timidly. You hand your phone over to her, letting her order whatever she wants. “Just make sure to order for me as well, okay?” She fiddles with your phone a little before handing it back to you. “I ordered some iced latte and toast for us, babe.”

Despite your best efforts to suppress your excitement, your lips still form a smile when Sohyun refers to you by that name. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so excited about it—I mean, you’re someone else’s,” you say. Sohyun gives you a peck on the lips. “Whoever gets in a relationship with you will be so happy,” she comments. “I can tell that you’d be such a good boyfriend.”

Initially, you’re grinning, but the way she’s frowning erases it right off your face. “I’m such a bad girlfriend for Xinyu, aren’t I? I convinced her to get in a relationship with me in this society, but here I am, running away with a guy.” “Is she only into women, or?” Sohyun says that Xinyu plays for both sides, which you think is unfair because she’s undeniably very attractive.

You stay silent, trying to stitch together a reply that’s both sensible and comforting, and it goes a little bit like this: “first of all, I’d like to praise you for being so daring and challenging the norms of society in the name of love,” you start. “As for being a good or bad girlfriend, I don’t think you’re a bad person in your relationship.” Sohyun chuckles. “You didn’t even address the running away with a guy part.” You want to open your mouth, but she manages to get her piece off first. “Thanks, though; I know you tried giving me an assuring answer, so you’re getting an A-minus for your efforts.”

-

Your doorbell rings—food must be here. You say to Sohyun that you’ll be picking up the food, but she doesn’t budge, comfortably sitting still in your lap. “Don’t scream, okay?” “What do—ah!” You lift her by her thighs and carry her to the door. “Wait, wait, I’m heavy; please put me down.” You peck her on the cheek. “Honestly, you’re not heavy at all,” you say.

You grab the bag of food and make your way back to the sofa with Sohyun in your embrace. “Let’s eat, sweetie.” You expect her to pull away from the embrace, but no, she doesn’t budge one more time—she even tightens her arms that are wrapped around your nape. “Let’s stay like this; I want to savor this moment,” she says.

You reach around her body and grab a toast and a latte from the bag. “I’ll feed you, sweetie; open your mouth.” Sohyun takes a bite of the toast that’s in your hand. She then chases it with a sip of latte that’s in your other hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s good,” she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, “thanks, babe.” “Gladly, my love.”

Sohyun is feeling odd; her cheeks are very hot, and her stomach is full of butterflies. She hasn’t allowed any man to make her feel like this in years, and within less than an hour of hanging out with you privately and pretending to be your girlfriend, she’s starting to think that maybe there are kind and loving men out there who deserve consideration.

“You alright, Sohyun-ah?” You ask to make sure her mind is still with you. “That’s not my name, is it?” You’ve known her all this time, but only now do you notice how pretty her eyes are from this close of a distance. Your hand, as if capable of thinking independently, moves towards her face, stroking her soft cheek like she was yours. “Respectfully, sweetie, I think you’re very beautiful.” “You’re kind of cute yourself,” she whispers. You chuckle. “Kind of, hey? Sure, I’ll take it” Sohyun presses her forehead against your lips, “forcing” you to kiss her there. “I don’t know how you’re still single—these girls are missing out,” she says. “Eh, you know, I’ve just been so busy with myself; getting into a relationship doesn’t sound like a good idea at the moment.”

Sohyun places her hands on either side of your face. “What about getting in my pants? Does that sound like a good idea?” You scan her face to gauge her seriousness. “I’ll do it if you’d let me.” Sohyun grins. “Take care of me, please.”

On the way to the bedroom with Sohyun still in your arms, you barrage her face with pecks, mixing it with quick kisses occasionally. Even after you’ve arrived in the bedroom, the two of you still don’t stop. “Please, babe,” Sohyun is the first to crack, “can we start already?”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, thinking that you still have a few things to address first. “Sweetheart, before we begin,” you say, “let’s talk about some stuff.” Sohyun bites her bottom lip (nervously, not sexily). “Let’s begin with the elephant in the fridge: you’re a gay woman, and I’m a man. Aside from that, you’re in a relationship with someone else. Are you sure you want to do this?” You hope that Sohyun was listening carefully to your little monologue (and managed to catch the little joke).

Sohyun stays quiet, which makes you feel like you need to provide a reason as to why you’re bringing up such topic. “Sweetheart, I just don’t want you to regret this later,” you say. She takes a deep breath. “I know, and I still want to do it with you.” “Well, lucky for you, I have some condoms.” She taps your nape with her finger to get your attention. “Actually, I was thinking about not using that,” she says, “n-no one else would be getting between my legs anyway.” You peck her on the lips as a sign of agreement. “As you wish, sweetie.”

You notice that Sohyun’s breathing is speeding up as you’re unbuttoning her shirt. “Are you okay? Do you want to change your mind?” “I-I’m fine; please continue.” You know that she has quite the sizable breasts, but you’ve never seen them this close and bare before. “Y-you like them?” You nod. “Yes, I do, sweetheart.” She then gives you permission to touch them, so you do just that. “My, your girlfriend must love your breasts so much,” you comment. Sohyun wants to say something, but a gasp escapes her lips, interrupting her. “S-she does—s-she always put them in her mouth.”

You reach around to unlatch her bra, but after thinking again, you decide to let it stay on; something about Sohyun in a shirt makes you very aroused, and you’d like to have her stay partially dressed like this. “You’re insanely hot, you know? God, you’re fucking amazing.” Your whispered words make the entirety of her body hot, and Sohyun can’t help but wonder if this is what being with a man is like. “Xinyu would go crazy with this guy,” she thinks.

“B-babe,” she calls to you, “w-would you be down to have a threesome with us one day?” “You and Xinyu?” Sohyun nods. “I-I feel like you’d t-take care of us so fucking well.” You peck her on the chest, right above her cleavage, before answering. “I’ll do it if you both agree to.” She places her cheek right against yours. “If you do well today, I promise I’ll bring Xinyu to you,” she whispers, and you can feel your arousal peaking at the prospect of having sex with two very hot women at once. “I will do my best, sweetheart.”

Sohyun gets off your lap to take off her jeans and panties. “Show me,” she says, “show me what you can do, babe.” You place a hand on her crotch, finding out that she is so wet already. “You’re excited to see me, aren’t you, sweetie?” The way her breathy moan hits your face is very arousing. “We’ll be having so much sex today, so I hope you can keep up,” you say, teasing her. “F-fuck me, baby,” she urges you, “let’s forget about everything else—today is ours.” You never thought you’d hear such words from her, but here you are. “Damn right.”

Sohyun slowly lowers herself onto your cock, promptly gasping and moaning because of the sensation that has been forgotten to her. “Fuck, Xinyu, I’m so sorry, baby.” She still has the head space to think about her girlfriend who’s doing God-knows-what at campus right now. It is when your lips hit hers that her thoughts are interrupted. She lets out small moans every time the kiss is broken while her hips are busy bouncing along your shaft.

“You like this, baby?” You whisper those words for extra arousal factor. “Yes,” she whispers back, “I feel alive, baby.” You’re not sure initially what she’s saying, but you guess that she’s probably has had so much sex with a dildo (which is a dead object, obviously), while you’re very much alive. “I-I don’t think I can last long like this, babe,” she adds.

You want to latch your lips onto her neck that’s right in front of your mouth, so you ask first. “Can I mark you, baby?” “N-no, b-but I’ll mark you,” she replies. You let out a deep exhale when you feel her wet lips on the side of your neck, and in response, you make her bounce faster on your cock. “C’mon, baby; let’s cum together, ‘kay?” Based on the little nibble, you estimate that Sohyun likes that idea.

“Baby, I’m about to cum," you announce after what feels like forever. “Oh, yes, me too,” she locks her gaze with yours, “make me cum, please.” Since she’s asking so nicely, you decide to cooperate by thrusting your cock upwards, thus filling your bedroom with clapping sounds on top of the moans that she’s letting out. Sohyun seems to be enjoying this too, as proven by how her eyes keep rolling towards the back of her head.

The way your cock is twitching in her pussy serves as a warning for you. “Babe, get off,” you say, “I’m about to cum.” Seeing that she’s still fucking herself on your cock makes you think that she didn’t hear it. “Babe, please, I’m about to cum,” you repeat. “J-just give it to me,” Sohyun finally responds. “Fill me, baby.”

Having been shown the green light, you pick up the pace again after slowing down moments ago. Finally, with a grunt, semen comes out of your shaft in abundance, filling her like she asked you to. “That’s so warm,” she comments. “D-did you cum too?” Your voice is rather breathy thanks to the orgasm. “I-I don’t think so,” Sohyun says, and admittedly, you’re disappointed in yourself for failing to make her cum. “I’m sorry, baby.” She laughs out loud. “What for? Because I didn’t cum?” She laughs again when she sees you nodding. “Please, it’s good enough as a start—don’t be too hard on yourself, babe.”

Sohyun lifts herself off your lap, letting some excess semen drip onto the floor. “Oops, sorry, babe.” You chuckle. “I’ll clean it up later.” She holds your chin and moves it upwards for a kiss. “Thank you, but I have something to ask.” “Yeah, ask away.”

Sohyun moves her head oddly close to your face. “Can you fuck Xinyu too?” You’ve talked about this before, but that conversation was clouded by horniness. Now that she’s asking again, however, you’re having second thoughts. “Babe, listen,” she hasn’t dropped the name yet, “Xinyu deserves to be this happy as well, you know.” “I mean, if you really want to, then sure.” Sohyun smiles in satisfaction. “Thanks, babe—I owe you.”

-

As soon as Sohyun enters her apartment, Xinyu comes running towards her with teary eyes. “Babe, you didn’t pick up the phone—where were you?" “Sorry, I was a bit busy, baby,” Sohyun deflects, because in reality, she was at the pharmacy to get some morning after pills. Xinyu, gullible as ever, believes what she just heard and simply comes in for a hug. “I’m glad you made it home.” “I’m glad to be home too, baby.”

Xinyu drags Sohyun to the dining table where she has prepared some fried chicken for dinner. “I got a coupon from my previous purchases, so we’re having fried chicken today,” she says. “Of course, babe,” Sohyun says, “let’s eat then.”

As Sohyun is chewing her bite, her mind goes back to this morning, and she finds herself comparing Xinyu to you. Xinyu is doing her best to take care of her girlfriend, but it’s not quite the same as the way you did it—there’s something about your ways that’s different but indescribable.

“You’re thinking about something again,” Xinyu manages to catch on. After sighing, Sohyun decides to speak plainly. “Babe, are you still interested in guys?” The question makes Xinyu nervous. “I-I don’t know,” she says, “I-I’m not leaving you for a guy, though—cross my heart.”

Sohyun proceeds to ask if Xinyu would be down to have a one-night stand with her and a guy. “A guy? Who?” “Changmin-ie,” Sohyun mentions your name casually. “B-but why do we need him? A-are you bored of me, perhaps?” Sohyun reaches for Xinyu’s hands. “I’m not bored of you, babe—I was just thinking if maybe we can spice things up for ourselves.” Sohyun knows that the only reason she’s thinking about “spicing things up” is because of boredom, and she seriously hope that Xinyu won’t give her too much trouble and interrogate her further.

“Fine, I’ll fuck him—I’ll do it for you,” Xinyu says. Sohyun shakes her head. “You’re not doing this for me, babe; you’re doing this for us. I swear you’ll thank me later.”

-

The bell of your door rings, and when you open it, you see Sohyun and Xinyu. “Can I help you, ladies?” Sohyun pinches your stomach lightly. “You and your words, babe.” Your eyes widen in shock, concerned about how she’s referring to you by that name in front of her girlfriend. “Oh, erm, welcome,” you step aside to let them in.

The two ladies enter your apartment while holding hands. “That’s cute,” you think. “Do you girls want some water—some soda, perhaps?” Sohyun asks if you have diet coke, which you do, coincidentally. “I’ll take that, please.” “What about you Xinyu-yah?” Xinyu says she’d like to also have a can of diet coke, so you grab one more for her.

You hand each girl a can of diet coke. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?” “Oh, c’mon, don’t act stupid like that, babe,” Sohyun just won’t stop saying that name, and you can feel your heartbeat getting faster. “So-Sohyun-ah,” you’re getting nervous, “erm, are you sure you can call me that?” Sohyun looks at Xinyu quickly before turning back to you. “Yeah, I can—what, you scared of her?” You scratch your head. “Not scared necessarily, but I am concerned.”

As Sohyun is about to open her mouth, Xinyu speaks first. “I was told that you guys had some fun when I was at campus this Tuesday,” she says. You take a few deep breaths to calm your heart and mind. “Yes,” you admit plainly, “Sohyun-ie asked me if she could have sex with me, so we did.” “Did you like it?” “I did; I did my best, but I didn’t make her cum.” She clicks her tongue in mockery for your failure.

Out of nowhere, Xinyu slams her can of coke on the table and then sits on your lap. “You tried stealing my girlfriend from me and somehow managed to fail miserably—fuck you, you asshole,” she insults. “Xinyu-yah, I—” “Bad!” Sohyun yells out, scolding Xinyu for her bad behavior. “That’s not how you speak to him, Zhou Xinyu; he’s one of the good ones.”

Much to your surprise, Xinyu gets off your lap and kneels on the floor. “I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what got into me.” She gets visibly even more nervous when Sohyun suddenly stands so close next to her. “What happened to your manners, Miss Zhou, hm?” “I-I’m sorry—please, I’m so sorry.” Xinyu places a hand on your knee, begging to be saved from Sohyun’s anger. You try convincing Sohyun that you’re not offended nor is Xinyu being naughty, but she’s not entirely convinced. “We’re punishing her in the bedroom,” Sohyun says, her tone resolute.

Sohyun drags her girlfriend towards your bedroom while you’re still sitting on the sofa, stunned by the sight that just happened in front of your eyes. “Oi,” Sohyun steals your attention, “did you not hear what I said?” “Yeah, yeah, one second.” You shake your head rapidly to clear your mind before walking to your bedroom to join them.

When you enter, Xinyu is on her knees on the floor while Sohyun is standing in front of her with her arms crossed. “In case you forgot, Xinyu-yah, Changmin-ie over here is my best friend; even though our relationship has been a platonic one, I’ve found myself relying on him for a bunch of things. Not only that, but he’s also been supportive of our same-sex relationship—did you catch all that?” “Y-yes, mommy.” You want to poke a finger into your ears to see if maybe you heard that wrong. “I-I’m sorry, mommy; I-I was wrong to lash out like that.” Nope, you didn’t hear that wrong.

You stand between Sohyun and Xinyu, pushing her backwards to give Xinyu some space to breathe. “Sohyun-ah, calm down, please—I’m okay, you know.” “But she wasn’t behaving well,” she counters. “It’s understandable, don’t you think? We did have sex behind her back." Sohyun lets her arms fall freely and lets out a deep sigh. “This is what I meant when I said I wanted to be taken care of,” she says, “I’m tired of running around taking care of people and being responsible for them.”

When you look behind you, you see that Xinyu is looking at the two of you with a neutral face. Facing forwards again, you slowly put your arms around Sohyun’s body. “It’s okay, I understand; I’m sure it’s been exhausting for you to take on this role,” you say softly right into her ear. “Thanks, babe—it’s been great to have you as a friend.” It’s funny to hear her call you “babe” but say “friend” in the same sentence, but she’s right; Sohyun is still into women possibly until the end—unless she somehow becomes straight again—and your relationship with her is a platonic one.

You pull away from the hug so that you can turn your attention to Xinyu. You take a knee in front of her, getting to her eye level. “Hi, there,” you say, “how much did she tell you about what we did?” “I-I heard that the two of you pretended to be boyfriend and girlfriend.” You put on a smile for her. “That’s right, so can I talk to you like you were my girlfriend too?” Xinyu nods a little. “Great,” you say, “stand up, please, sweetheart.” Once she’s on her feet, you pull her in for a hug, the same way you did with Sohyun. “Sohyun-ie loves you so much, you know that? She goes against the norms so that she can be with you, sweetie.” Xinyu places her forehead on your shoulder. “I know,” her voice is almost too quiet to reach your ear. “I love her so much too, Changmin-ah,” she adds.

As soon as you get out of the way, the two women rush towards each other for a hug, much to your delight. Not only that, but they also start apologizing to each other and exchanging promises to be better as active participants in their relationship. “Love is in the air—let’s go!” You exclaim, getting excited on their behalf.

They break their hug and pull you into a three-way hug. “I’m so happy for you guys,” you say. “I must say, though, you need to stop playing for both sides if you can help it, Xinyu-yah; I’d love to have a girlfriend as well, you know.” The two girls laugh at the same time. “Hey, we can be your girlfriends on our free time,” Sohyun says. It’s now your turn to laugh. “Yeah, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

You take a seat on the edge of your bed. “So, we’re not going to punish anyone, are we?” Xinyu looks at Sohyun nervously, but Sohyun is quick to shake her head to clear things up. “We’re going to have sex later, if that’s okay,” she says. “Can we buy some food first?” You pull out your phone from your pocket and throw it to Sohyun, with whom you’re used to throwing and catching phones. “Go order something, I’ll pay.”

Sohyun and Xinyu scroll up and down on your phone to find something to buy, and before long, your phone is back in your hands again. You lie down in bed and are joined by the girls right after; Xinyu spoons Sohyun, and Sohyun hugs you from the side. “We look like sardines, don’t you think—or kittens, perhaps?” Xinyu giggles. “What kitten have you seen is this tall?” “Yeah, where did you get your height from, by the way?” “My parents are average height, but the mailman is tall.” You didn’t expect Xinyu to have this sort of joke in her bag, and you (Sohyun, too) can’t help but burst out laughing. “What the f—what do you mean mailman?”

-

Sohyun immediately starts touching Xinyu after getting back in your bedroom, ignoring your presence in the room. “Girls, it’s only 1—what are you doing?” Sohyun, who’s mounting her girlfriend, turns her head to look at you. “What the hell does it look like?” You take a seat on the stool near your computer desk. “Alright, I hope you don’t mind me watching, then.” “Not at all—we’ll show you how we do things,” she says before returning to the task at hand.

Xinyu, without being told, takes off her T-shirt, revealing the lacy bra underneath, and you sincerely hope that she has matching panties on. “Touch me, mommy—touch me while daddy is watching.” Thinking that shit is about to hit the fan, you free your cock from its constraints and start stroking yourself. “You see that—daddy is horny for you, baby,” Sohyun points at you, “would you let daddy touch you?” “C-can daddy touch me like you do, mommy?” You can’t hear what Sohyun just whispered to her but based on the smirk on Sohyun’s face when she glances at you, it must’ve been a naughty one.

“M-mommy, I’m wet for you.” “I can tell, baby,” Sohyun replies, “you want to get fucked, don’t you?” Sohyun jumps off her girlfriend when she sees her nodding and makes her way towards the small backpack on the floor, and at the same time, Xinyu uses the chance to take off her jeans—you manage to catch the lacy panties right before they were discarded. “Which one do you want, baby?” “N-number two, m-mommy.” Sohyun fishes out a strap-on that you estimate is as big as your cock and puts it around her waist. “Watch us, Changmin-ah,” she says to you as she climbs into the bed again.

Xinyu lets out a loud moan when the fake dick enters her pussy. “F-fuck me, mommy—please, please, please.” Sohyun folds her girlfriend in half and starts fucking her fast right out the gate. “Fuck, I can’t take this anymore.” You approach Sohyun from behind and bend forwards until your mouth is right in front of her asshole. “Excuse me, ladies.” You start licking Sohyun’s rear while she’s busy smashing her girlfriend, and judging by how she’s moaning, you know that she’s into this type of thing.

Sohyun finally slows down after a few minutes as exhaustion starts to set in. You, noticing the change of pace, pull your tongue away from her rear. “B-babe,” she turns her head to the side to see you, “y-you’re insane—who taught you that?” “Wouldn’t you like to know,” you peck her on the back of the head, “did you like it?” “Y-yes,” she blushes, “please do that again later.”

Xinyu, feeling left out of the conversation, expresses her desire for attention. “M-mommy, d-daddy,” she calls to the two of you, “w-what happened?” You hug Sohyun from behind, positioning your head next to hers so that you can look at Xinyu. “I ate mommy’s ass, baby,” you say, “she liked that a lot, you know.” Xinyu gasps. “You’re insane, daddy—no wonder mommy came to you for help.” You smile naughtily. “It’s your turn next, okay?”

Sohyun calls a timeout, mentioning her exhaustion as a reason. “Fuck her, babe,” she whispers to you, “better yet, make her cum.” You take her position between Xinyu’s legs after she’s moved out of the way. “Do I have your consent, baby?” Xinyu nods enthusiastically. “Alright, here I go, then.”

If Sohyun was rough earlier, you take a softer approach this time, giving some nice and slow thrusts to Xinyu. “I love you, baby—I love you as much as mommy does.” You see that her eyes are tearing up. “I-I feel complete, daddy; you’re such a perfect fit for me and mommy.” You guess that this is her double-sidedness speaking, but it’s good to hear that she doesn’t hate you or anything. “I love you, baby,” you repeat.

As you’re starting to move again, you feel some odd sensation is an odd spot—Sohyun is returning the favor, eating your ass the same way you did her. “Oh, fuck,” you utter, “fuck, you two are going to make me pass out.” Xinyu places a hand on your cheek. “You’re happy, aren’t you, daddy?” “Very, baby,” you reply.

You keep delivering thrusts to Xinyu, using her moans as fuel to keep up the pace of your movements. Sohyun, on the other hand, has had enough of eating your ass, opting to sit on Xinyu’s face, thus putting extra pressure on the moaning, stuffed girl. “Are you sure she can take this?” “Yeah,” Sohyun answers, “I’ve sat on her face many times.”

So, here is how things are going: you’re fucking Xinyu while also tongue-wrestling with Sohyun, whose pussy is getting eaten by her girlfriend. A part of you wonders what your parents would think if they could see that their son is having this crazy of a threesome.

Sohyun suddenly pulls away from the kiss. “Fuck, I’m about to cum,” she announces. The way she’s moaning louder must mean that Xinyu is stimulating her more like the good girl she is. With a scream, Sohyun lifts herself off Xinyu a little bit and sprays juice right into her waiting mouth. “Oh, fuck, me too.” You pick up the pace to chase your orgasm, and when it hits, you lodge your entire length in Xinyu’s pussy and fill her from the other end.

Both you and Sohyun leave Xinyu at the same time, and you can see how messed up she is: her messy hair is all over the place, her mouth is full of Sohyun’s squirt, and your semen is leaking out of her pussy. “Fuck, we went hard on her,” you comment. Sohyun pets her girlfriend’s head softly. “Good job, baby—good fucking job,” she praises her, “I told you he’d help a lot, didn’t I?” Xinyu swallows the juice in her mouth and nods weakly. “Should we get cleaned up?” “I’ll go first—I’ll get a shower,” Sohyun says.

While Sohyun leaves to get cleaned up, you take care of the exhausted Xinyu. “Are you okay, baby?” Xinyu nods again. “M-mommy and daddy used me.” The way she’s phrasing it makes you wonder if it was too much for her. “I-I’m tired, daddy, b-but I also want more.” “Let’s rest for now, baby; we can think about going again later.”

-

“Oi, oi, oi, look at you, sleeping in each other’s arms like a couple,” Sohyun comments as she walks in the bedroom after showering. “Mommy,” Xinyu reaches out an arm, inviting Sohyun back to the bed. She moves to spoon her, squeezing Xinyu between you and herself. “I’m here, baby—are you okay? Are you tired?” “I want—” A yawn cuts her off. “I want one more, mommy.” Sohyun chuckles. “Aren’t you drained, though?” “N-no, I-I can take it.”

“Yah, wake up,” Sohyun slaps your thigh to wake you up. “Xinyu wants to go again.” “Huh? Yeah, sure.” You rub your eyes to get yourself together. “One second, please.” Sohyun reaches for your cock and starts stroking you to get it hard. “We don’t have a second,” she says.

Like magic (not really), your cock gets rock-hard in no time. “How do you want us, baby?” “I-I want to give mommy and daddy my virginity.” It’s obvious that she’s talking about her ass. “Is that so?” Sohyun looks at you with a naughty smile on her face. “Alright, I’ll take it, baby, and then we can give daddy a sloppy second—how does that sound?” “S-sounds great, mommy.”

Sohyun flips Xinyu onto her stomach. “Pass me that strap-on, daddy.” You throw it to her, and she wears it around her waist like earlier. She then covers it with her spit before lining it up towards Xinyu’s rear entrance. “Watch us, daddy.” You nod as you start stroking your cock mindlessly at the sight of these crazy lesbians.

Xinyu lets out a gasp when the tip of the rubber cock hits her asshole. “Please be gentle, mommy.” Sohyun simply nods, which isn’t very assuring, and moves her hips forwards, negotiating (or perhaps forcing) her way into Xinyu’s rear. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! MOMMY!” Xinyu’s screams are concerningly loud, and you sincerely pray that no one will file a noise complaint against you.

“Fuck, there we go, baby,” Sohyun’s strap-on is in Xinyu’s ass all the way, “you’re completely mine now, aren’t you?” “Y-yes, mommy,” her voice is partially absorbed by the pillow that her face is pressed against. Sohyun pulls Xinyu’s hips backwards until they’re up in the air. “I’ll start fucking you, baby.”

True to her words, Sohyun begins fucking her girlfriend’s virgin ass with reckless abandon, not giving a piss about how she’s screaming from the top of her lungs, straining her vocal cords like never before. “Fuck, this is crazy,” you mindlessly utter while still busy stroking yourself. Sohyun is slapping Xinyu’s ass as she goes too, adding more craziness to this whole thing. “Fuck, if only I could feel how tight you are, baby,” Sohyun comments. “But you’re a virgin here, so you must be very tight.”

Not too long after the first penetration, Xinyu announces with a yell that “her pussy is cumming” (odd phrasing, isn’t it), and true enough, juice begins spraying out of her pussy, splashing all over the bed and even the floor. Sohyun, thinking that her job is done, retreats from the forbidden hole, leaving it gaped and winking. Sohyun mounts her girlfriend’s butt and starts pecking the back of her head endlessly, expressing her gratefulness and adoration. “I love you, baby—I love you so, so, so much.” “I-I love you too, mommy,” Xinyu replies feebly.

You notice that you’re leaking precum from your tip, and because you don’t want to actually bust, you stop stroking your cock. “Do you girls need anything? Water, or towel, maybe?” “Water, lot of it; Xinyu needs it,” Sohyun says. You jog out of the bedroom and grab some bottled water for the ladies. “Here, here—have a sip.” Sohyun drinks half in mere seconds before passing it on to Xinyu, who finishes the rest.

-

Tomorrow is Saturday, and because no one has any classes, Sohyun and Xinyu decide to stay the night at your apartment.

“Good night, girls—I’ll be on the sofa if you need me.”

You crash onto the sofa, only now realizing how drained you are. It doesn’t seem like your day is ending just yet, though, as Sohyun is walking out of the bedroom to join you in the living room, taking her spot on your lap. “Yes, sweetie?” “Thank you, babe,” she says, “you helped a lot today.” You smile amidst the exhaustion. “I don’t want to take too much credit, but you’re welcome; I’m happy for the two of you.”

Sohyun comes in for a hug and quickly lets out a sigh. “I love you, and I love her,” she piles on. “I’m still not falling for a guy, though.” You chuckle. “I mean, it’s not like you have to.” She gives you a peck on the cheek. “Can’t believe I fucked Xinyu in the ass.” “Oh, believe me, it was a crazy fucking sight to watch—you had me wondering if you would’ve given me a turn.” Sohyun looks at you right in the eyes. “We have all day tomorrow, don’t we?” You nod, partially hopeful about continuing the fun tomorrow. “What do you have in mind?”

“Maybe I’ll let you fuck Xinyu in the ass tomorrow, and maybe, I’ll let you fuck me in the ass too.”

“Miss Park, you are one crazy lesbian.”

“You know it, and now you love me for it.”

[luvhughes43]

BIRTHDAY | QUINN HUGHES

[MASTERLIST]

request: can you write an angsty one for quinn where he forgets your birthday because he’s busy with hockey and you fight about it and then you give him the silent treatment the next day and he tries to make it up it up you 

note: i changed it a little bit! 

word count: 1.2k words

you waited all day with baited breath, wondering when your boyfriend of three years would acknowledge your birthday. usually, depending on both of your work schedules, quinn would take you to your favourite cafe for breakfast and then later in the day he would cook one of your favourite dishes for dinner. In between meals, you’d spend the day doing whatever you wanted, which usually just meant going for a walk and maybe to the mall.

you woke up early and got yourself dressed and ready for the day. quinn was already gone to the gym which wasn’t unusual, so you scrolled through your emails while you waited for him to come home. 

quinn didn't come home till noon. 

“hey babe,” quinn greeted you quickly, pecking your cheek before he rushed into your shared bedroom. you swivel around on the bar stool you were sitting on, eyes following quinn as he jogged from your bedroom and into the bathroom. 

when he reemerged from the room, bag in hand, you frown. “what are you doing?”

“the guys are going to this new place.. some new gym downtown”

“oh,” you deflate, “weren’t you just at the gym tho?” 

“yeah but babe, this one has an ice bath!” quinn explains enthusiastically, as if the addition of an ice bath should outweigh the excitement that was your 24th birthday. 

“right…” 

“we're not working out or anything. just checking the place out. It's good for team building” he adds.

you stare blankly at him, wishing that this is just some elaborate joke and that he has a plan for your birthday. 

“right well, i’ll see you later!” quinn flashes a quick smile as he leans down to kiss your cheek again. 

“bye…?” 

quinny: going out for dinner! so sorry we didn't get to spend any time together today. wanna do dinner tomorrow night?

quinny: the teams really getting on good! I think we’ve got a close group here

it was 6pm, you were alone, and in approximately 10 minutes you would officially be 24. how great is this? you thought sarcastically. you were about to be 24, in a too nice apartment, with a boyfriend who completely forgot about you. 

you pulled your cookies out of the oven, dropping the tray on top of the stove with a clatter. tears sprung to your eyes as you pulled out a small pack of glittering candles. you didn't even get an invite to quinns dinner tonight. 

you watched your candles go out slowly while you imagine how you should've spent the day. Happy birthday to me… 

“hey baby, what did you do all day?” quinn asked as he slipped into bed next to you. his alarm clock had blinded you with the time, 11:24, lit up in a cutting shade of red. he tried to hold your gaze, but you turned over. he had actually forgotten.  

quinn grabbed at your shoulder, but you shrugged him off. “I’m tired,” you whispered through the ball in your throat. if quinn talked about his day, you might actually cry.

“what's wrong?” quinn asked, genuinely concerned. he sat up in bed, reaching over and flicking his lamp on. 

“I’m not talking about this tonight”

“well, no. if you're going to say something then say it. what did i do wrong this time?” you rolled around to face him just as he finished his sentence with an eyeroll. 

“excuse me?” you were seeing red. 

“just tell me what i did wrong so i can fix it. did i leave a sock on the floor?” he jokes, quickly surveying the room and noticing that you cleaned earlier. 

you sat up in bed. “you're such an asshole! you know that right?” 

“woah! no need to get angry! i just wanted to go to bed. Its late.” 

“yeah well, i wanted to celebrate my birthday with my boyfriend today so i guess we don't always get what we want, huh?” your voice is venomous as you climb out of bed. you rip your pillow off the bed with every intention to sleep in the guest room. 

quinns shocked expression was almost comical. his eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and mouth slightly agape as he finally realized what was bothering you. with how busy his new schedule was due to being captain, he had completely forgotten about you.

“y/n don't go! I’m so sorry!” quinn kicks the comforter away from him as follows you down the hallway. 

“I don't want to talk to you right now,”

“baby, please! I swear I didn’t mean to forget-” quinn started but you abruptly cut him off. 

“i don't want to hear it! I waited for you all day! I shouldn't have to remind you when my birthday is! We talked about it literally last week!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you!” quinns words fell on deaf ears as you slammed the guest bedroom door in his face. 

as soon as the door was locked, you let all your emotions of the day out. your sad uber eats delivery, raw cookies, the moping around… quinn. 

quinn stood on the other side of the door, face in between his hands as he listened to you cry. 

the next morning, quinn was on good boyfriend behaviour. he had bought you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, made you breakfast, and had a birthday card waiting at the table for you. 

you rubbed at your eyes tiredly as you made your way into the kitchen. you had gotten absolutely no sleep last night, and you were still upset at quinn. 

quinn watched you in silence as he set the last piece of french toast in his pan. you glanced up at him before averting your gaze towards your gifts. 

To Y/n, 

Happy 24th Birthday. I love you beyond words. 

Quinn

“Quinn,” you sighed as you set the card back on the table. 

“It’s a shitty card I know,” you can’t help the small smile that graces your lips . “I’m so sorry. I called in sick today.. we can do something or you can do whatever, its up to you! I just really want you to know that i’m sorry” he sets the fresh piece of french toast onto a plate before sliding it over to you. 

“I know you're sorry,” you say, stepping over and into quinns open arms. you stand there for a minute, quinn softly rubbing your back while you lay your head on his shoulder. “I just felt really awful”

quinn hums to acknowledge what you were saying. “I know. I don't know what was wrong with me”

“you have new responsibilities q. you're going to be busy with the team” you put his thoughts into words and it was his time to sigh. 

“Still. There’s no excuse” quinn hugs you tighter. “I love you”

“I love you too” you whisper into the side of his neck, arms tightening around him. 

It wasn't okay that he had forgotten, but at least he was making an effort to fix it.

-

-

-

[for-your-modesty-dude]

Valentine pt. 3

Part 1 … Part 2

A/N: Y'all I am so freaking sorry it's been so long. I literally showed up, started writing fics, and then disappeared forever. I'm not gonna lie, life has been absolutely insane recently. There's been so much going on, and my family is dealing with some stuff that is way far out of our control. Am I panicking? Maybe. Am I also fine? Yes. I don't know how it works. I'm sure my therapist plays a part in that LOL. Anyway, here it is. Part 3 of Valentine. I'm not going to lie to you, it really did not turn out nearly as good as I'd hoped. But I really really wanted to finish this so I could maybe get back into writing again. I need to fall in love with my hobbies again. I hope it's not too crappy. Please send in requests or fic suggestions. Maybe one of them will inspire me. I love you all forever! - Hy <3

Summary: Eddie finally makes his move!

Warnings: None that I can think of. Maybe some gross fluff, and like... subpar writing.

Word Count: 2k

Gareth and Jeff gave him the best advice they could. They tried, really. But they were hardly the romantic type, so Eddie took some of their advice- but the rest he let fly out the other ear. He eventually grabbed his backpack and ran out to his van, driving home as quickly as he could without getting himself another traffic ticket. 

He ran inside and threw his backpack onto the couch and kicked his boots off before sliding in his socks to his phone, picking it up and dialing your number. 

“Hello?” You picked up with a yawn, and Eddie wondered if he’d woken you up. 

“Heeey, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Did I wake you?”

“God no,” you tell him. “I was rereading the same page of this book for the fourth time. Can’t keep my focus, ‘m just bored. How was D&D? You’re home so early. Wait… Did you kill them?” You ask with a breathy laugh, imagining the night ending with Eddie decimating the party. 

“It was good! And- nah. The guys were restless, had places to be,” he lied, and there was a pause of comfortable silence. “But honestly, it was alright. Not the same without you there, don’t worry,” he smiled to himself. His kindness made your cheeks go pink. 

“Oh, please,” you scoffed with amusement evident in your voice. “Like you don’t love not having me around to bother your boys’ club,” you mostly joked. Eddie did not find it funny. 

“What? Don’t say that. We love having you around. You know that,” he said seriously. The seriousness of his tone made you smile. 

“Okay, okay, Ed. Thank you,” you tell him softly. “Gimme the rundown, then.”

He started to tell you all about how far they got in the campaign, having to make some stuff up to not give away how little they’d actually played. You seemed satisfied, and you believed him. “So… any fun plans tomorrow?” He asked. 

“Nah. Commiserating. Wanna join?” 

“I can come over?” He asked, hopeful. 

“Course you can. I’ll make room on the couch. I’ll even push aside the stale bag of chips for you to sit down next to me,” you joked. The two of you kept sharing jokes and silly comments until you got too sleepy to go on, so you hung up and headed to bed. 

The next morning, Eddie got up - way earlier than the Munson boy ever woke up on a Saturday - but he had so much to do. He first packed a duffel - necessary for his date, later - and then freshened up as much as he could. 

When he was finally ready, he dialed your number and chewed on his lip as he waited for you to pick up. 

“Mornin’,” you greeted, sleepy but awake. 

“Hey sweets, it’s me,” Eddie said, full of nervous energy. “We never decided on a time last night. Do you wanna hang now, or…?” He twirled the phone cable around his finger and back the other way. 

“Oh, that’s right. Honestly, now’s totally fine. I’m just finishing my coffee now. Wanna stop at the Family Video for us? I’ll pay you back when you get here.” You offered him. 

“I’ll stop by there, yeah. And no need, keep your cash, doll. I’ll see you soon, then!” He hung up before you could even respond, leaving you to laugh to yourself. He was so easily distracted. 

It gave you just enough time to prepare for his arrival - you changed into nicer sweats and actually styled your hair a little, fighting the urge to put on some makeup. This was just Eddie. You knew you wouldn’t make him fall in love with you with some mascara, not after he’d seen you at your worst so many times before. You just needed to accept that he was always going to remain a wonderful friend and nothing more. 

When Eddie showed up, he looked nicer than he usually did for movie dates at your place, but you didn’t think anything of it. You would just secretly admire him from across the room. Better him here with you than out with another girl, you supposed. 

The day started off normally enough. You had some snacks and watched a couple of movies, but Eddie seemed to keep checking his watch. Something about it was weird, because he didn’t seem in a rush to leave, but almost like he was expecting someone. It got to be too much when he checked his watch for the third time in less than 5 minutes, so you kicked him lightly with a socked foot from your side of the couch. 

“Why do you keep checking the clock, you weirdo? Did you invite someone to my house?” You ask with your nose slightly scrunched in displeasure. 

“What?” He blinked, “no- no. I wouldn’t- no. Uhh… you probably wanna go get ready, sweetheart,” he let his head fall back against the couch cushion lazily, making your brows furrow. 

“Get ready? For what?” You sat up, eyes searching his face which was- unfortunately unreadable. Damn DM instincts. 

“Do you trust me?” He turned his head to look at you, and something about his gaze in that moment made you blush, and you nodded. “Then go get ready. Wear somethin’ nice. I’m going to make use of the bathroom here. Let me know if you need any help,” he pushed himself up off of the couch and grabbed the duffel bag he’d packed himself, and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you to stare at him with a bewildered look. It took you a moment to shake off the surprise, but you managed to, and dragged yourself up the stairs to shower and get ready. You styled your hair in your usual favorite going-out style, not knowing just how dolled up you were supposed to get but figuring more was always better. You’d rather be overdressed than underdressed. 

And of course, because Eddie would see you in this outfit, you couldn’t help but to choose a dress you’d been secretly saving for just this kind of occasion. It fit like a glove, but you’d never actually gotten the opportunity to wear it out before. Wearing it now felt foreign, but looking at yourself in the mirror helped your self-image considerably. This dress looked good on you, and you hoped he’d think the same. 

You exited your bedroom to find Eddie’s duffel bag on your couch, and his ratty sneakers by your door, but… no Eddie. The bathroom door was open, showing it was empty, so you searched the kitchen before peeking through the blinds to the parking lot. You didn’t see Eddie’s van, but he’d left his things, so… he was probably coming back, right? You paced a bit in your heels, chewing on your lip as you considered all of the possibilities. 

Before you could decide to change out of your nice outfit, you heard a knock at the door, and hurried to answer it, finding Eddie standing there with a bouquet of black peonies and deep red tulips. Your eyes widened in surprise, and you blinked up at him, realizing he looked incredibly put together and handsome. You wanted to ask what he was doing, but as the blush reached your cheeks, you simply floundered for the words to say, and you stood there in an awkward sort of silence. 

“I uh- these are for you,” he cleared his throat and told you, wiping a clammy hand on his black jeans. You took another moment to flounder before taking the flowers and staring down at them. You eventually found your voice. 

“Oh. Thank- thank you,” you managed quietly, “what are these for?”

He ran a nervous hand through his hair and took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. It was now or never.. “Uh- well- see- you mentioned how upset you were to never have anyone interested in you, but… it’s just not true, you know? Cause I have been interested in you probably since we met, and you never seemed interested back. But I figure, even if you’re not into me, I can show you a good time and prove to you that it’s not true, and someone really does like you, like a lot. If- if you’ll be my valentine, that is. I spent so long hoping you’d just magically realize that I liked you, because the idea of actually telling you- almost killed me. I was terrified. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, the person who knows me the best, and the one girl in the whole world who ever saw past my weird and gave me a chance to be her friend. This might be totally insane, but I just want you to know how- loved you are. By me. Romantically.” He felt he was digging himself into a hole, so he added an awkward “okay… I’m done talking now.”

You stared at him for a long while in stunned silence, and he looked anywhere but your eyes, growing increasingly restless as your silence swallowed him whole. He almost backed out and said it wasn’t actually that insane, he didn’t love you, don’t worry, but before he could, you threw your arms around him in a tight hug, wordless. He returned it with enthusiasm, squeezing you tight and burying his nose in your hair. He held you until he heard your quiet “thank you.” Only then did he pull back to look at you, your eyes a bit misty. 

“Hey, no way, don’t thank me. I’m the one who’s been in love with you, remember?” He joked, “if anything, thank you for letting me take you out and live out my dream for one night.” 

You could tell he was being self-deprecating, and couldn’t bear it. You pulled him inside, placed the bouquet on the nearest surface, and grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him down for a sudden kiss. He fumbled a moment, hands up in shock, before gripping your hips and pulling you into him, eyes squeezing shut as he deepened the kiss. If this was a dream, he wasn’t going to waste it. He was going to enjoy every goddamn second. 

Eventually, you pulled back with a breathless giggle at the way he chased your lips. “Let me breathe, Edward,” your voice was light, airy, and full of laughter. His eyes opened to watch you with the dreamiest expression. 

“Pinch me. I must be dreaming,” he said simply, making you laugh more. You pushed him away, cheeks red, still giggling. 

“Shut up. I- yes. Of course I’ll be your valentine. But where are we even going?” You asked him, picking up the bouquet to go put it in a vase. He still hadn’t shaken out of his trance, so he stared after you in silence a moment before coming to his senses again.

“Oh- uh- that’s a surprise. But you- damn- dressed for the occasion. So not to worry, it’ll be great.” He promised, following you into the kitchen and reaching up to grab the vase you liked from the higher shelf. You thanked him and unwrapped the bouquet, filling the vase before placing it into the water and placing the arrangement on your kitchen table. 

“I’ve been totally obsessed with you since, like, the day we met,” you confessed, which had his eyes nearly bulging. 

“No way. You- no way. You’re like, way out of my league.” That made you laugh, and you pulled him down for a kiss again. 

“Shut up, Eddie. And take me on our first date,” you hummed against his lips. 

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed breathlessly, pulling you flush against him. 

“And by the way, Eddie…” You started at a whisper. 

“Yeah?” He matched your tone.

“I didn’t ‘see past’ your weird. I saw your weird. And I needed it in my life.”

He nearly melted at your feet just then, but pushed forward to kiss you again, to keep from saying something stupid or embarrassing himself with getting emotional.

“I love you,” he told you. “I really, seriously, love you.”

“I- Eddie, I love you too,” you told him in return, butterflies erupting in your stomach and heart racing out of your chest before kissing him again.

You would definitely be a minute or two late to that reservation, but damn, if it wasn’t worth it.

Taglist: @am0iur @ali-r3n @hellmastereddie @ziggeddie @nojamsonmytoast @seedlingghost @loveu2themoonandsaturn @aliceheart247 @littlemissholy @daydreampending @justalotoffanfiction @midnightdragonzero @iyskgd @girlwedontcare

[cuzxai]

firstly im absolutely obsessed with your writing rn

if you can maybe on where spencer is off on a case and tells reader to be good but he catches her in the act (maybe with a vibrator) and he punishes her with edging or overstim?

feel free to ignore this if you dont feel like writing it regardless have a great day/night xx

consequences - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: first request, hope you likey

You knew the moment his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The tone was different— short, clipped. The kind they used when something couldn’t wait. Spencer rolled over and checked it with a sleepy groan, rubbing the heel of his hand into one eye.

“Hotch,” he mumbled. His fingers moved across the screen, then he sighed. That was all it took. You were awake now too. He looked over at you, already apologetic. “They need us in Virginia. Four-day consult.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You were used to it. This wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. But that didn’t mean it ever got easier. You’d just gotten used to adjusting the shape of missing him.

“When do you leave?” you asked, voice still rough from sleep.

“An hour.”

You nodded, blinking up at him. The room was still dim, washed in that early blue light that made everything soft but his features had already started to steel with focus. He was sliding out of bed, grabbing his go-bag from the closet. Efficient. Distant, in that way he got when the case was already unfolding in his head. You watched him pack. Watched him tuck his badge into one pocket, a fresh stack of books into another. Watched the little rituals of departure that had started to sting less over time but never stopped completely.

He came back over when he was done, still in his socks,and leaned over to kiss your forehead. You caught his hand in yours before he could move away. “Be safe.”

“I will,” he promised. “And I’ll text you when we land.”

You nodded. He leaned closer again, brushing your nose with his and letting your hands settle on his chest. You knew he wanted to say more. You felt it in the pause. Instead he just kissed you, warm and lingering then pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Be good for me, okay?”

You smiled faintly. “Always.” The door clicked shut behind him a few minutes later. And then the apartment was quiet. You tried to keep yourself busy that first day. Made a list of errands. Washed the sheets, even though they didn’t really need it. Wore one of his sweatshirts that swallowed you whole and curled up on the couch with a book you weren’t really reading.

You checked your phone too often. Not because he didn’t message— he did. Regularly. Brief updates, a photo of a diner menu he thought was funny, a note about the hotel being gross. But none of it really felt like him. Not the version of him you missed. The one whose fingers threaded through your hair when he passed behind you, who always curled around you like a warm, steady anchor in the middle of the night. By the second day, you were counting the hours.

You weren’t sleeping well. The bed felt too big without his weight on one side. You found yourself reaching for him in the middle of the night, half-asleep, only to be met with cold sheets and nothing else.

You missed his voice. Not through the phone but close—near your ear, low and soft and teasing. You missed the warmth of his hand on the back of your neck when he told you things he didn’t say out loud in front of others. You missed the way he looked at you when you were beneath him, his every nerve tuned to your pleasure. By day three, the ache had settled in. Low. Constant. Not just physical—it was emotional too. A kind of restless wanting that curled beneath your skin like heat. It wasn’t just that you missed being touched. You missed being his. You curled tighter under the blankets that night and tried to will yourself to sleep. Tomorrow, you reminded yourself.

He’ll be home tomorrow. Just one more night is all you had to wait. But you couldn’t. You didn’t mean to give in. Not at first. You’d tried to be good. Really, you had. Spencer had only asked one thing before he left and you’d promised him— half-asleep, half-joking but still—you said you’d behave. But something about tonight felt different.

The air was heavier or maybe that was just you. You hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day, skipping from one task to another like your own skin was too tight. No book could hold your attention, no amount of cleaning or music could chase away the dull, steady ache building low in your belly.

It wasn’t just the physical need—it was the absence of him. The lack of his touch, his voice, his quiet presence in the corner of the room. You missed the safety of him. The way he could look at you and make your whole body respond like it had been rewired just for him. You’d gone to bed early just to escape the feeling. Curled up in one of his T-shirts again, still a little damp from the dryer and buried your face in his pillow. It helped. A little. But the ache was still there.

It throbbed between your thighs like a pulse, constant and maddening. You shifted, trying to find a comfortable position but the soft brush of fabric only made things worse. Your breath caught. Your thighs pressed tighter. And still nothing eased it. You bit your lip and rolled onto your back. The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of the city filtering through the blinds. For a while, you stared at the ceiling. Then you turned your head to the empty space beside you on the bed. Your hand drifted into your bedside table before you could think better of it.

You found it easily—the small, familiar shape of the vibrator you kept there. Just in case. Not for when Spencer was away but for when he was gone for the long ones. The ones that hurt. But this hurt too, didn’t it? You hesitated, fingers curling around it.

Spencer wouldn’t want you to suffer. He wasn’t cruel. He was gentle. Attentive. He cared about your pleasure—his own pleasure was practically tethered to yours. He got off when you did but it was never about denial for denial’s sake. Still— he’d told you to be good. You swallowed. You turned the toy on, just the lowest setting and slid it between your thighs.

You hissed at the contact—so sharp, so sudden after all that buildup. You’d soaked through your underwear without even realizing it. The vibration was almost too much right away but your body reacted like it had been waiting for this exact moment, already half-undone. You pushed your panties aside and let the toy rest directly against your clit, your hips lifting instinctively. You barely had to move. The pleasure struck you so fast and so deep you gasped, one hand fisting in the sheets. In your mind, it wasn’t your hand. It was his. The toy became his fingers, slow and clever and patient. His mouth, warm and insistent. You imagined him on his knees at the foot of the bed, one hand pressed to your stomach to keep you still, his voice low and pleased. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. Let me hear you.”

A quiet moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You bit down on your fist and forced your eyes shut. You didn’t want to hold back. You were already close—too close. The edge was coming fast, your thighs trembling around the toy as your hips rocked harder, chasing it. You needed this. Just this. Just once. The muscles in your stomach started to tighten. You pressed the vibrator harder, arching your back, mouth falling open as your breath hitched. The front door opened. A soft click. Your body froze.

No no no no no. You scrambled to shut off the toy but your hands were shaking and the sound it made as you fumbled with it—that was what gave you away. The telltale, traitorous hum. Still half on. Still slick in your hand.

“Baby?”

His voice. You whipped your head toward the door in horror, breath caught in your throat. Footsteps. You didn’t even have time to throw the toy or bury it in the sheets before the bedroom door creaked open. Spencer stood in the doorway, travel-worn and windblown. His waves were a little messy, jacket still on. But his eyes moved fast. First to you. Then to your hand. Then to the vibrator. Then back up to your face. Silence.

The only sound was your own ragged breathing, the soft whirring of the toy still pulsing faintly in your palm. Spencer arched an eyebrow, and his voice came low. Unmistakably calm. Quiet.

“Did I not tell you to be good?”

Your lips parted but nothing came out. Your heart was still slamming against your ribs, face burning hot as the vibrator finally stilled in your hand. Spencer stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You sat up, pulling your knees toward your chest. Your way of trying to hide the evidence even though it was too late.

“I—” you started but his eyes flicked down to your thighs.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at you. Like he was studying you. You couldn’t read his expression. It was neutral, quiet, unreadable but there was something simmering under the surface. Something restrained. Spencer shrugged off his jacket and set it neatly on the back of the chair. He didn’t say a word.

“I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly, toeing off his shoes. “Clearly.” There was no anger. No raised voice. Just that maddening calm, the kind that made your stomach twist. He stepped closer. You clenched your thighs. You were so suddenly aware of how soaked you still were, how sensitive. You could still feel the phantom vibrations ghosting along your clit. And his eyes caught every detail.

“You said you’d be good,” he murmured, stopping at the edge of the bed. “I believed you.”

“I tried,” you said, your voice a little desperate now. “I did.”

“Tried?” he repeated, arching a brow. “That what this is?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The silence that followed was heavy. Just when you thought he might scold you, he hummed thoughtfully and reached for you. You blinked. His hands closed around your ankles and gently tugged. You didn’t resist— couldn’t really and let him pull you toward the edge of the bed until your legs dangled over, spread just enough for him to settle between them. He sank to his knees. Your breath hitched.

“I should be mad,” he said while tilting his head, hands stroking slowly up your calves. “I told you not to touch yourself, baby. And you promised.”

You nodded, throat tight. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just leaned in and kissed your inner thigh. It was soft, open-mouthed, dragging his lips over the heated skin until your body shivered. His hands held you firm by the hips, not hurting, but inescapable. Your thighs threatened to close but he nudged them apart again without a word.

“You wanted to come so bad you couldn’t wait for me?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

A small, quiet laugh left him. Not cruel but just amused. Dark. “I see.” And then without another word he leaned in and licked you. You gasped, fingers clenching in the sheets. His tongue was slow, teasing, not rough or punishing, just deliberate. Focused. Like he had all the time in the world and every intention of taking it. Your hips arched into his mouth and he let you move, his arms looping under your thighs to hold you steady. His tongue circled your clit then dragged down to your entrance, tasting you with reverent hunger.

You whimpered. He hummed low in his throat and the vibration made your whole body jolt. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped from your lips, hands flying to his hair and fingers curling in his curls. He let you pull—encouraged it even but stayed in full control. His pace was agonizing. Every time you started to climb, his tongue slowed. Every time your hips bucked, he held you down. His lips sealed over you and sucked softly, pulling a sharp cry from your throat but he didn’t relent. Not enough. Just enough to keep you at the edge.

“Spence,” you whimpered, breathless. “I’m close—please—”

He didn’t answer. Just kept going. Unbothered, relentless. Like this was his reward, not yours. Like your begging didn’t faze him in the slightest. You were trembling now, thighs shaking, the pressure building to the point of pain. You were so close, could feel the heat coiling tight, ready to snap. And then he pulled away. Your entire body seized with a choked cry. You reached for him on instinct, hips chasing the loss, legs trembling.

“No—no, please—”

Spencer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood slowly, his eyes dark and steady as he looked down at you.

“Not yet,” he said calmly. “You don’t get to come just because you want to.”

You blinked up at him, breathless, panting. Your skin was flushed and soaked and aching. He leaned down, brushing a kiss over your cheek, lips just barely brushing your ear.

“You wanted to be bad,” he whispered. “Now you get to wait.”

Your thighs were damp and twitching, your chest heaving with shallow breaths and your clit throbbed with the cruel absence of his mouth. You’d been so close. So close you could taste it and now every nerve in your body was screaming from the denial. Spencer stood over you, his hair falling into his face as he looked down at you. His eyes were unreadable but you could see it in the slight twitch of his jaw. He liked seeing you like this. Flushed. Trembling. Wrecked.

“Still worked up?” he asked softly, brushing his fingertips along your inner thigh. You whimpered and nodded.“Hm.” He let that hum sit in the air as he slipped one hand between your legs again, fingers grazing through the mess he’d left behind. You gasped at just the lightest touch and your hips jerked up, desperate.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Made a mess all over yourself, baby.”

You moaned when he circled your entrance, teasing, not even pushing in.

“Did you think I’d come home and find you sweet and innocent? Tucked in, still aching for me like a good girl?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the sheets. “I—I missed you.”

“I know you missed me,” he said, dragging one finger up your slit, slick and slow. “But I told you to wait. I told you to behave. And instead…” He slid one finger inside you. Your back arched immediately, a helpless cry tearing from your throat. He didn’t give you time to recover. His finger curled inside you, slow and sure, dragging against that spot that made you clench hard around him. You cried out again, hips bucking but he stayed steady— another finger joining the first with no warning.

“Spence—oh my God—” His free hand pressed to your stomach, holding you down firmly.

“That’s better,” he said, voice low. “You’re quiet when you take my fingers. Focused. Needy.”

He started to move them, slow at first. Measured. The stretch was perfect—his fingers always knew exactly where to press, when to curl, how deep to slide. You were already soaked for him and the wet sounds between your legs only made it worse. Made it filthier. Made you needier. You moaned again, louder and he picked up the pace just slightly. Every thrust of his hand drove you closer to the edge, your thighs shaking, toes curling.

“God, please. I’m so close—”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

He twisted his fingers inside you and you sobbed at the pressure. Your walls were fluttering around him already, your whole body wound tight like a thread about to snap. You reached down and grabbed his wrist, not to stop him but to hold on. Anchor yourself to something. Spencer leaned over you slightly, voice right against your cheek.

“You want something more?”

You nodded frantically.

“I don’t think you do,” he said, curling his fingers again. “You’re dripping all over my hand just from this.”

“I want you,” you gasped, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “Please—I want you—”

“You have me.”

“No. I want you—your cock. Spence please—”

He stilled his hand. Just for a second.“What was that?”

You whimpered. You were squirming under him, so close it hurt. “I need you inside me. Please, Spence. I’ll be good—please.”

He smiled. There it was. That edge of satisfaction that came when he knew you were saying exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You’re not gonna come on my fingers,” he murmured. You whimpered again but he didn’t budge. Instead, he slipped his fingers out slowly and brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean like he had all the time in the world. Then he leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was hungry and deep. Making you taste yourself. Your arousal. When he pulled away, he looked you straight in the eye.

“Roll over,” he said, voice calm and final.

You rolled over so fast your limbs tangled in the sheets. Spencer didn’t laugh but you heard it in his breath. Felt it in the way his hands slid up your hips, grounding you in place. The air was thick and hot around you. Your skin flushed, your thighs still trembling from his fingers. You hadn’t come. But you would. You had to. You heard him move behind you— clothes shifting, belt unbuckling. It felt like forever. The drag of anticipation. The sound of him unzipping. The quiet rustle as he pushed his pants down. Then the weight of him settled behind you, pressing close.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing your hair away from your neck. “Lying so still for me now.” You whimpered when you felt his cock nudge between your thighs—thick and hard, sliding through your wetness, unhurried. He didn’t push in. Not yet.

“I haven’t even touched you properly,” he said softly, almost like he was marveling at it. “One taste, a few fingers and you’re already this desperate?”

“Spence…”

“Shh.” His hand slid up your back. Then back down, tracing your spine like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You’ll come when I say,” he whispered, lining himself up at your entrance. And then he pushed in. You moaned loud and broken, your body stretching around him with aching pressure. He went in all the way on the first stroke, bottoming out with a low groan that buzzed straight through your skin.

“God, baby…” He stayed still for a moment, letting you feel every inch. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, and he hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You couldn’t speak. You were too full, too overwhelmed, too wrecked by everything that came before. Your body shook beneath him, already aching for more. He pulled back. Then thrust in hard. You cried out so loud it echoed in the room and he did it again, slow, then rough, setting a rhythm that made your knees buckle beneath you. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Didn’t give you a second to breathe. Just kept fucking into you with firm, deliberate strokes, the slap of skin against skin growing louder, wetter, filthier. His hand curled around your throat, holding you there and he pulled you up to bring his mouth to your ear.

“Feel that?”

You moaned, nodding frantically.

“That’s what you needed, isn’t it? Not your little toy. This.”

“Yes—yes.”

He grunted softly, his rhythm shifting—slower now, deeper, dragging each thrust until you sobbed. You bit your lip, whimpering, your body already on fire. You could feel it building, hot and coiled and devastating, your orgasm crawling closer with every thrust.

“Please—please—”

His hand slid down your front and found your clit, rubbing in tight, precise circles. You moaned. Your body jerked so hard he had to press a hand to your lower back to keep you from collapsing completely.

“I said not yet.”

You sobbed, every muscle trembling. He kept going. Fucking you deep and slow, pushing you to that edge and keeping you there, his fingers unrelenting on your clit.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Spence! God—please—”

“Say it.”

“I need it. Need to come—please, I can’t wait.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Come for me.”And you shattered. It hit like a wave—violent and hot and all-consuming. Your body clenched around him, trembling uncontrollably as he held you down and fucked you through it, slow and steady, never letting up. Your scream broke into gasps, sobs, your voice cracking with the force of it. You were gone. Lost. Floating. He didn’t stop until your body sagged in his arms, boneless and twitching.

Only then did he ease out of you carefully. You felt the loss instantly. It was empty and aching—but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Just whimpered as he kissed your back and rubbed slow circles into your hip. He was still hard. Still very much not finished. But he didn’t say anything about that yet. Instead he leaned close, voice a whisper against your ear. “That’s one.”

Your body was limp. Still trembling. Still twitching. The sheets were tangled around your legs, your cheek pressed into the mattress, slick and flushed and boneless from the orgasm he let you have. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, heart still racing, your thighs weak and slick between them. You couldn’t think. Could barely feel. Just the thrum of pleasure lingering in your bones, the warm heaviness of being used and wanted. But Spencer wasn’t done.

You felt him behind you—still hard, still pressed against your backside, still calm as ever. You tried to speak, to catch your breath but then you felt his hand curl around your hip again.

“Don’t tense,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your spine. “You can take more.”

Your heart skipped.

“Spence, I dunno if I can…”

“You will,” he said, shifting your hips slightly. “You’re still dripping for me.”

You didn’t have time to protest—before he slid back inside you. Your whole body jolted. It wasn’t pain, not really. But it was sharp—intense. A shock of sensation that made your legs flinch and your voice catch in your throat. He groaned softly above you.

“Still so tight,” he breathed. “Still clenching like you want more.”

You moaned, helpless. You were clenching—your body reacting on instinct, even as your brain begged for a break. He didn’t give you one. His pace was slow at first, dragging every inch of him along your still-sensitive walls. You whimpered, every nerve on fire again, every brush of friction setting off sparks.

“Can’t,” you gasped, barely audible. “It’s too much—”

“Yes you can,” he said, thrusting deeper. “Thought you wanted it?”

His hand slid between your legs again. Two fingers found your clit, swollen and soaked and rubbed in tight, steady circles. You cried out. Your whole body arched off the bed as he thrust deep and circled that overstimulated bundle of nerves, giving you no relief. His touch wasn’t fast—it was precise, measured, maddening. Designed to drag every last ounce of pleasure out of you whether you could take it or not.

“Spence—Spence, please—”

“You’re taking it,” he said, panting now. “You’re gonna come again. Right on my cock.”

You couldn’t breathe. He fucked you deeper, faster, pressing harder on your clit, every stroke knocking the breath from your lungs. You were so sensitive but your body betrayed you anyway. You felt it building again, that second high climbing fast, burning hot behind your ribs.

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice shaking now. “Tell me it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” you choked. “All yours Spence, I’m gonna come. Please—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. His cock hit just right, his fingers unrelenting.

“Do it.”

And then you broke again. It hit even harder this time—sharper, deeper. Your vision blurred, your hands clawing at the sheets as your whole body convulsed around him. You screamed his name as your orgasm crashed through you, raw and overwhelming, your cunt clenching so tight around him it dragged a groan from his throat.

He fucked you through it—still deep, still steady—his breathing ragged now, hand braced on your lower back to keep you down as you writhed under him.

You felt him twitch inside you. And then he finally pulled out with a sharp gasp. You barely registered the sound of him stroking himself behind you—just the wet, fast rhythm of his hand and the broken curse that spilled from his mouth as he came. Hot, thick spurts across your lower back, warm and messy, his breath stuttering above you. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just lay there, boneless and wrecked, soaked and shaking, your chest pressed to the bed as Spencer caught his breath behind you.

His hand ran down your spine again. Gentle. Soft. “You did so good,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “So fucking good for me.”