#and will do both instead of going to work

[cressidagrey]

Money, Money, Money

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  Felicity runs Oscar’s life. Oh, and she also handles all the money. 

Warnings and Notes: Some more context for the Silverstone chapter, also some insight into Piastri family dynamics in this verse. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

1: Chris Piastri

Chris had been patient. He’d waited through the contract drama, the Alpine mess, the quiet chaos that was the lead-up to McLaren’s announcement. He’d even stayed calm when Oscar casually dropped that they’d officially moved to a farmhouse—because, quote, “Felicity liked the light.”

But now he was looking at the numbers.

And blinking.

Hard.

"You’re going to be making how much next year?"

Oscar leant back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Depends on bonuses. But yeah. That’s the base.”

Chris whistled low. “Jesus Christ. That’s… real money.”

Oscar grinned. “Told you the sim rig was a good investment.”

Chris didn’t laugh. He was still holding the contract summary printout Oscar handed him ten minutes ago.

He tapped the top corner. “Okay. So you’ve got this. Great. Now who’s handling it?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “Felicity.”

Chris’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “Still no financial advisor?”

“She’s more than capable.”

“And no prenup,” Chris added flatly. “Still.”

“You’re still upset abou that,” Oscar said drily.

“I’m upset you refused to,” Chris replied. “I asked you. I begged you to be smart. You were eighteen. And you married the first girl you ever kissed. You always brush it off.”

“I’m not brushing it off. I’m making a choice.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Chris snapped. “You married at eighteen. You had a child at nineteen. And you still refuse to take any precautions to protect the career we all sacrificed for.”

Oscar didn’t move. But something in his posture shifted—straightened. “What do you want me to say, Dad? That you were right? That we were reckless and dumb and ruined my future?”

Chris exhaled harshly. “I never said you ruined anything.”

“No,” Oscar said, “but you’ve never really believed us either. About anything.”

Chris blinked. “Excuse me?”

Oscar’s voice was low, but steady. “You’ve never believed us when we said Bee was planned. When we said we knew what we were doing. When we said we didn’t need help. You think we were just two stupid teenagers who got in over our heads and now you’re waiting for the fallout.”

Chris scoffed. “Right. The planned baby at nineteen.”

Oscar’s face shuttered. “Yes. Planned.”

“You can keep saying that, Oscar,” Chris said, “but you and I both know it wasn’t the timing you had in mind. You threw your entire career trajectory off-course. No nineteen-year-old plans a baby, Oscar. That’s not how this works.”

Oscar looked like he’s been slapped. “You think we’re stupid.”

“I think you were young.” Chris fired back. “And I think she got pregnant and you felt like you had no choice—”

“Don’t you dare,” Oscar snapped.

The air cracks.

Chris didn’t back down. “You were barely in junior formula. You were already under pressure. And instead of focusing on that, you were raising a kid in a rental flat with hand-me-down furniture and no job security— You were nineteen. No one knows what they’re doing at nineteen.”

“Maybe not,” Oscar said. “But we knew what we wanted.”

“And I spent six and a half million dollars making sure you got where you are,” Chris fired back. “So excuse me if I want you to think.”

Oscar went still. The words hung between them like a slap.

Chris pressed on, voice harder now. “I spent years calling sponsors, working second jobs, selling off anything we didn’t need just to keep you on the track. Your mother gave up every holiday to stretch the travel budget. And now you’re handing your entire financial future to the girl you married at eighteen and won’t even sign a piece of paper to protect yourself if it goes wrong.”

Oscar spoke slowly. Cold. “She is not just some girl.”

“I know that,” Chris said, finally sounding frustrated. “I know she’s brilliant and capable and—impressive. I know she kept you standing when things got ugly. But this isn’t about how resourceful Felicity is, Oscar. It’s about you.”

“I pay for my life,” Oscar said quietly. “Every grocery bill, every flight, every coat Bee’s ever worn—we paid for that ourselves. We’ve never asked you for help outside of racing.”

“You rushed into a marriage, a baby, and now you’ve wrapped your entire life around a girl who pawned designer handbags instead of calling us for help.”

Oscar’s fists clenched. “You think that was a bad thing?”

“I think it was pride,” Chris said, suddenly cold. “On both your parts. She didn’t want to come with her tail between her legs after her family cut her off. And you— you didn’t want to admit you were in over your head.” 

Oscar took a slow breath. “We didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

Chris’s jaw tightened. “I was obligated. I spent millions of dollars getting you to F1. Do you think I did that so you could let your teenage wife manage your future out of a color-coded spreadsheet?” Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not the point anyway.”

“No,” Oscar said. “The point is that you don’t trust me. Or her.”

“That’s not true,” Chris said.

“Isn’t it?” Oscar challenges. “You think she married me for the money I might have. You think we had Bee by accident. You think I’m sleepwalking through life and one day I’ll wake up broke and bitter and you’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

Chris’s mouth was a thin line. He didn’t answer.

Oscar took a breath. His voice softened—just a little. “I know what you gave me. I know I wouldn’t be here without you. But I’m not a teenager anymore. And I don’t need you to manage me. I need you to believe me.”

***

Nicole was sitting at the dining table with a glass of red wine and her reading glasses perched low on her nose, sorting through forms.

Chris stood in the doorway, visibly agitated.

Nicole didn’t look up. “If this is about Felicity again, I’m pouring myself another glass of wine.”

Chris sighed. “You could at least pretend to take my side.”

Nicole set down the pen and looks at him over the rims of her glasses. “I divorced you, not because you were wrong all the time, but because you’re so annoying when you think you’re right.”

Chris threw his hands up. “Nicole. Please. Just talk to Oscar. He listens to you.”

“Because I don’t condescend to him,” she said pointedly. “I treat him like the grown man he is.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair. “He’s married without a prenup. He’s letting her manage millions. What happens if something goes wrong? What happens if she changes—”

“She’s not going to change,” Nicole cut in.

“You don’t know that.”

“Felicity manages my pension, Chris.”

He blinked. “What?”

“She took a look at it last year,” Nicole says casually. “Pointed out I had a dead fund and fees I didn’t need. Reinvested the whole thing in an afternoon.”

Chris stared at her. “You let your daughter-in-law manage your retirement?”

“She’s smarter than both of us combined,” Nicole said, tone sharp now. “You know that. You’ve always known that.”

“She was eighteen when they got married,” Chris muttered.

“And runs a household better than most people twice her age,” Nicole replied. “Felicity could run a Fortune 500 company if she wanted. She just happens to be more interested in upcycling cabinets and taking care of Bee.”

Chris scowled. “She plays housewife, Nicole. And Oscar lets her.”

“She chooses housewife,” Nicole corrected. “Big difference. And it’s not because she can’t do more—it’s because she already did. She literally got a PhD this year because she was bored, Chris. You remember what she gave up. I do. She had that whole trust fund, the estate in Singapore —until she told her parents she wasn’t giving up the boy.”

Chris exhaled again, tight and heavy.

Nicole softened—just a little. “  get it. You put everything into Oscar. You burned yourself down to build him a ramp. But our boy fell in love, and the girl he chose? She wasn’t a mistake. She was the best decision he ever made.”

“I just want him to be protected,” Chris said, quieter now.

“He is,” Nicole said. “And if anything happens, you better believe Felicity already has a five-tab spreadsheet, three binders, and a financial nuke pointed at the problem. Don’t confuse softness for weakness. She’s not fragile, Chris. She’s focused.”

Chris was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he muttered, “I still think he should’ve signed a prenup.”

Nicole sighs. “Yeah, well. I think you should’ve watered the lemon tree before it died, but we all have regrets.”

Chris stared at her. “That’s not remotely the same.”

Nicole sipped her tea. “Isn’t it?”

2: Mark Webber

Mark Webber had long since stopped pretending that Oscar Piastri ran his own life.

Oh, he showed up on time. Did the briefings. Signed the contracts. Knew the car and the data and the long-run pace.

But when it came to logistics, taxes, insurance, estate planning, or remembering that the electrical system in their farmhouse was still running on pre-war wiring—Oscar did what every sensible man should do.

He said, “Let me ask my wife.”

Mark had found it funny at first. A bit sweet. The overachieving childhood sweetheart turned stay-at-home-wife. Until he realized, somewhere between Oscar’s seamless contract transitions and the fact that his tax filings were always submitted early and perfectly formatted, that Felicity Piastri wasn’t playing house.

She was running an empire.

Quietly. From the kitchen. Usually with flour on her cheek.

Mark had seen it up close too many times now. 

She was the one who tracked Oscar’s schedule in a calendar that put race engineers to shame.

 She was the one who had his income split across diversified portfolios before McLaren ever offered him a multi-year deal. 

And she was the one who’d once casually texted Mark a five-point list of everything he needed to fix in his personal retirement plan—because she’d overheard him complain about capital gains tax while making Bee a peanut butter sandwich.

He’d actually followed all five points.

So when he found himself holding a financial summary from his advisor, confused about a line item labeled “Australia – Deferred Liability: TBD,” there was only one person he thought to call.

The phone rang twice.

“Hi Mark,” came Felicity’s voice, crisp and warm as ever. “What did you mess up this time?”

Mark chuckled. “Got a minute?”

“Always. What’s the line item?”

He read it out. She hummed. “Deferred liability’s probably from your property sale in 2019—was that still in NSW?”

“Yeah. You remember that?”

“I remember everything. What’s the advisor’s email? I’ll send you the reference table.”

Mark rubbed his forehead. “Do I need to start paying you?”

“You couldn’t afford me,” she said cheerfully. “Besides, I’m already managing Oscar’s empire and Nicole’s pension. I’m full up.”

Mark snorted. “Jesus Christ. Does Oscar know you’re moonlighting as my financial therapist?”

“Oh, he knows,” she said breezily. “He told me to invoice you last time.”

Mark chuckled. “He still pretending he understands half of what you do?”

“He stopped pretending after I explained capital gains to him using Bee’s sticker chart,” she replied. “Now he just signs what I give him and asks if we can afford more smoked almonds.”

Mark shook his head, grinning. “He’s a lucky little bastard.”

“He knows. Oh, and by the way,” Felicity added, “tell your guy to check your international tax treaty allocations. You’re probably being double taxed on passive income through your EU holdings.”

Mark paused. “Have I ever told you you’re a menace?”

“Only every time you call me.”

And then she hung up.

Mark stared at his phone, then looked at the spreadsheet again.

There was a reason he always CC’d her on Oscar’s contract reviews. The girl could spot a hidden clause faster than most team lawyers.

He wasn’t just impressed anymore. He was a little scared.

People in the paddock liked to talk about Oscar’s talent. His calm. His racecraft. His future.

But Mark?

Mark knew the real secret to Oscar’s success wore denim dungarees, knew how to budget a household down to the cent, and had personally scared two marketing execs into submission using nothing but polite email phrasing and a well-timed spreadsheet.

In Mark Webber’s not so humble opinion: 

Felicity Piastri was the best investment Oscar had ever made.

3: Lando Norris

Oscar was still in his race suit, slouched halfway off a physio ball, towel draped around his neck. His hair was damp. 

He was scrolling on his phone one-handed, the other absentmindedly rubbing at his shoulder. Across from him, Lando was sitting upside-down in a beanbag chair like he was part of a modern art installation, frowning at his iPad and muttering numbers under his breath.

He squinted, then sat up properly. “Hey,” he said, pointing vaguely. “Do you use Capex?”

Oscar didn’t look up. “For what?”

“Investments. Advisors. Tax strategy stuff.” Lando waved the iPad like it’s obvious. “Zak’s been on about it. Wants us to think about long-term wealth management. Something about portfolio diversity and 'future-proofing our legacy.'"

Oscar hummed noncommittally. “Nah, I don’t use Capex.”

Lando raised a brow. “Okay, so who do you use?”

Oscar finally looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Like—who’s your guy?” Lando asked, a little impatient now. “Everyone’s got someone. I’ve got Simon. Charles got his brother and that weird Swiss dude. You’ve got, what, Mark handling yours?”

Oscar blinked. “I don’t have a guy.”

“You don’t—?” Lando cut himself off, leans forward. “Wait. You don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar shrugged. “Nope.”

Lando just stared at him. “Oscar.”

Oscar stretched his legs out. “What?”

“You’re a Formula 1 driver. You make… a lot of money. You don’t have anyone managing it?”

“I do,” Oscar said, reaching for his water bottle. “Felicity.”

Lando blinked. “Felicity who?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “My wife, Lando. Felicity my wife,” Oscar confirmed cheerfully, like he wasn’t casually setting fire to Lando’s entire concept of financial management. “She’s good at it. Better than me. She likes spreadsheets and interest rates. It makes her happy.”

Lando’s mouth opened. Closes. “No. No. That doesn’t count.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Why not?”

“Because—because she’s your wife! That’s like saying, ‘Oh yeah, my daughter handles the catering.’ It’s—It’s nepotism!”

Oscar laughed. “She’s not taking a salary, mate. She’s running our life.”

“That’s worse!” Lando flailed his hands. “You’re telling me you trust her with everything? Like, she just… handles it?”

“Yes,” Oscar said simply. “She’s good at it.”

“She’s good at—what, managing millions?”

“Actually, yeah.” He looked mildly offended on Felicity’s behalf. “She started with nothing. Budgeted down to the cent when we were nineteen and pretty much broke with a newborn because we didn’t want to depend on my parents. She made our tax spreadsheet color-coded and terrifying. She played the stock market while Bee was teething. Said it calmed her down. I was too busy trying to figure out why Bee would only fall asleep if I sang Let it be from the Beatles.”

Lando squinted. “...She has a spreadsheet?”

“She has seven.”

“And you’re just—fine with it?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, no hesitation. “She’s always been smarter with money than me. Back when I was on a feeder series budget and Bee was in nappies, she made every cent stretch. She bought me a secondhand coffee machine when I was surviving on two hours of sleep and bad instant. She used our first proper bonus to start a fund she literally called ‘Future Stuff That Matters.’ She pays for every single house reno out of portfolio gains. I don’t ask anymore—I just send her the contract info and go race.”

Lando looked at him like he’d just confessed to free-climbing a skyscraper. “You don’t even check your paychecks?”

“I check they’ve gone in,” Oscar said. “But otherwise, I forward everything to her. Contracts, bonus details, travel reimbursements. She’s got this whole color-coded system.”

“Okay, but like—" Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly spiraling—"there’s not even a backup guy? Like, a tax consultant? A wealth planner? An app? A spreadsheet?”

“She has all three. She showed me once. The spreadsheet had tabs called Future Stuff That Matters and Oscar’s Idiotic Tech Purchases."

Lando blinked.

"There's a colour-coded section just for sim rig accessories," Oscar added, helpfully.

“She made you a budget category for sim rig accessories?”

“I exceeded it last year. I got a warning.” Oscar grinned. “I send her the contracts, she handles the rest. I don’t even know what our heating bill is. I just get warm in winter and assume it’s paid.”

Lando collapses back into the beanbag. “You are so weirdly married.”

“I’m extremely married,” Oscar agrees. “To someone who built an emergency fund, planned our retirement, and still re-grouted the kitchen herself last month.”

There’s a pause.

Then: “You’re insane.”

Oscar smiled. “I’m stress-free.”

Another beat.

Then Lando muttered, “Do you think she’d take me on as a client?”

Oscar burst out laughing.

4: Tom Stallard

Tom had been on the phone with his mortgage broker for twenty minutes and was losing the will to live.

“No, I said I do have the updated P60, but your online portal is down,” he said through gritted teeth. “No, I’m not uploading it again through Safari, I’m using Chrome. Why does that matter?”

He ended the call with a sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “I have a master’s in engineering from Cambridge and this is the most complicated thing I’ve ever done.”

A quiet voice behind him said, “Everything alright?”

Tom turned to find Oscar, cooling off post-sim, cradling a water bottle and looking vaguely concerned.

“Oh, yeah,” Tom said, deadpan. “Just losing a slow war with mortgage applications. Spreadsheets, interest rates, new build tax. Very sexy stuff.”

Oscar hummed. “Felicity would love it.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “She likes mortgage paperwork?”

“She likes paperwork in general,” Oscar said with a small smile. “Spreadsheets. Forecasting. Financial plans.”

Tom chuckled. “Yeah, well, maybe I should hire her. At this rate my family is going to end up living in our car.”

Oscar tilted his head. “She’d probably help. She’s scary good with money.”

“Really?” Tom asked, vaguely curious. “She handle the household stuff?”

Oscar blinked. “No, I mean she handles everything. My salary, bonuses, investments, Bee’s custodial account, tax optimization. All of it.”

Tom paused. “Wait—wait, you don’t do any of that?”

Oscar shook his head. “She’s better at it. Has a system. Color-coded folders. Charts. She built a whole model to project how many years I could race before retiring without touching the principal. I think it includes inflation and… milk prices?”

Tom blinked. “You’re telling me your wife handles your entire financial portfolio.”

Oscar shrugged. “It just makes sense. She’s meticulous. She used to do it all while Bee was napping and we were living on a single paycheque and pawned handbags.”

Tom sat back, stunned. “Mate, I have a financial advisor and a mortgage consultant and I still don’t know what I’m doing. You’re telling me your wife just—does it all?”

Oscar gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah. She’s good at it. And she enjoys it. I just sign things and ask her if we can afford new garden furniture.”

Tom looked at him for a beat.

Then said, deadpan, “I think I hate you.”

Oscar grinned. “She runs my retirement planning. I’m sorted for three recessions and a space war.”

Tom groaned. “Don’t tell me that. I just cried over a fixed rate of 5.3%.”

***

Tom hadn’t meant to bring it up again. Really, he hadn’t.

He’d only stopped by to drop off a folder Oscar left behind at the McLaren HQ. A quick in-and-out. No fuss. No existential crisis over adult responsibilities.

But then he made the mistake of saying, “I still haven’t figured out that mortgage stuff, by the way.”

And now he was in the Piastri kitchen.

Holding a cup of tea.

Watching Felicity Piastri, in a linen apron with a bee embroidered on the hem, pull up an amortization schedule like she was about to perform surgery on it.

“Alright,” she said, tapping at her laptop with a practiced efficiency that made his stomach clench. “Fixed rate of 5.3%, 25-year term, first-time buyer exemption, and a deferred LMI?”

Tom blinked. “Yes?”

“Okay, well, first of all, they’re charging you too much on your escrow buffer. That’s negotiable. And you can knock 0.2% off your rate if you bundle with their associated home insurance policy.”

“I—what?”

Felicity didn’t look up. “You haven’t consolidated your super, have you?”

“I—no?”

She made a soft tsk sound, clicked twice, and then turned the screen toward him. “I’ve made you a comparison sheet. These two lenders are offering better packages with less red tape. The third one has a better early exit policy in case you want to upgrade later. You’re a high-income, low-debt client, Tom. You should be getting treated like it.”

Tom stared at the screen, then at her.

“I have never felt so financially inadequate in my life,” he muttered.

Felicity gave him a bright smile. “That’s okay. Most people feel that way after twenty minutes with me.”

Oscar wandered in, holding Bee upside down by the ankles. “She fix it yet?”

“She rebuilt it,” Tom said faintly. “She bullied my mortgage into submission.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “I simply pointed out that he’s not a charity case and shouldn’t be paying interest like one.”

Bee giggled from where she dangled. “Mama makes the numbers scared.”

Oscar dropped her gently onto the couch. “That she does.”

Tom stood up, cradling the printed spreadsheet like it was a sacred text. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Felicity handed him a small foil-wrapped bundle. “Banana bread. No walnuts.”

Tom looked at it. Then back at her. “You’re incredible.”

She beamed. “I know.”

5: Zak Brown

Zak liked to think of himself as a forward thinker. Risk-aware, but not risk-averse. Smart with money. Not shy about opportunity.

Which is why, after a particularly positive investor call and a lunch meeting with a tech-startup founder, he cornered Oscar Piastri in the McLaren break room, armed with a protein shake and a golden nugget of advice.

“Listen,” Zak said, leaning on the counter while Oscar poked through the fruit bowl like he wasn’t paid seven figures to do much cooler things. “If you haven’t already, you should really look into green robotics. Smart manufacturing meets sustainability. It’s going to explode in two years. Get in now.”

Oscar paused. “Green robotics?”

“Yeah. Startups, mostly. Private equity entry points. Could be a good addition to your portfolio.”

Oscar nodded slowly. “Right. Sounds interesting. I’ll check with Felicity.”

Zak blinked. “Your agent?”

“No,” Oscar said casually. “Felicity. My wife.”

Zak frowned. “As in… she checks it?”

“She handles all my finances,” Oscar replied, grabbing a banana. “She’ll know if it fits with the rest of the portfolio.”

Zak stared. “Wait—you don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar looked genuinely confused. “I have Felicity.”

“No, I mean like… a firm. A professional. Someone who manages your money.”

“I do. Felicity.”

Zak was now blinking very slowly. “You’re telling me your wife manages your finances.”

Oscar peeled the banana. “Yeah. Has for years.”

Zak struggled for a moment. “Like… salary? Bonuses?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Investments?”

“All of it.”

Zak straightened. “How much do you even know about your own portfolio?”

Oscar chewed thoughtfully. “Um… it’s green? Ethically aligned? We don’t do oil, fast fashion, or surveillance tech. And I think there’s a clause about chocolate companies with bad labor practices. Felicity added that after Bee got obsessed with cocoa beans.”

Zak made a small, stunned noise. “You don’t… manage your own money?”

Oscar shrugged. “I mean, it’s our money. She just handles it. She’s better at it. She has these terrifying spreadsheets.”

“She’s not licensed.”

“Nope,” Oscar said, smiling. “She’s just brilliant.”

Zak stared at him for a long beat.

“You make seven figures,” he said slowly. “You’re one of the most promising drivers of your generation. And you’re telling me that you’ve outsourced your entire financial future to your wife.”

“Yes,” Oscar said. “She has a whole system. Reinvested dividends, ethical ETFs, a growth fund, a rainy day fund, and this weird little stash labeled ‘Oscar’s Panic Button’ that I’m not allowed to ask about.”

Zak’s voice rose slightly. “And you’re okay with that?”

Oscar blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re a public figure!”

Oscar finished his banana. “So? I’d trust her with everything if I was a postman.”

Zak leaned heavily on the counter. “And what did she say about green robotics?”

Oscar tilted his head. “She had ethical concerns. Something about the AI lab's hiring practices and a conflict with a union group in Denmark.”

Zak exhaled. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah. She’s good.”

+1: Oscar Piastri

Oscar had long since stopped questioning where the money went. 

Not because he didn’t care—he did. He cared a lot, actually. 

But because sometime between their first apartment and the farmhouse, he’d realized something fundamental: Felicity knew what they needed before he did. 

And more than that, she knew why. 

There had been a time—back when he was nineteen, with a newborn and a contract that barely covered rent—when every cent mattered. 

And Felicity had stretched them with a kind of brilliance that made survival look like strategy. She’d budgeted nappies down to the cent. She’d thrifted furniture, sewed her own curtains, and somehow still found a way to buy Oscar a coffee machine when he couldn’t function without caffeine and 2-hour sleep blocks. 

Even then, he knew: if there was anyone he trusted with his life—or his bank account—it was her. That trust never changed. 

The first time he got a real bonus—something large, something meaningful—he handed it over without hesitation. “Use it for whatever you want,” he’d said, tired and sunburnt and half-delirious after a weekend in Spa. 

She didn’t blink. Just tucked it away and said, “I’ve got a plan.” That plan, as it turned out, involved savings accounts, index funds, and a meticulous spreadsheet labeled Future Stuff That Matters. 

Over time, their finances shifted. Grew. Stabilized. But Oscar never took that control back—not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. 

Felicity didn’t spend for status. She didn’t buy expensive handbags or flashy watches. 

She bought insulation for the attic because she wanted Bee to stay warm in winter. She bought antique light fixtures from a man named Jerry on Facebook Marketplace because “they had character.” She bought sandpaper and primer and tile grout and then used it herself. 

She handled taxes. Investments. Long-term planning. She set aside money for Bee’s education, Oscar’s retirement, and an annual holiday they still hadn’t taken. 

And she never once acted like it was hers alone—just theirs, and safe in her hands. 

Oscar loved that about her. That she didn’t treat money like power. She treated it like possibility. 

And while the outside world saw him as the Formula 1 driver, the rising star, the man with the million-dollar contracts—he knew better. 

Knew that the reason he could focus on racing at all was because Felicity kept the rest of their world running so seamlessly behind the scenes.

Once, early in their marriage, he’d jokingly called her his CFO. She’d rolled her eyes. “I’m your wife.” But honestly, she was both. Because when his paycheck came in, he barely looked at it anymore. 

He just handed it over, kissed her cheek, and said, “Tell me if we can afford a new front porch.” Felicity always smiled. 

Always kissed him back. And somehow always replied, “Already ordered the wood. Bee helped me pick the stain.”

Felicity didn’t treat money like power.

She treated it like possibility.

And Oscar had learned to see it the same way—not in numbers, but in what it meant: security. Choice. Freedom. A future where his wife could say yes to things for herself. Where Bee would never grow up thinking that survival had to look like sacrifice.

And when people—Zak, Lando, even his own father—asked how he could trust one person with all of it?

Oscar just smiled.

Because that one person had been holding their entire life together since she was nineteen, tired, and holding a baby on her hip with a spreadsheet open on her lap.

She was the safest bet he’d ever made.

[jyunhology]

oh, honey lady ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ smg (m)

summary: when you get stood up and cancelled on one too many times, your friend takes it upon herself to get you to enjoy a night out. but you’re faced immediately with the source of your woes pressed up to another and a bartender who catches on quickly. the latter offers to dance with you; will you say yes?

a/n: have been getting a lot of feels for mingi lately .. i blacked out n wrote this aft watching the recent ateez whodunnit because jesus christ that man looked FINE acting as a bartender.

wc: 6.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! bartender!mingi, softdom!mingi, sub!reader, reader's (ex) bf is a loser, reader lowkey traumatised from her (ex) bf, mingi is very understanding, consumption of alcohol (however, they’re not drunk during the deed, just a little tipsy), grinding in a public space (a club lol), lots of teasing, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, praise, use of pet names (baby, honey, doll), bit of fluff in the middle, clit stimulation, unprotected p -> v sex (pls wrap it up irl), creampie, slight aftercare, mingi is so soft and patient with reader .. ❤️

No matter how much you knew this wasn’t your fault, you still can’t help but find fault with yourself — looks, personality, fashion. You passed it off the first time as something akin to a mistake, a miscalculation with the overtime your boyfriend, Hyunjae, had to do because of his recent promotion.

With mumbled apologies into your hair and fairly enjoyable sex, you thought everything between you both was going to be okay. It was just one dinner date, plus, he made it up to you with a fancy trip over the weekend and several, impressive gifts.

But you think you should’ve known better, because it happened a second time not even a month later, and the cycle repeats itself: sin, repent, and fall back into temptation all over again.

The only mistake you were making was thinking too highly of Hyunjae, assuming temptation was reports and hard work for extra cash, and not having a fucking affair with another woman in the printing room.

By the time the third incident came around, your friend was quick to propose a night out the next day despite your protests, but you know it came from a place of love. With the way she comforted you with memes and funny reels and words of advice, you realised it was the first time you’ve laughed since the supposed dinner at seven.

Ignoring the sinking dread settling in your heart the next afternoon, you shoot a simple ill be out late tonight to Hyunjae before dragging your body out of bed. You moved on autopilot, then, choosing not to acknowledge that he didn’t even return last night, preoccupying yourself instead with picking out your outfit.

And it was easy enough with a clear vision in your head; you weren’t afraid to dress up even after getting together with Hyunjae. This time it wasn’t any different — miniskirt, a cute fitted top and boots — that you already felt a bit better upon arriving at a bar for some pregame. The alcohol felt good, the company was better, and the both of you were already giggling and tipsy when you entered the club.

“Isn’t this way better than crying over that dumbass?” Yunjin nudges you gently before offering you a small smile.

You sigh, “I guess. I just don’t want it to be a recurring thing and make you responsible every time.”

“At least you know your limit now,” She loops an arm around you to keep you close as you two walk deeper into the club. “Still, as much as I love you, it was difficult trying to get you out of the club because you’d only be talking in counts of 8.” 

Ever the teasing friend, you nudge her back before breaking into laughter together, heading right to the bar for a lighter drink. It’s buzzing with orders left and right with the (possibly) poor newcomer trying his best to work the counter with all its confusing buttons. But he’s saved by another, a taller, more experienced bartender who was definitely carved by gods.

You try not to gawk, though, feeling guilty even when he shoots the two of you a small customer-service smile. “Give us a minute, alright? We’ll get to ya soon.” The moment he’s turned around, Yunjin shakes your arm excitedly.

“What? what?” 

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! Tell me you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Yunjin…” You sigh. “You know Hyunjae and I aren’t broken up—”

“Yet.” She interrupts with that single word and you shoot her a half playful, half serious glare.

“Okay, but, I have no business looking at other people just ’cause I’ve been stood up thrice.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, recognising that it really didn’t sound good out loud.

“Yeah, but don’t you think those are enough times to call things off?” She faces you completely now with both hands on your arms, trying to look you in the eye while you shrink, flustered and a bit embarrassed at how easily you seem to crawl back to Hyunjae.

Because you felt that if you let this go, you’d never feel this way ever again, having someone else walking out your life again like clockwork.

Your fingers tense subconsciously; clenching, unclenching. You settle for taut hands to your friend’s, removing them with the little fight left in you. “Yunjin, can— can we please drop this for now? I came out to forget my boyfriend for a bit, and then I’ll go back home and everything will be f—”

But the universe has other plans for you, conversation cut short from the handsome bartender asking about your orders now.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. What will you two be having?” In the midst of wiping his hands on the towel, he leans over the counter just as Yunjin gives her order, but you swear over the booming music, the bass reverberating, the screamed lyrics, you hear familiarity.

It’s funny how habitual you can become with someone; hearing that same laugh in your skin on slow mornings and during reruns of B99 that you can’t help but search the dancefloor frantically.

You weren’t even sure why you did it, but you think you were chasing that familiarity and safety of having someone even though they were shit at showing up.

But along the desperate scans you do with your eyes, you register that you were simply accustomed to having Hyunjae in your life, accustomed to coming back again to an empty house. Yet, you can’t even remember the last time you said I love you to him.

And always trust your gut, because that sinking feeling from earlier comes back tenfold when your eyes lock onto two people on the floor with bodies leaving no space.

Hyunjae has no qualms about getting caught, his hands roaming all over her body and practically grinding from behind that you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yunjin…” The lights were too blinding, the music now too loud, but you don’t have to say anything to know she’s already helping you onto a bar stool. When she turns to where you were looking, her jaw tightens and wordlessly places a hand on your lower back.

You go through emotions, fast — denial, and then anger and then a hint of sadness. But what you’re mainly feeling is a thirst for revenge knowing he thinks you’re a coward, a girl desperate for love.

Maybe you are, and there’s nothing wrong with mourning what you had. Though, being cancelled on three times within two months and spewing lies about overtime, ignites your resolve easily.

All the while, the bartender watches the interaction carefully, skilled hands still able to fulfill people’s orders, but he’s got you and your boyfriend all figured out. Not that he meant to eavesdrop, though, exchanging a glance with your friend until you raise your head with unshed tears.

“Thought I lost you there for a moment. That your boyfriend?” He nodded in the general direction and had probably used that line countless times, but you give credit where credit’s due; he was attractive and didn’t choose to comment on your glossy eyes.

With semi-long hair, pretty moles and plump lips, you want to enjoy this seat a bit longer, proposing a silly idea as you nod.

“Ex-, now. Do you have any chance to get them both kicked out?” You smile, small and unsure, but he replies with an even sweeter smile laced with sympathy that makes your heart skip just a little.

“No can do. If he’s not causing trouble, our bouncers have no reason to throw him out. Sorry, ladies.” For a moment, he’s back to being professional and tries not to steal glances at you as you blink away tears and attempt to appear unaffected.

He serves the drinks he’s already made, helps the counter boy again with orders until he hears your friend beg again when he comes ’round to your side.

“Oh please, Mr Bartender!” He raises an eyebrow, eyes trained on the both of you while capping his shaker before shaking. You purse your lips teasingly despite your blurred vision and the heat on your cheeks, “She can be pretty persuasive.” God, you didn’t even know what you were feeling at the moment.

He shrugs. “Well, tell you what — I get off my shift in about fifteen, and you’re looking for some retribution. Why don’t we do a little dance of our own?”

With a sigh, you ponder over your cards — Hyunjae might be pleasantly surprised and you’d end up with a hot bartender in your arms to boot. But if this is only going to leave a hole in your heart after everything, what really was the point?

“It’s your call, doll. If you’re still holding this,” He holds up a slim piece of metal that matches the club’s colours with its letters engraved in stark white, “by the time I come back, I’m taking you onto the floor for a dance. Deal?”

It’s dropped into your palm before you flip it over, running a thumb over the debossed name.

“Mingi.”

“You got it.” Mingi gives you a dazzling grin and a wink while you stifle a smile.

You spend the next ten minutes debating your options that you can’t count the amount of times Yunjin had to get your attention back on her. Revenge sounded delicious before.

Now? Now you’re waddling deep in doubt, worried about the aftertaste; all you wanted was to go home and sleep this whole thing off. Even the name tag was weighing heavy in your hand.

But the late nights cooking dinner, sitting alone at restaurants and the sheer indifference Hyunjae’s currently dancing with, did you in.

If you were chickening out only so someone this terrible stays, then you might regret this single night with someone else who already has shown you more respect than Hyunjae ever did.

The music is a bit clearer to you, now, and less suffocating as you call out to the bartender with five minutes left until his shift ends. You play with the pin at the back, unfastening and popping it back into place repeatedly. 

“I’ll take a Lemon Drop.” A knowing smile, a swipe of your card, sugar sweet on your lips. It hits great, and with a bit of liquid courage in you, you wait.

Mingi is quick to show up by your side a few minutes later, but he manages to take your breath away all over again with a more casual look.

Jewellery, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt down to his pecs that gives you a glimpse of a pretty little pendant resting nicely on his chest and rings adorning his fingers.

“Care for a dance?” His deep voice up close already has your stomach turning, opening your hand to show how you still had his name tag and he grins. “Keep it for now.”

You barely hear the whisper into your ear, but without any second thought you place your hand in his, the metal of his rings sending shivers right up your arm and down your spine. A faint cheer from Yunjin encourages you on, already feeling the addicting beats of the music playing.

Mingi is considerate above all else, looking back to see if you were still there, clearing a path for the both of you until you’re a few bodies away from Hyunjae. But standing out here now brings another wave of panic and embarrassment.

You were really about to do this, but—

What if he doesn’t like the way you danced? What if he’s a clean freak and would rather not have his hands over your already sweaty sides? What if Hyunjae creates a scene?

The thoughts are never-ending, swirling in your mind until you can feel Mingi’s hand enclose around your other hand, halting you from adjusting your outfit, from scratching at your skin.

It’s hot, too crowded for a dance floor and he knows that you’re nervous again with the increased proximity to your boyfriend.

Without words, Mingi brings your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Is this okay?”

You nod. Bodies beside you cause you to inch closer to him and his hair is so soft. Your tongue tingles from the lemon’s sourness and you want nothing more than to balance it out with his mouth that smells of rum. 

“Hey, I realise I haven’t gotten your name just yet.” The smile he has isn’t teasing, cocky, and you manage a small one back. He leans down to get your answer.

“It’s (Y/N).”

“Pretty. Follow my lead.”

And slowly but surely, you get out of your shell as you both lose all formality with the ear-splitting songs. The cocktail makes your hands wander, trailing over his nape, over his broad shoulders. He still hovers.

You don’t know whether it’s Mingi, the dim lighting or the song but you don’t hesitate to force his hands to your sides and he takes it as a sign.

He’s pulling you close until you’re pressed to his front, head immediately going for your exposed neck, and the laugh that escapes feels so different from Hyunjae, so free that you giggle with him.

It turns from wanting to Hyunjae to see you could do so much better to genuinely enjoying your time with the bartender that you don’t register the shock forming on Hyunjae’s face when he spots you just a few people over. Mingi doesn’t miss it, squeezing your waist softly to bring it to your attention.

“B-babe? What’re you doing here?” He acts like he doesn’t even know the girl dancing with him, yanking her off of him as he tries to preserve his dignity. But you knew better — you’ve seen her face at company dinners, on his Instagram story.

“Why are you here?” He sputters out an answer, not expecting you to fight back. Hyunjae’s smaller than ever now.

The bartender resists the urge to scoff at his lack of explanation, about to tell him to piss off when you push at Hyunjae with a finger. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. Witnessing you and the girl you told me not to worry about. Talking crap about overtime just to fuck her in your workplace.”

“W-What? That’s bullshit, where’d you even get that from?!”

Thank God for Mingi’s Lemon Drop, because you shove Hyunjae harder than before, angering the people behind him who push him back towards you.

“Guess you’ll never find out how. Get your shit out of my apartment and leave before tomorrow morning or else I’ll be telling your boss about inappropriate workplace conduct.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes and waves you off, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I hope the job market’s ready for someone who promised overtime hours only to soil the printing room. Keep checking your emails babe.” You purposefully drag out the pet name he likes to use on you, which now sounds cheap and tacky. Mingi can’t help a cackle from escaping, tugging you closer as if you’re his.

And you might just be by the end of this night. 

Hyunjae doesn’t bother to one-up the bartender one bit, only throwing Mingi a scowl before elbowing himself through the crowd. Unknowingly, your body relaxes, melting into the other’s arms easily and wanting nothing more than to turn off your brain for the night. It makes Mingi smile.

You’re bolder when the night deepens. It starts with running your hands down his chest and grasping softly at his waist. There’s whispered lyrics into your skin, letting him trail kisses down your jawline to your sternum and you feel like you’re on top of the world. 

His body’s flush against yours, tensing and breathing hard. The heat’s suffocating and the kisses sweet, hovering over just where you both need each other desperately.

“Heard you’re a dancer,” Mingi mumbles, sneaky hands going past your hips to your ass and kneads. You laugh. 

“You heard whatever Yunjin said? It was one time,” You reminisce about the time you went out for her birthday before getting shit-faced drunk and talking to her only in counts, “and she was struggling to understand what I was saying.”

It takes a beat for you to take the leap. “Want me to show you?”

A pretty laugh leaves his lips, “Your dancing or your innate ability to only talk in eights?”

Fuck, he’s handsome and funny.

“Har-har, very funny.” The moment’s playful but charged with underlying tension that only increases once the song changes. With a hand, you lift his head from your neck, taking advantage of his surprise to turn around.

Pushing up against him, you make sure he’s feeling every part of your ass on him, swaying your hips until you get a small groan from him. Tempted, Mingi places his hands along your waist, helping you grind down on him while arousal pools in your panties.

He’s enamoured with how well you fit against him, even more so when you lace your fingers with his, tugging one up to rest on your chest.

He takes the bait with how you turn your head, boasting your pretty lips with eyes closed. But you’re not letting him get what he wants that easily, finger pressed against his lips.

“Did the Lemon Drop do this, hm?” He’s back on your neck like it’s his home, slurring his words in that deep, deep voice of his that you want nothing more than to hear that for the rest of your life (and hopefully in your bed tonight).

“Maybe.” You can’t help but chuckle triumphantly, but it’s cut short when he suddenly yanks you back to his front; shit, you can feel his hard-on — he’s big.

You subconsciously gulp and pull him closer (not without a mildly surprised “oh”), overwhelmed with the feeling of his chest against yours, of his hips moving in tandem with yours, of his breath on your lips.

“I’m full of surprises, too.”

“That was so corny.” Biting your lip, you try to stifle a smile but it bleeds out past your lips, “You’re lucky I still want to fuck you.”

“Aw, only fuck?” He feigns sadness as he bats his eyelashes at you. That question probably would’ve made you think twice, but with Mingi’s little pout, the vodka in your system and Rihanna in the background, you throw all complicated feelings out the window.

“Shut up, Mingi.” 

That elicits a low chuckle. “Gladly.”

He collides with you immediately, lips moulding into yours like two parts of a whole that you stumble a bit from the force. But you waste no time in reciprocating with neediness of your own, tugging him down to you with hands tangled in his black hair.

You could care less about your ex, about Yunjin excitedly texting you from the bar, nor the people around you.

Not when Mingi’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and your pussy’s just desperate for relief that you moan softly into his mouth.

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulls away for air, but he’s already hooked onto your taste, leaving pecks on your lips again and again. His hands rest comfortably on your sides, caressing, squeezing. “Need to hear that in my sheets.”

You mutter a soft fuck before licking your lips, “Your place?”

Mingi hums into your lips, “You have my name tag, baby. It’s up to you,” and grins when he sees you jolt. The pet name affects you. He knows.

Fuck it. You need this man now.

With a quick text to Yunjin, everything that happens on the way to Mingi’s doesn’t exist. The ride was both a torment and a blur when his hand trails so closely to where you need him and his hips adjust uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. You’re so horny that you’re sure you’ve sobered up already.

You lunge forward once the front door’s closed, eagerness undermining both your abilities to remove your shoes, too preoccupied with devouring the other.

Mingi tastes like sage and citrus, a flavour you’ll keep locked away forever; he breaks the kiss reluctantly, and that taste travels down your body, taking his time.

Mingi’s anything but composed, though, larger hands wrapped around your middle while he takes in your scent and sweat, nose pressed against your heaving stomach.

Just a mere bartender, a one-night stand acting like a lover when he fully goes onto his knees and zips open your boots. Torturously, agonisingly slow, and removes them even slower.

By the time the second shoe’s off, your hand has already messed up his hair. You push him to you, he pulls back.

“It’s my time to tease, doll. Patience.” You whine softly in disagreement, letting him plant soft kisses along your ankle, up to your shin and knees and finally your inner thighs that threaten to tighten in his hold.

“Mingi…” You don’t mean to sound so desperate off the bat, but your cunt’s pulsing and the AC’s sending goosebumps all over your skin and possibly the hottest man alive is on his knees in front of you.

“Fuck, baby, I can smell you from here.” Like a gentleman, he helps you to shimmy out of your miniskirt and underwear before tossing it somewhere and you’re suddenly self conscious about being all exposed.

But Mingi simply doesn’t care about decorum as he lifts your leg, prompting you to place it on his shoulder. He marvels at your arousal illuminated by the doorway lighting, stifling a moan.

“Look at you.” Sighing, he plays with your folds, trailing a finger up and down and smirking when he feels you shiver under his touch. “So perfect. All this for me?”

“Y-Yeah, just for you,” Your words are muffled from your hand, trying to hold back your sounds but Mingi isn’t having any of that. He thinks your ex-boyfriend may have something to do with it.

“Let me hear you, alright, honey?” Mingi takes your hand and interlocks it together with his, a promise that you’ll be the star tonight. “We’re safe here, there’s no need to hold back.”

You nod just as he blows into your cunt, making you clench around nothing and he smiles. “For now, let me eat my meal.”

And Mingi eats, convincing yourself that you’ve definitely driven a hole through his shoebox cabinet with how hard you were leaning against it. Your hips buck against his face, tongue flicking over your clit as you relish in the pleasure.

“Oh my G-God, Mingi…” You can barely hold eye contact with him as he latches onto your pussy like a vice, addicted to your taste, your sounds and how you drip endlessly all over his tongue.

“That’s it, doll, tell me how good you feel.” Mingi continues to inch closer on his knees, trapping himself under your thighs as his tongue works wonders.

With an experimental finger, he circles your pulsing hole and pushes in ever so slightly, making you almost keel over from the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi, that feels so—!” Your moans fill his house together with the lewd sounds of your pussy, feeling the vibrations of his hums on your sensitive clit. His thumb plays with it as he comes up for air, adding a second finger easily before starting to pump them with determination.

“That feel good?” He’s brutal in his thrusting, but it’s not even a minute when he returns with his merciless tongue again, swearing that you were seeing stars from this alone.

If Mingi was this pussy drunk, who knows how you’d feel when he’s in you? You tremble at the thought, fingers pulling at his hair until it stings.

But Mingi loves it, loves seeing your eyes flutter close and your toes curl in sheer pleasure as the prettiest mewls fall from your lips. You’re full on grinding into his face now, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, while there’s the audible slick sounds of your juices. 

It’s hotter than it was on the dance floor, and fully knowing you’d be buckling to the ground if it wasn’t for Mingi’s secure hold on you. Because you can feel yourself getting weaker and weaker the more the coil in your stomach turns, clamping down hard on his fingers.

“I-I’m close, baby—” Your words slip, every part of your body tingles and he pants out a plea.

“Call me that again for me, doll.” He’s ravishing you, ruining you for any other person and you wouldn’t have it any other way. His rings feel so cold on your cunt, while his mouth’s hot and he’s dizzy off of you.

“Gonna cum, baby,” If your friend couldn’t understand you while drunk, Mingi’s chest puffs with pride making you babble nonsensical things while you’re both tipsy with his name being the only coherent thing, “Mingi, Mingi, Mingiiii.”

The name becomes a chant together with needy whines that’s drowned out by your soaking pussy. Mingi lets the force of his palm stimulate your clit instead, and the visual of seeing him on his knees with this tongue out—

“F-fuck…” Your orgasm hits you in sudden waves, sending you jerking against his hold even when his fingers don’t slow down, “Feels s’good, Mingi—”

“There we go, baby, keep cumming… Taste just like honey.” Mingi groans and drives his tongue along your folds for a taste, but now he takes and takes, savouring whatever you have to give. Sweeter than his Lemon Drop, you taste so heavenly that he wants seconds.

But you have other plans, trying your best to regain your balance and simultaneously drag him up by the biceps. Mingi traps you in between the cabinet, and you trap him with a passionate kiss. Moaning into his mouth at your taste while he soothes your aching thighs with his gentle touch.

“Bed. Now.” Your cheeks warm as he laughs against your lips at your request. 

“You got it, doll.” With a hand outstretched, you grab hold and let him lead you just like the club. Along the way, you slip on your underwear just so you won’t be butt ass naked and he throws you a small smile. Except this time, you’re not performing for anyone, not for Hyunjae, not for yourself, and hopefully not for Mingi.

Though, if riding Mingi’s tongue had you thrashing left and right, you think you’d be safe, knowing he’ll take care of you.

His room feels strangely familiar — posters and records plastered up everywhere with a portable closet and pretty lights. There’s a few guitars in cases with one displayed proudly while his desk is littered with cute trinkets and a gaming set-up. It’s a lived-in bedroom, worn down from years of tape on walls and accidents from silly dance moves.

“Hard to believe I’m an adult with this room, huh?”

You smile at him, finding it endearing he’s still kept his hobbies and favourite things close to him. “No no, it’s charming. I like it.”

You continued, “I don’t think having a ‘serious’ job like bartending immediately eliminates your other hobbies.”

Mingi shoots you that boyish grin again, “You think my job’s ‘serious’?” and mimics your air quotes.

“Well, you are handling alcohol — it seems pretty serious, don’t you think?” There’s no choice but to giggle when Mingi’s expression turns from all-knowing to pondering. “And— And there’s always the usual brooding persons that come in to vent their problems to you.”

Mingi bursts out laughing at that with an attractive rasp to it, plopping on his Queen size. “You’re not wrong about that. I guess I’m sort of like a therapist too.”

Like a magnet, you feel the pull into his arms just as he whispers a c’mere, finally able to see his face properly when you stand in between his legs.

The glistening juices on the bottom half of his face make you flush just a bit, but up close, Mingi feels so familiar. Not the way Hyunjae was — that was habit disguised as familiarity.

But despite your unconfirmed fate and the possibility of never seeing Mingi again, he enchants like no other. Fuck, you were talking crazy. 

The other seems to see your dilemma, reaching for your hands. “We don’t have to do anything, you know?”

His touch is so tender, it makes your heart ache, “I know we only danced to scare off your boyfriend but I genuinely did want to know you. And… I know you feel it too, but I don’t wanna pressure you after seeing such a shitty thing in the club.”

“You’re… not wrong, Mingi. It has been only a few hours and you’ve already made me feel more worth than he ever did but, I’ll need time to process my feelings too.”

Slowly, you remove your hands from his but only to straddle him in the next second, whining softly when he tugs you closer if that was even possible. 

“But tonight, I want you to fuck all the feelings out of me. I don’t wanna think, I don’t wanna—” You heave a heavy sigh, swallowing when you think back to Hyunjae and his colleague. 

Mingi applies light pressure to your side to ground you. “(Y/N), hey, it’s no problem. Your wish is my command, tonight.”

“And after—”

“We’ll talk about the after later, don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout it.” You don’t even realise he’s flipped you over but he takes his time to remove his pants and boxers, ego stroked just a little when he sees your wide eyes at his size.

“You’re…” 

“I know, baby. We’ll take it slow, alright?” Mingi is steady even as he reaches over for a condom, but you stop him.

“Wanna feel all of you.” He swears his heart bursts at your cute pout. “I’m clean and on the pill, that okay?”

“More than okay. I’m clean too. You sure you’re okay?” He asks as he tugs your panties to the side, interrupted briefly from your impatient hum.

“Yes, Mingi. Please just fuck me already.” Your voice is less bratty, more pleading, but it strikes a chord within him. He obeys immediately. 

“Okay, okay!” His deep laugh elicits one out of you, too. At least you don’t stop him from taking the lube — he spurts a good amount and strokes himself with a soft grunt, mixing in with his pre-cum. Relief. “It’s gonna hurt. Need you to breathe and relax, okay?”

Mingi’s already much thicker than your ex, and you hiss slightly at the stretch once he inches his cock in. But it’s nothing you can take, eyes trained on how he’s pushing through slowly. 

“F-Fuck, baby, you gotta stop clenching. So tight—” You whimper at the sight, but Mingi uses his body to push you down, distracting you with deep kisses that subconsciously relaxes your body. His intoxicating smell and presence does the rest of the job.

“Taking me so well, good girl.” He mumbles into your skin as you become obsessed with the way his body engulfs yours, towering but certain.

His pendant’s movements are messy, colliding with your chin over and over but Mingi is just so deep it doesn’t register in your head. “Just a little more, honey, you got it.”

In the next minute, Mingi’s loud groan fills your ears, bottoming out in your walls that feel so warm that he never wants to pull out.

His furrowed eyebrows with sweat lined along it paired with his beautiful parted lips is enough to make your cunt pulse and heart full — making a pretty man like him lose his mind over you, desperation and profanity spilling over.

“M-Move, baby, please—” With a slow thrust of his hips, he has to drop his head to yours because you just feel too fucking good wrapped around his aching length. Both your shaky breaths mingle as he sets a comfortable pace that allows you both to feel every part of the other.

And his languid movements have never felt slower and more intense, the obscene noises of your soaking pussy stuffed full reverberating off the walls. It surrounds you like a cloud, making the feeling, the sensations rise to an all time high.

It’s worse when Mingi folds your legs to your chest, the image of his shaft disappearing into your pretty little pussy searing itself into his brain.

Mingi keeps his promise to you, taking your one-worded pleas and turning them into repeated “ah’s” with no room for any word or any doubt left in your mind. By now, he’s pistoning in and out of you, your release from earlier merging with the lube until both you and Mingi are filthy and soaking, juices flowing down your thighs and right into his sheets.

“You’re so wet, holy f-fuck—” His eyes are the ones struggling to stay open now, drunk off of everything you that he can’t even move his hips properly, stuttering every now and then.

There’s the delicious squelches every time his skin meets yours, the dizzying pap! pap! pap! that hypnotises you. “Listen to how wet your sweet pussy is, baby.”

You’re past words, only babbling incoherence as Mingi grunts above you, continuing to fill you up with his cock. His thrusts start to turn erratic, so lost in the feeling that the grip on your legs loses its hold. You take the chance to wrap them around his waist, barely catching his pendant and yanking him towards you.

“Kiss me stupid, Mingi.” The long, drawn out moan against your lips sends heat bubbling up from inside you. And the kiss he lands on you leaves fire along your skin, burning indefinitely until a particular thrust has your eyes rolling back.

“Cumming— f-fuck—!” It comes out in broken sobs as you see white, cumming so hard on his pulsating length that your juices spray everywhere and your legs shake uncontrollably. The slight sheen along his cock starts to form a ring of white and he whines at your warmth.

Everything — the craving for you, your tight cunt, how you leak all over him — makes him cum right after. “I-I’m gonna pump you full, baby— shit…”

Your eyes can’t help but roll back again at the sensation of Mingi painting your insides white, cum spurting so deep in you that you can feel it flow out. It’s so warm that you squirm as he holds your hips down, making sure your hole gets every last drop.

Without pulling out, he admires your sweaty top that’s been pushed past your tits, your heaving chest and the remnants of your trembling thighs with a lip bite accompanied by a smile.

Silently, he caresses your outer thighs, slowly bringing your feet down to rest on his soaked sheets. You whimper when you feel him pull out, the salacious sight of cum leaking out from your pussy comes out in blobs; it takes everything in Mingi to compose himself. 

Because you were utterly fucked out, eyes constantly blinking with a light-headed expression that tells him he might’ve fucked you dumb. Your little sounds are just adorable that he rubs his cum just one last time over your folds, claiming you.

“Okay okay, baby, I got you.” With a peck to your forehead, Mingi promises to come back with a wet rag and some water and the last thing you remember is sage and citrus wafting through the air as he plants a sweet kiss to your lips. “And then tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out, okay honey?”

You drift off easily, but you’ll find that for now and possibly forever, Mingi always keeps his promises.

A dream — you think, when you wake up, but you recognise that the bedroom is not yours and the ache in your body persists. But to your dismay, Mingi is nowhere to be found. Not until you hear faint humming coming from the kitchen and smell the lovely aroma of pancakes.

“Morning, baby.” Mingi says like you’ve always been in his life, like you’ve lived here for many years, like you’re familiar to him.

“Y-Yeah, good morning, Mingi.” Awkwardly, you take a seat at his island, but as you watch his broad back cooking breakfast for his one-night stand, you relax for a bit.

Mingi piles a few pancakes for you effortlessly, sliding the plate to you, followed by the butter and then holds up maple syrup in his left hand and honey in the other. The question is unsaid, but you nod towards his right with a small smile that’s returned.

“Eat.” With a plate in his hand as well, he plops down beside you as if one-night stands don’t complicate feelings and makes things messy.

But Mingi, the bartender, with a pure heart and even lovelier soul (you have yet to discover this), eats a meal beside you like you’re tied together by fate (maybe).

(You are).

Now, his deep voice sounds small, but sure. “And then we’ll talk feelings after. And we can talk about the ‘after’ after.”

A deep breath for good measure and luck. “And also maybe about the date I’d wanna bring you on.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡ also major thank you to this video which made me lose my mind n inspired this...

[idle-vapourings]

This is so real.

for myself, I've just had to realize when I'm talking to someone who has no desire to understand me.

because yeah, ableist people be ableist, bigots be bigots, selfish people be selfish, and it will be a losing game every time trying to make them come around.

i had this happen with a friend who had hurt my feelings. I kept it very short and polite because I didn't want to be angry with her or make her feel bad. and then she interpreted that negatively and had a lot of questions for me about my feelings. so i tried to take that in good faith, and explained myself in more detail. I tried to be both empathetic but clear, but really explain and answer her questions. she kept asking me to explain my feelings and at some point I felt that I was being asked to justify having an emotion, which I explained why that hurt. She wasn't getting it, so I explained with more words in an attempt to be clear while being honest how what was happening was frustrating and hurtful to me. she took that as aggression and an unwillingness to work things out with her (the precise thing I was attempting to do). and then she blocked me.

that stung and for a while i thought, hm did i fuck up. but the thing is, no i didn't. really, what it was about is that she refused to accept that she had done something hurtful. so the issue wasn't how i was communicating. it was that she refused to accept a world where she hurt my feelings - even if I had told her it was okay and that I know she didn't mean harm and that I had moved on. Instead, she needed to dissect why I was hurt to begin with and challenge it, rather than accepting that she was a human being who made a mistake. that person wasn't interested in my feelings or my take on the situation. they were interested in being right. and when they couldn't find a path to that with me, they just bounced.

I've also had this happen when requesting disability accommodations after getting a job offer. I requested clarity. I got obtuse replies. I gave more clarity. I got more obtuse replies. That was interpreted as me not wanting to participate in a good faith process. The reality was, the process was not good faith, and it never would have been, no matter what I said.

This feeling of no matter what you say it being wrong can be crushing and frustrating. because at least for me, I feel my autistic brain is really set on there being a solution, a right way to say something to get through to someone or to bridge a connection. and a sincere desire and deep need to be understood and heard. what I've had to come around to is that... sometimes people do not want to hear me. and if they don't, yeah, no matter what I choose, it results in misunderstanding.

I give it a genuine good go once or twice but if they're still interpreting me in the worst faith way possible or choosing to not really hear me then, yanno, time to not bother talking to someone who isn't listening and go talk to someone else worthwhile. I just try to remember that the failure is not mine, here. Someone who doesn't want to listen will never hear me. And people who don't actually want to hear me are never, ever worth my energy in the long run.

The people who really want to listen are out there. I say my thing, I be myself, and I see what the other person does with it.

I LOVE being autistic and trying to communicate because every time it’s

[blank-potato]

A Special Surprise

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“What’s going on?” he asks, brows raised. You say wearily, “It’s been shaking all morning… almost dancing?” You both look at it. The plant is doing a slow, rhythmic shimmy like it’s listening to music, only it can hear.  It was no longer sad, that was for sure.  You watch it…it’s almost hypnotic in its movements. Going round and round and round and— you look away, shaking your head.  “Not today, horny plant, not today.” Bob tries and fails to suppress a snort. “Did you just…. call it horny?” Or Since the plant attack a month ago, you and Bob haven't had sex, agreeing that you should take things slow. But your plant sees how pent up you both are and changes your plans.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, plants being freaky asl, Bob using his telekinesis for horny reasons, orgasm control/denial, tentacle handjob (tentacle job?) oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, hair pulling, bondage via tentacles and telekinesis, established relationship

WC: 5.8k

A/N: This is part 2 of Something Special linked below. This was another really fun one to write, more plant action as promised, hope you enjoy it!

Part 1

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Since the great plant incident, the two of you had decided to take things slow. 

Really slow.

It had been almost a month, and you guys had just worked your way up to holding hands, kissing and the occasional makeout session. 

Even though you guys had had sex, it probably wouldn’t have been the natural progression of your relationship. You would have kept awkwardly not quite flirting with each other until one of you made a move. 

So, taking it slow seemed to be the best course of action. It was fine, you were both okay with it… kinda. In all honesty, you wanted each other bad.

You’d be completely normal, working on something, and you’d feel his arms wrapping around you from behind, and that is all it took. The rest of the day, you’d think about you and him in many different compromising positions.

But you had to be normal and chill, and that is something you definitely know how to do. 

Bob enters your office, and you smile up at him. You could never resist your daily dose of Bob Reynolds. “Morning, I brought you cinnamon rolls. I figured you haven’t eaten yet?

“You know me and my bad habits so well,” You say before leaning up to peck him on the lips. You taste sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon. “You’ve already eaten yours?”

“Couldn’t resist.”

He rounds the table to settle next to you, the smell of his cologne and shampoo already making you feel at home.

“How’s it looking?” he says, nodding at your flower.

You look at the plant in the corner of your lab, which has lost a few petals and curled in on itself a little. It’s looking out your window, all forlorn like it’s wishing for better days. “I swear I’ve been taking care of it, giving it enough water and sun, but it’s…”

“It looks a little sad,” Bob finishes.

The plant had taken to Bob over the past few weeks, probably because Bob was always in your lab, hovering nearby under the guise of helping or waiting for you to finish up.

It was oddly endearing, watching the way the plant seemed to lean toward him whenever he was around, as if it had claimed him, too. It was very cute how it would do a little shiver whenever you ruffled Bob’s hair or laughed at one of his awkward jokes, almost like it was rooting for you.

Sometimes, when Bob got too close to your workstation, the plant would nudge toward him, its leaves twitching like it wanted to be involved in whatever the two of you were doing.

He turns away from the plant and observes you instead. Instantly, he sees that you’re looking a little tired. “You alright?”

You mumble as ‘yes’ but honestly, without your second coffee of the day, you’d be curled up underneath your desk, asleep.

“Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

And that was the truth. You didn’t sleep well last night, he didn’t need to know that it was because you had a dream about him fucking your brains out. Another shitty side-effect of not having sex with your hot boyfriend. 

“Anything I can do to help? I could… organise your notes, or bring coffee, or I don’t know…” Bob offers, clearly trying to come up with anything useful. “I just don’t want to see you burnt out.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close, resting your forehead gently against his. “I’ll be okay. I survived med school, okay? I’ve been more tired,” you say with a soft smile, “You’re so sweet, wanting to take care of me…”

You loved it when he got like this, all cute and tender. And the way he’d be doting on you even when you insisted you were fine. Like when he found you passed out at your desk, surrounded by papers and coffee cups, and you woke up in your bed and had a sparkling lab by the next morning. 

You glance up at his worried eyes, framed by the faintest crease in his brow. He’s so beautiful when he’s like this; it makes you want to melt into a little puddle on the floor.  There’s even a smudge of sugar on the corner of his lip from the cinnamon roll, and you just wanna kiss it right off. 

Just then, you’re overcome by that aching kind of affection, the kind that just demands an outlet, and you start pressing kisses all over his face: his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose.

He bursts into laughter, leaning back just slightly as you continue your playful assault. “What are you doing?” he laughs.

“This’ll keep me awake,” you murmur against his jawline.

He wraps his arms around you and lifts you in his arms like you weigh nothing.  You lock your legs around his waist like a little koala. You have no idea what has you both feeling so bold, but you like it. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say, as you move to the other side of his jaw. He lets out a moan, quaking under your praise. You knew just how to make him feel good, just how to make him feel special. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, his voice dipping even lower. Your lips leave his skin, and you look up at him to see his eyes glowing gold. All that does is turn you on even more, the fact that you got him so worked up…

Then, like that, as if you realised you weren’t exactly going slow right now, you break apart. 

“We should probably…” 

Bob hums in agreement, and you reluctantly release your python grip on his waist. It’s a near-impossible task, and you miss having him hold you as soon as he plops you down on your desk. 

You fan yourself a little and fix your shirt, trying to look composed even if you were the furthest thing from it. 

But when your eyes sweep the room, you notice the plant now turned away from the window and right at the two of you, like it was watching. 

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By the next day, the plant is going wild.

Bob stops by your office, hoping to take you out to lunch, only to find you locked in a tense staring contest with the plant, before you turn and he sees why.

“What’s going on?” he asks, brows raised.

You say wearily, “It’s been shaking all morning… almost dancing?”

You both look at it. The plant is doing a slow, rhythmic shimmy like it’s listening to music, only it can hear.  It was no longer sad, that was for sure. 

You watch it…it’s almost hypnotic in its movements. Going round and round and round and— you look away, shaking your head. 

“Not today, horny plant, not today.”

Bob tries and fails to suppress a snort. “Did you just…. call it horny?”

You nod profusely before pointing an accusatory finger at it. “I know that look. I’m telling you, something isn’t right.”

“Do we have any idea why?” Bob asks, but you shake your head. 

“I’ve called a specialist, but they won’t be here by next week.” Shifting away from it, you hold onto Bob’s arm. You needed to be ready to bolt just in case, it went crazy on your asses again.

You knew exactly what this plant was capable of, the flashbacks to your completely destroyed office coming back to you all at once. You still missed the shirt that it obliterated. 

You sigh. “You still wanna get lunch?”

Bob smiles. “Only if we’re not bringing the third wheel.”

You shoot the plant a final stern look. “Stay.”

The plant, as if in response, gives another aggressive little shimmy.

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Lunch was perfect, but moments with Bob often were. You shared jokes and a meatball sub from the corner shop and sat together in a nearby park. 

How could someone look so cute with sauce on his face? You wiped it off, brushing his lips with your napkin. Pretty lips, lips you wanted to devour.

You almost didn’t want to get back to work. 

Once you get back to the Tower, it’s quiet as the rest of the Avengers are now halfway across the country, fighting dangers unknown.

Like a big weighted blanket, he wraps his arms around you, walking with you in a slow, sleepy sway.

“Do you have to get to work now?” he murmurs against your temple.

You nod, sighing as you both waddle down the hall like two sleepy penguins, still tangled in each other’s warmth.

“See me after?”

“I will.”

Then, without warning, he stops and spins you around, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing, pressing a deep, giddy kiss to your lips.

“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” you laugh breathlessly as he sets you back down.

He smiles, that soft, golden smile. “You just bring something out in me.”

Swiftly, he disappears down the hall, leaving your heart pounding and you wondering when exactly he got all suave and smooth. 

When you swing your door open, still swooning over Bob, you see something. Something…concerning?

It’s another flower. 

The door shuts behind you as you pause mid-step, squinting at it. This wasn’t the one Bob gave you. That one had soft green leaves and leaned adorably toward his voice and evidently danced. 

But this? This one had glowing yellow petals that pulsed faintly, almost like it was breathing. You hadn’t seen it before, and you certainly hadn’t grown it.

“I come in peace, plant.”

You carefully lift its pot and set it next to your other plant. If you were more attentive, or just less exhausted, then you probably would’ve noticed the faint tremble in the soil, or the way the leaves angled ever so slightly toward the door. You’d deal with it after the giant stack of papers and emails you had to get through.

You click-clack at your computer and try to focus, your body becomes heavier, the letters on your keyboard become blurry.

“Stay awake, stay awake,” you whisper to yourself, like a chant to keep you up, but it’s no use. “Just five minutes,” you murmur to yourself, as you rest your head on the desk.

What must’ve been at least an hour slips by, and when you jolt upright, disoriented and sticky-eyed—

“Of course, I fell asleep…”

You look around, scratching the back of your neck, stretching with a yawn, trying to blink the fog from your brain. But when you look to the corner, the one you’d started glancing at by habit, it’s empty.

When you wake up, the flower is gone.

Actually, both flowers are gone.

“Shit.”

You blink, disoriented, and then the sudden crack of gunfire rings out. You bolt upright, and you step out of the lab into complete chaos.

The hallway is a mess, vines are all over the ceiling and walls, snaking around furniture and lights, creeping fast. Ava is blinking in and out of sight, phasing wildly as she dodges them, while a vine nearly snags her ankle. Yelena is hanging from the chandelier on the ceiling with a gas mask, shooting at them. 

You can’t see him, but you can hear Alexei roaring in the distance, presumably batting the plant’s tentacles away with brute force.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

At the centre of the chaos, the yellow flower that was on your desk was now mad with power and trying to pull Bucky out of the elevator. And in another corner amongst overturned chairs and sparkling wires is a pink one, that had tentacles attached to John’s back, trying to pry off his clothes. 

How the fuck did they get here? Did they take the subway? A taxi?

Before you can do anything, you’re being pulled away into the air with a scream… not by a tentacle but by an invisible force.

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A few minutes before the plant attack on Avengers Tower, Bob’s lying in bed, living his best life and thinking of you, like always.  

Since you were busy working, he decided he’d take a nap, five minutes tops. He had been tired these past few days as well, thoughts of you in his bed, riding him, calling out his name until your voice was hoarse, keeping him awake more and more often. The sex dreams were wreaking havoc on his sleep schedule. Every time you guys would makeout, he’d be brought back to all the filthy things you’d be whispering in his ear in his dreams. 

He’d only meant to close his eyes for five minutes.

But eventually he drifts off peacefully, the comfort of his pillow and the lingering scent of you on his shirt pulling him under. Only to wake a few minutes later to the feeling of a warm, unfamiliar weight on his chest.

A soft rustle. Something moves.

A bloom of purple petals hovers above him, looking down at him with something almost resembling fondness. The plant tilts its head, mimicking him as he shifts, confused.

It takes him a moment to realise… his sheets are gone. His wrists, tied gently but firmly to the headboard by vines. Velvet-smooth tentacles looped like cuffs around his ankles.

Bob freezes, his breath catches in his throat. His heart races too, thoughts piling up in his head faster than he can sort them.

He swallows hard, shifting his hips in a vain attempt to sit up, but the vines hold firm. One of the petals tilts curiously, responding to his movement with something too close to glee.

Still pinned, still breathless, he whispers to the ceiling:

“…This plant is going to kill me.”

As if hearing him, the plant gets to work, making quick work of his clothes, discarding the fabric in smooth, deliberate motions, like it had done this before.

Bob couldn't deny it felt good… He'd been left wanting more every time, longing to be touched more. Every heated makeout session, few and far between, cut short by your mutual agreement to take things slow.

The tendrils slither their way around his body until they found what they were looking for, his cock. They wrap around him, the substance that was oozing from the tentacles onto his cock making him feel weak.  

His whole body shivers when they start moving. They fluctuate between pulsing around him and jerking him off, making it impossible to focus on anything. 

He bites back the no doubt embarrassing moan that was bound to come out. But he can’t keep them back for too long.  The moan that rips through him is more of a pathetic whine. They use his reactions against him, rubbing wherever made him whimper the loudest. But instead of moving as fast as they can, they slicked up his cock, moving just slow enough to leave him wanting. 

His breath is short, and his limbs feel heavy, too heavy for him to do anything, but he’s not sure he wants to do anything right now. 

“Fuck…”

He feels himself getting closer and closer, but one of the tentacles curls around the base of his cock and squeezes. Denying him the release, he very much needed. His legs shake as he groans and slams his head against the headboard, denting it. 

“Please…,” he lets out, his eyes dazed, and if you asked him what he’s begging for, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. 

The plant isn’t done with him yet; it starts moving again. The tentacles are making themselves right at home, working their hardest to get him to another orgasm. It's hell-bent on draining all his energy and leaving him a complete mess. He moans, bucking his hips up into its grip, causing it to squeeze around him harder. 

“I can’t, I can’t…” he gasps, before collapsing into a quiet sob, trembling under its iron grip pressing down on him.

He turns his head to the side, burying his face in the pillow, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as his toes curl in pleasure.

It’s not long before he feels it coming again, another dry orgasm he’s too weak to do anything about except whimper.

“Please, let me—”

His back arches off the bed as he has a second dry orgasm. All he can think about is you, how he wanted to kiss you and hold you in his arms… and fuck you senseless.  He wanted to hear you, wanted to make you feel good. His eyes start to glow gold as he moans out your name over and over. 

“Please, please, please—”

With the thought of you fresh in his mind, he finds his orgasm hitting him that much faster and harder. No matter how much he begged, the plant wouldn’t let him finish. But that’s not what really hurt; what hurt is the fact that you weren’t here right now with him. And he needed you. 

The tentacles keep moving, but start exploring the rest of his body more. He felt boneless and unbelievably horny, like he was about to go crazy. 

He needed relief. He needed you. To feel your body pressed against his, to feel your pussy squeezing down on his dick.

He flexes his hand and thinks of you, hoping that you’d come to him.

And you did. You were still mid-yell when you flew in there, as he slammed the door shut behind you with his telekinesis. 

Not even in your wildest dreams could you have imagined seeing Bob like that when you floated into his room.

Vines around his body, his abs twitching, panting out your name in desperation. He was practically gift-wrapped. 

“Holy—” You start, but you see Bob nod his head, and your clothes literally go flying off your body. 

“Need you right now,” He breathes out, and your body floats over to him. Good to know that Bob could throw you around with his mind. You land on his lap, just as the vines fall away from around him. 

He only wants to focus on having you.  

“Bob, what happened?” you ask gently, caressing his cheek.

He’s so sensitive to your touch that he lets out a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut under your fingertips.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in, mouth finding your collarbone, marking it with slow, desperate kisses. He’s been craving you, and that's evident.

“Bob…,” you whine, getting lost in his touch. You’re sure he can’t be affected by the sex pollen capabilities of the plant, so it must have found a way around it. 

He kisses his way from your collarbone to your neck to your earlobe, gently nibbling on it. 

“I’ve been wanting to be inside of you for weeks,” he confesses, finally saying it, feeling like a weight off his shoulders. 

Your heart jumps in your chest, and something about the way he says it, all breathy and needy, goes straight to your core. 

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, every movement he makes methodical. “Every time you’d climb in my lap or grip my hair when we’re kissing, all I could think of was how you looked lying out on that examination table that day.”

His hand runs down your stomach until he’s gently pressing on your aching pussy, not moving yet. “How good you felt to touch… You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to just bend you over and…”

You gasp, feeling him start to move his hand, rubbing your clit in slow circles. “And just fuck you,” he says finishing his sentence. 

“Need to fill you up,” he says and moves you until you’re over his dick. “Can I?” 

You nod excitedly. Who were you to deny him when he’s so cute asking for permission? 

He slides in, and you remember just how good it feels to have him inside of you. Your walls stretching to accommodate his size, the biting pain that melts into pleasure, there’s nothing like it. He makes the most of it immediately, moving in sync with you. 

“So perfect,” he moans, like he’s finally gotten that relief he’s needed so badly. 

It’s clear he’s desperate for you, and only you.

“Want my cum to be dripping out of you for days,” Bob rasps, as he thrusts harder. 

That was a surprise.

“O-okay,” you squeak. He looks at you like he’s starving, like only you can satiate this aching hunger that’s eating him alive from the inside out.

You had never heard Bob talk like this, but you kinda liked it. 

He locks eyes with you, something fierce and tender flickering there, then pulls you flush against his chest. He starts thrusting into you with inhumane force, which makes you drool. His breath brushes your ear as he whispers, “You feel that? That’s all for you.”

“Bob!” you scream as he bounces you up and down on him with vigour.  You cry out his name so loud, you swear the other Avengers might hear it over the potted plant chaos. It feels so good, you swear you’re about to lose your mind.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you reply immediately.

He slows down, holding you by the hips and rocking you gently, the head of his cock pushing right against your sensitive spot. He leans in and kisses you like he’s scared you’re going to disappear, his whole body pressing into the moment, as he pours every ounce of feeling into it.

You're his world, and in that kiss, there’s no mistaking it. He wants you just as much as you want him.

He pulls back, kissing you on the forehead. Before you can even think of whining at the loss of him, you’re in the air as he flips you over with his mind. That was going to take a lot of getting used to. 

You end up back on the bed, legs spread, waiting for him to fill you up again. The anticipation is almost killing you and just when he decides to tease you, pushing the head of his cock against your entrance but not giving you want. 

“Bob, please…,” you beg, looking behind you to try and convince him with doe eyes and a pouty lip, but an invisible hand forces you to face the front and arch your back. You can feel Bob’s both of actual hands replacing his dick, spreading your wet folds apart.

“Don’t tease me like this,” you complain, still at the mercy of Bob’s invisible hold on your hair. Then catching you off guard he gets underneath you and starts licking at your pussy.

“Bob!”

He sucks your folds hungrily, like he was starved of you, before flipping you around over like a rotisserie chicken to get more access. You land on your back, chest heaving as you look up at Bob, so determined to please you. 

“You’re so beautiful, can’t believe I have you all to myself,” he praises before diving back in and turning your brain to soup.

You’re about to close your legs, too sensitive to the feeling, but the plant now sprang back to life with impeccable timing, catching them to keep them open. The vines deepen the stretch of your legs to allow Bob all the access he could ever want.

You watered it every day, gave it sun, and now it betrays you, just when you think you know a plant. Traitor.

He laps you up, your slick coating your lips as you continue to squirm. “Gonna die…,” you breathe out, and you’re surprised you’re not already dead. 

You try sitting up, but again that invisible force pulls your body around like you’re a puppet. He takes your arms with his mind and pins them above your head as he continues to please you with his mouth. 

“So…mean…” you whine to which you feel the vibration of his chuckle on your pussy. 

When you look down, you catch his eyes, glowing gold and full of desire for you. 

Just when you feel like you’ve had enough, you feel his fingers rubbing on your clit and more fingers pressing on your g-spot? Or at least you thought it was his fingers, but when you looked down, Bob’s hands were under your knees, so he was doing it with his mind. You didn’t know he had that much control, but you’re glad he did. 

“Bob, you’re fucking magical,” you say, as you let your head loll against the sheets. 

If his telekinesis wasn’t keeping you flat, you’d be arching your back off the bed as you scream out his name again. 

The moment you finish is something you’ll never forget. You’re whining because you can feel the orgasm coming but a final lick on your clit, as he looks up at you sends you crashing.

You fight against the hold the plant has on your legs, and the hold Bob has on…well, the rest of you, but it’s no use. The orgasm rolls through your whole body as you’re practically forced to stay still. 

He finally lets you go and shoo the plant away from your thighs. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, checking up on you, and you nod. You may be slightly (very) disorientated but you could fuck until the sun came down and then continue to fuck until the sun came up again. 

He pulls you up to a seated position, arms wrapped gently around you, letting you catch your breath as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, words soft and warm enough to melt you.

“Want to keep going?” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing your skin.

“More than anything,” you breathe, and before he can respond, you shift, taking him by surprise as you climb on top of him, eyes locked with his.

The look on his face?

Completely undone.

His Adam’s apple jumps and he gulps, eyes locked on you like he’s trying to memorise every inch.

You were so beautiful, so sure, so sure of him. It made something ache deep inside him.

“You want no one else?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, needing that confirmation. 

“Just you,” you say without hesitation, and it’s all he needs to hear.

You run a finger slowly down his abs, watching the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

Then your desire takes over, and then leaning down, licking a line from the bottom of his abs to the top, savouring the way his breath catches, the quiet, broken sound he makes in response.

He's yours, and right now, you're making sure he feels it. You even feel his whole body shiver when you do that, a subtle tremble beneath your touch, and it gives you a quiet satisfaction. It’s something special, knowing you can unravel him like this. That even someone as powerful as Bob Reynolds can fall apart in your hands.

 He’s looking up at you with wide eyes, “Always wanted to do that.”

They were perfectly crafted. What were you supposed to do, not lick them?

You hop back on top of him and start rubbing his cock against your entrance, knocking him out of his stupor. He reaches for you immediately with a quiet beg, “Please.”

You can never handle it when he asks you for anything, so you oblige. Slowly, you lower yourself on his cock but when it comes to riding him, it’s hard and fast. 

He’s crying out your name as he clutches at your hips. 

You roll your hips faster and the plant comes to help you this time, pulling his hands from you and holding his arms down. Even though he could break the hold at any time, he’s rather enjoying being entranced by you. The way your body moves made him want to give you anything and everything. 

“You like this?” he asks, voice needy but happy. He loved seeing you feel good; he loved being the one making it happen. 

“I like everything you do to me,” you say back, breath hitching, fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer.

And the way he looks at you then, like you just gave him the universe, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

You slow your pace for just a moment, catching your breath, and his eyes, before leaning in to press a soft, tender kiss to his forehead.

It’s gentle, the kind of kiss that says I’m here.

But next thing you know, you’re being plucked off of him and placed at the edge of the bed so your trembling bottom half hangs off of it. He was putting you through your paces today, that’s for sure. 

You feel him suddenly behind you as he runs his fingers over your body with reverence and lays a soft kiss on the small of your back. He pushes you legs apart and pushes in without warning but at this point, to his cock, your pussy was a second home. 

You grip the sheets as once again you’re being ganged up on by Bob and the plant. You feel tendrils wrap around your legs and ankles, lifting you in the air to create more space for Bob and invisible hands grab your hands from their death grip in the linen to place them behind your back.

He’s fucking you so hard, the bed is shaking. You can quite literally hear the legs groaning under the pressure and screws coming loose as it scrapes, inch by inch, across the floor.

“More, please, more…” you blurt out, your mind halfway across the world

In response, the plant wraps around you more, pushing you back to meet his thrusts. The sound of your hips meeting his echoes in the room so loud, it’s obscene. 

“Only want you,” he says, his voice sounding completely wrecked. 

He’s so deep inside you now, stretching you out so perfectly,  you can barely handle it.

Your legs spasm and shake, you know you’re close, and so does he.

“I’m close too, I know,” he says like he’s reading your mind and picks up the pace. You’re barely holding on, moaning so loud you might lose your voice. 

You wanted to be fucked senseless and you suppose this is it. 

The toe curling, leg shaking, drool inducing pleasure tears through you once again as you slobber out a series of “Fucks” and “Bobs”.

And before you can catch your breath you feel his cock twitch inside of you then you’re being flooded with his cum, it feels never ending. He just keeps pumping you full of his load before he presses down on top of you, kissing everywhere he can reach. 

“I love you so much,” he pants out, almost quiet enough that you don’t catch it.

He freezes.

Then suddenly, he’s off you, untangling himself, backing away like he’s afraid he said too much. Your limbs, once wrapped up in Bob and the tentacles, now lie free and cold in the absence of him.

He won’t look at you. His hands fidget. His breathing’s uneven. He’s spiralling. He’s thinking too hard.

What if it was too soon? What if you thought it was stupid? What if—?

“I love you too.”

His head snaps up, eyes wide, meeting yours. You’re looking right at him, that beautiful, grounding smile on your face, the one that always reminds him of sunshine after a hurricane.

“I love you,” you say again, slower this time, to make sure he knew you meant it.

Then you hold out your hand.

And when he hesitates for half a second, you yank him back down onto the bed, right next to you, where he belongs. 

The moment you two settle, you hear a creak, then another, and before you know it, the whole bed collapses with a definitive thud. All you could do was laugh, breathless and tangled in sheets with him.

“I’m sorry. Got a bit carried away,” he says sweetly, laying a gentle peck on your cheek. Bob Reynolds, folks. Talking to you all sweet as if he wasn’t railing you so hard, his bed collapsed.

You look around and see the plant sitting there innocently, like it hadn’t just caused a full-scale disaster. The state of Bob’s bed has the place looking like a tornado tried to redecorate.

“Seems you had a lot pent up,” you say, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “So did I.”

He nods, quiet for a beat. “One of us should’ve said something.”

“I agree. So let’s agree to communicate,” you reply, exasperated but softening, “instead of letting a plant interfere and tear the tower apart… again.”

He smiles, small, sheepish. “Deal.”

Slowly, his eyes flick to the plant in the corner. “Do you think that’s why the plant did this?”

The plant had been oddly in tune with both of you, following your every move like you were its favourite reality TV show. You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

“Fuck, probably…”

Then, the door slams open.

“Wait! There are naked people in here!” you yell instinctively, cuddling up to Bob, who yelps and fumbles for the blanket.

Alexei freezes mid-step, unbothered. “Just checking you and Bob still alive,” he says, then nods toward the chaotic hallway behind him. “There’s a team meeting. Everyone’s… angry.”

You groan into Bob’s shoulder. “Of course they are.”

You both get dressed and peek your head out in the hall. The vines are gone, but there’s a significant amount of damage (those flowers could pack a punch) that they left behind.

When you step into the living room, you’re happy to see everyone’s alive and unfucked. 

The yellow and pink flowers sit peacefully without a care in the world in the middle of the room, with the rest of the Avengers, who look like they just survived a hard-fought battle. 

You and Bob waddle out of the wreckage and stand in front of them.

“Hey guys…,” you say sheepishly, brushing a leaf out of your hair. This was the second time a plant-related attack happened on your watch, so safe to say you weren’t feeling too great.

“Again? Really?” John throws his hands up. The plants got him the worst, as he was only left with his beret, boxers and his shield. “How did the other two get here?!”

You shrug, half-defeated. “I think the first plant summoned the other two?”

A collective groan and chorus of exasperated sighs ripple through the room. You think you hear Ava mutter about “never trusting a flower again.”

“How?” Yelena asks, exhaustion rife in her voice. 

“With a dance?” you say, instantly regretting your own words. “It was a kind of shimmy,” Bob adds, trying to be helpful, and you squeeze his hand with a smile. 

There’s a long pause.

Bucky sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s it, we’re banning plants. Or we won’t have a tower left to work out of.”

“Agreed,” you and Bob say in unison. 

Main Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

[jaiwritez]

Okay sooooooo

DC X DP crossover

Phantom Pickpocket

The usual Danny’s parents are assholes when they find out he’s Phantom. He’s the ghost prince. Not yet crowned king. So has new powers but doesn’t know how to use them. However he can’t go into the ghost zone because portal was destroyed. Can’t go to Vlad because fruitloop.

Danny flees the scene away from his friends family. Ends up in Gotham, ectoplasm, yada yada. However instead of meeting up with Batman. He stays in crime alley with a couple of the stray kids. He becomes a particularly good pick pocket with the invisibility and intangibility. He only goes after people that wouldn’t notice a lil money missing from their wallets and never takes all of it.

He stays in an abandoned building and cares for the other kids. However one day one of the girls that lowkey reminded him of Ellie got really sick. She needed antibiotics. None of them had the money or access required. So Danny was stealing more often and saving up more money. Taking watches, sunglasses and whatever he could grab his hands on really.

He was walking back to their abandon building with soup when he sees a shiny brand new red motorcycle in an alley. He figured the whole thing would go for enough to get them a place to stay for a while but it was to big and high profile. So if he got caught it would be considered GTA and a felony. He couldn’t risk prison time and keeping a low profile was good for staying off his parents and the GIWs radar. So instead he just worked on taking the tires.

Unknown to him. He was being watched from the roof tops by a certain crime lord. Who’s been following a string of petty thefts for the past few weeks and has heard tales of the “phantom pickpocket” (heheheh). As well as some of the crime alley kids gathering in a new spot. He liked to keep tabs on them to make sure they were alright. So when he sees Bat adoption bait stealing his tires in less than two seconds flat and the pit lurches finally recognizing the cause of the intrusive feeling he’s felt for weeks. He drops down to the ground and walks over to the kid.

“Impressive honestly. I admire your work.” The Redhood. The smirk was almost audible as he relished in the familiarity of the situation.

Danny looked at the large figure before him. He’s heard tales of the Redhood. The protector of crime alley. Clearly some form of liminal as the whole area was clearly marked as his territory. So Danny had been doing his best to conceal his presence and his own ectoplasm under the crime lords to not be noticed. Which meant not transforming and using almost of his powers. Clearly he needed some practice. Danny was currently holding both tires and took one step back away from the beast.

“Relax kid. I just wanna know why you’re stealing the tires.” Redhood said.

“I need them.” Danny replied quickly and eyes his roots for escape.

“I doubt you have a bike kid. You’re probs gonna pawn or sell them. So what do you need the money for. I can get you some help-“Redhood said stepping closer and instantly regretting it because of the look of fear before the kid vanished.

Danny was short and skittish and immediately turned invisible and booked it. Phasing through the nearest building and proceeding to run back to his bases of operations. He dropped the tires off on a nearby roof top before making his way back. He cursed in silence because he forgot the soup.

“Life clearly has a sense of humor.” Jason mumbled as he turned on his comm.

“Hey O. I need some help tracking down my tires. I’m also gonna need some medical supplies. If you could get one of the birds to deliver it. I would appreciate it.” Jason said picking up the abandoned shopping bag that contained premade warm soup.

“Tires? That’s oddly specific…. What happened?” Oracle inquired but rapid typing could easily be heard as she started working on his request.

“A kid just stole my tires.”

He turned the comm down in preparation and wasn’t surprised to hear laughter erupt from Oracle. He sighed with a smile. As much as Bruce annoyed him. Clearly they were more alike than he thought. He was gonna find the little meta bandit.

(Comments are appreciated)

Part 1 , Part 2 ,

[soulgazingwithbucky]

why bucky has a blowout

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: bucky would never take advice from valentina or any of the thunderbolts, let alone hair advice. but the love of his life? a different story

Warnings: fluffy ig?

Word count: 750

A/N: i never thought i would miss the unbearable itch to write, and yet!!! so happy i was able to make something, so i hope ya enjoy! If you find yourself enjoying this, feel free to check out my other works here <3

"Stay still, Buck," you murmur softly.

Bucky stifles a huff. He could stay still for hours--if he wasn't in front of the bathroom mirror, forced to stare at his reflection. Behind him, you cup a strand of his hair in your hand.

You release the strand, pleased at the slight curl that has formed.

"I'm not doin' anymore of these things, doll," Bucky says. "M'telling Valentina she can put Walker up there from now on."

"You tell her, love," you encourage, though you're a bit distracted wrapping the next strand of hair around the thermal brush. You've never met your husband's "boss," but you've heard enough to get a sense of her character. You doubted Bucky was going to be able to get himself out of press conferences.

"After this hairstyle, though? You'll be first in line for any media coverage," you tease.

This time, Bucky can't hold back a grumble at the thought. You giggle, but it's quickly stifled by a yawn. Bucky softens at the sight of your sleepiness.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he says sheepishly.

Valentina is a blur as she rushes past Bucky. But she pauses abruptly, taking a few steps back until she's planted in front of him. Bucky does his best to ignore her, staring straight ahead, but he eventually puts down his sandwich and slowly meets her eyes.

"This won't do," Valentina says, gesturing at his head. Bucky doesn't care much about what "won't do," but he has a meeting with Agent Taylor in twenty minutes. He very much likes the idea of enjoying his sandwich on the couch, sans the Contessa.

"What, Valentina?" Bucky says slowly.

"This hair," she responds, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I have been telling him that!" Alexei declares. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose as the Red Guardian emerges from the kitchen. "I told him, my sponsorship with Drybar is at risk if--"

"Oh, Drybar? That's pretty good. Listen, Bucky, if there's one thing I know, it's hair. Wish you could ask that guy, am I right?" Valentina gestures in Bob's general direction in the next room.

"No," Bucky responds.

"I tell him, so flat," Alexei continues, "so lifeless! Bucky, hair care is so important--"

"Great talk, everybody," Bucky declares, scooping up his sandwich and taking it into the other room.

When Bucky recalled the conversation to you, he thought you'd laugh it off with him. Instead, he saw a glint in your eye that made him worried. Afterwards, he came home one too many times to you binge watching hair tutorials. Foolishly, he held out hope that you would lose interest, but then packages of hair tools started arriving at your door.

"You know," you said, holding back another yawn, "if we lived closer to the Tower, we wouldn't have to wake up so early."

"Not yet, doll," is Bucky's gruff response. Living far away meant that it would be harder for people to link you two. It wasn't that he would get relentlessly teased by his coworkers about being married--that was a given. But if they were on a mission, and one of them became compromised? He couldn't imagine what would happen if the wrong people found out about his life. About you. He already had to live with the fact that Sam helped you both find this house, and now--

"He's our friend, Buck." You recognize the distraught look on your husband's face, and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his spell. "He would never do anything to hurt us."

Bucky moves to place a kiss on your hand, grateful that he doesn't always have to talk for you to understand him. He opens his mouth to express his appreciation, but you interrupt him.

"All done," you say proudly. The wide grin on your face is almost enough to make Bucky forget that he is going to be sitting in a room full of journalists in a few hours. You comb your fingers through his hair to loosen the curls, then apply hairspray. Bucky makes a show of sputtering. He never makes a show of anything, but he loves the way you giggle at his antics.

He turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You wrap your hands around his neck, trying your best to avoid your hard work.

"My wife," he says, a phrase he will never get tired of saying. He plants a kiss on your lips before you respond:

"My hero."

[shannoneichorn]

Ooh! Pick me! This is the path I've started down and want to get better at.

Both my churches have been participating in our city's Pride parade the last several years. I go with my roommate from a mission trip to our denominatuon's churches in Cambodia--and her wife. And one of my LGBT family members. And some allies from work. And meet up with my LGBT friends from work, who join different parts of the parade.

The longer I live, the clearer it's become that the public school sex ed I had was wholly inadequate. The US is actively harming itself by not investing in better.

I adore my atheist husband and atheist/agnostic/pagan friends. I know my denomination doesn't ascribe to universal salvation, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me.

God fashions variety. No reason we should stamp it out of cultures. I have a problem with trying to convert people instead of gently inviting them to join the community. My ideal church would be a gathering place for all with a subset of activities dedicated to spiritual support/worshiping in community, and I think both my churches are partway there.

It blows my mind that any Christian who grew up hearing about being stewards of the Earth would support environmental harm and environmental injustice. But you know, the church is full of all kinds of people, some of whom are great at cognitive dissodence and terrible at logic. (They're allowed to be wrong.)

I'm part of the second largest Protestant denomination in the US (at least in 2013--a lot has changed since then). On the one hand, it's the denomination I grew up in, and there's a certain amount of lazy comfort in just sticking with it. On the other hand, I also stuck with it because it explicitly acknowledges science and rationalism. God gave us minds and access to tools with which to explore Creation--like science and math and social sciences and literature (since we are part of Creation, too, and lit is great for exploring ourselves).

There is a documented history around how the Bible and translations developed. Many human hands were involved, and humans are limited not only by their own biases but also by the knowledge that was available to them at the time and the culture in which they lived. The Bible can be divinely inspired, but I keep thinking that its components were, first and foremost, written for the audiences of their times. It's amazing how it can still be so meaningful today, but not all the issues of today are addressed within--and they shouldn't be. An active faith requires synthesis of learning and applications to new situations in ways that are consistent with the Spirit of love and compassion that the Bible describes.

I...haven't encountered antisemitism at church...? Like Muslims, those are people we share a distant religious heritage with. They're like second cousins. Maybe treat everyone with kindness and respect, the way Jesus would? This...should not be hard to grok. (I feel like I could do better here, but at least it's a start.)

I'm jumping on this opportunity to shout about this, because it's been bothering me. Yes, we need to be louder, but also... There are reasons why I'm not.

Christians are doing so much harm right now, and I don't want to be associated with it. Churches have done so much harm, and I don't want to remind the people around me who have finally gotten out of it. (Part of me thinks, my church would never! But churches are communities of imperfect people, and at the very least, wherever people gather, there will be drama and hurt feelings. And denial when abuses do happen. And also, many churches haven't been on the forefront of all we've learned about psychology in the last 50 years, and there are also harmful cultural habits where communities haven't rooted them out.)

And also, I want my friends, neighbors, and acquaintances to believe I'm safe to be around. Evangelizing does not accomplish that goal. Caring for people has to come first, or what's the point?

Thank you for this call to be louder. I shall now go back to hiding under my rock/bushel.

In general, I think it's currently really important for progressive Christians to be very loud about being both progressive and deeply religious Christians, and for everyone else fighting for progressive values to be supportive of them doing just that. I know that's like, idk, counter-intuitive or cringe or whatever, but seriously folks, the alternative is that progressive Christians have to be quiet about their faith to be accepted within broader secular and interfaith progressive advocacy, which means that the regressive asshole Christians (a) sound that much louder and (b) dominate the USian religious landscape all the more. That's a problem, for all of us.

We need people pushing back within the faith as well as outside of it, because that destroys any edifice that this is about Christianity and religious freedom.

You can be a devout Christian and also:

Openly, proudly, and without being forced to remain celibate or otherwise limit your full expression of self, identify as LGBTQ+ or be a supportive ally.

Advocate for full reproductive autonomy and comprehensive sex education.

Love and support people of other religious groups, non-religious people and/or atheists, by choosing to believe that a truly loving God would not pursue anything less than universal salvation.

Stand against evangelism and proselytizing as they have thus far been interpreted and used, because there are ways to interpret the Great Commission that don't promote colonialism and cultural genocide.

A steward of the earth, protecting God's beautiful creation and lovingly tending to it as the unique and incredible gift that it is.

A believer in science, rationalism, and human progress as part of God's divine plan for humanity.

A believer in history and someone who understands that the Bible can be both divinely given and open to interpretation (no really)(if you're confused, please talk to a knowledgeable traditional Jew)

An ally to Jews, who stands against supercessionism and antisemitism in the church.

And in before regressive Christians come shouting at me that (1) what do I know, I'm a Jew and (2) no lol you can't because of ___ reason:

My source is that I've personally met and talked to Christians of great faith and integrity - people who embody the closest forms of kindness I've seen to what Jesus himself advocated - who are each of these things.

It is 100% possible; you just choose to believe otherwise.

[theycallmecholemiri]

Headcanons about each Huntrix member

First up, our leader Rumi 💜

-She is the most followed member on all social media platforms

-barley post cause her phone overheats from all the likes

-Last time she tried to do a live on Insta it crashed the app and her phone

-Her hair routine is a government-level secret; Zoey still hasn't figured out what she uses

-keeps every fan letter she ever received(yes even the one from 2019 with sparkles)

-writes poems about Jinu in her notes app at 3AM and refuses for anyone to see them

-is no longer allowed to drive ANYWHERE for personal reasons

-Is actually the oldest (23), but no one ever guesses that—everyone assumes it’s Mira 😭

Next up is our choreographer Mira 💖

-Been dying to get a tattoo but hasn't because the record label said "absolutely not"

-is a world-renowned model and has been in too many fashion shows to count

-showing up to the Met Gala with a sleeping bag was planned, she just didn't expect for it to go viral though

-hates when people lie, she would much rather get mad at the truth instead

-Sometimes joins Zoey insta lives to cause more chaos(then pretends that she wasn't on live)

-has a burner account on insta that she swears no one knows about(both Rumi and Zoey follow her on there)

-somehow the best cook out of all of them

-Is the certified driver if they have to go anywhere

-She’s 21 and absolutely the “calm older sister”—until she isn’t.

Finally, our Maknae Zoeyyy!!💛

-she posts the most on her social media

-usually gets in trouble for going live at terrible moments like when mira and rumi argue

-does rap battles for fun with her fans

-has a drawer full of half-used notebooks, including:

Mira quotes that deserve an Oscar, and ‘Number of times Rumi cried over Jinu this week (updated daily)

-Does TikTok's dances with Bobby and somehow they usually go viral

-Also not allowed to touch the steering wheel, Mira usually just goes "zozo belt on now" in the coldest voice ever, which always works 98% of the time

-Hosted a fake "late night talk show" on her IG stories called “Zoey After Dark”

-She may be the youngest (19), but she has random moments of wisdom that hit like a truck

Group headcanons (cause I said so) 💅🏽

-The girls all have a self-care day that includes lots of face masks, gossip about other K-pop groups, and catching up on K-dramas

-Their group chat name changes every week: ➤ Zoey STOP Going Live → Huntrix Anonymous (We’re Not Okay) → Jinu Said WHAT Now??? → and most recently: Please No One Flirt During Dance Practice 😭

-If one of them cries, all of them cry. Once it happened on stage and they had to take a 5-minute intermission(blame a surprise fan project + Jinu smiling at Rumi in the VIP section)

-Rumi and Mira get weirdly competitive during photo shoots (Zoey records everything and adds TikTok music)

-There’s a “Who’s the Most Famous Today?” whiteboard in their penthouse. Mira wins when a Vogue article drops, Rumi when a quote goes viral, Zoey when she sneezes on TikTok.

-They once had a “no romance for a month” pact. Rumi broke it in 2 days when she blushed at a Jinu post. Zoey documented the downfall in a TikTok trilogy.

-Rumi leaves the group chat every time Mira and Zoey tease her about Jinu. They always add her back in. Every. Single. Time.

OKKKKK that's all I have for now. Keep streaming the movie and a03 writers, PLZ UPDATE UR FANFICS. I'm on my knees. OK BYEEEEEE(in Eda voice) 🩷💜💛.

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 7

previous chapter // next chapter(coming soon)

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: vomit, violence, mean words are said to our omega in this chapter(not by the pack), a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: remember my ask box is always open for questions about this story and as always, please enjoy this chapter :)

One of the harder parts of staying with the pack was times like this, during the day when members are out at work or living life. Of course, you were never alone, the omegas don’t have jobs though they do go out as they please, and the rest of the pack has purposely arranged their schedules so that at least one pack member above an omega is home with you guys at any given time. It’s a nice setup, you'll admit, but you feel useless. To be fair you never went out much when you lived with your old alpha but you were always cooking and cleaning to please him, you were never not busy. So that’s how you got here. Trying so hard to be useful you decided to clean up a bit instead you just made a bigger mess. You were moving on from putting the dishes in the dishwasher to cleaning the countertops when you got a whiff of the cleaning solution smell and immediately you felt the familiar sickness feeling, If you were a cartoon character you would physically be green right now. Now that you’re out of the first trimester the morning sickness should have subsided, and to be fair it wasn’t as bad as it was in the beginning but it was definitely still making itself comfortable in your life. At your last appointment, you asked the doctor about it and she said this was probably something to do with your already above-average sense of smell for an omega. At the same time, you could still get sick randomly due to your changing body, and smells would be your biggest enemy. But it was normal and that’s all that mattered to you anyway, though right now you kind of wish it wasn’t. The strong smell of vinegar and lemon is the perfect combination to kick your sickness into overdrive. Before you could even gag or process the situation you’d already thrown up all over yourself. With closed eyes you could feel your body begin to tremble, a familiar vibrating feeling that could only be accompanied by a panic attack. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sob, too afraid to make yourself any more noticeable, your body lets out soft whimpers from your quivering lip instead. Before you can even think of how to make your escape to the bathroom to clean yourself up you have to clean up the mess you made on the floor first. It's not a lot but it would be easier to clean up if the cleaning solution wasn’t making you gag even more. You don’t hear Changbin come down the stairs and enter the kitchen through the ringing in your ears.

“Y/N? I heard your whimpering and ran down here. What happ-“ Changbin cuts himself off at the sight of you all on the floor covered in your own vomit.

“It’s fine! I’m almost done cleaning it up, don't worry, I’m sorry I was just trying to help. fuck! Why can’t I help?” Your rambling is halted by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay bunny. Just breathe.” As you look into his eyes you feel a sense of peace, like a gentle reminder that yes you can breathe, it’s okay.

“Good, now let me.” With one fell swoop, he picks you up bridal style and begins to walk away from the kitchen.

“Changbin, what the hell are you doing? I said I could handle it.”

“I know you could, but as your alpha, I can’t let you. Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, let’s get you cleaned up!”

Changbin carries you all the way to the upstairs bathroom and places you down on the toilet seat and turns around to head out of the bathroom.

“I’ll get you some clothes and then you can shower!” Changbin leaves but not before giving you one of his signature cutesy smiles that almost makes you sick from how sweet it is. The alphas here confused you, hell the whole pack confused you, but Changbin especially makes your head spin. His personality was very cute and sweet which is an insane juxtaposition to his buff frame. He easily has the biggest muscles you’d ever seen, it was kind of comforting when it wasn’t scary. Changbin returns and places the clothes on the counter.

“I grabbed you some comfy warmer clothes, thought maybe it’d help soothe you.” Changbin seems unsure, you’d think this was his first time caring for an omega.

“Thank you.” and with a nod the alpha leaves you to take your shower. The water feels like it does more than just wash away your sickness but it feels like your emotions are physically leaking from your body. You watch the water run down your small bump, placing a gentle hand there as unease settles deep in your bones. If you can’t do something as simple as clean up what’s the point? How can you take care of a whole life?

You step out of the shower with a shiver, trying to get dried off and dressed as quickly as possible. As you put on the clothes Changbin picked out for you, the last item stops you in your tracks. A hoodie, but not just any hoodie, it’s his. The smell of firewood penetrates your nose and your pupils dilate. Without a word, you put on his hoodie to allow the smell to engulf you, just like it’s supposed to. Leaving the bathroom you’re greeted by the muscular alpha who now has a shocked expression. He waited for you. And god is he glad he did. The sight of you in his hoodie, covered in his scent makes him dizzy. So he waits no time to pull you back into the bathroom with him, standing behind you as you both stand in front of the mirror. Wordlessly he picks up the hairbrush and begins brushing your hair, It feels domestic, but you don’t run.

“This is your hoodie.” You speak, not really knowing if it’s a question or a statement.

“Felix told us about how alpha scents really help with your nausea, you didn’t have to wear it, I just wanted to help.” He smiles almost as softly as he brushes through your hair. You don’t miss how he brushes his nose across the top of your head, taking in your milky cherry scent.

Changbin’s heart swells with pride as his alpha howls in his head at the display in front of him. A pupped omega wearing his scented hoodie allowing him to groom you, His pupped omega, he internally corrects himself. He leads you down to the living room and he stops you from going into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I got it all cleaned up. Let’s relax now.” The alpha takes your hand leading you to the large couch letting you pick your spot before he sits next to you.

“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong, why you were cleaning up even though it was making you sick?” Your eyebrows furrow, and embarrassment floods your body once again.

“I feel useless and lazy. I don’t do anything, I don’t clean, I don’t cook, I don’t work, even though these are all things I can do with no issue. I don’t even go outside now, I’m becoming a slob.” Changbin’s heart breaks at your words, but understanding you just want some independence, some of your normal back.

“We can go out today. Could be like a more casual courting date or not, whatever you’d like.”

“I appreciate your offer but I don’t need your pity.” The alpha scoffs and your assumption of him.

“I don’t pity you, I care about you. And I want to hang out with you. Hyunjin can stay here with Han and Felix while we go out, it’ll be fun. No pressure.” Changbin gives you a hopeful smile, if he looks closely he feels like he can see a small crack forming in your wall.

“Okay, where would we go?” You don’t look at the alpha, afraid maybe he’d change his mind.

“We can go do some grocery shopping, you can help me!” Changbin emphasized the word help, as to soothe your worries.

“Really? I could help you pick out food for the pack?” You look up at Changbin with wide hopeful eyes, and his heart almost explodes.

“Yeah, we can go right now! Get your shoes on and I’ll go let the guys know we’re leaving.” He smiles before he retreats to the pack den where the pack members reside. You sit with your thoughts for a moment before releasing a contented sigh. Maybe things were looking up.

At the grocery store, Changbin pushed the cart with one hand and had the pack’s grocery list pulled up on his phone in the other. The list was split into sections, one for each pack member’s personal requests and a section for stuff for the whole house. You had a nice rhythm going on, where he guides you both through the store and tells you what to put in the cart. Though he can’t help but notice you don’t seem to be interested in grabbing anything for yourself, and they haven’t had a chance to add a you section to the grocery list quite yet. As you two made your way down a snack aisle he took notice of how you stopped in front of the milk drinks.

“I think I saw something about some sort of juice on Han’s list. What was it?” In all honesty, you don’t remember if anyone mentioned juice, you can’t think at all your mouth is watering at the sight of the banana milk. You recently started developing cravings, which weren’t weird, yet. Your mind was so used to not wanting things, you didn’t find yourself craving anything until you saw it. Sort of like love at first sight but with various cookies, rice cakes… and banana milk, as your brain had so kindly decided now. This wasn’t odd for you, you’d always liked banana milk but this was different. You didn’t want it, you needed it. This grocery trip was for them, you wouldn’t dare make this about yourself. And that’s where a gentle alpha’s encouragement comes in.

“Oh I love banana milk, should we get some?” You both share a knowing glance, though Changbin’s has an encouraging undertone.

“Maybe, maybe two packs would be good. Since there are so many of us.” The alpha is satisfied with your response, nodding at you to throw two packs into the cart. Though Changbin wouldn’t dare let the pack take your cravings from you, he’d be sure to let them know not to touch them later.

“Is there anything else the puppy wants?” Changbin takes your peaceful sigh as an invitation to be just a little more direct, trying to get you comfortable with his care.

“Seaweed chips sound really yummy… and those matcha cookies Hyunjin likes.” You blush, not used to giving in to your own desires. Changbin doesn’t care though, he wastes no time finding the snacks you want. As you continue your shopping trip the alpha does a lot more of that, encouraging you to get stuff for yourself too, showing you that you deserve treats just like the pack does if not more since you’re carrying a pup as well.

The walk to the car feels bright, and internally you acknowledge the progress you made in the store, it feels nice. Changbin insists he be the one to load the bags in the car but you don’t get in the car, you wait patiently in case he changes his mind.

The smell hits you first, like a bullet train traveling faster than sound itself. You grab onto Changbin’s arm, your scent is rancid like spoiled milk, full of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Now Changbin’s scent is burnt, afraid that somehow you got hurt on his watch. Before you can tell Changbin how urgently you need to leave the voice hits your ears and you’re shocked you don’t pass out in pure fear, you remain frozen, which somehow feels worse.

“Would you look at this, surprised I found you slut?” The slurred voice from the alpha a mere five feet away from him and his babies causes Changbin to let out a growl.

“Who the hell are you?” You want to scream at Changbin to not say anything to just get you both in the car and run but you can’t, you scream but nothing comes out. Once again trapped in your own mind prison.

“I should be asking you the same, you’re playing around with my sloppy seconds.” It clicks immediately for Changbin, this is the man who hurt you, who kicked you out on the streets pregnant and alone. The next growl he lets out is nastier, more venomous.

“Come on Y/N, you think you can run away and wear another’s alpha’s clothes and expect me not to find you? You’re carrying my seed, not his. I always knew you were a whore, but you were my whore.” If your blood wasn’t cold before, it definitely was now. Everything in you screamed to run but you remained still. Your mind feels like a slurry of nasty thoughts, like you were right back in his grip, like you’d never be safe from him.

“I suggest you leave before I rip your throat out with my teeth.” Changbin keeps one arm behind him, within each of you, keeping you both safe from this monster. The way his hand is inches away from your stomach makes you hyper aware of the pup growing inside it.

Alphas hurt pups. Our pup is in danger. Do something.

Your omega screams in your head but you don’t move, useless as always.

“Pfft her hole’s not even that good. She’s used goods pal.” The arrogant alpha slurs and it lights a fire within Changbin, nobody speaks about the people he loves like that. He lunges at the alpha determined to make those words his last, he punches him so hard that you can hear a loud crack. The alpha falls to the ground, unconscious. Changbin immediately ushers you into the car and drives away from the scene. You don’t speak, you don’t cry, you’ve completely disassociated. Staring in front of you out the windshield you think about how you got here. A lot of your first week with this pack was spent scared he would find you, but things were getting better, you had almost forgotten this was even possible. Changbin tries to comfort you the entire ride home but it’s like you’ve left your own body. His alpha cries for him to do something, to help his omega but nothing works.

When he pulls into the garage at home you immediately bolt out of the car and head straight to your room. At the sound of the door slamming and locking, everyone knew this was going to be a hurdle. But they were all willing to fight for you… literally in some cases.

[boypied]

𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

HENRY CAVILL x M!READER

MDNI + FDNI, mature content ahead.

WARNINGS: work environment, unprotected anal sex, breeding kink, spanking, bondage kink, anal fingering.

SUMMARY: you're his new intern, and it didn't take long for him to take a liking to you. henry wanted you in ways that would get both of you fired, he knew that you would be hard to get... but henry always got what he wanted.

You gently knock on the large glass doors as you purposely make yourself known to him as you make your way inside. “Y-You wanted to see me?” You nervously stutter out as his dominant demeanour can be quite intimidating, especially since he is your boss and has quite the power over you.

Your eyes flicker up to meet with his, and the moment that happens, your heartbeat picks up, “Mr Cavill... Sir, did you n-need something?” You ask him in a gentle tone, trying to fill up the silence with some sound, but he remains quiet until he reaches his arm out and points to an empty seat opposite his desk that he is sitting behind.

You take the hint, and you immediately sit down, and he continues staring you down, completely intimidating you until a small yet dark smile grows on his face. “Call me Henry... Mr Cavill is too formal for me.” His quite manly features soften the moment he relaxes, and once those words leave his lips, his eyes locked with yours.

Henry stands up and steps away from his desk as he makes his way around it and over to you. He walks past you at an incredibly slow pace as he stands behind you and places either hand on your shoulders as he leans down closer to you and all that you can focus on is his hot breath against your neck. You gently bite at your lower lip as he begins talking.

“Is there anything you needed, sir... I mean Henry.” You repeat yourself again, but you slipped up and called him Sir instead of Henry, and you feel his grip tighten on your shoulders. “Did you listen to anything I say...tut tut tut.” he grunts out in your ear as he releases his grip from you and steps away coming up in front if you and gripping his belt.

Henry begins unbuckling his belt and just stares down at you with a smirk plastered across his face, “Listen... I'm not going to get you to do anything that you don't want to do, but by that look in your eye, it seems like you won't need much convincing.” he says in a dominant way as he pulls off his belt entirely and lets it drop to the floor.

Something just comes over you, like you've just lost control of your body as you immediately slide off the chair and onto your knees in front of him. Your hands slid up his leg and reached the hem of his trousers and slowly pulled them down, revealing his bulging cock, pushing against his underwear. Your eyes widen in shock as you take the sight in.

The thought of him being your boss and how wrong this is slowly disappears from your mind as you grip either side of his underwear and yanking it down letting his thick and long cock spring free. You gently wrap your hand around the tip, and you gently pull back his foreskin to reveal his pre-cum soaked tip, the weight of his cock in your hand was insane.

Your eyes flicker up to meet with his as he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing his hairy chest and his god-like body. “holy shit.” You mumble out to yourself as you maintain eye contact, but you lean forward and slowly rub the head of his cock against your lips, coating them in his pre-cum. Henry throws his head back from the sudden contact, and his hands reach behind him as he holds onto the desk.

You slowly open up your mouth, parting your lips as your tongue drops out, tasting his pre-cum. You run your tongue back and forward against his slit, getting a salty-like taste that sends shivers down your spine but your cock twitches in your underwear, pushing against your suit trousers.

Henry's hands wrap around the back of your head, and you gently feel his hands pushing on the back of your head, and you can tell that he wants you to deepthroat it so you do it. You push your head forward feeling his cock curve down your throat and your eyes flicker up to meet with his and you see his pecs pushing in and out as his eyes are closed.

Henry is enjoying every single moment of you deepthroating his cock, you continue doing this for a while until you feel his cock start twitching in your throat nearing his release so he pulls out and lifts you up. “I'm going to fuck you... so hard.” he mumbles through his gritted teeth as he practically tears your clothes off your body leaving you naked beneath his touch. Your eyes soften as you bite your lower lip.

Henry bends you over his desk and pulls your hands behind your back as he leans down and grabs his belt, typing up your hands. He spreads your cheeks open as he spits on your hole, lubing it up for himself. He wraps his hand around your mouth and pushes two fingers in, lubing them up as he brings them round and gently pushes them inside your hole.

“So fuckin' tight.” he grunts out through gritted teeth as he pushes past his knuckle and curles them inside of your hole, hitting your g-spot perfectly. He doesn't finger you for long, just doing it too make sure you're stretch enough that his fat cock stretching you won't hurt as much.

Henry pulls out and lines his spit soaked cock up with your tight hole and pushes himself inside whilst holding onto the belt that has restrained your wrists. “Such a....good. fucking. boy.” he grunts out as his thrusts speed up, becoming harder and rougher, and the sound of slapping echoes through his entire office, you push your face against the desk and bite down on your lower lip. “H-Henry!” You whimper.

Time passes on but Henry doesn't slow down, your cum soaked tip rubs against the desk into the puddle of cum that you shot out only moments prior and you finally hear those words that you've been dreaming of him saying, “I'm gonna fuckin' cum!” he yells out as his thrusts become rougher and sloppier as he shoots his thick ropes of cum inside of you.

You gasp out as you feel his cum flood your asshole, your eyes flutter back as you feel him continue pump his load deeper inside of you as he breeds your sloppy hole. He finally pulls out, and you quietly whimper at the feeling of emptiness. He doesn't say as words as he gets changed back into his clothes, and he covers you up in your clothes and carries you bridal style out of the office.

The office is pretty much empty, so no one really notices, as Henry takes you to his car and gently lays you down in the passenger seat as he gets in the drivers seat and he turns to smirk at you, “I hope your ready for round two.” he smirks as he starts the engine and starts driving away from the office.

taglist ' @starboye @dqrkhold @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @twinkedupman @gaefaeyae @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived @lucerowrites1 @ghostinboys

[saetiate]

call it what it is. (or, the five times sae and you are "just friends". and the one time it stops being possible to deny what this really is.)

itoshi sae x f!reader fluff. friends to lovers, first kiss, how love happens, reader goes by she/her pronouns and has some personality (sorry, i couldn't get around it bc of The Plot but i kept it as minimal as possible) word count: 2.3k author's note: you both have a whole dinner date, go to events together, take care of each other, and then get surprised when people think you're dating??? okay so the sound of fireworks are less obvious than whatever yall have going on

Bitterness churns at the back of your throat. Is it from the roasted beans of the coffee you've been slamming into your system for the last few days, or from the lack of sleep?

Not that it matters. You've worked OT, both your team and your clients are unhappy, and according to your Excel worksheet, you're on your 85th job application. So really, it doesn't get worse than —

The doorbell rings.

Who the actual —

You breathe out the biggest sigh at the pretty face standing before you. It's definitely the lack of sleep, isn't it? Either you really should've checked the peephole and put on something a little more flattering, or he's a hallucination.

Let's hope it's the latter. You move to close the door, and his hand reaches out lightning-quick, holding it still. In a spark of annoying rebellion, you press all of your body weight against the door, and it doesn't budge an inch.

Right. Athletes and their stupid, stupid strength.

"You didn't answer my calls."

They say sighing is a necessary part of your lungs, that one of the struggles of artificial lungs was getting them to sigh. You wonder if it meant this many times in a day. "Sae, I'm busy. Wait, I didn't answer your calls? You don't answer my texts 90% of the time."

Then he's in your entryway, because of course you can't argue where your neighbors can hear, that's rude. But then he's in your kitchen, washing his hands, opening your fridge.

"There's nothing in here. When's the last time you took a shower?"

"You come here just to insult me?"

A towel hits your face with an oof before it falls into your arms.

"Sae," you try again, as the towel slides down your cheek, "You can't just barge in here and —"

20 minutes later, there's two steaming bowls of katsu curry rice on your now-clean desk. Sae opens up the little ziplock of togarashi, leans it against your bento box with more care than you'd expect.

"Itakadimasu."

~

It's the strangest thing, walking into your place only for someone to already be in there. How the noise cuts through, something unbelonging but welcomed.

"You know, giving you the key wasn't so you could just walk in here whenever you want. It was for emergencies only."

The only answer you get is the smell of onions being caramelized, crackled sparks of savory in the air.

"I answered your call," you continue, undressing behind a half-open door. "So this can't be an emergency. And you have a much nicer place than this."

Sae barely glances at you as your head peeks into the kitchen. "You could stay there."

"What, with you? Like we're roommates? Nah, you'd see what a mess I am."

"I'm already seeing it."

A spatula waves in little circles around the pan.

“What are you doing here, Sae?”

Like he's already braced for the question, the refrigerator light beacons out into the descending night. Your favorite wine passes from his hand to yours.

"Got gifted it," he responds before you can even ask. You could've caught him looking at you, but the gold label glints with stars in your eyes.

"How'd you get gifted icewine? You've never talked about it in an interview."

He doesn't tell you he asked his manager for recommendations, that he knows they let it slip to someone looking for a brand deal with him. Instead, he watches as you struggle to pop the cork open, the xylophone clink of ice into twin wine glasses.

"So you do like sweet things," you comment as the nectared drink meets your tongue with a smile. There's a reverence to it: how he watches you chop the vegetables before sliding them into the pan, how the last remnants of today's sunlight filter through the window and past your hair.

Sweet things. He supposes he does like something like that.

~

"This event, is it a big deal?"

He vaguely hears a ruffle of clothing behind the half-shut bathroom door, lightstream swept across the floor. He offered you what he knows his teammates get their wives for these events — stylist, makeup artists — but he watched you stand in his bathroom layering on eyeshadow for yourself anyways.

I don't trust anyone else to touch me. A simple statement made stark.

"Sorry, Sae. Could you help zip me up please?"

Maybe it's that implication, that hidden trust you place in him, that makes his exhale a little shaky as one of his hands wraps around your waist to hold the dress down, the other carefully pulling up metal piece up.

You've often thought athletes would naturally be aggressive. You've seen Sae make a fast pass across the entire field without breaking a sweat. But when his hands are on you, they're always light. You think of the falling of snow, its soft and silent touch that comes unexpected, the easy descent it makes before it melts into the ground.

Love is a little like that, maybe.

~

It's a common feeling, to feel as if you're completely alone in this world. Easy to get into your own head, to see only yourself within four walls again and again and forget that there is a whole world outside. It's logical, well-researched, known. It's because of that that you can factor out the feelings when it hits you.

The four walls has never felt as striking as now, coughing into the hollow quiet. The morbid thought strikes that if you died here, no one would know. They'd find your body days later, after the smell starts to waft out.

But you chose this. To move and to fight and to create a life worth living. You, with your ambitions and heavy heart and endless survival faith that makes you somehow believe you can still make it. Sometimes you have to force a door close before wrenching another one open with nothing but your bare hands. Sometimes you have to swallow all your pride and roll up your sleeves and pray to no higher gods you worship that the decision you made is worth it.

You think you hear something click as your mind fogs back and forth into sleep. You hope whoever's burgling you will at least leave you alone and only take what they need. You hear your name, and then a shuffle, and god this is really the worst time to have a stalker.

The back of a hand over your forehead is cool to the touch, the night's breeze still pressed between the molecules.

"You're sick."

Thank you, intruder, for pointing out the obvious is what you want to say. But instead, your head lulls heavily to the side. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"You need a hospital."

"I'm fine. I'm just- being dramatic. But I'm fine."

Your world tips on its axis, warmth blooming into your side. He lifts you into his arms soundlessly. You almost envy how effortless it is for him; the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself.

It's only halfway towards his car that you find yourself processing, finally speaking, "Thank you, Sae."

There's a sharp intake of breath from him, the hard line of his body protecting you from the night's chilled-sweet air. His heartbeat against your ear is as steady as the shore, the way it waits for the kiss of the tide.

"Just call me next time."

~

Sae's not sure how he feels about this.

It's his first time being late when he's meant to be taking you to this event. He moves fast through the crowd, searches with keen eyes. Chandeliers flicker and crystal-light dances —

Only to find you propped up against the wall, Rin leaning down close.

Sae might be less confused if Rin didn't look — for what might be the first time at an event ever — like he actually wanted to be there. He's listening to you with all his attention, has no problem being in your space.

Sae only approaches once you've been whisked away by Bachira.

"Why were you talking to her?"

Rin whips around, and instead of looking guilty, he's in wide-eyed shock, and then narrow-eyed annoyance. "Ha? She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Sae blinks. Did he say that? He would've remembered, wouldn't he?

"You good-for-nothing older brother," Rin's voice is a grunt, nothing like the sweetness he gave you. "You didn't even introduce me. I had to fucking find out through Isagi."

"How does Isagi know?"

"Oliver."

"How does Oliver know?"

Rin gives him an begrudged, deadpan look. "He's your teammate?"

That explains nothing. Actually, Sae is even more confused. He has about a dozen more questions.

"She's nice." Rin mumbles low, playing with the stem of his wine glass, watches as it almost tips before swooping it back up.

"You like her?"

"I think she's nice." Rin grits, and Sae really doesn't know how Rin gets away with faux passes on the field when his reactions are this obvious, because he watches how his eyes grow with realization as another thought passes through his brain. "You don't like her?"

"I like her." Sae accepts quickly.

"Ha??? Then what are you asking me for?!"

~

If Sae's being honest, he knows he has more than enough. He wonders what this thing is that he's had since he was born, never satiated even as he reaches the top. He thinks about how Bachira describes his 'monster', a childlike wonder, whether this is his own version of something like that.

But even the blackhole-depths of his greed doesn't anticipate wanting you. Like remembering the sea upon the drink of an oyster. A second breath, heart soaked with knowing.

What am I doing, sleeping in his bed? The night grows darker with every step, so the invite was innocuous enough. You sink into the mattress and the blanket of night muffles the fear, the thought that love is never so easy. There will be complications and contracts —

You turn to him and all the braveheart strength seeps out of you. Maybe you can put it down here, just for a moment.

He looks at you love-first, in a thousand colors, something he can't find with anyone else. He brushes the hair from your face so delicately, you find yourself stuck between watching his relaxed expression and fluttering your eyes shut to absorb the feeling. The back of his fingers caress your cheek, a butterfly's wing.

"Are you happy? Satisfied?"

Sae is not abstract. It's a vague but concrete question. You understand him at first glance.

"Not yet," you exhale honestly. "I have more to do. I'm gonna get there."

I'm gonna be the person I want to be. And by that time, I'll also be —

I'll also be the kind of girl you'd consider worth dating.

"Just wanna be worth it," you smile weakly instead.

He looks at you with a tenderness that feels dangerous. You think of a bird's first flight, the swoop of the fall. The crackle of a flame before it eats the firewood.

"People are worth something the moment they're born," he recites with no inflections.

"I know that."

"You're the one who said that." It's not accusatory, it's a reminder: your own truth, a perception of love you've been made the exception of. It's too heavy with degradation for him to feel comfortable focusing on, so instead he asks something he knows.

"If you had everything you want now, would it be enough?"

You sit up, his eyes following you. Your body heat no longer pressed against his feels like a loss, something he's sure to correct.

"No. You know that's not how it works." You should know, better than anyone.

He does know. That greed is a bottomless abyss, ambition an infinite sky. There is no amount of good enough that could ever make it all feel worth it.

His hand circles around your wrist, pulls you in on top of him until you're chest to chest.

Love is not your right. Shattered somethings cradle your heart. Trees can grow around items. You wonder if your heart is the same — muscle grown strong around fractured glass, a whisper of a cutting edge with every beat.

If you're always going to want more, be better, go further —

Could you have a little something in the now?

He's so close to you now that it fills your mind completely. He's not naked but he feels so bare under you, your hands framing his cheeks, soft skin brushing against your fingertips. One of his hands skates up your back, the other slides up your jaw, cups the back of your neck.

You wonder when you started letting him touch you like that.

He treats you so gently, so unlike the overwhelming emotion that crashes into you. Both lightweight and heavy, you feel swept under, you just want to anchor onto something —

His lips touch yours and everything falls into place.

~

"How'd you know about her?"

Oliver could make it easy for him. He won't, because getting a reaction out of Sae is much more fun. Instead, he tries and fails to feign ignorance. "Who?"

"My girlfriend."

Oliver leans his head back against the wall, a playful smile over his face. "So she is your girlfriend. Loyal too."

Sae narrows his eyes.

"Relax. I just talked to her at one of those events you brought her to."

"You talked to her?"

Oliver gets the sense that Sae is trying to make it sound like a normal question, but all it sounds is exactly how annoyed he feels.

"She just said she's waiting for you."

notes: unbelonging is not a word, i used it anyways on purpose to strengthen the idea of something not belonging. nectared and lightstream are also not real words, but i like them. twin wine glasses is kind of a reference to twin flames, though i do think you and sae are actually soulmates. i wonder if people can be both. "the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself" is a double meaning, not just your body weight but everything else you carry too.

call it what it is: / a love created, hand-sculpted to fit. / a silent reprieve, / to be seen, / constellations bursting at the seams. / unfounded heart, / a tepid start,/ an easy, soft-sweet thing. / say what this really is. / place it on the justice scales of the abyss. / what you're meant to be / versus what you choose / you can decide you have a right to this.

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ l’amour de ma vie . . . c.s

in which . . . you doubt your childhood rival chris is good in bed, and he proves you wrong quickly

warnings . . . smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, arguing, kissing, clit play, oral, (fem!recieving) dirty talk, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #7

you and chris have been at each other's throats for as long as you can remember. the rivalry between you two is palpable, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. every interaction is filled with snarky comments and biting remarks, each of you trying to one-up the other.

one particularly heated argument turns towards the topic of sex. "i bet you're terrible in bed," you sneer, your eyes narrowed at chris. "you probably couldn't even make a girl come if you tried." chris smirks, a dangerous glint in his eye. "oh really? care to put that theory to the test?"

you scoff, rolling your eyes. "as if i'd ever let you touch me." but your body betrays you, heat pooling low in your belly at the thought of chris' hands on your skin. you ignore it, turning away from him with a dismissive wave of your hand.

later that night, you're lying in bed, trying to sleep. but your mind keeps wandering back to chris, to the challenge in his eyes when he offered to prove you wrong. before you can stop yourself, your hand slips beneath the waistband of your pants, seeking out your clit.

you imagine it's chris touching you, his fingers circling your sensitive nub. you let out a soft moan, your hips rocking against your hand. in your mind, chris is kissing his way down your body, his lips hot against your skin.

just as you're about to reach your peak, a knock sounds at your door. you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. who could be at your door this late at night? you quickly remove your hand from your pants and sit up, pulling the covers up to your chin.

the knock sounds again, more urgent this time. with a shaky breath, you slip out of bed and pad over to the door. you press your eye to the peephole and gasp. chris stands on the other side, his eyes dark with lust.

you open the door, your heart in your throat. "what are you doing here?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. chris doesn't answer. instead, he steps inside, crowding you against the wall. "i was thinkin’ bout what you said earlier…" he growls, his hands gripping your hips. "i'm going to prove you wrong…make you cum so hard you'll be begging me for more…we both know you want it.”

he’s right, you do, more than anything. although you were supposed to hate chris, you couldn’t help but find him attractive. before you can respond, his lips are on yours, hot and demanding. you melt into the kiss, your arms winding around his neck. chris backs you towards the bed, his hands roaming your body. he grips the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head, exposing your bare chest to his hungry gaze.

"fuck," he mutters, his eyes darkening as they take in your naked flesh. "you're so fucking sexy." he lowers his head, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. you cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair. chris moves to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. by the time he pulls back, you're panting, your pussy throbbing with need.

chris pushes you back onto the bed, making quick work of removing your pants and underwear. he settles between your legs, his hot breath ghosting over your clit. "lemme know if this feels ‘terrible’" he mocks your words from earlier, his voice low and rough.

but gosh it felt anything but terrible, chris buries his face in your pussy, his tongue lapping at your clit. you moan loudly, your hips bucking against his face. chris grips your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you. it doesn't take long for you to reach your peak, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

"chris!" you scream, your fingers fisting in his hair. "oh fuck, chris!" chris continues to lick you through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. only when you've come down from your high does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "see?" he smirks, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "i told you i could make you cum."

you glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. "shut up and fuck me," you demand, reaching for him. chris chuckles, climbing up your body. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. you moan into the kiss, your legs winding around his waist. chris reaches between your bodies, gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

with one hard thrust, he buries himself inside you. you cry out, your nails digging into his back. chris stills, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. "you feel so fucking good," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "so tight and hot." he starts to move, his hips snapping against yours. you meet him thrust for thrust, your moans filling the room. chris fucks you hard and deep, hitting your g-spot with every stroke. it's not long before you feel another orgasm building. "i'm gonna cum," you whimper, your head thrown back. "oh fuck, chris, i'm gonna cum!!”

"cum for me," chris growls, his hips pistoning against yours. "cum all over my cock." his words send you flying over the edge. you come with a scream, your pussy clenching around his cock. chris follows soon after, his hips stuttering against yours as he fills you with his cum.

he collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily. after a moment, chris rolls off of you, pulling you into his arms. "admit it," he murmurs, his lips pressed against your temple. "i was right. i made you feel good." you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. "fine," you grumble. "you were right. you're amazing in bed." chris smirks, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "i told you so." turns out he wasn’t as mediocre as you thought

© delilahsturniolo

💌: someone please convince me this is good :(

[octoberautumnbox]

Bruise

Soloist/IZ*ONE Jo Yuri & (named) Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, fluff?

Word count: 5.5k

a/n: prompt by @msafterhours! ty for hosting once again :DDDD

YALL BETTER TUNE IN TO SQUID GAME 3 TOMORROW

~~~

Dull thuds of feet against trampled carpet. A door that tries to creak open. The stench of lavender amongst iron and spent brimstone. Clear. 

She kicks off her heels as you crash onto the couch, only for her to follow. The plastic crinkles and ruffles underneath the both of you, growing stickier with each passing moment you're putting off cleaning up. Instead, you both opt for catching your breaths, taking in the cool breeze of air conditioning, and most importantly, listening intently for how your muscles scream and cry from overuse. 

With a grunt, she pushes herself up and reaches for the tiny white envelope on the table. She undoes the wax seal with two swipes of her fingernail and pulls out the letter, scanning carelessly through its contents before tossing it back onto the table and reslouching on the sofa. She's clocked out of work: she clutches her face with her hands, forcing her eyelids shut and her breathing slows to a steady, or steadier, pace. 

“Congrats, come home,” or whatever the fuck. The letter is unnecessarily more verbose, unbelievably so, but the important parts couldn't be simpler. It was a job well done, after all, and an invitation like that is always a sight for sore eyes were it not already expected. You stare at the seal in the top-left corner, pushing down your animosity for your employer as best you can.

A hand on her shoulder is all the consolation you allow yourself to give. “Go,” cold, tired, stern. She peeks at you through her slender fingers, and you steal a glance of her eyes crinkling at the corners before she pulls them away. With what sounds like a herculean effort, she gets up from the couch and heads off slowly to the bathroom as you sit and stare at the now-empty spot on the couch. Your eyes land back onto the annoyingly white sheet of paper on the table, silently cursing its bare existence, while the shower comes to life somewhere in the back of the room and of your mind. 

Push off the sofa yourself, follow the sound of pitter-pattering water. Your tie comes undone, as do your buttons. She watches through the open door how you slide the sullied clothes off your heaving form, momentarily pausing from scrubbing the vile leftover matter out of her hair. She covers herself modestly with her arms and the shower curtain—she can be as coy as she wants if it makes her feel better—as you lean against the sink and catch your breath. 

Dark circles under your eyes, splatterings of rust dotted across your face and arms. Some fresher, redder, more vibrant than others. All marks of victory, and nothing more. The water is cool in your palms, in stark contrast to the heat that blazes off the skin of your back and nape. Wash away your blemishes, wash away your sins. All marks of victory, and nothing more. 

You notice a towel on the rack, which you mindlessly reach for. Just then, the water ceases falling, and you knock on the cubicle door. She eyes you, and then the towel, and then you again. It changes hands far too quickly, and a few brief moments later she pulls back the curtain and emerges like brand new. She's wrapped herself in a pristine eggshell-white robe with the bow tied neatly over her tummy, as the towel sips gently from the moisture of her hair. 

She places a hand on your shoulder, shoots you a knowing smirk. You switch places: the floor grows only marginally wetter as she steps out to make space for you in the shower, and as you will the water to life again, you hear the faint sound of teeth being brushed from the other side. 

~~~

You step out of the bathroom, leaving the dirt and grime of the day behind you. You find her on the couch again, but this time it's stripped away of the sullied plastic covering. She reads the letter deep in thought this time, before finally looking up at you with an expression you can't quite decode.

A knock on the door, your senses switch back to high alert. Though her eyes stay expressionless, they're anything but dull, and all it takes is one shake of her head. You tiptoe over to the door and cover your side of the peephole with your hand. One. Two. Three. And again.

One.

Two. 

Three.

You open the door by a crack, and on the other side is an unassuming boy dressed as a staff member of the hotel. He clutches in his hands a tray with a single plate of French fries, which he serves to you and leaves just as wordlessly. 

It's fries. Steaming, fragrant, drizzled with cheese sauce and bacon bits over top. And the place is safe, from the staff to the food to the rooms. Still, looking over to her, you can tell she doesn't trust them as much as she did when she ordered them. And the feeling of pity roots snugly against, not in, your heart: you want more than anything for these fries to be as safe as when she ordered them. 

~~~

Not even a single speck of dust, only a hauntingly spotless brown ceiling to stare at. She rests her head on your chest and her plate on your stomach, staring out the window to the moon and stars that seem so close yet so far out of reach. She chews carefully, not savoring taste or texture, but only feeling around for the way her body moves to sustain itself. She breathes slow, checking in with how obediently her chest expands as she takes air in and pushes it back out. 

The silence makes known a ringing sound in your ears; it's a stark contrast to not even an hour ago when explosions large and small filled them instead. You can only imagine her feeling the same, looking out at the gentle borrowed light of the moon instead of the bright flashes of whites and yellows and reds that demanded to be beheld. 

“How much?” you whisper, breaking the silence. Place a hand around her shoulders, pull her close and secure as if you had the right to do so. She looks up, no doubt wondering why it matters enough for you to ask.

“Enough,” she sighs, returning her gaze to the moon, “for a hundred new iPhones every month until I'm eighty. A million of every ring, necklace, and broach my dad could never give my mom.” She pauses, wishfully, “A good, quiet, safe life.”

You sink deep in thought. It's true, there's nothing more valuable than that. The opportunity to leave this all behind and start over is the single most important thing everyone in this line of work works for. 

“And a bookstore?” you jest. 

And she giggles. “And a café upstairs. And a flower shop next door.”

She brings the next fry to your lips, hoping you'd accept. “And maybe… a husband? Whose name I… know.”

Both of you flinch at it, as if she hadn't meant to say it out loud nor you meant to hear it, but just as quickly you recover and smiles tug at the corners of your mouths. 

It's been on your mind for a while, too. Not the high fantasy of a lavish mansion or a vault chock full of gold coins to swim in, not even a two-story, three-bed, four-bath with a white picket fence keeping in two kids and maybe a dog. Just the privilege to hit snooze every once in a while, to have the option of the Wednesday farmer's market, to not seek clearance for exactly five watered down shots at the least horrendous of the closest agency-affiliated bars. 

“Sounds like a dream,” you confess, airier and more vulnerable than intended. You've been working this job longer than you care to remember, more missions completed than worth counting, more bones broken and lives claimed than anything that would get you a good afterlife. And yet, all of it has brought you to where you are now: lying at midnight in a bed you can't even appreciate the luxury of, in a hotel you couldn't bring yourself to trust, with the only person you've ever met that you ever truly did. 

You sigh, “If you're trying to tell me something, just tell me.” 

Your eyes meet under the moonlight, finding tiredness and regret behind each other's gaze. It's been too long, too much, and it's a mystery not even the two of you could solve together why you haven't already quit. But just like that, the answer reveals itself like it was right there beside you all along. 

“You've saved enough too. Come with me.” She brings her face closer to yours, planting sweet kisses along your jawline. Her plate is empty, laid to rest somewhere behind her and forgotten like what they do when agents misbehave. 

Lock her lips with yours, savor the feeling of being vulnerable with the one person who's ever been worthy of it. She takes your neck in her arms as you position yourself above her, chasing a future she and you want more than anything this organization will ever be able to offer. “And I assume you'll be leaving whether or not?”

She deepens the kiss, licking your tongue and letting you into her mouth. She moans breathily once you start to have your way with her: her grip tightens around you as your hand slides down the middle of her chest. Her eyes flutter shut as you move on to her neck, careful not to suck too hard lest you leave evidence. She spreads her legs just enough to grant you access; rub her folds through the thin fabric that may as well not be there at all. Feel her heat rising as her breath shortens, admire the way she lets you hold her like she's the most precious thing in the world. 

“You won't leave me, right?” She begs without begging you to make a promise she knows you can't make. You slide her panties down her smooth legs, and it's nothing but comfort and warmth beneath the cotton blanket you find yourselves under. She gasps at the very first contact of your fingertips rubbing against her clit, and she looks you in the eyes as if not believing that you're considering it for her. Her hips grind slightly against your hand, seeking more of the pleasure you're providing, all the while she grows even wetter at how much attention and care you give her. 

She pulls your shorts and underwear down too, thinking two can play at this game. She spits ceremoniously on her palm, the moonlight reflecting off the tiny droplet of saliva collecting in her hand, before she wraps it over your hardening cock as a thank-you. Her strokes are deep and long, leaving no inch dry and untouched, as her body jerks lightly at every swipe of your finger over her sensitive bundle of nerves. 

You stay on top of her, spurred on by how affectionately she watches you. Her hands stay on your shoulders, gripping tight as if she might lose you if she lets go. It's happened before, you think, and seeing her reaction under the dim glow of the moon, you feel it's a thought the two of you share. 

“Answer me. You won't leave me alone, will you?” She spreads her legs, though absentmindedly. She stares desperately into your eyes, looking for an answer she knows she won't like. As you lean down to her lips, taking claim of her tongue once again, she rubs your tip to her folds, coaxing you in your moment of weakness to give in to hers. 

“You know we can't make promises.” Push into her slowly, past her entrance, savoring how her walls part for you. It's heaven hearing her moan like this: airy, light, carefree. She squeezes your cock hungrily, tracing every inch of you with her pussy like it's what everything leads up to. You continue to move, thrusting gently in and out of her, and she can't help but moan and groan at the forbidden pleasure.

She wraps her arms around your neck, keeping you close as if you're the damning secret that unravels her life. She shivers each time you hit her good spots inside her throbbing cunt; she grows wetter and wetter as you keep using her body the way she needs you to. She was always the selfish type, not caring about how it felt for you, but something feels different this time:

“Come find me…?” she whispers into your ear between gasps. She nibbles at your jawline as she shakes, getting pushed closer and closer to her climax. Her back lifts off the mattress and her chest meets yours, begging silently for more contact she knows she can't have. 

Fuck her slow, but deep. Part her walls tantalizingly gently, making her groan at how you violate her luscious body. Her smooth skin and beautiful voice all whittle away at your resolve: you're led closer and closer to the idea that maybe, just maybe, a life with her isn't that bad. She squeezes your cock deliciously inside her, wraps her legs around your waist trying to keep you, hugs you tight like she needs you to live. 

“Faster…” she begs. Her toes curl and uncurl as you follow, her voice breaking as you speed up. She grinds her hips against you to meet your thrusts, and plants more kisses on your neck during the moments she runs out of breath. Her wetness soaks the bedsheets beneath her, all the while you bring her closer to her climax and yours. 

And faster still. You reach too deep into her; with every “mm” and “aah” and “please” she mutters straight into your ear, you feel your resolve crumbling more. The bed creaks slightly as you keep fucking her, all the while thoughts of waking up next to her everyday fill your head.

Her hitting snooze for you. Her hand in yours as you pick out fresh vegetables every Wednesday. Her eyes closed gently as you take your first sips of a fine aged wine. 

She kisses you deeply, exploring more of your mouth without you holding her back. Her sultry moans get the better of you, as do the faint ghosts of aloe in her hair. Her skin feels smooth against yours, as if they'd never been touched by blood or gunpowder. You can still taste the cheese lingering on her lips, fading farther away as she lets you nip and nibble on them as you please. 

You're in much too deep, you realize. She has her pussy clenching around your cock, her fingers tangled in your hair, her forehead on yours as she greedily kisses you in what would be the last time. And you're not pulling away. “You're really leaving, aren't you…?”

Slow down, catch your breath, give her, and yourself, just a little bit of space. Your nose two inches away from hers, your lips still tingling with the feeling of her love, her beautiful eyes focused solely on you like she'd forget your face if she looked away for even a second. 

“Yeah… I am. I'm done,” she confesses. She looks so much older than the last time you saw her in light like this—and it was only last week. She'd just finished scrubbing away the dust and soot of the day from her face, and the bruises on her arms were only almost all better. And yet, she still had just the slightest bit of fight in her eyes, the kind that carried a person through terror and tragedy knowing that the end of the tunnel was near. Now, here it is. 

She giggles, “You know they'd get rid of me if I said anything?” She caresses your cheek, admiring you for everything you meant to her: confidant, partner, constant. Anything else is a reach, and the both of you did everything you could to stay behind the line. Despite everything, here she is, admitting so casually to a crime that would get her wiped from the world, saying it so crudely like it was just another day in the life of a commoner who didn't know the lengths agents like you and she went through to protect. 

“Is that your plan? Out yourself and take a chance that they'd only throw you on the curb?” you chuckle, the question incredulous as it is weighted. Go slow in her again, try to knock some sense into her. She's not special in the slightest to get away with just a slap on the wrist like that. And yet, you hope with all the heart you have left that she is. “When has it ever worked?”

“We wouldn't—ah fuck—we wouldn't know… Once I leave…”

Shut her up. Seal her lips, swirl her tongue around yours. She can't say what she's about to say, not yet. Anything but that. You speed up, and she reciprocates. She grinds against you, and you wager she doesn't know what you're trying to do.

But do you know what you're trying to do?

She interrupts just a moment, “Switch,” and you have to physically tear yourself away from her to oblige. Only then do you allow yourself to feel the wear and tear of the day and the job again—pulling out of her may very well be one of the most difficult things you’ve ever done. 

And yet, she’s nothing but careful with you: she guides you down gently back onto the mattress, making sure your bruises fall onto nothing but cushiony softness. She clambers onto you, her own body betraying the same fatigue both of you tried so hard to ignore. Her hand on your still hard cock, twitching against your palm, and the faint moonlight filtering through the glass window illuminates only half of the most gorgeous face you’ve ever seen. 

She takes it in her again, slow and steady. She slides down, feeling herself stretch to accommodate your girth, all the while tiny whimpers escape her lips once more. She takes her sweet time, savoring probably the last she’ll ever have of you—you have to remind yourself of that—as the aches slowly meld with the pleasure of just plainly having her all to yourself like this. 

“You always look after me…” she whispers, placing her hands on your chest. It’s a nice change, or separation if you will, that she’s never this handsy in the field. She holds you down, “Can I look after you this time?” and she slides herself up before letting herself drop back. “Mmh—” she whimpers, and it takes everything to not start fucking her again yourself. Instead, settle for the next best thing: swipe at the straps of her nightgown, slip them off her shoulders. It brings the sweetest smile on her face, and as the gown slips down off her shoulders and back, you’re met with the sight of her delicious boobs, all yours to grope and handle like she wants.

“All yours, all of me.” She traces her finger along your arm, and as she reaches your hand, she brings it to her chest. Her breast is soft and pliant, with a perfectly stiff nipple you can’t help but pinch and tug at, and all it does is spur her on further. “More… please,” she pleads, the pleasure getting the better of her, throwing caution to the wind. She never lets go of your hand on her tits, wanting you to touch her forever. She bounces on your cock faster, trying to coax out the release she knows she deserves.

“Fuck… Please, I’m close.” Reach up and take her other breast. Her boobs bounce against your hands, and you feel her body heating up more and more as she rides faster. Her nipples poke against your palms, wanting nothing more than to be pinched hard, pulled, sucked, abused, but you’re too much of a gentleman, aren’t you? You pull her down, and to her surprise, she finds herself laying on your chest. Grip her ass like it’s all yours, thrust into her despite all the aches your body nags at you to submit to. Instead, you follow her, giving her what she wants. It slips in and out of your mind why you’re doing this with her, the memory getting hazier and hazier, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You hug her tight on top of your chest as if this is the way you get to keep her. Her cunt only gets wetter with how hard you try to hold on, and she does the exact same: she wraps her arms around your neck again, wanting to never let go, as she desperately tries looking you in the eyes instead of having them roll to the back of her head. 

“I don’t know what your name is,” you confess straight into her ear, “I don’t know how long you’ve been working with me,” you thrust up into her faster, “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again,” she moans as you get rougher, chasing her own release while helping you chase hers, “but…”

And her lips crash against yours again. She grinds against you, trying to overtake your need with hers. She wants to give, wants to serve you, wants to return all the favors you’ve earned from times you saved her ass from whatever stray projectile was hurtling her way. She tries wrestling back control despite almost losing it herself, but she stays on top of you, licking your tongue, controlling the pace. She has to.

“Mmm… you don’t get to say it,” her breath is heavy against your ear, her voice raspy from all the deep moans and rough confessions of pleasure she afforded to you, “you don’t get to tell me you love me without saying my name too.” 

She sits back up, plants her feet on the mattress, places her hands on your shoulders again, and bounces on your cock like there’s nothing else in the world to do. “You d-don't know how bad—ahh—I wanna say yours too…” 

And you get the feeling she's running out of ways to beg, getting more and more desperate to give you the pleasure she thinks you deserve. Pleasure is splashed across her face: a furrowed brow showing how hard she's trying to outlast you, a forehead beaded with sweat at how bad she wants you to feel good, a lip bitten and next to bleeding keeping herself from saying things she knows she'll regret for all the wrong reasons. 

Your breath hitches, and she almost doesn't catch it—she gives herself to you, insistent on making sure you won't want to pull out. She bends back down, pressing her tits on your chest, as she takes your lips one last time. Her tongue wraps around yours again and again, making the most of your remaining time together. She grinds hard on your cock, her slick, warm pussy squeezing around you like it's the only one she'll ever have, and it's this moment she draws her eyes open to find yours.

Her pulling up the covers for both of you. A bowl of fresh vegetable stew in the center of the table between two yet-empty plates. An arm around your shoulder as you stumble up the stairs together, thinking you're supporting her while she thinks she's supporting you. 

A flash of blinding white, and your orgasm reaches its peak inside of her. You jerk inside her, and before you know it, you're shooting ropes of hot cum into her throbbing cunt. You thrust as deep as you can go, meeting every single squeeze of her velvet walls with another spurt of your seed, until her eyes glaze over and roll to the back of her head. She lets out a guttural moan as you paint her insides, filling her up beyond what she can keep inside her. Even as you throb and thrust inside her, you feel your cum mixed with her juices running down the underside of your shaft. And her arms wrap impossibly tight around your neck she jerks and shivers uselessly against you, each one the result of another stream of squirt splashing against your crotch.

She collapses on top of you, landing on your heaving chest. You breathe deep to replace the air missing from your lungs, but you can't deny it was the best feeling you've ever had with her, or at all. She lays there peacefully, lightheaded and satisfied, her head placed perfectly dead center of your chest, letting out tiny giggles as she catches her breath.

Place her gently beside you, make sure she's comfy in your embrace. She looks up at you with a love you've never thought possible, but this girl has always been an impossibility come to life. She holds your cheek, finally coming to terms with the fact that she might never have you for herself, and trying to forgive herself for a regret she might never, ever overcome. 

“I wanna say it…” she laughs. Her teeth peek out from between her lips, her fingers gently trace your jawline as if trying to memorize it. 

“Me too. Stupid rule,” you sigh, and it eases her a bit more. It's common courtesy, after all, to say a person's name when you confess your love—or so you think, who knows how this is supposed to go—so you hold back with everything you can. 

She clicks her tongue and lets out a tired laugh, “Fucking ‘Master of Espionage’ can't figure out my fucking name,” and you silently wish you could hear her laugh forever. The smile gracing her features is one you never want to let go, one you want to keep alive for as long as you are.

“That's your job. My job is to make sure the ‘Master of Espionage’ doesn't get shot in the fucking face.”

And she settles. Her eyes give off a light that's betraying her weakness, “Why won't you come with me? Is there something you still need to do?”

It kills you, you don't even know. You don't have an answer for her, let alone a good one, why you can't be with her as she takes the next step into the rest of her life. Or, you couldn't admit that you think she'd never stay with a boring old dope like you who only knows how to pull triggers and crack necks. A young woman as beautiful and sensible as her would be wasted on someone like you—

Like reading your mind, “Stop that. Stop that right now,” she interrupts, and her lips meet yours one last time. She's insistent yet gentle, the way only she could ever be. “I want you… I'll always want you, I think. No matter what you try to convince yourself of.”

“That's cheating.”

“No it isn't,” she giggles again, “I make the rules. Not cheating.”

“Then…” take a deep breath, steel your nerves, “I want you too.”

~~~

“We'll have you on holdover until we can find you a partner.”

“Excuse me?” You can't even begin to believe your ears. It's only been a weekend, you think. And already your partner is…

“Agents can't go out in the field alone. We'll match you with someone and then assign you two a mission.”

It's all but confirmed, then. You try and then fail miserably at forming a cold sweat; it's not like you didn't expect this—in fact, you knew she would. You just didn't think, or hope would be a better word, that she'd go so soon.

You can only stare back at the poor clerk who's only doing his job. Fight down the red that fills your eyes, scold yourself for blaming this guy, or anyone, or everyone, besides you. You're the one who failed to keep her, and there's no one else to point fingers at. 

“You can visit the office floor in the meantime, agent. We'd assign you a cubicle, but in reality we'd have you a partner in about ten—”

“Whatever. I'm not doing field work today.”

The clerk clicks his tongue with a bored feeling, whether disapproval or tediousness, you don't care to place. “Fine,” he sighs, “Records department, cubicle 1A4. Welcome back, agent.”

You head off to your desk and slump in the chair.

~~~

Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Your glasses sit elegantly on your face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. You draw your attention away from the image of you in the window and back to the pretty waiter girl walking towards you.

“Ready to order, sir?” Seeing you nod, she swipes her pencil from her ear and spins it before touching its graphite to the paper. She smiles a familiar smile, one you can't seem to forgive yourself for placing. 

“A mocha, please.”

“Size?”

“Medium.”

“We say ‘venti’ for that.”

“Whatever.”

“Hot or iced?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Hah, alright. It'll be five minutes, sir.”

She walks away, heading for the counter. For some reason, your nerves are quiet—no alarms blaring, no warning lights flashing. If anything, you're hopeful that it's over and that you could finally leave the past behind you. 

And then you see her. She emerges from some back room, exchanging a few words with the pretty waiter girl. They share a giggle before she turns and spots you. Her jaw drops like she's seen a ghost before shooing away the waiter to the kitchen. 

She takes careful steps, looking around like there's something to find. She's inconspicuous—she hides it well—and slips into the booth opposite you.

Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Her glasses sit elegantly on her face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. She stares at you, wanting to say a million things yet having none come out.

Do the heavy lifting for her, again: “Hi.” 

“I—welcome. You…?”

“Congrats on the whole thing.” You look around: potted plants hang from the ceiling, bright windows let light into the cozy space just like next door. Jazz plays softly in the background like a cliché that fits so damn well. 

“Thank you. You look good.” She smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looks you up and down, and you feel yourself doing the same. 

“Yuri,” you whisper, feeling the syllables roll off your tongue and past your lips. It feels forbidden to say, forbidden to hear, yet those laws were lifted so long ago.

She laughs a beautiful laugh, like old times. “How did you find me?”

“I'm sorry I took so long… But I'm here now.”

“You say that like I didn't wait.”

She holds your cheek again, feeling the wrinkles where there used to be residue of war. It's a different feeling, a strange one, but nothing unwelcome. 

You grasp the hand on your cheek, “Is she…?” before watching her give a solemn nod. 

The pretty waiter girl appears beside your booth promptly, setting down your mocha and an americano for your old friend. Yuri shoots a tender yet knowing look at her, but she's only puzzled so far.

“Mom, do you know him?” She glares at you, wondering why her mother has her hand on your cheek. The cogs on her head turn slowly, but they turn nonetheless. “Oh my God…”

“And you must be Mihyun,” you tease, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet, bitter, and comforting, much like the end of a long journey where you're all but one more dirt path from home. “Mm, good for a ‘venti.’ But I wanted it iced, though.”

She chuckles in disbelief, but the moment you scoot to make space, she tears up. She sobs lightly as you put your arm around her, and Yuri joins on her other side to wrap her in a tight hug.

“It's very nice to meet you, sweetheart,” you whisper, kissing her hair. “And you too, my love.” Find her once again, eyeing you with that signature mischievous smile as if saying how dare you make my daughter cry. 

“What did you tell her that she isn't kicking me out of here right away?” you laugh, and Yuri laughs back.

“I told her her dad is a wonderful man, and that he always put me first. For a little while, she couldn't understand why I never took a boyfriend. She liked one of the regulars from a long time ago, the handsome one that looked soft and homey, but I said I knew better and she was nice enough to leave it at that.”

“Sounds like I have quite the shoes to fill.”

“Better start now…?”

“Sangja.” You turn red in the face saying it, and just as expected, Yuri snorts.

“Fuck you. All this time, Agent Box?”

“As if you were any better, Agent Glass.”

~~~

a/n: this might be the most fanfiction-y fanfiction i've written so far bc of that namedrop and also for giving her a gun lmao anywayz tune in for squid game s3 next week y'all!!

~

a/n: update y'all they gave her a gun 😭😭😭😭

[everest81]

Even if I'm fine with being called specifically "dude" I fucking dies inside seeing that happen once before I transitioned. I didn't even have Tumblr or really grasped how bad it was but I knew in my gut that it was just... Evil. You're denying a woman's identity for what? Not being able to stare at her boobs the whole conversation? Because you think it's some fucking fetish for others to be happy?

For those who are just on the cusp of grasping it, but can't, try imagining someone doing that to a cis person

This is Kathy. Kathy has been a woman since birth, born with specifically female genitalia and body parts, and has a conventionally effeminate body type by 9/10 normal standards. One day, she gets hired by a tech company that has her testing out websites and occasionally games that are very very early in development.

Around a month or two after she's gotten to know the general group of people she's had to and will work with, a new employee named Toby is hired and put into her group. She doesn't know anyone named Toby, nor does any of her friends or immediate family members. A nephew of hers would gladly tell you about Ticci Toby, his second-favorite creepypasta behind Sonic.exe, but nobody knows any IRL Tobys.

Toby completely refuses to call Kathy by her real name, instead insisting that she's referred to by names like Kyle, or Kevin, ECT, when anyone has to refer to her when talking to him. He acts like someone's joking with him, insulting him, or making up a fake employee when anyone else on their team mentions Kathy by her real name. Toby also consistently uses passive-aggressive language about Kathy —or, should he also be by or going to the bathroom, glares at her and matters things she can't quite catch— whenever she goes to the bathroom, insisting that she should be using the men's room.

On one frightening —and possibly dangerous— occasion Toby physically blocked her from the bathroom by standing in front of the doorway and pushing her away from it. It doesn't matter how gently he pushed her, he still pushed her away from a basic necessity. This was Toby's first strike, according to her boss, but if you asked Kathy, "I cannot tell you how many times I've wanted to fucking punch that guy. He's so fucking annoying — I can never get shit done when I have to work with him in any capacity! Got forbid we have to have a meeting! He's either saying anything about anything else to stall time, or taking my shit and telling everyone that some fuckin'.... Mystery member's been busting his ass off for me in the background, or something...! It's always some Kieth or Kurt or-... whoever the fuck he's made up this week."

Everyone, especially Kathy, is incredibly uncomfortable with how Toby acts. Lately he's been getting especially aggressive, as his passive-aggressive remarks about her and her body have been evolving into outright insults and remarks about how "he's slandering God's image of Adam and mankind". Kathy still to this very day has no idea what happened between them, nor does she have any clue why someone like him wanted to physically assault her, beating her behind her office building with a pocket knife —almost slitting her throat— and scarring both her face and her psyche for the rest of her life.

Toby might have been arrested for assault and attempted murder, but she refuses to walk behind any building that vaguely resembles where she was attacked and almost killed... Because she existed.

I am so sick and tired of seeing the trans women around me being slowly hot coaled into the closet and into essentially being forced back into "Men who would really love being women but Can't because they Aren't". It is so painful stop fucking doing this to our trans women. Stop forcing them to be "Fine" with being called dude bro man he and biologically male stop it stop it stop it you are killing her. You are killing her.

[michhawk]

I Yield

(Beach Section Part 1) Ex - (G)-IDLE Soojin x male reader smut

Tags: Cunnilingus, Body Worship | Words: 1,9k

I yield.

That is the only thought that came across your mind when you see her.

Soojin, with all its beauty and glory, standing there with you in the room, just the two of you.

Can you feel all the excitement? The anxious feeling you must be familiar with knowing that the only thing stopping you from indulging yourself of her is some flirtatious words and maybe some foreplay.

“Hey, are you just going to stare?” Soojin asks, snapping you of your imagination.

“Is he nervous? Alright, let’s do something to loosen him up, after him.”Soojin thinks to herself.

Get your mind together, you got ONE shot at this!

You brace yourself and you walk closer towards Soojin. Your heart can’t seem to be calmer, you think by how loud the sound your heartbeat makes, Soojin might heard it. In truth, Soojin can see it all over your face, Soojin just finds it cute as she throws a little smirk.

You close your distance with her and pull her into a hug. You can get a good a feeling of her slim body. Her back, her waist, and especially her soft cute ass. Soojin can tell your intention, and she tries to get a good feeling about it.

“Mh-hmm,” Soojin murmur as the result of you squeezing her ass. You take it as a good sign, a sign of acceptance, a sign to keep going.

Soojin’s hands are not idle as she does the same squeezing your ass and slapping it.

*SMACK*

“Ugh,” you grunt. Yes, now you are sure Soojin does not wish to wait around.

Soojin then goes to wrap one of her arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss. The kiss contains a lot of passion. You can understand Soojin’s feeling that she wishes this to happen the first time you and her inside this room.

You put your mouth to hers and begin kissing her. Putting out your tongue, so does she. You both continue exchanging saliva, feeling each other presence in the moment.

For a good minute, you and Soojin continue to touch around each other, feel the heat continue to build up around each other. Your hand keeps switching between squeezing her ass and brushing her pussy through her underwear.

Soojin squirms every time she feels your hand playing with her pussy. Each time your hand squeezing her ass, Soojin feels hornier and thus making the kiss hotter.

After some more touching, she pulls out from the kiss.

“That was nice, how about we continue on the bed?” Soojin asks. You can see Soojin’s face is red fill of excitement and eagerness. And in Soojin’s mind she can only think about sex.

You and Soojin walk to the bed in the room. You both sat down and just stare at each other for a moment. You can feel it in the air, the pent-up emotion to just jump on her and go wild. But you know you need to do a proper preparation to fully satisfy her.

Thus, you begin pulling her by the chin closer to you for another kiss. Then you go to kiss her cheek and slowly moving towards her ear. While doing so, you use one of your hands to fondle her tits and your other hands to untie her bra.

Soojin is letting out heavy breath because of the feeling of your touch on her tits. While the feeling is certainly captivating, she also wants to do some work on you. Using her hands, she strokes your now erect cock through your boxer.

“Mmm, so hard for me, eh?” Soojin ask with her sultry voice.

You hear what Soojin says, but you choose to not answer her verbally. Instead, you choose to show her how horny she makes you feel right now.

You start by moving your kiss to her neck area, giving her some love bites while at it as well. By doing so, you hear Soojin’s gasp, a sign you do something right. Then you go on to kiss your way downward to her now expose tits.

Soojin closes her eyes, just feeling everything you do to her body. Occasionally she imagining how you will take her through this session. Feeling your mouth on her tits, she lets out a gasp and occasional moan. She can feel herself lost in her own thoughts, and when she realizes, she is already laying on the bed, one hand playing with her nipple and the other is on your head trying to tell you to keep going.

You really like nibbling on her tits. Sometimes you give her nipple and her chest a lick to show your appreciation of her body. You can feel her hand on your head, gripping your hair slightly.

While Soojin is playing with her nipple, you continue licking her chest and her side boob. You also use your free hand to play with her pussy, rubbing it through the cloth. Every time you take a small bite around her chest, you can feel her hips goes up and down trying to rub her pussy to your hand.

Soojin still letting you do your things; she only lets out occasional moan telling you to keep up with your work. She also feels your tongue quite active in terms of pleasuring her. Soojin then open her eyes slightly to see that you lift her left hand up showing her armpit. She feels a little self-conscious but curious on your next action.

You want to show Soojin, how grateful you are to have her here right now. You want to show how lucky you are to have her, laying on her back right now. What you do after lifting her hand is something Soojin never expects.

After putting out your tongue to lick her side boob, you slowly move your head towards her arm. While still licking her, you continue to move your head closer to her armpit.

Once you arrive, you take a whiff before you go on to lick her armpit furiously.

Soojin gasp and moan by your sudden aggression, she never expects such act to be shown by people like you.

“Isn’t it kind of sweaty? How is he liking it?” Soojin thinks to herself.

But those thoughts don’t linger long, because your finger does not want to lose on the aggression itself. Soojin lets a heavy sigh feeling your finger trying to penetrate her pussy through the fabric cloth. Soojin closes her eyes again, feeling your enthusiasm on her armpit as well as your skilled hand work on her pussy.

After you feel enough on her armpit, you move your attention towards her pussy.

Your hand that was on her underwear doesn’t feel dry, meaning Soojin is turn on enough. Thus, you go ahead and move your head towards her pussy, by licking her tummy all the way to her thighs area.

Soojin opens her eyes, to see how you will take the next step “worshipping” her.

She sees you caressing her thighs. Opening the way to her pussy slowly. But you don’t go to her pussy yet.

Instead, you linger on her thighs. Licking it and kissing it.

Soojin sees your action and only lets out a small moan each time you get your mouth close to her pussy entrance. At this point, she can tell you are not someone who is just thinking about pleasuring themselves, someone who is selfish. She can see how caring you can be.

While you are busy licking and kissing her thighs, you can also hear her whimpers every time you get close to her pussy.

Without wasting anymore time, you latch your mouth to her clothed pussy. You don’t want to take it off yet, just a little more to tease her. Soon she will feel irritated and will force you to go and claim her pussy.

Soojin gasp by your sudden movement to her pussy. Even though she still wears her underwear, she can feel your wet tongue trying to eat her. She doesn’t have time to take a second to think about how you should go on, at this moment she is lost in her own mind seeking only pleasure.

After a few seconds enjoying yourself between her thighs, it is time to get a bit more serious.

You go ahead and pull her underwear, revealing her dripping wet pussy. Looking at it can make anyone hungry, and you are no exception.

After you come back to your senses, you instantly latch your mouth to her pussy. Now without any obstacle, you can freely explore her most erogenous part. You can say that she has that tangy taste to her pussy juice. You like it.

Soojin can’t seem to get a break from constant moaning and gasping due to your aggressive behaviour.

And now that your mouth and her pussy is truly connected, Soojin can’t seem to think straight anymore. She can feel your tongue exploring her insides, sometimes flicking her g-spot causing her hips to buckle up.

You are enjoying this moment full of lust and desire to taste her.

You notice her reaction when you put your lips on her clit, or when you lick her sensitive spot inside her pussy. Because of that you continue in pleasuring her, by hitting those sensitive spots to trigger more reaction of her.

Soojin’s mind can only focus on one thing and that is to reach her orgasm.

With you focus on working her pussy using your mouth, Soojin uses one of her hands to pinch and play with her nipples while the other gripping your hair to give you a signal that she wants to cum.

You can tell by her hand gripping your hair getting harder, and her hips constantly pushing her pussy to your mouth, Soojin is close to cumming.

With that you speed up your work, switching between licking and sucking her clit, to furiously licking inside her pussy.

Soojin can’t hold it anymore, she grips your hair harder, almost feels like she is trying to pull your hair.

“Auuh, I am CUMMING!” she exclaims.

Soojin reach her first climax of the night, her body tense up and quiver riding through that feeling.

Soojin heart beats real fast, and she can feel it. This is what she has been waiting when you and her step into this room. And you deliver.

You suck up her pussy juice, tasting the result of your passionate work throughout her body so far. My, it tastes so good.

You enjoy licking her pussy before lifting yourself up to see that Soojin still laying in trance after cumming.

“Hey, earth to Soojin?” you ask with a non-serious tone.

“I admit, you are good with your tongue.” Soojin replies with ragged breath.

Soojin is placing one of her hands over her eyes, she still trying to get her mind together.

“When you lick my armpit, is that your fetish?” Soojin ask still with her uneven breathing, just trying to make a small talk.

“I guess…” You say back with a low tone voice, while moving closer besides her.

When Soojin removes her hand from her eyes, she sees you laying besides her, with the looks of waiting for her to get ready for the next step.

Soojin pulls you for another kiss, this time it is slightly softer than before, as she is trying to regain her focus.

While kissing you, Soojin use one of her hands to reach into your boxer to stroke your cock.

You know that the session is still not over, you have not got your fair share of pleasure, well besides licking her body.   

But for now, the thoughts of making her your woman will have to wait. You may feel overwhelmed, but by doing what you can do best will eventually lessen the burden you put yourself into conquering the problem.

================================================

Author's Note: THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE OF THE PREVIOUS WORK, IT WAS MY FIRST EVER SMUT, AND NEVER EXPECT THAT MUCH ATTRACTION.

Anyway, this one is a draft i had beside the previous work, hope you guys like it, yet this is not over, as there supposed to be part two!!!!!

STAY TUNED!

[midnghtprentiss]

Domesticity - Jack Abbot

pairing: jack abbot x doc!f!reader

summary: four times absolute love the domesticity of living with four women.

a/n: i was watching mamma mia and this idea came through my mind and now i’m crying cause it’s cute. in this scenario, Anna is 17, June and Emma are 13.

anywayyyy, sorry for any misspellings, english is not my first language. hope you enjoy! any comments are welcome!

ONE

The mundane and extraordinary aspects of living with women were the reasons Jack became a happier person, more inspired, and willing to live his life in a more fulfilling way. 

Jack was accustomed to the noise of your house. There was always a song playing, singing, and gossiping. For him, the comfort of knowing that the darkness that once surrounded him was gone, replaced by the light of the people he loved the most, mattered more than he could explain. 

He expected to come to a quiet house when he came through the door in the morning, but instead, he found you doing breakfast and the girls laughing while Emma rehearsed her school presentation for them before class. Jack felt the chaos and stress of his shift melt away while silently watching the scene unfold. 

“I can’t do that if you keep laughing at me.” He chuckled, seeing your face to the two girls.

“We aren’t laughing at her, it’s cute she’s nervous around us, but if you put her on the stage with a microphone, she’s a different person.” June tried to make a point and you shot her the same look you give to Jack when pisses you off. “Our own Hannah Montana.”

Even tho Emma and June weren’t Jack’s biological daughters, he knew them even before they were born when you were pregnant in your resident years, but he loved the girls like his own. They loved him for all the right reasons, and he never treated them with any less love. June could always count on Jack to help her practice for games, cheering and acting like a real father, and Emma knew Jack would listen to her endless musical rehearses in the car, being present at every event she would sing. 

Anna felt the same about you. When you met Jack, she was four years old and had lost her mother recently. You never tried to steal her mother's place; everybody was aware of it. But you were there for every little thing. School plays, birthday parties, and teenage years. Fulfilling a part of her life that was missing, always remembering her late mother with honour and respect. 

When you and Jack (finally) started dating, after a few years of yearning, she was so happy that it finally happened. It wasn’t a surprise you liked each other; the more you denied it, the more complicated the situation became until you both admitted it. 

“If you’re worried about impressing us, you shouldn’t.” You caressed her hair, “Jack still gets nervous when he’s working next to me. That’s why I’m the smarter one in this marriage.” 

“Ouch.” Jack finally entered the kitchen, pretending to be upset by your words. 

“You called the patient by the wrong name four times two nights ago just because I was in the same room, Jack.” You shook your head, pouring yourself more coffee. 

“That’s peak romance, mom.” Anna giggled, nodding her head. 

Anna started calling you mom a few years after your marriage to Jack. She was so afraid of you rejecting her that when it came out first, she froze, and you cried a lot. It means so much to you that she trusted you enough to call you mom, a place you needed to earn, and you do. 

“In my defense, you were looking hot, covered in blood, and bossing me around.” You rolled your eyes, and he laughed, kissing your cheek. “My brain doesn't work around hotties, by hotties I mean you.”

“It’s seven in the morning, c'mon guys!” June pretended to be disgusted, covering her eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be going to school right now?”

“We wanted to wait for you to let you know that we may have a girls' night friday.” Jack poured himself some coffee and leaned over the counter next to you. 

“Friday? The same day your mom and I have a shift together?” He raised his eyebrows, and the three girls nodded at the same time. 

“Musical night. All the girls had already agreed.” Anna blew you two a kiss before they all left the room together. “And! We’ll clean before you even come back.”

“Do we have a choice?” He asked you, speechless about the conversation he just had. “A lot of girls will be sleeping in our living room while we work. I don’t think we need to worry about a thing.”

“I don’t think so.” You touched his shoulder, laughing quietly. “Anna’s going to college soon, we should have her do that, make some memories with her sisters. It's going to be good for them.” 

“You’re right, we just pray that they don’t burn the house.” 

Friday night, you two ended up in your living room full of girls dressed up as musical icons, a microphone, snacks and a lot of glitter. You held his hand and left the house faster than a bullet while their friends started to sing to you and your husband.

TWO

Jack was an insomniac. You knew it, the girls knew it, even the cat was accustomed to it. 

Maybe it was because of his work or ‘cause his mind never fully stops. 

He enjoyed the quietness, the peace of the home when no one was awake. He spent hours lying in bed just watching you sleep peacefully, how messy your hair was, legs tangled around him, the warmth of your body cuddled in him. He loved the idea that you needed him around even in your sleep.

When he didn’t want to stay in bed, he quietly left the bedroom and stayed in the living room. Sometimes he would stay at the back porch, reading or just watching the quiet. His only companion was your cat, who despises him when you’re around, sleeping soundly between his tights. But sometimes he encountered Emma, quietly making space for herself at the armchair facing the stars outside. 

“Bad dream?” Jack put on his readers, holding the book you bought him the other day. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” She sighed, looking at him. 

He saw you in Emma. The messy hair, puffy eyes, the traces of her pretty face, and cranky voice, exactly like yours when you don’t sleep nicely. She was holding a book too, looking a little ashamed for being caught awake this late at night. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He made his way to the couch next to her, leaning the crutches on the floor. 

“It’s not a big deal.” 

“If you’re awake at three in the morning, it’s a big deal.” 

Jack loved being a girl's dad. He never fully understood how he was going to raise a girl, be a man and at the same time, protect her from the madness of the world. His heart aches every time he thinks about not being the person his kids needed him to be at the right moment.

Thankfully, he always was. He’s the one all of his girls call when something is not right. He’s the person you call when the world seems to disappear from your feet. 

“There’s this guy, he’s friends with June.” Jack raised his eyebrows, watching the girl. “We’ve been talking for a while now, and I told him I liked him and ran away.” 

“Oh, Em.” He reached out for her hand. “You think he likes you back?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted, looking embarrassed. “He called me cute the other day, gave me his jacket when I needed to run to Anna’s car in the rain, and he kept texting me to know if I’m alright. He sent me flowers the other day.”

“When I met your mother a few years ago, I used to get so nervous around her that I put her in triage for a few weeks to not be around her, just the sound of her voice was enough to make me dizzy.” He laughed at himself. “I realized I was in love with your mother when she went on a date with another guy, and I panicked at the idea of her being in love with somebody else.” 

“Really?” She asked. 

“Definitely. I did things I’m not proud of before telling her how I feel, and I’m glad for finally saying something ‘cause look where we are today.” 

“Thanks for that, I needed to hear this.” 

“If he won’t treat you right, you can tell me and I will proudly try to scare him.” Emma laughed, nodding her head. “Besides, your mom can be intimidating when she’s mad.” 

“You remember Disney World, right?” Jack chuckled, letting her hand go. 

“You should see her working doubles, that’s scary.” 

THREE

You were lying on top of Jack while the movie played in the background. Neither of you was paying attention, too invested in being close. His hands rested underneath your shirt, pulling you closer to him as your face was buried in his neck. 

The girls weren’t home, and after two glasses of wine, you couldn’t contain the excitement in your voice while you spoke. Jack found it funny how the idea of enjoying each other's company involved takeout, wine, and some movie you’ve lost interest the minute his hands were on you.

You got too excited about being alone with your husband after a few days of working nonstop, when the front door opened, revealing three girls laughing. Immediately, you sat down looking like teenagers who got caught in the worst possible moment. Jack was flustered, your hair was messy and your blouse was unbuttoned.  

“We had the most amazing night today!” June exclaimed, walking towards the other couch with her sister beside her. 

“Really sweetie? Where did you go?” You asked, leaning against Jack, holding his hand, and trying to look like a normal parent, like you weren’t on each other seconds ago. 

“We went to that Twilight drive-in we told you about and got some cookies in that new place next to the hospital,” Anna said, watching you with a funny face. She knew what you were up to. “How was your night?” Jack squeezed your hand slightly, noticing what his daughter was doing.

“We were watching a movie, had sushi for dinner and some wine. Nothing new.” You imagined you sounded cool, but in reality, you didn’t. 

“I can see that your night was funny by your hair.” Anna crossed her arms, looking away to laugh. 

“Disgusting, guys! Really?” Emma and June got up instantly. while Jack burst out laughing. 

“You weren’t even here, girls. Don’t be that dramatic.” 

“Dramatic? Dad, you have a hickey on your neck!” Anna screamed, making her sisters gasp. 

“I think I’m killing myself after this.” June pretended to pass out. 

“We never had the chance to do anything.” Jack had a smug smile on his lips, making you blush as he watched your face. “In this hour.” He whispered to you. 

“We thought you’d come home later.” You admitted, crossing your arms. 

“I need therapy after this.” Anna sat in the armchair, snickering at the situation she created. 

“The worst thing that can happen is another child.” 

“Jack!” You smacked his arm, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Slowly, the girls stopped teasing you two and got comfy around the couch, pulling some blankets over them and eventually falling asleep without the movie ending. Your family was chaotic, but Jack couldn’t imagine his life without this anymore. 

FOUR

The house was awfully quiet when Jack walked in. He looked at his watch, trying to understand why the a sudden silence. He found you and Emma in the kitchen baking some cookies, the ones you did only when something bad happened. You looked at him with a worried look, and he immediately felt something was off. 

“What happened?” He asked, looking at his daughter. 

“Emma and June are sick. They’ve been throwing up and with a fever since last night.” You speak, putting the cookies in the oven. “Heather came here with Dana to medicate them; they’re sleeping now.” 

“Why didn’t you bring them to the ER last night?” Jack’s voice was a little mad, and you couldn’t blame him. 

“Four traumas, Jack. They needed you, and I am a doctor too.” Emma looked at both of you, leaving the room. “I am pretty capable of making decisions about our kids' health.” 

“What if something bad happened when you’re not looking?” You pointed to the baby’s monitor next to you. 

“I’m always watching them, and I haven’t slept since the first symptom.” Jack tried to be reasonable about the situation. 

He hates it when the girls get sick and he isn’t around. He felt impotent and frustrated; he couldn’t help like a real father, feeling anxious and preoccupied. The last time that happened, he hadn’t been able to work until he went back home to be with his girls. 

“Dana and Heather came over? You should’ve called me.” He was pretty upset and his face was giving him away. 

“Jack, I tried to call you, and then I called Ellis and she told me you had four active traumas.” You knew he was annoyed when he just passed you in the kitchen, going straight to the girls’ room. 

To his surprise, he found Anna and June intertwined in bed, covered in the coziest blanket you've ever owned. The nightside had two cups of water and some painkillers that your friends brought earlier. He came closer to them, slowly feeling the heat of their foreheads, watching them relieved that they’re fine. 

He went back to the kitchen to find you having a cup of tea, eyes closed, and your back resting on the chair. You noticed him before he said a word. You were exhausted, and you had a migraine. Jack approached you slowly, touching your shoulder before sitting down next to you. 

“One of the traumas involved three girls. Sisters.” He states, making you look at him. “I almost froze, it reminded me so much of them, and when I got home, you told me they’re sick.” You reached out for his hand. “I’m sorry I was an asshole.”

“It’s fine, Jack.” He put his hand on yours. “Go take a shower and sleep a little.” 

“I’m good, honey. Go rest, I’m not tired at all.” He reassured you. “Emma is awake and we can watch a movie while the girls don’t wake up.” 

“You sure?” He nodded. “Alright.” Jack kissed your cheek, hugging you tightly before you walked away to your bedroom. 

Jack admired you for all the things you already know, but he loved how you were always true to your words. He knew you hadn’t slept, he knew you paced around the kitchen in silence the whole night to not disturb Emma, and he was pretty aware of how you held the girl's hair when they were in the bathroom. He wished he were more like you every day, strong and tough. 

You, on the other hand, wished you were more like him. He had no idea how many times you cried during the night, holding the girls, reassuring them, and trying not to break down more. You wanted to be cool like him, calm in the moments you couldn’t.  

When you woke up, your girls were nestled into you, safe and protected. They looked better, less pale, and by the smell of their hair, Jack must’ve helped them take a shower. You leave them in bed and go upstairs to find your husband making dinner quietly. 

“Hey, sleepyhead. How did you sleep?” He asked, looking at you with a bright smile. 

“I sleep well. How do the girls behave?” You sat down, watching him. 

“They woke up a few hours ago, I gave them more medicine, Emma helped them shower and they wanted to sleep with you, so I let them.” 

“They looked pretty cozy wrapped around each other.” You comment, resting your head on your hand. 

“We can let them sleep in our bedroom and watch something later.” 

“You just want an excuse to sleep on me, Abbot.” He laughed, looking offended. 

“It’s not my fault you’re comfortable sleeping.” Jack put the knife down, glancing at you, “Besides, the ring on your finger kinda allows me to do that.” 

“You’re trouble, Jack.” 

“And you love me too much.”