#gonna be thinking about that one for a while

[cumironi]

CREAM-OF-THE-CROP CUNT, MAMA

feat, gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. what? just because you are six months pregnant your husband is gonna stop worshipping you? nooooo. . . he became worse, and the idea of making sure you are pregnant (despite the bump) makes them go crazy, especially with your little sweet bump.

trigger/warnings. non-sorcerer, everyone trying to be a gentleman (fails), calling reader “mama,” pussy-drunk behavior, pregnant sex, belly worship, size kink, deep penetration, unprotected vaginal sex, leg-folding position, full nelson vibes, praise kink, possessive language, swearing / explicit language, references to breeding kink (implied), overstimulation, internal ejaculation, cum leaking, soft dom / feral energy blend, emotional intensity, aftercare / caretaking (gentle touches, kisses), power imbalance (older man / younger woman), oral fixation (kissing, belly + knee worship)

GOJO SATORU

“—you’re gonna kill me,” gojo groans, forehead pressed against yours, voice ragged like he’s been running for miles, but really, all he’s been doing is holding himself together—barely—as your legs wrap tighter around his waist and you moan his name like it’s a damn prayer and a curse all at once. “no, seriously, baby, i’m—i’m dying. you’re murdering me with this pussy. it’s a crime. i should call the cops. except i am the fucking cops. i’m the fbi. i’m the law. and you’re under arrest. for being—fuck—for being too hot while pregnant.”

you try to say something, maybe something like “shut up” or “just keep going” or maybe just his name again, but you can’t—you’re too full, too stretched, too wrecked already and he hasn’t even really started yet.

“so tight,” he breathes, like the thought has him hypnotized. “how are you tighter while pregnant? is that a thing? can i google it later? because this is—jesus, baby—this is like heaven. like… like heaven wrapped in velvet wrapped in a vice grip wrapped in the greatest porn i’ve ever watched except it’s real and it’s you and it’s mine.”

he kisses your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts that’s grown fuller over the last few weeks—his obsession. he talks to them like they’re separate beings. he’s lost his mind and he’s made peace with it.

“gonna feed our baby with these,” he mutters, latching onto one nipple like it’s instinct, groaning like the taste of your skin alone could make him cum. “gonna wake up at 3am to help you, promise, swear to god. but only if i get to do this first. every night. every fucking night, sweetheart.”

you whimper, and it makes his whole body stutter, hips rocking deeper, harder, like your sound gives him permission to lose rhythm entirely.

“there it is,” he grins, breathless and boyish, completely wrecked and stupid and so very in love. “that’s the sound. the one that says i’m the best dick you’ve ever had. right? right, baby? tell me. tell me i’m better than anyone you’ve ever let near this sweet pussy.”

you moan, back arching. he whines, literally whines, like your approval is the only thing keeping him alive.

“please—please just say it. tell me i’m your favorite. tell me this cock is your favorite. tell me i ruined you for other men. tell me you forgot what it feels like to walk straight.”

you grab his face and pull him down to kiss you, hard, messy, open-mouthed and wet, your teeth knocking a little and your breath catching when he grinds into that exact spot inside you that makes you cry out his name again, and he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“fuck, fuck, yes. that’s it, baby. say it again—no, scream it, moan it, tattoo it into my brain. god, i’m so fucking obsessed with you. you don’t even know. you don’t. i think about you 24/7. i check your pregnancy tracker app more than you do. i’m unwell. i’m feral.”

his hips move faster, deeper now, but not rough—he still holds your body like it’s made of glass, one hand bracing under your lower back to tilt your hips just right, the other rubbing slow, firm circles over your clit like he’s trying to make you finish before him and prove a point.

“wanna cum in you again,” he growls against your throat, “wanna fill you up more even though you’re already pregnant, like my dumb caveman brain doesn’t understand we already did it. it just wants to do it again, because it likes you like this. likes you glowing, round, leaking—fuck, baby, you’re leaking, i’m gonna go insane—”

“satoru,” you gasp, fingernails digging into his shoulder as your thighs start to tremble, “satoru, i—i’m gonna—”

“yes,” he hisses, pace erratic now, “do it, do it, cum on this cock, make it tight, milk me, baby, do it so good i forget my own damn name—”

you shatter under him with a cry that hits the ceiling, your body pulsing around him so hard he lets out a strangled noise, like he’s not sure if it’s a moan or a sob or both.

he falls apart seconds later, buried deep, coming with a broken gasp of your name and a string of barely intelligible worship like “so good, so pretty, made for me, mine, mine, mine” until he finally collapses onto your chest, heart racing, sweat-slick, and completely, utterly gone.

a long beat of silence passes.

“…you good?” you murmur, stroking his hair.

he doesn’t move. just groans into your neck like he might cry.

“i think i left my soul in your pussy.”

you laugh.

“i’m serious,” he says, lifting his head with that wild, disheveled, utterly sexed-out look he wears so well. “if you don’t name our baby after this pussy i’m gonna be personally offended.”

“you want me to name our child… pussy satoru gojo?”

“well, i mean—middle name at least. or like a secret codename. for the groupchat.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

he grins like you’ve just married him.

“love you, baby. love you so much. let’s do it again in like fifteen minutes. or five. i’m stupid. i make bad decisions.”

“clearly.”

“i would literally die if you asked.”

“…fine.”

“i’m naming the second one ‘round two.’”

GETO SUGURU

“you know what you do to me?” geto growls into your mouth, lips slick from kissing, voice thick like smoke and syrup as he thrusts into you again—deep, slow, brutal. “you fuckin’ know what this pussy’s done to me, baby?”

you gasp—louder than you mean to, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around his hips, nails clawing down his shoulders because there’s no logic in your body right now, just raw sensation. he laughs—a dark, low, chest-rumbling sound—and grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, not hard, just enough to keep you right there.

“oh, don’t go dumb on me now,” he coos, filthy and fond and absolutely feral. “we’re just gettin’ started, sweet thing. gotta give me that voice, yeah? lemme hear what my good girl sounds like when she’s pregnant and cockdrunk.”

you whimper, and he moans, like your breath is enough to push him right over the edge.

“that’s it,” he hisses, licking the corner of your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “fuck. fuck, you’re so good like this. all fucked out, all round and soft and warm for me—jesus, this body? i could live inside you. no house. no job. just this pussy, twenty-four-seven. put me on your goddamn lease.”

his hips snap forward hard, and the sound your body makes when he hits bottom is wet, obscene, absolutely unholy.

“listen to that,” he pants, dragging your leg higher over his shoulder, splitting you open wider. “god, you’re so fucking wet, baby—like you like when i fuck you like this. like you want me to ruin you. knock you up again, even though you’re already full.”

he palms your belly—his belly, really—with one big, gentle hand, cupping the firm swell like it’s the most sacred thing in the world. his thumb moves in lazy circles as he rocks into you, slower now, deeper, pressing against every spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“you’re everything,” he says, softer now, reverent in the worst way, like he’s praying to the altar of your body while rearranging your insides. “everything. this body—fuck. your tits are bigger. hips too. got this glow, baby, you know that? like you were made to carry me. to take me. to breed for me.”

you clench around him so hard he stutters, eyes going wide, mouth falling open.

“oh fuck—fuck,” he moans, suddenly undone. “you like that? yeah? you like when i talk about putting a ring on this pussy? you like hearing how ruined i am for you?”

you nod, frantic and breathless, and he kisses you hard—sloppy and hungry—before dragging his lips down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“gonna cum inside,” he growls against your skin. “gonna stuff you full and hold it in with my cock. keep it there. make sure every drop stays in, yeah?”

“suguru—” you cry, already close, voice breaking on his name like it’s the only thing you know anymore.

he fucking shudders.

“say it again,” he gasps. “say my name while i fill you up. say it like you want it.”

“suguru, suguru, i—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“yeah, baby,” he moans, gripping your hips, thrusts rougher now, faster. “cum on it. cum on this dick, show me how good i fucked you, lemme feel this pussy milk me dry—”

you tighten, legs locking around him, and then you're gone—clenching, shaking, falling apart under him while he watches you unravel with this fucking look on his face like you’re a miracle and a sin and the only thing that matters.

he cums right after, hips jerking as he empties into you with a loud, broken sound, like he’s dying and being reborn at the same time.

you nod, dazed. “you’re insane.”

for a long moment, all you hear is your heart racing and his breath—harsh, warm, uneven—ghosting across your skin. then, soft, “you okay?” he whispers, stroking your thigh, still inside you, not even thinking about moving yet.

“mhm,” he grins, kissing your temple. “insane for you. and for that pussy.”

you slap his chest halfheartedly.

he just laughs, still deep in you, still hardening again.

“round two?” he murmurs, voice all wicked sweetness. “or you want me to eat you ‘til you cry first?”

NANAMI KENTO

“i can be patient,” nanami grits out from behind you, voice low and sharp like he’s holding himself together with string and sheer willpower. “i can be—gentle.”

you’re on your side, belly cradled by soft pillows, one leg bent forward over his thigh as he moves behind you, slowly rocking into you like he’s afraid you’ll break if he goes too hard—like he doesn’t already know how filthy you get for him when he’s trying to behave.

and he’s trying. god, he is. his hand’s on your hip, warm and steady. the other one cups under your belly, like he’s shielding you even as he’s pushing deep, deep into you from behind.

“you’re doing so well,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and reverent, brushing kisses to your shoulder. “i don’t want to hurt you. i want to take care of you. i want to make you feel good, not—”

you moan.

just a little. just a soft, breathy “kento—” as your fingers grip the sheets and your hips push back into him.

and that’s it.

the last thread of his control snaps.

he groans—growls, almost—and suddenly he’s pressing forward harder, deeper, his breath catching as he ruts into you like he’s been holding back for weeks.

“fuck,” he grits, forehead pressed to your back. “you’re so goddamn warm. too soft. too tight. i can’t—I’m trying to—shit—”

his grip on your hip tightens, dragging you back against him with every thrust now, and his hand slides from under your belly to your thigh, hiking your leg higher over his hip so he can push in even deeper.

“you feel that?” he groans into your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “feel how deep i am, sweetheart? god—i can’t be gentle when you sound like that. when you feel like this.”

you whimper, back arching, and he moans again—louder this time, raw and low and completely undone.

“you’re perfect,” he pants, hips snapping faster. “everything about you. this body—this sweet, wet little cunt—fuck, it’s made for me. even pregnant, you take me so well. better than anyone ever has.”

you choke on a moan and he presses his palm to your belly again, as if the feel of it grounds him.

“i think about you all day,” he confesses, fucking into you now with slow, brutal depth. “about this. about how you sound. about how you feel when i’m inside you, tight and hot and fluttering like you’re made to be full.”

he kisses your shoulder, your neck, his other hand sliding between your legs to find your clit—slow, careful, precise.

“come for me,” he whispers, mouth right against your ear, filthy and tender all at once. “come around me while i’m deep inside you. show me how good i make you feel.”

and you do—shaking, moaning, gasping his name like it’s the only thing you know, and he follows with a desperate groan, spilling into you so deep you feel the warmth spread through your belly, his body trembling against yours.

after, he doesn’t move. just stays inside you, one hand over your womb, the other tangled with yours in the sheets.

“…i was trying to be gentle,” he says quietly, embarrassed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

you hum, sated. “you tried.”

he sighs. “i’ll try again tomorrow.”

pause.

“after round two.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“slow,” toji murmurs, his big hands gripping your hips just barely, letting you grind down on him with shaky control, his cock sheathed inside you and twitching like it’s barely surviving this torture. “take your time, baby. i’m good. i’m—fuck—i’m fine.”

he is not fine.

he’s seated on the couch, thighs spread wide, muscles tense as hell under your legs, back arched ever so slightly, jaw tight. you’re four months pregnant, round and glowing and gorgeous, your belly pressing against his abs as you roll your hips slow and sweet—just like he asked for. like he said he wanted.

and he’s dying.

“look at you,” he groans, eyes glued to the way you take him. “ridin’ me so good. so pretty. so fuckin’ wet. you were always tight, but now? now you’re perfect.”

your hands are on his shoulders, clinging. your breath catches every time your body takes him deeper, and he feels it—feels how warm you are, how your walls squeeze around him like you don’t want him to leave. it’s driving him insane.

“you said slow,” you remind him, voice breaking with a whimper as your rhythm falters.

and that’s his breaking point.

because your voice? shaking, breathless, wanting?

it wrecks him.

“fuck that,” toji snarls suddenly, surging forward, arms wrapping around your back and pulling you flush to his chest. “nah. no. fuck slow. i can’t. you sound like that, and expect me to wait? you’re outta your mind.”

he lifts his hips, thrusting up into you so hard your mouth drops open in a silent moan, hands scrambling for his chest as he sets a brutal pace from underneath.

“you wanted gentle?” he growls against your throat, licking and biting at your skin while he pistons into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. “you’re riding me, baby. i’m not gonna sit here like some saint while this tight fuckin’ pussy squeezes the life outta me.”

you cry out, and he grins, savage and wild and in love with the way your face goes all slack and overwhelmed.

“that’s it,” he pants, one hand gripping your ass, the other sliding between your bodies to rub tight, fast circles over your clit. “gimme that look. gimme those sounds. lemme hear how good i’m fucking my pregnant girl.”

you whine his name, and he loses it.

“say it again,” he groans. “fuckin’ say it, baby. tell me who put this baby in you.”

“you,” you cry, clinging to him, “you did—”

“damn right i did,” he growls, pounding up into you, your belly bouncing slightly between your bodies with each thrust, “and i’ll do it again. and again. keep you pregnant. keep you full. keep you so cockdrunk you forget how to fucking walk.”

your orgasm hits you like a lightning bolt, your whole body spasming in his lap, and he catches you with a moan of pure worship, holding you tight as you milk every drop of his release from him.

“shit, baby,” he pants, hips twitching. “you were made for this. made to take me. made to carry me.”

he collapses back against the couch, pulling you with him, still inside you, cradling your body in his massive arms.

a beat of silence.

“that was you being gentle?” you ask, breathless.

he shrugs, smug. “i didn’t bend you over. that counts.”

you groan.

he kisses your shoulder and mutters, “round two, though? i’m not holdin’ back.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“slow,” he grits out, jaw clenched, breath shaking as he presses his hips flush to your ass, thick cock buried deep and throbbing inside your soaking heat. “we’re going slow, sweetheart. we’re taking our time. i’m not gonna break you.”

he says that, but his hands are already digging into your thighs, thumbs pressed to the crease between your cheeks and your legs like he’s trying to brand you with his grip. you’re four months pregnant, hips rounder, belly starting to show—and you’re on all fours, arms trembling, moaning into the pillow with every slow, too-deep roll of his hips.

“you good?” he mutters, pretending to breathe through it like he’s not the one seconds from blacking out. “you okay, baby?”

you nod, gasping, “yes—yes, ‘kuna—feels so good—”

and that breaks him.

“fuckin’—shit,” he growls, slamming into you with a sharp, wet slap, and you cry out, head dropping, body jolting forward from the force. “don’t say my name like that. don’t moan for me like that and expect me to stay sane.”

he grips your hips hard, pulling you back into every brutal thrust now, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“you were made for this,” he snarls, staring down at the way your body takes him, slick and tight and fluttering around him like you like being used. “look at this greedy little cunt. fuckin’ dripping. goddamn soaking me. you like getting fucked with my baby in you, huh?”

you sob out a moan, and his grin turns feral.

“you want me gentle?” he pants, fucking into you so hard your thighs shake. “or you want me to fuck you like i own you?”

you can’t even answer. you’re too wrecked already, too full, too overwhelmed by the pressure and heat and the way he hits that deep spot inside you like he knows exactly what it does.

“that’s what i thought,” he hisses. “fuckin’ moaning like you need it rough. like you need me to snap. you want it, don’t you? want to be fucked so hard you forget where you are. want to feel me dripping outta you all day like a good little cumdump.”

his hand snakes around your waist, palm spreading over your bump, possessive and so wrong and reverent all at once.

“this?” he mutters, low and filthy in your ear as he leans over your back, “this is mine. you’re mine. and this pussy? fuck, this pussy’s the tightest shit i’ve ever had. i could stay buried in you for hours. days.”

your legs buckle as your orgasm builds, loud and fast and impossible to stop. he feels it.

“there it is,” he growls, fucking into you harder, faster, punishing. “you’re close, huh? gonna cream around me like the perfect little thing you are? let me feel it. let me feel you lose it.”

you shatter—screaming, shaking, convulsing around his cock—and sukuna doesn’t slow down. he snarls, slams into you one last time, and groans as he cums deep, spilling inside you with a raw, broken moan like he’s being torn apart.

he stays there—buried, panting, shaking, his chest pressed to your back, both hands cradling your belly now like he’s apologizing with touch.

then:

“…i was trying to behave,” he mutters, voice raspy, and you wheeze out a laugh.

“you said ‘slow’ and then folded in thirty seconds.”

“yeah, well,” he grins, cock still twitching inside you, “you were moaning. that’s cheating.”

he kisses your shoulder, pulls out with a groan, and watches his cum spill from you with the most self-satisfied, absolutely feral look you’ve ever seen.

“round two’s gonna be worse,” he promises.

“worse how?”

“i’m not gonna pretend to be nice next time.”

SHIU KONG

“you feel that, mama?” shiu murmurs low, breath thick with smoke as he exhales slowly, cock buried deep inside you from behind, dragging it out slow just to watch your legs shake. “feel how this pussy keeps suckin’ me back in? like she misses me every time i pull out.”

your cheek’s pressed to the desk, fingers curled around the edge, thighs trembling. you try to say something—but he thrusts back in, sharp and deep, and your words turn into a soft, broken moan.

“fuck, yeah,” he grins, watching the way your back arches. “that’s my good girl. takin’ it like a champ even with my baby in your belly. still greedy. still so tight. you got no shame, huh? gettin’ fucked over my desk like this?”

you whimper, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter, his tone dropping deeper.

“god, look at you. four months pregnant and still so fuckin’ sexy. makin’ me obsessed. makin’ me stupid. you know what it does to me when you walk around like this, belly all round, tits all full, smellin’ like sweat and sweetness and mine?”

he grinds his hips forward again, harder now, making your body jolt. you moan his name, voice wrecked, and he smirks around his cigarette.

“there we go,” he breathes. “that’s it, mama. keep callin’ me like that. makes me wanna knock you up all over again, see how many times i can stretch this body before you break.”

he pulls out halfway and slams back in, deep and deliberate, the desk creaking beneath you. you gasp, and his hand slides down your spine, warm and heavy, keeping you flat against the desk.

“y’know,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth as he fucks you in slow, ruthless strokes, “i tell myself every time i’ll go easy on you. that i’ll be nice, treat my baby mama with respect.”

he laughs, low and wrecked.

“and then you bend over like this, ass up, pussy drippin’ down your thighs, beggin’ for it—an’ suddenly i’m back to being a filthy fuck who can’t stop.”

you cry out as his hips slam into you again, and he moans—loud and shameless.

“you feel that, mama?” he pants. “that’s my cock hitting the back of your fuckin’ throat from the wrong direction. you’re so full right now—goddamn, i can feel you pulse.”

his hand slips down, two fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle.

“c’mon, baby,” he urges, voice hoarse and wrecked, “give it to me. let this cock ruin you. let daddy hear how good he’s fuckin’ his perfect little mama.”

you cum with a cry, clenching around him so hard he curses, nearly drops the cigarette, and loses rhythm entirely as he groans, slamming into you once, twice, again—before burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a rough, filthy moan of your name.

he stays there, panting, one hand on your belly, the other sliding up your back to your neck, grounding you both.

then—

“...we’re doin’ this again after you nap,” he mutters, pulling his cigarette back between his lips, grinning like a devil. “mama needs to be real full tonight.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

“that’s it, mama,” higuruma groans, voice low and rough as he presses deep into you, eyes locked on the curve of your stomach where your bodies meet, “just like that. let me in. let me make you feel good.”

your thighs tremble where they rest on his shoulders, and he tightens his grip around your ankles, palms warm and broad, grounding you as he starts to move—slow at first, like he’s savoring every inch of you, every slick drag of your walls squeezing him in.

“fuck,” he breathes, watching your face contort as you gasp, “you’re so tight. how are you still this tight, mama? this pussy was made to milk me.”

you whimper, one hand cradling your belly, the other tangled in the sheets as he rocks into you with long, deep strokes. your bump rises slightly with every thrust, your body pliant and flushed and already soaked from the way he touched you before this even started.

and he adores it.

he adores you.

“look at you,” he mutters, pace growing faster without meaning to, “legs up, belly out, takin’ my cock like a good mama. my perfect mama.”

you moan his name—ragged and helpless—and his eyes darken, hips snapping harder.

“that’s it,” he growls, leaning in until your knees are almost beside your head, his cock reaching so deep now. “say it again. let me hear how good i fuck my mama.”

“hiromi,” you gasp, back arching, “feels so good—too deep—”

he groans—loud, wrecked—and fucks into you harder.

“you can take it,” he hisses, lips grazing your ear, “you’re so strong, baby. carrying our child, takin’ this dick like it’s yours—‘cause it is. this cock belongs to you. every part of me does.”

your eyes roll back as he slams into that perfect spot inside you, over and over, his pace no longer controlled—he’s feral, now, panting and moaning, eyes flicking down to where you’re stretched open around him, cum-slick and pulsing.

“gonna fill you up again,” he whispers, reverent and wild all at once. “stuff you full, even though you’re already carrying mine. fuck, mama—this pussy needs it. she’s beggin’ for it.”

you’re trembling, legs shaking against his shoulders, and he grabs under your knees, folding you further, giving you nowhere to go—just take it, every inch, every praise-dripping thrust.

“cum for me,” he commands, rough and soft all at once. “cum with me inside. let me feel you. let me feel how good this pussy knows her man.”

you cry out as your orgasm hits, tightening around him like a vice, and his whole body shudders.

he groans your name, hips jerking, and spills inside you with a low, desperate moan.

“fuck, mama—fuck. you’re everything.”

he stays buried for a long moment, breathing hard, watching your body twitch beneath him—flushed, used, loved—and then lowers your legs gently, kissing your knees, your belly, your lips.

“did so well,” he whispers. “my mama’s so good for me.”

you hum sleepily, still dazed. “you went crazy.”

he smiles, brushing your hair back from your face.

“i am crazy,” he says, kissing your forehead, “for you.”

[rafeslvbug]

rafe taking care of maybank reader and no one knows that he has a super soft side for her?? he drops off extra food for her and small gifts (clothes.. new phone... money?) one day she suddenly doesn't text and says pass and he finds out she's sick and no one is home to take care of her? (pls?)

rafe taking care of maybank!reader

it was small. a little curse under your breath. poking of your bottom lip out, when your phone died on you for the third time today. poor battery life on your iphone 7 that you’d had for years now.

it was small, but nothing slipped past rafe.

you knew whenever you walked up to him, and he had that ridiculous grin on his face, even in front of jj, that he was up to something. usually it’d be a kiss, the type that’d make jj want to run off and find a bush to puke in. today? a little pink bag. dangling it by the strings, holding it up for you, making eye contact with jj across the road for the briefest moments before back to you.

the box, an image of a pink iphone, was heavy in your hand, causing your jaw to fall. you blinked at it in shock, like it was a figment of your imagination. bound to disappear. a cruel trick.

“well..open it then,” he nudges your shoulder, though you hand stays firmly wrapped around the box. almost unwilling.

“rafe..” you begin, and he tuts, folding his arms across his chest. you give him your “i’m not taking this” look, and he shoots you with his “you don’t have a choice” look.

“your phone’s crap, i know you must’ve saved hard to get it baby, an’ i’m proud but i wanted to get you a new one!”

you bite your lip, turning the box over in your hands. it feels expensive, a limited edition item you don’t even want to unwrap.

“okay don’t think of it as for you! it’s for me, i want to be able to text my girl without her phone dying before she can respond, or her phone cutting off mid-call,” his finger tilts your chin up so you’re staring at his eyes. creased at the corners, brimming with joy. he loves this. loves taking care of you. loves spending his money on you.

“are you sure?” you ask, not wanting to force this on him. the last thing you want is to become one those spoilt kook brats.

“don’t ever ask me that again.”

a squeal escaping your lips, you throw your arms around his neck, giggling when he lifts you in his arms by the waist. “thank you,” you repeat like a mantra, kissing him between each time you say the phrase. rafe only chuckles, holding you tighter.

from across the road, kiara’s pulling jj away from crossing towards you guys, while he faintly yells, “what did that bastard give you?”

there’s rapping on the door to the chateau, and john b groans, throwing his head back as he yells at whoever it is to “go away!”.

then the returned yell of, “open up!”

jj throws his cap onto the table, dramatically exclaiming, “oh for god’s sake! y/n you keep bringing that rat into out house!”

“jj don’t call him that, he’s come with good intentions!” you scold, getting off the couch to answer the door, rafe’s scowl dissipating at the sight of you.

“hey baby,” he drawls, holding out the large takeaway bag you ordered from him, treating him like some personal uber driver; he was more than happy to abide.

“wrap it up!” jj starts shouting, coming to join you guys in the doorway and pausing when he sees the food. jj’s a known sucker for food.

“he got the burgers you like,” you blink innocently up at your older brother. cautiously, as if rafe’s gonna bite him, jj takes the bag from his hand, peeking through and nodding when he does find the burgers.

“thanks man,” jj nods, about to walk off with the food before you call him back.

“hey!”

“hey?” he pokes his head back around the door. pretending to be oblivious wasn’t fooling anyone, certainly not you.

“rafe got the food..so don’t you think he should get to eat the food he bought..?” you ask, slowly, accentuating the fact that rafe bought the food for all of them, himself included.

fishing through the bag, jj pulls out the meal he assumes is rafe’s, based on everyone else’s preferences. “here ya go cameron,” he holds out rafe’s food to him, to which rafe accepts with one of his classic smiles of amusement. “go eat in your car.”

and the door slams shut.

“jj!” you yell, following your brother into the living room where he’s begun dishing out food. pope and cleo are snickering in the corner, sarah pouting for her older brother and john b and kie laughing at jj’s antics.

“what?”

“give me my food.”

“don’t tell me you’re gonna–“ you snatch your food out of his hand, quickly rushing out the house and up to rafe’s car. knocking on the window, you grab his attention, leading him to beckon you in with two fingers. you’re beaming as you climb into the car, settling your food on your lap. “thought i’d join you.”

“was waiting for you to join me,” he chuckles, sipping on his drink.

“thanks for the milkshake,” you grin, a true teenage girl, infatuated with her boyfriend. rafe murmurs a “your welcome” before leaning over to pinch a fry.

“jj forgot to give me my fries,” he says casually, munching on the crinkle cut he just stole.

shifting your food off your lap, you open the door and hop down, “wait here i’ll get it back!” you tell him, running off back inside the house, ever so eager.

“oh wait wait!”

you pause by the chateau door.

“steal his fries too!”

you burst into giggles, but nod anyways, running out the house a minute later with two loads of fries and an annoyed jj.

yet another casual slip of the tongue. “god i wish jellycats weren’t so expensive,” you muttered, upright in rafe’s bed as he slept, a heavy arm draped over your waist.

you didn’t notice his eye peek open, the subtle glance he took at the giraffe on your screen, labelled ‘back in stock’, priced £45.

he could afford that.

he ordered it the first moment he could. once you had dozed off and he could discreetly turn his phone on. you had rambled to him on more than one occasion on how fast certain things can get sold, so he chose not to risk his luck buying the ‘rolie polie giraffe’ by prolonging it for more than he needed to.

purchased!

another night, the parcel’s been tucked under his bed for a few hours, waiting for the right moment. then he sets it on your lap, drawing your attention from the movie on the tv infront of you to the blue plastic.

you let out a small gasp.

the jellycat logo is written everywhere on the outside. you don’t even care which one it is. you didn’t even think he knew you wanted this stuff. but when you open it? and your dream jellycat is in there? rafe’s attacked with an onslaught of kisses.

“how did you know?” you ask, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he chuckles through the whole thing.

“saw it on your phone,” he grins, puckering his lips for another kiss you’re more than happy to give.

“i love you,” you smile, elated.

“d’you love the teddy more?” he asks, giving you a pointed look.

“maybe…but i’ll name her after you? so it’s basically loving you more..?” you giggle, rafe rolling his eyes but accepting his fate anyways, pulling you towards him with an “i love you too.”

“oh my god! she’s sick, okay?” jj throws his hands up at rafe, annoyed with the man whose been pestering him at his job for the past half an hour to figure out why you haven’t been texting him back. jj returns to his mowing, while rafe runs back to his car, starting the engine and immediately driving to the chateau.

when he knocks, he’s saddened to see you answer the door, wrapped in blankets, nose red. “hey rafe,” you sniffle, rubbing your eye with the back of your hand. he moves to step over the threshold only for you to try and push the door closed.

“hey baby– what? what are you doing?”

“don’t! you’ll get a cold! get back out!”

“baby–“

“out, rafe!” you shoo, not opening the door again until he stepped back. it was a mistake, however, because the moment you opened the door fully again he darted forwards, past you and kicking the door shut behind him.

“rafe,” you groan, cut short by a sneeze.

“awh baby,” he brushes back your hair, guiding you back into your room. settling you down on the bed, he empties out the contents of his bag. medicine. soup. one of the many jellycats you keep at his place.

“don’t you have work?” you murmur, accepting the medicine he holds out to you.

“wonderful thing about owning a company princess, days off whenever you want,” he sighs, sitting down next to you on the bed, pulling you into his chest.

“you’re gonna get sick,” you say, cuddling into him.

“well, you’re not doing much to stop that anymore are you?” he chuckles glancing down at your snuggled form against him. you simply shrug, and rafe shakes his head, settling back with you.

[bluewxrld07]

Pins and Needles

Lando X Bff!Fewtrell!Reader

Summary: Y/N doesn't know where she and Lando stand anymore. Their once-tight friendship soon started to tear at the seams.

Warning(s): just pure angst, Lando being toxic (sorry y'all), making out, Charles Leclerc incoming, depression, lack of self-worth

A/N : I can't help myself y'all ok 🥲 This one is gonna hurt, I'm sorry but also not sorry. Enjoy 🙂 (Written and inspired by Nessa Barrett's song Pins and Needles)

Hand on the stove, I barely feel it

And when I let go, I'm already healing

This was not how it was supposed to go.

How it was supposed to wind up.

Y/N didn't even know how she got herself into this situation.

Deep down, she knew exactly how she got herself into this situation, she just didn't want to admit to it.

It started when one drunk night at the club in Monaco led to her becoming tangled up in her best friend's sheets, whispering sweet nothings to one another. The sly touches as the sun crept through the blackout curtains the next morning.

That was when their situation bloomed. Things had become messier between Lando and Y/N.

Little did Y/N realize just how deep she had fallen for the man she had known almost her entire life. He was comfortable. Familiar. Trustworthy.

At the start.

Things at the beginning were smooth. Nothing but absolute lust, addiction, and hunger. It rose and rose, some moments almot becoming reckless.

They couldn't keep their hands off one another. From sneaking around the paddock, to the club bathrooms, to the bedroom next door to Max's. It became reckless. Animals in heat. The craving was insatiable.

The pair didn't know if the sneaking around made them this way, or the fact that it was supposed to be a forbidden relationship. Max would've had Lando's head. He'd have six feet under the ground.

She didn't mean to fall more in love with the boy. She thought it would be harmless. Her feelings would subside. Not do the complete opposite and skyrocket. The way he had begun to treat their little situationship as if they were together is what got her the most.

He made her feel like she was the only one.

Till he slowly became more sloppy. Bailing out on plans more often, leaving her high and dry while saying something came up. The distance became clearer. It was the late-night visits that were only making a daily appearance. No talking, just becoming tangled in the bedsheets.

Their friendship had begun to fade out, only turning into meaningless sex. At least that's what she believed.

She never understood why. What had she done for him to pull away slowly? What was she missing?

Y/N couldn't tell anyone, as she didn't have anyone she told about it. Not trusting a single soul to keep it quiet if things got tricky. Especially not when Max had no idea of what was happening behind closed doors.

When he began to ask why her mood had become more glum, as if she had almost faded. She just used the excuse of lack of sleep, or was just having one of those days.

He didn't question it, only gave her a lingering look, then didn't push further. He knew better.

It wasn't long till she found out why. Why Lando pulled away from her, let their friendship fade out, as well as their late night hookups.

They say your name, I don't even hear it

You dug your own grave, and nobody's grieving

The articles all read and show him with a new girl, a blonde model and actress. She was pretty. His type, too. He looked happy, a genuine smile on his lips as he looked at her.

That's when she noticed the way her chest tightened, crashed in on itself.

He had been seeing this girl, Magui, she thinks her name was, without saying a thing to her. She thought they were close enough that he would've been honest. He has never lied to her. In all the years she had known him, it wasn't something he did.

She remembered when she found out, she sat there trying to figure out what to say to him. Her first message sounded angry. Hurt, betrayed, lost, and confused.

Instead, she clicked the power button off, thinking it was best to not say a word. Instead, she let it fade away. Let him fade away.

There had been a day Y/N was at her brother's, sitting on the barstool while he cooked food with Pietra.

"Is she nice?" she asks, hinting at Lando's new girl. Max looked at her with an unsure gaze, shrugging his shoulders.

"From what I can tell, yeah," he answers. "Still a bit skeptical about her, though. About her past, mainly. Everything is still unclear about what happened between her and Luisna. Lando won't really talk about it."

She nods, deciding not to push any further, picking at the food on her plate.

"Have you heard from him lately?" Pietra asks this time. "I haven't seen you two around one another lately. Usually it's hard to pull you both away from the other," she tries to joke. Max looked back at his sister with just as curious of a look.

"You two haven't been talking?" he asks, Y/N just shrugs.

"Not really," she admits. "Always says something's come up. It's fine, I'm not gonna push it. He's happy."

Max looks at her with a little bit of shock on his face. "You two have been close for years. Closer than him and me, why would he just push you away?"

Y/N knew the real answer to it, but she couldn't give that away. As she knew Max would lose his shit if he knew. Lando would be lucky to leave the brawl with a head on his shoulders if Max found out.

So instead, the girl just shrugs. "Don't know. Just assumed maybe he doesn't want to make things look weird with his new girl. Probably doesn't want her to think anything else."

Max scoffs playfully at that, pouring his eggs onto his own plate. "Trust me, if there was more, I would've known. She wouldn't have had anything to worry about. He'd have a lot more to deal with if that were the case."

She just stays silent, Pietra sensing the awkwardness in the room, deciding to change the subject.

Shot my heart with Novacane

Ice-cold, cut off my blood flow

It had turned into hearing from Lando every other week, and maybe seeing him when he came to help with collabs for Quadrant. When the pair would be streaming with the other streamers, he wouldn't so much as acknowledge her in the chat.

It would be short answers if anything.

Her chest burned every time she made eye contact with him, the gazes between the pair always having something between them. Something she couldn't quite explain.

It wasn't until she had been dragged out to a race day with Max and P, that she could feel the need to hide away in a corner for the rest of her life.

She kept her distance whenever Lando would come around, the boy not missing the way she would excuse herself when he came by.

He should've known.

He caused the tension between them. He pulled back when he only wanted to get closer to her.

He found another girl while in denial of how deeply in love he was with his homeboy's sister, and his best friend. Magui was his way out. His escape from his reality. Even if it wasn't the right way.

He had to let Y/N go, even if it meant he couldn't be in her life anymore.

At least that's what he told himself.

You think you're important,, boy, I've got bad news

You're mean and you're boring, they'll all forget you

Y/N had been standing over by the motorhomes, sipping on the coffee in her hand, when she felt someone bump into her back. The sip had turned into a mess, dripping down onto her white tube top she wore on the hot day.

She turned around to meet the eyes of a familiar Monégasque man, who looked at her in horror. "Shit, Y/N I am so sorry," he nervously chuckles, his eyes seeing the new stain on her top. "I should've been more careful. I was so caught up in the conversation I-"

"Charles," she giggles, making him look at her. "It's okay. At least it wasn't a hot coffee, yeah?"

He snorts while rubbing the back of his neck. "Now that I definitely would've never heard the end of."

She chuckles. "You still won't hear the end of this one," she jokes, making him give her a genuine smile before chuckling back at her. He motions to her shirt.

"At least lemme help get you a new top? I can't bear the thought of you having to be stuck with explaining how the stain came about."

"Ahhh I see you want to protect your perfect image, I suppose?" she tuts playfully, making him widen his eyes.

"What? No I meant like it would probably be annoying having to say the story a thousand times, or you could get weird looks from people, or-"

"Oh my goodness, Charles! I'm joking," she laughs while putting her hands on his shoulders. She watches him visibly relax at her touch and her words, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Sorry, I just," he chuckles breathlessly. "You make me nervous, is all."

She raises her brows, a small smirk on her lips. "Oh, I do now?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this."

She hums. "I didn't know I made the famous Ferrari driver nervous," she jokes while crossing her arms and giving him a knowing look.

His eyes flicker down from her eyes to her lips for a split second, then he smiles at her. "A little."

"A little?"

He purses his lips. "Okay a bit more than a little."

She laughs at his little confession, Charles pinching her waist as he pulls her with him. "You can give me shit later," he laughs. "But right now let's go get you changed into something that doesn't have a stain on it."

She lets him drag her along to the Ferrari paddock, in search of Rebecca and Carlos, knowing the WAG always had a backup set of clothing on her when need be.

Once Charles had found them, he explained the situation, watching as Rebecca lit up and happily said she'd lend a helpful hand.

Y/N followed the girl, keeping up the small talk as they made their way to the Ferrari motorhome, where Rebecca had a cute top waiting for Y/N.

She knew she wouldn't hear the end of it, the color of the top being a bright Ferrari red. It was a one-shoulder cropped tank top, the color sitting beautifully on her skin. Rebecca gave her a low whistle, causing Y/N to chuckle and roll her eyes.

"Red looks so good on you," she says, making Y/N shrug. Rebecca gives her a knowing look, but says nothing as the pair made their way back to the paddock.

Charles did a double take when she returned, his eyes taking in the red top that adorned her skin.

He smiled as he walked up to her. "Red is your color I think," he says, making her roll her eyes.

"Rebecca said the same thing," she answers, watching him nod. "She's never wrong."

Y/N thanks Rebecca one more time, alongside a hug. "Think about it," Rebecca whispers into the girl's ear before pulling away with a wink.

Charles then walks Y/N back over to the McLaren paddock where her brother and P sat. Max frowned at his sister. "I've been looking for you. Where did you run off to?" his eyes then dart to the new top she was wearing, then back to Charles. He gave Max a look.

"I bumped into her and thought I could help her get a new top," he explains. "I felt bad. So blame me for stealing her. Sorry, mate."

Max chuckles while nodding. "Of course it's a red top too," he jokes, Charles ears turning bright red, he puts his hands up in defense.

"Blame Rebecca for that one," he sputters, Max doing a once-over with a smug smirk while nodding slowly. "Uh-huh," Max trails off. "Well, thank you for helping her out," he says, a smug smirk only getting wider.

Charles nods curtly, before facing Y/N with a small smile, and squeezes her side. "Good seeing you, cherie," he mutters to her, kissing her cheek before he leaves her. Y/N realizing her side feeling slightly colder than it did when his hand was there.

She turns to watch him leave and head down the stairs, biting her lip without realizing it. Her head turns back to face her brother and Pietra.

The pair is staring at her with smug and knowing smiles. Max leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and clearing his throat.

Y/N squints her eyes at them. "What?" Watching her brother nod at her.

"Someone has a crush."

She scoffs at her brother. "You're reading into things," she chuckles while shaking her head.

Pietra laughs. "Oh, honey, no. You two were staring at each other like you want to-"

"Don't even say what you're going to say," Max whines, covering his face. "I don't need to hear that."

Y/N just laughs, pointing at Pietra. "You're wrong on top of that."

Pietra rolls her eyes with a smirk, and before she can argue further, Lando is seen walking up to the group, making Y/N want to fade away.

Lando sees her, only doing a double-take when he sees the color of her shirt, also realizing that this was indeed not the color she was wearing earlier. He slowly points at her shirt, Max chuckles.

"Dear old Ferrari man has a crush on my sister," Max admits, then points at her. "She's crushing on him as well."

"Maxwell!" Y/N hisses, watching him crack up. She doesn't miss the way Lando's facial expression drops, something unreadable in his expression.

"What d'you mean?" he asks slowly. Y/N groans while hiding her face.

"What he means," Pietra starts. "Charles spilled coffee on her and helped her get a new shirt. And apparently that was his chance to get her in red."

Lando's eyes snapped down to Pietra, Max just sitting there in a fit of giggles as his sister kicks his shin.

"He was just being helpful," Y/N grumbles. "Besides, Rebecca was the one who gave it to me. Not Charles."

Max looks back at her. "Sure, we know that," he says between laughs. "But the eye fucking you two were doing before he left said more than that. Especially that little kiss move-"

"He kissed you?" Lando cuts in, his tone sharp and stern. Max and Pietra look at him with certain looks. His head and eyes only focused on Y/N in that moment, who was now shifting on her feet with her arms crossed.

"It was just on the cheek," she rolls her eyes before glaring at Max. "Stop making it sound like he laid me out on the table or something," she hisses, making Lando choke on his spit while Max gagged.

"That's vile, do not ever say that again," he points at his sister with a disgusted look. "Second, I'm only saying it because I think you two would be good together."

That makes her eyes widen in shock, watching him put his hands up in defense.

"Say what now? I thought you said no racers."

He hums with a nod before pointing out to Lando. "Yeah, I said that mainly for that one," he says, missing how his mate clenched his jaw. "Charles, on the other hand? I hope it does happen. He's one of the good ones."

Y/N coughs awkwardly, not missing the way Lando scoffed at his best friend's words, mumbling something under his breath as he crossed his arms.

"Can we just change the subject, please? I'm not crushing on Charles, and I'm not going to date him."

Max gives her a knowing look before turning his gaze towards Lando. He frowns. "You good, mate?" he asks, watching as Lando snaps his gaze at Max. He nods curtly.

"Just don't care to hear about her sex life, you muppet. Charles is a player and only wants what he can't have," he admits, not missing the way Y/N glared straight to the side of his face. "Anyways, we're getting ready to start. I was gonna walk you lots to the club level."

Max nods before taking Pietra's hand to guide her. Lando kept his pace next to Y/N's, the girl not missing how his hand would brush against hers every so often.

She could see the gears turning in his head, clenching his jaw every so often, as if he was preventing himself from saying or doing something he might regret. Max and Pietra were further ahead of them, happily making their way to the balcony in the club level of the paddock, overlooking the racetrack.

"He can't give you what I can," the brit says next to her, causing her to snap her gaze at him with a frown. She scoffs.

"That's awfully daft, coming from you," she shoots back. "You ghosted me, remember? You don't have a say in my actions."

"Oh, so you are seeing Leclerc huh?"

She scoffs. "Go check on your girlfriend, Norris. The one you dropped me for."

He glares at her. "Y/N-"

"End of discussion, Lando."

She walks away, a part of her wanting him to grab her and pull her back. Show her she was his. Even if it was behind closed doors. The other part of her was happy he didn't. She wanted him to see that he couldn't have her. He missed the opportunity.

Don't call me your ex, 'cause I never met you

She kept close to her brother and P the entire race, zoning out the entire time the race went on.

Her mind didn't know what to think.

She missed Lando. She really did.

The other part of her though, was also pulling towards Charles.

Y/N couldn't tell if it was just because of how Lando reacted, or because of how she felt a new feeling whenever Charles was near her.

Or how she caught her stare lingering longer on Charles as he took P2. Or how his eyes found hers in the crowd, staring back at her, his smile becoming wider when he saw she was staring first.

It's all pins and needles, babe

I feel nothing for you, nothing for you

Now, here she stood, in the VIP section of the Monaco club after Lando placed P1 at his home race.

She had a drink in her hand, pretty sure the glass could break under her grip. Her eyes did not leave the way his hands and body moved with the blonde on the dancefloor.

At this point she couldn't tell if she was jealous, or pissed off. Or both.

She watched as his hands moved along her body, how his lips never left her body as they danced. He looked like a wet dream.

"You hold onto that glass any tighter, it's gonna shatter and cut up that pretty hand," a familiar French accent says next to her. Her eyes snap out of the daze, turning to see Charles taking the spot next to her.

He nods at her slowly. "You alright, cherie?" he asks her, making her laugh to herself before spinning a finger around the rim of her glass.

"Honestly, I don't know," she admits, looking back at his confused frown. "Can I be honest?"

"Always."

She sighs. "I had been seeing this guy. We weren't anything exclusive, but at the same time, it felt like it. Then out of nowhere, he just stops. No explanation, no excuses, nothing. Just drops me like I'm nothing," she explains, letting a bitter chuckle leave her lips.

"Then I found out it's because he had another girl. I don't even know how long. It was just out of the blue, and I guess I shouldn't have been as upset as I was about it. But I can't help it."

Charles takes in every word she's saying, nodding and humming at the appropriate times.

"It burns my chest seeing them, seeing him, act like I never even mattered," she admits. "But then, I began to realize something else. There's this other guy. I didn't even realize I felt good around him. Like I could relax around his presence. Forget about why I was so hurt about the other guy," she explains, not even realizing how easy it had become to open up to Charles.

The way his expression showed no judgment. No sense of uneasiness as she spoke. Just a genuine expression that showed he was listening to her.

"And part of me wanted this guy I was seeing," she says more to herself. "But a bigger part of me really wants this guy that makes me feel seen. Heard."

Charles nods at her, taking a sip of his drink. "You alright if I give you my advice?" he asks cautiously.

She nods. "Always," she copies his words, making him grin at her.

He points at Lando. "He's an idiot for letting you go," he admits, watching her face contort to confusion, and then to shock before shaking her head.

"I didn't- How did-"

He laughs at her, stepping closer. "It's not hard to see. You two weren't as slick as you thought," he admits, Y/N feeling her face begin to heat up.

"I'm sorry," she admits with a sigh, looking down at her now-empty glass. "I didn't mean to sound like that. I just- I didn't have anyone I trusted to talk to."

"And I'm just easier to talk to? Someone you trust?" he asks her, leaning his elbow on the bar behind them, a knowing smirk on his lips. She snaps her head to him.

As she was about to say something, he stood up straight, walked to stand in front of her, and took the glass from her fingers. She doesn't miss the way his fingers brush hers, goosebumps rising on her skin. He places the glass on the mahogany behind them, his eyes lowering to her own. She gulps as she watches his smirk widen just slightly, while he places both hands on the bar behind her, caging her in. His face was dangerously close to hers, the Monégasque not missing the way her breaths came out shaky.

"As for this other guy," he starts, his tone lower. Darker. "I think he's very worth your time. He wouldn't make you feel like Lando did. He'd take care of you. Treat you right. Show you how a woman like you should be worshipped."

Y/N feels her pulse quicken. "Besides," he mutters, bringing his lips closer to her own. "If you're choosing between two people, choose the second. Because if you really did like the first option, you wouldn't have fallen for the second."

That got Y/N's insides churning, knowing deep down Charles was right. He was so right.

He chuckled darkly as he watched his chest rising and falling quicker after he said that, placing his lips closer to her ear as he placed a light kiss against the lobe. "The second guy also just really wants to be selfish," he admits.

Y/N smiles slowly at his words, letting herself indulge slowly with Charles. She lets out a gasp as she feels his lips planting feather-light kisses from her jawline, down to her neck and her collarbone.

She finally trails her hands up his button-up, slipping underneath the half-open shirt, slithering to rest on the bare skin of his back just before it meets the crook of his neck. His head leaves her neck, bringing his head closer to her own.

"So this other guy," she says breathlessly. "You think he'd worship me, huh? Show me how worth it I am?"

He hums with a nod, kissing the corner of her lips. Y/N found herself craving more, her body aching for his own against hers. Skin to skin.

"He'd do more than just that," he chuckles against her jaw. "He'd take his time with you. Show you exactly how a woman like you should be appreciated. Till you're shaking."

Y/N lets out a breathless moan at that, one of her hands finding his hair. "Spoil you to death. Treat you like the absolute Queen you are."

Charles brings his head back up to really look at her. Y/N staring back into his own eyes, flicking down to his lips for a split second. "Charles," she says softly, earning a hum from him. "Kiss me please."

That's all it took for Charles to take her jaw in his hands, placing a passionate and messy kiss on her lips. Their teeth clashed, tongues messily battling against one another as she kissed him with such need. Such obsession.

The more they kissed, the more they craved one another. Charles let his hands fall from her jaw to her hips, pulling her lower body into his.

Lando was long forgotten in Y/N's mind. He was the last thing she was thinking of; she could forget his name if Charles kept up the way he touched and kissed her.

Little did she realize, Lando was now frozen in his spot on the floor. His eyes darkened. He glared as he watched the girl his heart yearned for, and the guy who was going to be six feet under if looks could kill.

He could tell it wasn't just for show either. She really wanted Charles. Charles wanted her.

He only knew that because of how she was kissing Charles, it was the way she used to kiss him. His heart hurt, chest tightened. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene across the club.

Magui was long forgotten in that moment, Lando realizing he lost the girl he wanted most.

He should've known.

Y/N whines at the loss of Charles' lips when he pulls back, the man looking down at her blown-out state. Her lips swollen as her eyes look up at him with a knowing look.

"What do you say, cherie?" he says slowly, watching her slowly smile.

"I think I'm open to giving this other guy a chance," she jokes, watching him bite his lip to hide the big ear to ear smile that was forming.

He leaned down to kiss her once more, before breaking away and lacing a hand with hers.

Charles began to lead her away from the bar, his gaze locking with Lando's as they passed by.

He didn't miss the way Lando slightly mouthed a 'what the fuck' at his friend, a glare in his direction. Charles held his head up high, smirking at Lando, giving him a sly little wink before he turned his attention to Y/N.

Lando saw the way her eyes looked up at Charles, like she finally felt happy. At ease in his presence. Like she had forgotten Lando existed in that moment. She probably did, and that hit him like a truck.

He watched as Charles placed his other hand on her lower back to help keep her next to him as they pushed through the crowd, making sure not to lose her as they headed out.

Lando didn't even excuse himself from Magui, earning a shocked squeak from her as she watched him rush away from the dancefloor.

Lando scurried past everyone and towards the front entry, pushing past the people who were trying to congratulate him as he passed by.

He didn't give a single fuck about any of them, his mind only thinking about her.

Please. Don't go home with him

His mind begged, wishing she could read minds. Read his.

The way he knew he was already way too late. Months too late.

Once he had gotten outside, he had seen Charles shutting her door before turning to thank the valet workers. His eyes flicked twice over to Lando's state. Trying his best to hide the winning smirk as he saw the disheveled state of the British man.

Charles looked back at his car towards her window, before looking back at Lando. He walked up to him, Lando's gaze hardening as he got closer.

"Don't," Lando warns him.

Warning him to not cross this line. To not take the girl that Charles knew he was so in love with, not take her home. He didn't like this feeling. He hated it.

That's when he realized what it was.

Lando Norris was jealous. He was jealous beyond words.

He never gets jealous.

Not until now.

Charles chuckles at him, patting his shoulder. "Lando," he chuckles. "You ruined your chances. Give her the chance to finally be happy, hm?"

He shook his head. "You can't give her what I can give her."

Charles bites his lower lip before speaking. "That's the point," he begins. "I wouldn't treat her like shit, like you did. I'll give her everything she deserves, and more. Not give her nothing, like you gave her."

That made Lando feel like he had been shot in the chest.

“I won’t ever let her feel or think she’s only good for one thing,” Charles adds, giving Lando a knowing look. Lando’s face drops slightly, then frowns. “I’m going to show her she’s worth more than she could ever imagine. Because she is.” Charles admits, a genuine look in his eyes.

Lando doesn’t know what to say in that moment. He felt defeated.

Because part of him knew (all of him knew) that Charles was good for her. He wouldn’t treat her anything lower than the Goddess she was.

Lando just hated that it wasn’t him.

Charles pats him on the shoulder. "Goodnight, mate," he says before walking away and getting into the car. Lando watched as the pair drove off into the night. Something was burning inside Lando's chest. Burned in his eyes.

Tears.

Jealousy.

Need.

Y/N smiled to herself as Charles and she drove along the roads, his hand gently on her thigh while hers rested on top of his.

Her phone buzzed, not once, not twice, but three times. This caused her to pick it up and look down at it. She thought she would feel something, anything, as she read the messages.

Please, don't go with him. I'm so in love with you

Come back to me, I'll be better. It hurts to see you not with me. Hurts to see you happy with him. I'll prove myself. I'll do better, for you

It's always been you

Y/N takes a deep breath as she begins to type with her free hand.

Your time ran out. A long time ago, Lando. It's time I let myself be happy.

Goodbye Lando

With that, she turned her phone off and looked over at Charles. His eyes gazed back at her, nothing but admiration as he stared at her.

"You okay?" he asks softly. She takes a moment before nodding.

"Yeah," she hums. "I am now."

[ggukivrse]

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook ��: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

[brights-place]

[KPDH] ．°˖✧ Ｂａｂｙ ˚₊ ⊹ x Reader

Contains: Fluff, Stupid Stuff, and Acts of Affection

A/N: I LOVE BABY I THINK ITS JUST CAUSE I LIKE CHARACTERS WHO ARE ABLE TO RAP

Summary: You love nothing more than pampering your partner despite his deep voice and tough rapper image, he’s got the most precious baby face and golden, doe-like eyes that shine whenever he looks at you. Whether you're gently applying under-eye masks, brushing his bangs out of the way, or softly kissing the corners of his eyes, it’s all about showing love to the boy behind the bars the soft, golden-eyed sweetheart who’s yours.

Somehow, Baby always made looking flawless look effortless. his pout practiced, his smirks camera-ready, and those golden eyes always wide and shimmering like he was made to be adored.

He had the kind of face that didn’t match the deep, cutting voice he rapped with the kind that made people do double takes, wondering how someone so baby-faced could spit bars that left rivals speechless and Baby knew it. He leaned into the contrast, played it up on stage, charmed his fans with fluttery lashes and smug little grins like it was second nature.

But when it was just you and him no cameras, no stylists, no fans or managers poking their heads in with reminders he let himself be softer in a way most wouldn’t believe.

He was lounging on the couch, legs kicked up and head tilted lazily back, letting you sit in his lap while you gently dabbed cooling eye patches beneath his lashes. His skin was already perfectly smooth, of course, but you claimed it was "maintenance." Baby didn’t complain. Not when your fingers were that gentle, or when you tilted his chin to get a better look at him like you were studying a masterpiece.

“Still looking at me like I’m breakable, [Name],” he muttered, voice low and syrupy, a slight rasp catching at the end. “You trying to spoil me again?” “You say that like I haven’t been spoiling you since day one,” you teased, brushing a strand of his hair from his forehead. “I know you're all growl and swagger on stage, but off it? You're basically a spoiled house cat shiny eyes, dramatic naps, attitude for days.”

His lips quirked up, he looked away like he was pretending to be unimpressed, but the way his hand crept up to rest on your waist betrayed him. He liked this. He liked you maybe more than he wanted to admit out loud.

You leaned in a little closer, just enough to whisper, “I like making your eyes shine. That’s all. No big speech.” that made him blink slowly, with a softness he rarely let anyone see.

You always treated him like more than the polished image he gave the world, and it left him unsteady in the best way. Nobody ever stayed long enough to learn the real him impatient, moody, selfish in the way all demons are but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t leave.

He tilted his head again, those doe golden eyes now glossy under the cool patches. “You gonna kiss me now or just keep acting like you’re a dermatologist?” You smirked. “Skincare is love.”

“Ugh, lame,” he groaned but his arms wrapped around your waist anyway, tugging you against him with a little huff. “Fine but if my eyes look extra cute in the next teaser photos, it’s on you.” “Can’t wait for the fans to see you with that glow I gave you.”

“Don’t post it,” he warned quickly, voice dropping a little lower. “Keep it for yourself.” and you understood. The world could have the rapper, the idol, the flirt but you got Baby the bratty, clingy, secretly soft demon who melted under your touch and trusted you with the parts of himself he kept hidden from everyone else.

۶ৎ ⌗ 𝐊-𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝

[yasministration]

be my baby - harry potter

concussions and interruptions au summary: another night at the potter household reveals that you love one of harry's least favourite songs, and his dad's all time favourite. wc: 1k+ cw: kissing, so much fluff, highly recommend pressing on the link in bold when you get to that point!

The night surrounding you is calm, despite the bustling energy in the Potters’s backyard. There’s an old tune playing in the background that Harry’s dad and his friends sing to, freely being dorks, his mother sat on the patio sofa with her own friends around her. It’s nice getting to know Harry’s extended family, you think. You had no idea he and Neville grew up so close to each other, but the shy boy’s parents fit so well in the Potters’s little bubble.

Neville is busy tonight, Alice had told Harry with a glint in her eyes. A date, but I’m sure you already knew.

Harry had shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant for Neville’s sake, but you had nodded excitedly, having heard all about it from Luna herself. “They’re gonna get married, Mrs. Longbottom, I already know.” And somehow the Longbottoms immediately loved you.

When you and Harry disappeared from their sight, Harry tugging you away from the adults, they had both raised their eyebrows at Lily and James, commenting their own approval of their son’s girlfriend. Now, Frank is busy James, Sirius and Marlene, singing along to the music while throwing a quaffle around as they zoom around on their brooms in the backyard. Lily, Alice, Remus and Mary enjoy a conversation filled with laughs, eyes trained on their partners in the air.

However, Lily occasionally glances down to ensure you and Harry are okay. You’ve hidden away from them, sitting near the lake. Harry’s back is leaning against the thick trunk of a tree, one leg folded up whilst the other rests on the grassy floor. You sit between his legs, back to his chest, and Harry plays with your hair, the laughter around you being the only sound between you.

Harry’s free hand rests against his leg, fingers intertwined with yours. He sighs happily, wondering only for a moment what’s going through your head. But then suddenly, as the music changes and the familiar melody of his dad’s favourite jazz song comes up, you jerk away from him, your head snapping back towards the house.

Harry grimaces “Sorry. My dad’s music-” “I love this song!” Harry blinks rapidly, not expecting the wide grin that overtakes your features, your loud exclamation taking him aback. You scramble upwards, hauling him up with you by the hand still tangled with his. Neither of you notice the way James Potter lands on the ground, abandoning his broom to tug his wife into his arms, dramatically singing the lyrics out loud to her, as though he was falling in love all over again.

So won’t you please? Be my, be my baby?

You giggle as Harry’s arms loop around your waist, a boyish smile on his face. You cup his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his once before pulling away, stroking his cheeks as you sing along to the words. “I’ll make you happy baby, just wait and see!”

Harry swallowed thickly, eyes dipping to your lips. He always used to groan when the song came up, looking away from his parents as his dad twirled Lily into his arms, singing lovingly at her. But as you serenaded him, Harry decided he loved this song. Maybe it wasn’t so bad when the lyrics were aimed at him.

“For every kiss you give me, I’ll give you-” You were cut off by the press of Harry’s lips against yours, the kiss broken by your joyful giggles. Harry grins, forehead resting against yours as the song continues blaring in the background. He is acutely aware of his dad’s voice in the background, and he doesn’t doubt that James is holding Lily in his arms. But Harry cannot physically care less when you are pushing him back against the trunk, your hands laid flat on his chest as you capture his lips with yours again.

His fingers curl around the curve of your hips, tugging your body closer to his. Harry is sure you can feel his racing heartbeat beneath the palm of your hand as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

From across the backyard, Lily Potter’s back is pulled towards her husband’s chest, and the pair sways slowly with wide smiles on their faces. “I’m glad someone else appreciates my taste in music.” James whispers against his wife’s temple. Lily laughs, mumbling “Did you see what she did?”

“What, you mean only make our son actually enjoy the song he has complained about for eighteen years? Yes, I saw, honey.”

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, love, I think she is.”

You break the kiss, Harry’s lips parting from yours with a loud squelch, and you can see the redness tinting his cheeks in the soft moonlight. You shriek as Harry’s fingers run up your sides with a gentle squeeze to tickle you, laughing softly as you squirm in his hold. Your boyfriend chuckles, pulling you into his body. You sigh happily, resting your head on his chest as you loosely hold him, hands on his back to hug him back.

“So, would you be my baby? Forever?” Harry finally asks in a whisper, voice suddenly shy. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you feel your lips tug up into a smile. You are so inexplicably happy. “Yeah. I’ll be your baby forever. Only if you’ll be mine too.” Harry’s chest bubbles with a joyful laugh and he digs his face in the crook of your neck, hiding his flushed cheeks from you.

A gust of wind has a shiver running down your spine, and Harry pulls away from the hug to wordlessly tug his jumper off. You don’t have time to deny his jumper before he’s forcing it over your head and guiding your arms into the sleeves. So instead, you just smile, letting him steer you into the position you were previously in, back against his chest as you curl up on the floor.

Your voice cuts into the comfortable silence once more, smiling to yourself as you asked “Does that mean we’re gonna get married then?”

“Uh, yeah. Thought we already confirmed that.”

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn, @hawaii2320, @c0ldstvff, @bigbodycity, @starmaniii, @urmom101, @simpfortoomanymen, @ennaholic, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @eunicefrogsandfoes, @dreamamubarak, @quinquinquincy, @vxyselectric, @liliemb04, @crowleythesexydemon, @lovelyygirl8, @matcha-kitty13, @dlljdhsh, @yegrnn, @marauder-era6779, @xadenswhore, @5sospenguinqueen, @esposadomd, @paytonluvxx, @wrenisrad, @lovelyteenagebeard, @mxvoid26, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @isnt-itstrange @fandomhoe101

[whytheylosttheirminds]

make this place your home - r.c.

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

summary: Rafe has been begging you to move in with him, but when you finally show him the place your heart belongs to, he realizes he'd do anything to make you happy.

content: fluff, angst, a drizzle of spice, semi-canon obx if you were to eliminate some pretty important things lol

cw: mentions of blood and injury, suggestive comments, closed-door romance, mentions of abusive parents (Luke)

note: my contribution to @zyafics mrga campaign <3

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

“Don’t open your eyes yet!” 

“I’m gonna trip over something and fall on my ass. Or run into something. This is The Cut, who knows what junk is just lying around. I’m gonna get tetris or some shit.”

You laughed out loud. Rafe nearly opened his eyes to figure out why.

“See, now you’re laughing at me, you better not be doing some dumb shit to me for a Tiktok,” he warned.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby, calm down,” you chuckled. “I’m laughing because you’re cute. It’s tetanus, not tetris.”

He should feel embarrassed, but the sound of your laugh and of you calling him cute calmed every muscle in his body. You were a balm that went straight to his agitated heart.

You were the only one who could disarm him when he got irritated like this. You told him once that you don’t take his bad moods personally because you can see them for what they are - he’s not angry, he’s anxious. He realized then that you’re the only person who’d ever really understood him, that you might understand him better than he understands himself. 

It’s why his shoulders relax now, it’s why he can take a deep breath. There was no one else in the world who could convince him to let them drive his boat while he’s blindfolded or walk through the tall, marshy grass without knowing where he was going. Only you.

“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.

“We’re not there yet,” you shook your head, hand still on his arm to lead him closer to your surprise. “You can go one more minute without seeing where you’re going.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I can go another minute without seeing you,” he flirted.

You smiled, tempted to rip the blindfold off him and forget all about the surprise. Too bad for him you already knew all his tricks.

“Nice try, Cameron.”

As you got closer, your stomach twisted. Maybe this was stupid. After all, wouldn’t it be underwhelming to Rafe after all he’s seen? This place meant so much to you, you didn’t know if you could handle any criticism from him. You considered turning around, but you’d already made such a big deal out of this, how would you explain it to him?

“Okay, this is a good spot, I guess,” you said, your voice shaking with trepidation.

“You good?” Rafe asked. Of course he could tell your mood shifted without even looking at you.

“Yeah, I think, just open your eyes.” At this point you just wanted to get his inevitable disappointment over with.

Slowly, Rafe opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the blinding Carolina sunlight before finally sizing up your big reveal.

It was your house, the one he’d been to a hundred times before - sneaking into your window so your brother wouldn’t hear, showing up in the night to investigate when you “heard a noise,” defending you from Luke when he got violent. Except, this wasn’t the same house. It was bigger, for one. And slightly bigger, with new walls, new roof, and a big, hand painted flag in your brother’s handwriting: “Poguelandia.” 

It wasn’t much, but it was your dream come true. In your eyes, you may as well have been standing in front of a magic castle. As you watched Rafe’s expression stay completely unchanged you realized that to him, it probably still looked like some shitty shack on The Cut. You wished you never brought him here.

“This is what you guys have been working on this whole time?” He asked, still looking at the house and not at you.

“Yeah, I mean, and the store,” you gestured to the dock behind you where you and your friends had built yourselves a small business. Another thing that would surely seem pathetic compared to what Rafe was used to.

“It’s nice, I like it,” Rafe said.

“No it’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” you said, voice small. You started to turn to leave. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it, let’s just go-”

“Hey, woah, woah,” Rafe interrupted you gently.

He approached you from behind, arms twisting around your waist, forcing you to turn back and look at your home. He had to duck down to slot his chin into your shoulder, swaying you both gently.

“If I had to come all this way, I think I at least deserve the grand tour, don’t I?” he mumbled into your ear.

Your smile returned, you nuzzled your cheek into his, heart swelling.

“I guess, if you insist,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“I do,” he nodded, tickling your neck with his buzzed hair. He tilted his head down to place a sloppy kiss into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m especially looking forward to seeing your bedroom.”

“You mean the one I share with your sister?” 

He groaned, “why do you torture me like this?”

“Because it’s fun.” You twisted away from his hold and slid your hand down his arm to interlock your fingers with his.

Rafe followed you onto the porch. You paused at the front door for dramatic effect.

“Hello MTV, welcome to my crib!”

Rafe smiled as you cracked up at your own joke, but his momentary joy turned sour when you opened the door and revealed an unwelcome sight on the other side; the Pogues.

The lively discussion that had been filling your shared living room stopped dead in its tracks. The room turned cold. Six icy stares were aimed in your boyfriend’s direction.

You understood why they disliked him so much. He didn’t put much effort into changing their minds. But he’d changed yours. And though you’d tried for years not to, you loved him. Neither of you had said it yet, but you knew it was true, at least for you. 

There had been countless arguments between you and your brother and the shared friends that were basically family about Rafe. Countless fights you’d stopped between JJ and Rafe, countless nights begging Rafe just to try a little harder, begging JJ just to give him a chance. They both cared for you enough not to kill each other, but it was a reluctant ceasefire. A fragile peace you were always vigilant to protect. A truce that could be broken at any moment. You prayed this wasn’t that moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you guys were home,” you explained. The six pogues shared concerned glances with each other, something unsaid that you felt had nothing to do with you walking in with their least favorite person. “What’s going on?”

Kie stood, shot a brief but blazing glare towards Rafe, and handed you a piece of paper. You read it carefully, your eyebrows creased in confusion that was slowly morphing into great concern. Rafe read over your shoulder.

It was an official warning from the Kildare City Council. The land you were standing on and the home you’d built would be rezoned. They were taking Poguelandia.

“What the hell?” You shouted. “Can they actually do this?”

“Looks like they already are,” John B confirmed.

“No, no. There has to be something we can -”

“There’s not!” JJ stood from his seat at the far end of the room. 

You could see it all over his face, the anger that was always lying just beneath the surface starting to make its way to the top. Everyone thought of JJ as a happy-go-lucky, silly, mischievous kid. And he was all those things, but he was something else, something only you really saw; a hurt kid who never healed. 

“There’s never something we can do,” JJ continued, stalking slowly toward you, but keeping his eyes locked on Rafe the whole time. “Not when Kooks are involved. They always win.”

“Back up, Maybank,” Rafe snarled, looking down at JJ, who’d gotten close enough to break the barrier of Rafe’s personal space. 

You stepped between them instinctually, a move you’d made a hundred times before. 

“Stop.” You put a gentle hand on JJ’s chest to back him up, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t his fault, J.”

“How do we know that, huh?” JJ finally tore his eyes off Rafe to look at you. “How do we know he’s not behind it somehow? Trying to steal our land for another bougie ass development project. You can’t trust these people, sis. How many times do we have to get screwed by them before you realize it?”

You and your brother looked at each other for a long time. The rest of the room watched as the two of you seemed to have a conversation none of them could hear; the unspoken language of siblings who’d been to hell and back together.

After a long moment, you turned your gaze toward Rafe.

“Do- do you know anything about this?” You asked him hesitantly. 

His face fell. A series of emotions flashed across his features so quickly, you were sure you were the only one in the room who caught them all; surprise, betrayal, hurt, anger, and finally, back to his go-to: detached stoicism.

“That’s really what you think of me? That I’d do something like this?” His tone was even, his voice far away even though you were inches apart.

You knew you’d hurt him by even entertaining the idea that he’d betray you like this. But this ground was shaky, and you had been screwed over by Kooks your entire life. The trust you put in him did not come easy, and sometimes it wavered, even though he’d never given it any reason to.

Rafe’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer. He nodded once, his lips twisting into the kind of smile that had absolutely no joy behind it. 

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

He took one last searing look around the room, twelve hateful eyes met him, and he didn’t look at your watery ones before turning and storming out of the house, the newly installed screen door banging shut behind him.

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Your knees were tucked all the way to your chest, your chin resting on them as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to manufacture any sort of comfort. It wasn’t working.

The zone change notice sat on the bed in front of you. You read it over and over, as though if you just wanted it badly enough, the words would change into something less devastating. 

You were going to lose your home. You’d probably lost the love of your life, before you could even tell him he was the love of your life. Your brother was one step from completely falling over the edge, the rocky path toward destruction that you’d pulled him back from your whole lives getting steeper by the minute. A few hours ago you were excitedly cleaning this room so you could show Rafe. How could so much change in so little time?

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” you said quietly.

The door creaked slightly despite it being brand new. Sarah tiptoed into the room gently, searching you for any signs of distress.

“Sar, you don’t have to knock to come into your own room,” you told her.

“I know, I just thought maybe you needed some space.”

You shook your head and scooted over on the bed to make space for her. She took your invitation with a smile and settled in next to you.

“So…how’s your day going?” She asked in a singy-songy voice.

You both erupted in bittersweet laughter.

“Oh y’know, I’ve had better.”

She nudged your arm with her elbow.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.” She assured you.

“Is it though? I mean really, Sar, is it?” No laughter hung in the air now. “I mean, what if I just lost my home and my boyfriend? Or worse, what if I just lost my home to my boyfriend.”

“You really think Rafe would’ve done something like this?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to. You heard him though, when I asked him about it, he didn’t deny it.”

Sarah sighed, a deep exhale that usually signaled she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“What?” You prodded. 

“Look, I’m not my brother’s biggest fan, you know that,” she began.

“Um yes, you’ve made that very clear,” you chuckled, thinking of all the times Sarah had warned you not to get involved with Rafe. 

“But, just this one time, I’m going to…” She paused dramatically, her eyes screwed shut with reluctance. “...defend him.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Be honest, how hard was that for you to say?” You teased.

“I’m holding back vomit right now,” she laughed.

“Well then defend him quickly before you yack on my bed.”

“Okay, I just,” she paused to consider her words carefully. “I know you know Rafe really well. I mean you’re the only one he’s ever really let in, so you probably know him better than anyone. But I’ve known him longer than anyone. I’ve seen every version of him. I knew Rafe before he met you, and now I know him after he met you, and believe me when I tell you, those two are not the same guy. As cliche as it sounds, you changed him.”

You sat in silence, letting the words settle over you, surprised by how emotional they were making you. You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a dick,” Sarah added. You were grateful for a reason to laugh before you started crying. “But he’s not the same. There was a time where I’d say ‘absolutely, Rafe definitely did this just to screw us over,’ but not anymore. Not since he fell in love with you.”

You looked up in surprise, the tears at your lash line threatening to finally spill over.

“You think he loves me?”

“Girl, be so for real. That man has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Believe me, he’s yours.”

Your heart skipped, and the tears finally fell. You rose from the bed so suddenly, Sarah almost fell back onto the mattress. You didn’t know what had taken over you, just that you needed to go, now. Everything in you was being pulled toward him, like sand being dragged back out to sea by the tide. If you spent one more minute of your life without him knowing what you were so certain of now, you might not make it.

Sarah smiled at you, she read it all over your face.

“Go!” She urged.

“Love you!” You shouted over your shoulder as you raced out of your bedroom.

“Love you too, you freak,” she smiled to herself, knowing you were already long gone.

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Where could he have gone? Your mind flipped through all the possibilities as you ran across the lawn toward the dock. JJ would probably be pissed that you took The Snapper without asking first, but didn’t even care about that right now. You just needed to find Rafe.

You didn’t have to search for long.

As soon as your feet hit the wooden dock, they stopped in their tracks.

At the end of the pier sat Rafe’s boat bobbing in the water. The long figure of your boyfriend leaned over the bow. You watched with a big, bright smile as he untied the line, then retied it, then untied it, and retied it once more. He was clearly having a silent disagreement with himself. All that mattered to you was that he hadn’t left.

You approached slowly, avoiding the planks in the dock you knew would creak and give away your presence. The closer you got to him, the faster your heart beat. The words you were dying to say sat perched at the end of your tongue, you knew they wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer. 

Half way through untying the boat again, Rafe stopped and sighed.

“Need a push?” You said.

His eyes shot up to yours, startled. Tension filled his shoulders as he took you in, his shock quickly fading to something softer, yet still unsure.

“That depends,” he squinted in the sun to see you better. 

God, he was gorgeous. You could not let him get away.

“Depends on what?” You played along.

“If my girlfriend will forgive me for being a dismissive prick,” he said.

You forced your lips not to twist into a smile, pretending to consider his words.

“I think she might. If you forgive her first,” you said.

His eyes softened, lips twitching. You were both failing not to smile at each other now. 

Rafe finally tied up the boat for good, hopping up onto the dock. You admired every movement of his body as it drew closer to yours. When he reached you, he placed his hands on your waist, your arms drawing up to wrap around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes to get as close to him as possible.

“She has nothing to apologize for. The only home she’s ever known is being threatened. She’s just scared. I get that.”

Every word fanned over you like a soft summer breeze. Your heart warmed, impossibly full despite all the anxieties today had brought. He just got you, he understood without you having to say it. This must be the closest two people can get to making magic, you thought.

“Thank you,” you let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. He kissed the top of your head.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into your hair.

You looked back up at him, shaking your head. 

“How is everything gonna be okay, Rafe? What if there really is nothing we can do? I mean, who’s even behind this?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but one name popped into his mind. Even with his suspicions, he didn’t know if he could help you. Helplessness was the feeling he despised more than any other, especially when it came to you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his heart breaking at the despairing look on your face. “But you’ve still got me. You could always move into the condo with me, like I’ve been begging you for months.”

“Can I bring my friends with me?” You scrunched up your nose, hoping he’d find you cute enough to say yes.

“I love you, but there’s no way in hell…”

A bolt of lightning shot through you, goosebumps erupting over your entire body. Did he really just say…?

He instantly read the shock on your face, but there was no look of regret on his.

“What? Haven’t I said I love you before?” 

“Umm, no, I think I would’ve remembered that!” You couldn’t help the big, goofy grin taking over your whole face.

“Oh, well that’s weird,” he shrugged, his hands sliding from your waist to your lower back, wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you off your feet. “Because I do love you, so fucking much.” 

You yelped as he lifted you into the air, head falling back in laughter as he almost tumbled you both off the dock in his effort to sweep you off your feet.

You looked down at him and he lowered you slowly, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, arms still wrapped around each other like you’d never let go. You stood there embracing for a long time, so long that the sun was starting to set, casting a golden shimmer across the water. 

Finally you said, “I never gave you the grand tour.”

“And I was really looking forward to seeing your crib,” he teased, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck when he talked.

“Well, c’mon then.” You grabbed his hand, leading him back toward the house, both of you buzzing with the excitement that there was something much better than a tour waiting for you inside.

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“...And this is John B and JJ’s room,” you opened the door only a crack, afraid to unleash the stench that permanently filled the space. “They insisted on getting bunk beds even though they’re, like, forty. And Pope insisted on having his own room because, as he said, ‘JJ is a walking biohazard.’ Which is…fair.”

Rafe was just watching you with adoration as you showed him around the house. He was barely looking at the rooms you were showing him because he was so focused on the way you glowed with joy. It was true that he wanted you to move to Bayline with him, it was his life’s goal to get you there, actually, but he had to admit that you seemed like you really belonged here. He’d never seen you look more at home. 

“And this is our gallery wall.” You gestured to the display of framed photographs hanging in the upstairs hallway.

Rafe surveyed them dutifully with his hands tucked politely behind his back, like an old man in an art museum. Most of the photographs were of you and the pogues at various times in your life. Out fishing in the marsh, riding dirt bikes, post-surf at the beach. You admired the way Rafe was looking so intently and resisting the urge to grimace at so many photos of you with his once sworn enemies.

He explored the wall, eyes lingering on any photo of you a little longer than the rest. The hall continued to lead down toward your bedroom. At the very end, in a high corner, just above a series of photo booth pictures you’d taken with Sarah and Kie last summer, hung a delicate circular frame featuring a worn-out picture almost too small to see. Rafe leaned in for a better look.

In the photo, which was a tad faded and clearly taken several years ago, was a young guy, probably about 30, holding two young kids on his lap. The slightly bigger one, a boy, held up a trout he’d just caught, flashing a toothless grin. The little girl beamed at the man holding her.

It took Rafe a moment, but when he felt your weight shift next to him uncomfortably, he put it all together. The photo was you, JJ, and Luke. Probably the only one you had. And despite everything Luke had put you through, you’d hung it on the wall to see everyday.

Rafe turned to you, you were looking down at your feet, toes digging anxiously into the rug. His heart ached. If anyone knew what it was like to have a complicated relationship with their father, it was him. The fact that you’d still given Luke some dignity in this house he almost destroyed so many times said so much about you, and reminded him why he loved you so much.

“You wanna show me your room now?” He asked gently.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a small smile, “yeah.”

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The door clicked closed softly. Rafe took in the room, immediately identifying which bed was yours and which bed (the messy, half-made one) was his sister’s.

“Sarah doesn’t spend much time in here,” you admitted.

“No?” He asked, keeping his eyes off of you, the closed door suddenly adding a nervous energy to the room he wasn’t expecting.

“She mainly sleeps with John B.” Rafe grimaced, you hurried to reassure him. “Like, in his bed I mean, or his bunk I guess. Not, like sleep with him sleep with him, although I’m sure there’s plenty of that -”

“I’m literally begging you to stop talking,” he said, his eyes finding the ceiling, no doubt trying to erase the mental picture you just created for him.

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

Rafe wandered around the room some more, taking in all your decorations. He never understood why someone could collect so many knick-knacks that seemed to be worth nothing, but there was something endearing about it that drew him to you even more. Just another in a long line of things that would annoy him with someone else, but enchanted him with you.

As your time alone in the room dragged on, the air became tenser. You felt yourself watching him, but unable to move, back pressed up against the door, frozen in anticipation. 

You and Rafe had been alone together before - and you had been together before - but something had shifted out on that dock. Something that you knew you couldn’t take back, and didn’t want to. In fact, you only wanted to solidify it more.

“Rafe,” you said softly, finally pulling his attention away from your decor.

He looked up at you expectantly, like he had been waiting for you to give him permission to. He didn’t respond, just walked slowly toward you, his eyes on yours the whole way. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though the sound came out more like a hiccup.

“Has something changed?” He wondered aloud.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “Because today I realized two important things.”

“What two things?” He asked, surprised, and a little alarmed, by your answer.

“The first is that this is my home, and that in a way, it will always be my home. And yet at the same time, I also realized that you’re my future, and I love you.”

Rafe’s smile spread slowly, like he was taking in each word one at a time. His blue eyes sparkled - like actually sparkled - with joy. Maybe you were imagining it, but it didn’t matter, you just wanted him to keep looking at you like that.

“Oh you love me, huh?” His voice was low and dangerous, he stepped closer until he was towering over you.

“Yeah, haven’t I said that before?” You echoed his words from earlier back to him.

He just shook his head at you, tucking his tongue in the corner of his cheek to try and tame his smile. His hands found your waist like they were made to fit there. His voice carried down to your very core as he leaned in.

“You know you can’t take it back now, right?” 

“Why would I take it back? I mean it, Rafe, with everything I have. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you. His body enveloping yours as he backed you up against the door and kissed you deeply. A whole new energy between you now, your need and your affection for each other stronger than ever. 

Before you could get carried away, footsteps on the stairs reminded you of a very crucial step of bringing your boyfriend home. 

“Wait, hold on.” You pulled away from Rafe and he frowned. His disappointment was so cute you were tempted to kiss the pout right off of him, but first you rummaged through a drawer in you and Sarah’s shared dresser.

“What is that?” Rafe asked when you pulled out a conch shell glued to a piece of twine.

“Just a little system Sarah and I have.” You winked at him, opening the door just a crack to hang the shell from the doorknob.

“Do I want to know?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know, do you want to talk more about your sister’s love life, or work on ours?” You bit back your smile when he cringed at your words, suddenly realizing Sarah’s use for the shell with a shudder.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said, before scooping you up and carrying you over his shoulder, just to drop you on the bed with a bounce.

“Yes, I am,” you smiled up at him.

And he showed you, over and over, just how lucky you were.

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It was different this time, more passionate, more intense, more everything. And when he held you after, whispering more I love you’s into your hair, and neck, and the side of your face, you knew it must’ve felt the same for him, too.

You laid tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could intertwine his fingers with yours as you both stared up at the ceiling in pure bliss.

You sighed a happy, airy sigh and nuzzled closer to him.

“You know I just mean for now, right?” You said.

He twisted his neck at what must’ve been an uncomfortable angle to try and see your face.

“You just love me for now?” He asked, incredulous.

“No, no!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant to say, this is just my home for now.”

“Oh, okay,” he rested his head back onto the pillow. “That’s better, I guess.”

You sat up, shuffling through the sheets so you could see him. You brought your legs up and sat criss cross on the bed next to him. Rafe lazily reached out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear as he waited for the words he knew you were trying to formulate. He loved that you thought so hard before speaking, always determined to say what you mean. You loved that he waited to hear what you had to say, a patience he reserved almost exclusively for you.

“I know it must seem weird,” you began, “that I’m so attached to a place with so many bad memories. And I know you want me to live with you, and I want that too, eventually. But you have to understand, for so much of my life, it was just me and JJ. It was just us in this house. Even though a lot of it was us hiding from Luke or fending for ourselves when he didn’t come home for days at a time, there are good memories hidden in all the bad ones. Like, at the bottom of the stairs, there’s a spot where JJ and I accidentally ran our sled into the wall when we were stair-surfing. We covered it with chewed bubblegum and colored it in with marker, and Luke never noticed. Or in the kitchen, there’s tally marks under the countertop where we used to keep track of how many beers Luke had so we knew when it was time to go to John B’s for the night. And on the old dock, where our store is now, we made each other a pinky promise that someday we’d grow up and make something of ourselves and buy this house right out from under him. And we did it! And now, they’re just going to, what, take it away? Punish us for rising above the low expectations that they set for us? We were hurt here, yeah. But we also survived here. We did it together. I can’t leave that, or him, not now, not yet.”

Rafe drank in your words, and when tears came, he didn’t wipe them away or tell you to stop crying, he just let them fall. Let you feel what you needed to feel. His hand stayed firmly rested on your leg, there to hold only if you wanted it.

Through sobs you finally said, “this is our home, Rafe. We’re gonna lose our home.”

He’d heard enough. He stood from the bed quickly, pulling on his khakis and polo wordlessly.

“Where are you going?” 

Rafe turned to look at you, saw the worry in your eyes and leaned over your bed so his face was level with yours. You would have been frightened by the steel in his eyes if you weren’t so excited by it.

“You asked me how it was going to be okay, right?” He said, voice low and tinged with danger. 

You just nodded, unsure what to make of this sudden change in demeanor. 

“It’s going to be okay because I’m going to make it okay.”

With that he stood and stalked toward the door, stopping to look at you one more time.

“Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.”

You didn’t bother to ask where he was going, you knew he wasn’t going to tell you. When he had a plan like this, there was no slowing him down. Usually, his plans were self-serving. He was a strategist, like his father. Only now, it seemed, you were the beneficiary of his plot, and you weren’t sure what to expect.

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It sure as hell wasn’t the doorbell ringing at two in the morning. 

It had started to storm and the thunder was rumbling through the house. It took a few rings before you could even hear the doorbell over the sound of the rain. Sarah lay on one side of you, Kie on the other, Cleo at the foot of the bed. They’d come to comfort you after Rafe left and you all cried yourself to sleep talking about the future of Poguelandia.

You accidentally kicked Cleo when you got up, who then kicked Sarah, who reached over and hit Kie in the arm as if it was her fault. Everyone was awake now.

“Noise. Bad. Make it stop,” Sarah grumbled into her pillow. 

“Hit me again and I’ll make you stop breathing,” Kie said, her threat a little deflated considering she made it with her eyes still closed.

The doorbell rang out again, in rapid succession this time, causing everyone to groan and cover their ears.

“Who the hell rings the doorbell at 2 a.m.?” Sarah whined.

“If it’s those goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses again, I’m gonna shove their little pamphlet down their throats,” Cleo said.

“I’ll get it,” you said through a yawn.

“Wait, you’re gonna go alone?” Kie grabbed your hand to pull you back.

“What if you get murdered?” Sarah said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Kie and Sarah both climbed out of bed with you, but Cleo didn’t budge.

“If you get murdered let me know,” she said, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “I will avenge you.”

Kie rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets off Cleo, Sarah grabbed her hand to drag her from the bed.

“You’re coming with us, babe,” Sarah said over Cleo’s protests. “And bring your knife.”

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Lightning struck somewhere across the marsh at the exact second the door flew open. You and all three girls, wrapped in your blankets and holding various kitchen utensils, screamed at the sight on the other side. A dark figure of a man stood on the front porch, too far from the light for anyone to make out his identity. Cleo stepped in front of you all with her knife wielded.

“Hey! You better show yourself or get lost,” she shouted at the figure. 

As the man slowly made his way into the flickering porch light, you realized you recognized the broad curve of those shoulders, the slope of that neck.

“Rafe,” you whispered.

Just as you identified him, the porch light swept across his face, and all four of you gasped. 

The same places on his face you’d laid gentle kisses just a few hours ago were now black and blue, except in the places they were bloody. And he wasn’t walking slowly toward the light, he was limping, barely able to stand. He leaned against the door frame, holding his right hand in his left, his knuckles were raw and wounded. 

“Rafe!” You repeated, pushing past your friends to get to him. You tried to support his weight but you couldn’t manage it alone. Sarah came to his other side to help catch him as he stumbled forward.

Kie, however, took a defensive step backward, her arms crossed over her chest. Cleo kept her knife raised.

“Think you can put down the knife now, babe,” Sarah told her.

“You never know,” Cleo said, narrowing her eyes at Rafe.

“Cleo, look at him,” you scolded. 

She gave Rafe a once over, finally determining he wasn’t a threat in this state.

“Let’s get him on the couch,” you told Sarah. “Quickly, before he falls.”

Cleo stepped away to allow you to walk Rafe further into the living room. Kie created more distance between herself and your bloodied house guest. You searched her face quickly, it was a mixture of alarm and defensiveness. You could see the decision as it was being made, you tried to stop her but you were too late.

“Kie, wait!” 

But she was already running up the stairs, surely to wake the boys. There was no version of these circumstances that would be made better by your half-awake, hotheaded brother.

You and Sarah finally got Rafe on the couch. He leaned forward, grimacing in pain as he propped his head in his hands. You knelt in front of him, trying to find his eyes with yours.

“Rafe, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me.”

You placed your hands on his legs, rubbing soothing circles, begging him to fill the silence with an explanation. You looked at Sarah with pure panic in your eyes, she looked back with concern. Whether it was for you or for her brother, you weren’t sure.

“Rafe, it’s okay, whatever it is, you can tell us,” she encouraged him.

You’d never been more thankful for your best friend. You knew how much it took for her to offer him comfort like that.

You reached up to cup Rafe’s cheek in your hand, touching gently so as to not worsen his pain.

“Please, baby, what happened?”

He finally looked at you, and your heart skipped a beat. You thought maybe he was going to confess something terrible, or else cry out in agony. But instead, he just smiled that soft, sleepy half-smile of his and placed his hand over top of yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

“I made it okay,” he whispered to you.

Before you could react, footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you, the fury of their descent louder than the storm outside.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ bellowed.

“What are you doing here, Cameron?” Pope followed up.

John B rushed to Sarah’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” He asked the both of you.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, rising to sit next to Rafe on the couch, slipping your hand into his. The sight only enraged JJ further.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself and stop bleeding on our fucking couch, Rafe.” JJ barked.

“Jay, can’t you see he’s obviously hurt?” You snapped at your brother.

“Looks more like he did the hurting,” JJ replied.

“You don’t know that! You always assume the worst!” You yelled.

“Because he is the worst!” JJ yelled right back.

You stood in anger, ready to fight your own brother in defense of the man at your side. But Rafe grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards him, not lifting his head as he held you in place. His other hand reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded to protect it from the rain.

Rafe looked up finally, but not at you, at JJ. He extended his arm to offer JJ the piece of paper. 

JJ tiptoed over as if Rafe had somehow booby trapped the floorboards between them. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

With all eyes on him, and no sound but the storm outside, JJ unfolded the piece of paper. He read it for a long time. Like, a really long time. The little sister in you had to bite back a joke about his intellect, and you met eyes with Pope to see he was holding back the same comment. Even in this incredibly adult moment, you were kids together.

Finally, JJ looked up from the paper. Staring incredulously at Rafe.

“Is this for real?” JJ asked him, eyebrows raised.

Rafe just nodded, the movement causing the cut on his lip to open, making him wince in pain. You sat down beside him again, watching him anxiously for signs that he was hurt elsewhere. 

JJ just stared at the two of you for a moment before turning and leaving the room, dropping the piece of paper on the coffee table as he left. Pope and John B went to it immediately to read what had caused JJ to storm out, but you didn’t even care at this point, all that mattered was Rafe being okay, you needed him to be okay.

Except, JJ hadn’t stormed out. He had only gone to the kitchen, from which he was now returning, a bottle of whiskey and a bag of frozen peas in hand. He offered both to Rafe, Rafe opted for the whiskey. He twisted open the cap and took a sip, wincing as it went down.

You grabbed the peas from your brother, holding them up to Rafe’s black eye. He flinched at the contact but settled after a minute. JJ watched as Rafe placed his hand on your leg gratefully and handed back the bottle of whiskey.

“What’s the bourbon for? Drowning our sorrows?” Cleo asked.

“No,” John B said, he and Pope looking up from the paper with disbelieving grins. “Celebrating.”

“What does it say?” Kie asked, stepping further into the room, though she continued to eye Rafe like he was a wild animal that could go feral at any minute.

“We got the land back. They’re not rezoning,” Pope explained. “We’re keeping Poguelandia.”

The room froze for a minute, then erupted in a burst of hoots and hollers. Finally, the storm had some noise to compete with. The others hugged and cheered. Sarah rose from the couch and threw herself into John B’s arms.

“How’d you do it, man?” John B asked Rafe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe said, squeezing your leg three times. “I just took care of it, okay?”

He sounded aggressive, like he always did when addressing these six people, but you saw this for what it really was - a peace offering. A grand gesture. A declaration of his love for you. He gave you your home back, he gave you everything. 

As the others continued to celebrate, the volume in the house reaching new heights as they passed around the bottle of whiskey and toasted Poguelandia, you leaned into Rafe, your chin tucked into his shoulder so you could whisper something in his ear.

He smiled at your words, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders and curling you toward him so he could bring his lips to your temple.

“I love you, too.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

a/n: had to come out of retirement for this one, missed my boy too much. and holy shit did I have fun writing for rafey again. also this is as canon as I'll write Rafe lol

oh, and what did rafe have to do to get Poguelandia back? That stays between me and him xoxo

[veal-exe]

The only place white cis men have in trans discourse is sitting down, being quiet, learning, and standing up for trans people against their fellow cis people.

That also means not blindly parroting hateful transphobic rhetoric from other trans people, because some trans people are transphobic (TRFs, Transmeds, Truscum, etc), as an example, if you were a white cis man and you had a trans friend who was constantly telling you that say, and I’m gonna make something up here that hasn’t happened, but say you have a trans friend who’s constantly saying people who don’t want to start HRT aren’t REALLY trans.

you would have no business thinking, repeating, or pushing that. You’re obligated to listen to the whole community, not just the ONE trans friend you have spewing bigoted rhetoric. This goes doubly so if your bigoted trans friend is white because then they should also be sitting down and listening to the poc in the community.

Cis White Men have no place giving their thoughts and opinions about how the kind of trans person they like less isn’t oppressed. They definitely don’t get to say they ‘have tboy swag’ while being actively transphobic and uplifting TRFs, stop, cis white boy, stop, etc.

Cis white women don’t either ftr, no cis person does, but this is about a specific event.

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 1

Synopsis: The end of their tour is just around the corner, one more show. Too bad some demons decide to ruin their party.

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn (?), Yandere (?)

CW: None

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2

A/N: I’m desperately trying to push these out while the hype is real.

————————————————————

”La, la, la, la, la, la, la~”

”La, La, La, La, La, La, Laa~~”

”LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LAAA~~~”

Locked in an airplane bathroom, a slowly rising voice echos about that can barely be heard from the outside. The tone ranging from fierce to soft in seconds between each line of words or sounds from her mouth.

Shocking to think this came from a girl who hasn’t performed in front of an audience since she as a child.

“I’ve always felt like a monster”

”Long before I was bit~”

”Only seen as a monster~ Let’s just say I’m used to it~”

”And I grew tired cause loving had only hurt me bad”

“But loving you is a good problem to have”

”And I’m used to that, but I could get used to this~”

*Knock*

*Knock*

”Hey (Y/N), you gonna join us for our carb load? Don’t worry we have plenty enough for you! If you want to that is. You don’t have to if you don’t feel like it.” Zoey asks from the other side with clear excitement yet nervousness in her tone.

Only in recent times has (Y/N) grew comfortable enough to eat with the girls. For the first few days of meeting each other, she didn’t exactly talk that much. Or even made eye contact.

One on one conversations didn’t last very long in some cases, devolving into awkward silence usually with Rumi and Mira. Zoey on the other hand tended to continue her fun topics of discussion and even unintentionally rant about little things that have ticked her off or grabbed her interest.

Ended up dragging (Y/N) into watching all her turtle videos at one point. And to think (Y/N) ended up watching the entirety without a break along with Zoey.

That’s when the girls figured out something.

Just when they thought (Y/N) wasn’t listening or even uninterested in their talks, she always took everything in.

Simply listening to what they say with small gestures and hums that indicate her awareness.

Overtime, they met eyes as one talks.

And the next, she was beginning to speak and respond.

Though even at the beginnings they noticed her slight tremor and shivering as one would approach and or initiated conversations.

But time has passed.

Progress was made.

The social barrier was breaking down steadily.

And their unknowing hunger for that softness and comfort grew

“U-Um, sure. I’ll be out in a second.”

”(Gasp) Really?! Okay! I’ll tell the girls!”

Hearing Zoey speed off made (Y/N) chuckle at the cartoonish footsteps and visual in her head. (She looked like sanic)

Before she unlocked the door, she took one final look in the mirror. Something she did often enough to become habit. It wasn’t the kind of admiring like being in awe of yourself or even picking out flaws in your appearance or self.

No.

Her eyes always just stared ahead.

No blinking.

No words.

No thoughts.

All besides one…

Despite everything in the world…

It’s still you.

Turning her head away and unlocking the door. She was met again with the prestigious white walls and cushioned seats of the plane, with the compartments of materials for the plane attendants to use and serve for them in their areas.

Just outside at a small table filled to the brim with carb heavy foods scattered about. The three hunters already decked out in their performance attires and faces of makeup, eagerly awaiting to bring joy to their fans.

She didn’t exactly match the dress code.

Just a simple yet sophisticated attire of black and purple with hints of gold about. A purple buttoned cropped top, black flared pants with the ends a shire grey with patterned webs, expected black boots, a black and gold blazer jacket and a black tie loosely done.

Complimenting her further with dangling gold earrings with thin tassels. Hanging from her waist is a small lavender blue charm with two flower stones of the centre with loose strands of material. A small thin string of a mix of gold and silver instruments strung about, ranging from an electric and acoustic guitar, to a violin and piano.

Despite the similar golds and charms on their attires, hers felt out of place.

Their faces lighting up upon meeting her own (f/c) and gold rimmed eyes.

“(Y/N)! We were just about to start! Come huddle with us!” Zoey eagerly pulls the usually anxious girl along with them, placing herself between the maknae and their dancer.

“Okay, this is our biggest show yet.”

“The most songs.”

“The most notes.”

”The most moves.”

”Which means the most carb loading.”

”For the fans!”

Hastily grabbing a couple of kimbap for herself, seeing as the three stuffs whatever they grab on the table. (Y/N) felt a bit envious that they eat and talk so comfortably with each other with food splattering out at time. Preferring to savour her food and not choke out of pure embarrassment.

Not that the girls would ever judge.

But that did allow her to send the plane attendants apologetic smiles and bows, for they have to clean up the mess.

’Apologies, I know how you feel.’

Though that didn’t stop the lady attendant to back away from them.

”Okay, time for our pre-game ramyeon!”

“Here you go (N/N), hope you don’t mind this flavour.” Mira hands her a ramyeon cup with her face and flavour on it. Feeling grateful for not being left out again she sends the tall girl a thankful thumbs up and smile.

”Happy fans, happy Honmoon!”

“Wait, there’s no water in these.”

As Rumi was asking the attendant for water, her ringtone began to go off. Seeing the caller ID she hastily answered.

“Hi, Bobby!”

"Yeah, hi! Um, what are you doing?"

"About to eat our pre-show ramyeon."

"Pre-show? What about the show-show?"

Finishing off her kimbap with a nervous gulp, (Y/N) smacked her own face out of pure shame.

'I should've known!'

Considering her position in HUNTR/X set by her mother and Celine, they pulled some strings and made her part of staff as strange mix of a producer, co-writer and manager along with Bobby. Difference was that she lived with them and had a hand in their music.

When it comes to music, she's the one to go to.

Whether it be making samples and demos, to finalising a few songs in their instrumentals and fixing up little details.

But for demons?

Its a different story...

As the girls were talking to Bobby (and greeting the fans that stole his phone for a few seconds), (Y/N) just stared at the staff with them. Looking closer now, it was obvious they were demons.

I mean...

Pouring coffee in a plant, randomly observing a spoon like it was an art piece and not to mention spinning hotteok like a wheel instead of eating it? Need she say more?

The girls seemed to fully realise what was up as they disappointedly glared at them. Groaning about not finishing their food.

"I didn't even get to finish my ramyeon!"

"Why do they always interrupt our snacking?"

"(Garbled) They will face my wrath!"

"(Whispered) Zoey, make sure not to choke, please."

Rumi confronted the demons with a board expression, obviously pointing out their strange behaviours and spotting patterns along their arms. Stepping on ones foot fully revealed their colourful and abnormal real forms.

"Oh, you got the patterns. Now you gotta die."

Taking a step behind the girls to let them deal with the demons verbally, (Y/N) took all of their cups and skidded past everyone making sure to avoid the confrontation.

"Not our fans."

"When you mess with our fans..."

"We need to make it hurt."

"Ugh, you came at a bad time"

"But you just crossed the line"

"You wanna get wild?"

"Okay, I'll show you wild!"

Twirling around and holding down the demons while beating them hand-to-hand, unphased as they begun to sing their song. Heating up the kettle and passing it to Mira to further beat down a demon into a seat.

The large demons shadow towered over (Y/N), planning to strike the fourth down without hesitation. But her (f/c) and gold eyes saw it him first. Ducking underneath his arm and quickly pouring the hot water in her and Mira's cups before throwing the kettle and the hamburger flavoured cup for Zoey.

Beating down the leaping demons while pouring for herself and Rumi with no sweat.

Manoeuvring through the thrown around demons with her cup in hand, (Y/N) avoided the touch of any demon.

Its not like she could do much anyway.

Though before digging into to their ramyeon, they had something to finish off.

"Knocking you out like a lullaby~"

"Hear that sound ringing in your mind~"

Threads of blues and whites swerve around each of the girls, forming into unique shined weapons in hand. Daggers for Zoey, a spear for Mira and a sword of Rumi.

But the threads around (Y/N) came around and formed into a glowing blue and purple parasol. Emitting rays of light that make the demons freeze when touched.

"Better sit down for the show"

"'Cause I'm gonna show you how it's done, done, done"

Slicing and dicing the demons that dare to come their way. Eagerness writhing on their faces as they slice down the demons. All the while, (Y/N) hums and adlibs through the song. Each line and twist of the parasol emitted a ray of light.

Glancing around at the girls, adoration and fun filled their expressions. Moving like lightning speed and the highlighting colours of their blades faster than usual and bodies consumed by calmness and beauty.

"Run, run, we run the town"

"Whole world playin' our sound"

"Turnin' up, it's goin' down"

"Huntrix show this, how it's done, done, done"

Interrupting their little beating, the aircraft shook as the lights flickered off. Quickly making sure their ramyeon wasn't ruined and in hand, they looked outside to see flying pieces of the plane with the demons on them.

"Yeah, this plane's trashed."

Slurping up their noodles and downing the soup with a sigh of relief-with no hesitation, the four of them dropped out of the plane at lighting speed. (Parasol still in hand but closed)

”Won either way, we're one in a million“

“We killin', we bring it, you want it? Okay”

Catching up with the escaped demons, landing on them as they fixed up some makeup and appearances. Pulling out of her pocket gulped down a pill of sorts with a bottle of water she somehow managed to down while falling.

“Heels, nails, blade, mascara”

“Fit check for my napalm era”

“Need to beat my face, make it cute and savage”

“Mirror, mirror on my phone, who's the baddest? (Us, hello?)“

Approaching closer to the stadium, the three hunters rocket towards the centre stage in glowing blue light. (Y/N) diverges from their path and opens her parasol, encasing her body with a mix of blue and lavender petals. Finding herself backstage with many stage crew members and staff running about.

A spare microphone lazily placed on a spare speaker, she takes it away and runs to the sound guys by the controls.

“It’s showtime! Run it from 1:57 but make sure to keep the backing track. We need blue lights pointing in from the back of the roof top the stage coming from the sky.”

Nodding along with her instructions as they swiftly get to work. One worker handing her three other microphones as she runs towards the edge of the stage.

Spotting the three demons in the centre and the large shadows of the girls in the smoke screen,

”Knocking you out Iike a lullaby”

”Hear that sound ringing in your mind”

”Better sit down for the show”

”Cause I’m gonna show you (I’m gonna show you~)”

”(I’m gonna show you~) How it’s done-done-done”

Striking down the demons (Y/N) hastily threw the mics to the girls that they caught effortlessly. Mira even smirking at her as they continue their song.

”I don’t talk, but I bite, full of venom (Uh)”

”Spittin’ facts, you know that’s”

”Okay, like, I know I ramble”

”But when shootin’ my words, I go Rambo”

”Took blood, sweat, and tears, to look natural (Uh)”

”That’s how its done-done-done”

Hiding behind near the supposed makeup room, (Y/N) tightly holds the mic and listeners carefully to the backing track and counts the time until its just her and Rumi.

“Hear our voice unwavering”

”Til our song defeats the night”

”Makin’ fear afraid to breathe”

”Til the dark meets the light~ (how its done-done-done)”

Pushing her vocals to its highest as she meets with Rumi’s high note. Continuing to belt and echo the chorus through towards the end.

“HUNTR/X don’t miss, how its done-done-done~”

‘One down, many others to go…’

————————————————————

Edit: WHERE R U PEOPLE COMING FRKM? Genuinely curious, but thank you so much for loving this idea I had! Also first time trying a tag list

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna

[yunalinwrites]

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

[pork-pop]

DON’T MAKE ME BEG FOR YOU!

✧ the girl of his dreams is throwing him a bone…is he feigning nonchalance or acting a fool?!

contains: gojo, geto, nanami || cw: p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f. receiving), like a hint of hair pulling for suguru, mentions of masturbation || wc: 1.7k~

✧ a/n: i am half asleep right now if there’s a typo just come to my home and take me out before i wake up! cheers. srry nanami’s ended up kinda shorter than the others oopsie daisy.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!

SATORU GOJO

acting a fool is an understatement

Satoru is terrible at the art of subtlety, and to most, making one’s intentions blatantly clear to the person they’re interested in might seem mortifying. But that’s been Satoru’s goal since the start. Those lingering touches, the flirtatious glances and suggestive comments were all done in stride, after all, he takes pride in the fact that he’s getting what he wants. You, however, have been the hardest shell to crack. So, naturally, he’s utterly whipped. 

He can hardly believe his luck when you choose to reciprocate after months of cat and mouse, and he has no choice but to lay out all of his chips and double down. 

For someone who was raised to be a gentleman, he sure does know how to get your clothes on the floor without any manners at all. As soon as you’re blessing him, deepening the kiss, his wandering hands are tugging at your blouse for permission to show you how much he’ll work for it. 

“Isn’t this a treat?” He pants humorously between thrusts, fucking into you like he’ll know he’ll find the answers to all of his intrusive questions regarding you if he just gets an inch or two deeper. Satoru hisses as you tighten around him, “You gonna keep talking or are you gonna fuck me harder?” you snicker. And you should know that there’s nothing Satoru loves more than a good challenge; getting you like this wasn’t the challenge he’d most anticipated, no, it was making you crave it just as much as he did. 

“Is that an invitation?” He asks, a big grin twisting at the corners of his lips while he inches a hand down to thumb teasingly at your clit, “You know, I’ve been thinking about you saying that for a while now, don’t you?” In spite of his stamina, Satoru’s breath is ragged and shaky, could it be that he was even a bit…nervous? You didn’t have the time to put much thought into it before his hips speed up, knocking every one of those pretty suspicions out of your head for the time being. Your eyes roll back and you swear you can hear a triumphant little huff of a laugh from him as he takes that as inspiration to roughen the circles he’s drawing against your clit. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you’d sound like when you cum, too,” he admits without a shred of shame, nosing into the tender column of your throat so you can hear him better, “Can I hear?” “Fuck!” Is all you can manage through a strangled cry, clawing at the shifting muscles of his back in a futile attempt to ground yourself. “C’mon, I can tell you’re getting close,” he rasps madly, “I wanna hear you.” He begs, suddenly licking a greedy stripe along the dampened skin of your neck. 

And who are you to deny him? You cry out a declaration of your sudden orgasm, features squeezed and mouth parted as you struggle to catch your breath. Satoru stares at you with widened eyes, and a stuttered breath, “Hah-...” He hadn’t even realized how close he’d been getting to spilling inside you, but welcomed the overwhelming feeling with open arms. He could go for five more rounds if you’d let him, anyways. 

God, this must be what it’s like to hit the jackpot. 

SUGURU GETO

nonchalant (acting a fool)

Suguru can’t lie to himself and pretend like he hadn’t imagined this scenario too many times to count before, usually as a desperate last resort when he’d found he can’t imagine getting off to anything other than the thought of you at a certain point. He’s sure that he’s a better man than this, and he’d certainly tried to be courteous and discrete about the way you make him feel, shying away from the line he’s been dreaming to cross. 

But now, sitting up on the mattress and unable to tear his eyes away from your tits, he realizes that he’d been overshooting the strength of his own resolve. Suguru surges forward, taking one in his mouth as he guides you up and down his length, doing anything he can to prove he’s still being normal about this. Fuck it. 

“Fuck,”  he moans against your chest, “wait a minute-...” You still your movements, tilting your head curiously at him as he swallows breathlessly, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” He quickly reassures with a shake of his head, gently squeezing at your hips to punctuate the promise, “God, nothing’s wrong at all, I just need-...let me eat you out. Please?” You blink at him in surprise, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Huh?” 

“Seriously, I-...” He shakes his head, gazing up at you like you’re the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen, “it’s all I’ve been thinking about.” 

During those moments in the past in which he found himself fucking his fist to the thought of you, he only ever found himself relishing in the idea of burying himself between your legs and making careful sure that the only thing you’d be capable of saying was his name. The both of you had been too hasty in the wake of realizing your feelings were reciprocated, too desperate to give each other everything you’d been dreaming of. It feels like the heavens have opened up before him as you slip off of his lap, letting him situate you against the pillows. 

Suguru’s methodic in the way he trails warm kisses down your body, stopping to suck a mark into your hip, but he can’t tease for too long, not when he probably wants to get you off on his tongue more than you want it (which is saying a lot). 

He kisses your bare cunt gratefully, before dragging his tongue against your entrance, eyelids already going heavy as he slips into a euphoric trance. Suguru tries his very hardest to keen on every noise you make, every cry of his name, but it’s hard to do that when he’s getting so drunk off the flavor of you. He’s suddenly starved, devouring you completely, too far gone to be embarrassed of the way he shakes his head against your pussy or moans just as loud as you do. 

Geto’s suspicions had been utterly correct. While he’s been eager to have you like he did moments before, to feel you wrap around him and to fuck up into you with calculated thrusts, this definitely takes the cake. He grows dizzy off your scent, grinding against the mattress to prevent himself from further losing his mind over the prospect of what he’s doing right now. 

You lace your hands through his hair, pulling at it as he brings you closer to the edge. This is all he needs, he thinks, he can easily be fine spending the rest of his life like this. Suguru wants to prove that much over and over again to you, and he won’t hesitate if you’ll let him. “You’re perfect.” He mumbles against your cunt, and he’s partially glad you’re too far gone to hear some of the pathetic remarks he’s uttering, “Need this so bad.”

Yeah, good luck hopping back on his dick anytime soon now that he knows he was right about how addicting you’d be. 

KENTO NANAMI

nonchalant by a thread

It’s easy for Kento to have steel-grade self control when you’re fully clothed and the conversation is tame. But when clothes are taken out of the equation, well, that’s a different story. That being said, he won’t forget his manners. 

You’re in a tender mating press, smiling softly at the sweet kisses Nanami keeps peppering across your face, and occasionally one to your lips. He briefly wonders why he ever thought it was a good idea to hesitate in taking the initiative to have you laid out against his pillows like this, moaning his name almost as if you knew how much that chipped away at his own self-preservation. You’re dangerously close to getting him to embarrass himself. 

“Do you like this?” He breathes against the shell of your ear as his pace speeds up a bit, knocking the wind out of you. Regardless, you nod, hardly able to wrap your lips around anything other than the shape of his name. Kento bites his lip, fighting the urge to go even faster. This was your first time together, after all, he’d be mad not to cherish it like something fleeting and sacred. He wants more, he wants this all the time, and he’s so close to begging you for it. In some last attempt of self-preservation, he utters, “You feel amazing,” almost choking on his breath after the fact. 

“Fuck, keep doing that.” You cry out, throwing your head back to give him a clear view of your throat that he so desperately wishes to mark up. He almost asked what you meant, before he peers down, realizing he’d mindlessly begun rubbing circles into your clit. Kento feels like he’s getting ahead of himself, yet not doing enough at the same time; this feeling is so foreign and overwhelming, but he’s falling in love with it. 

Following your orders, he continues his steady pace on your clit, mouth going dry as you tell him how close you are. Yes, please, that’s all I want to hear. 

“Please,” he murmurs in a gravelly voice, not realizing he’d started voicing his own thoughts, “cum for me.” Nanami is certain he’s going to lose control any moment, and he’s sure that you cumming around his cock is not going to help him at all in his hope to still be a gentleman to you. It’s alright, though, he thinks. If he’s going to embarrass himself, lose all resolve and allow himself to drown in this simple pleasure, Kento doesn’t think he’d want to do it with anyone else but you.

[fragranticareviewers]

As someone who doesn't know a thing about perfumes, reading what you have to say about them is so unbelievably cool!

If I may ask something, what would a magical girl use, but not the pink main one, maybe the orange/yellow one?

ive been sitting with this for a little bit rotating it in my head... this will be a long one

so im putting my answers into two different categories:

one is for the Orange Magical Girl Archetype, which is how i was thinking of the first one. in my head, the orange ones are usually sporty, energetic, and have a sun or fire theme going on, while still maintaining a lot of that youthful sparkly fun vibe. (i also personally associate them with citrus, because, well, orange) so i was thinking of that. this will be my first category of answers.

olympea solar by rabanne - yummy! white florals and mandarin orange.

h&m sunray - golden warmth by h&m - straight up smells like summer. sunscreen, coconut, slightly floral?

orange ice cream by colornoise - i have no idea if this one is good or not to be honest. but it looks like it should fit. i trust it. i believe in it.

dr. botica poção da criatividade by o boticário - ok pause. i have never seen this mentioned before by anyone and found it by accident. what is this. this is ridiculously cute. how do i get my hands on it? the bottle is so cute! it has a star for god's sake

sundrunk by imaginary authors - "oh noo it's so linear" "it doesn't smell like a city on fire or bull's blood" i don't care. smells like artificial orange flavoring followed by neroli. yummy

...so this was my first thought.

then i started thinking: what about the actual orange magical girls from things i've watched? what do i associate with them?

and then i realized: WHERE ARE ALL THE ORANGE MAGICAL GIRLS?? i can think of, like, 5 total! all of them have completely different personalities! everyone's always like "ohh toei hates making green magical girls, we're starving, please feed us more green magical girls please" as if there is not currently a CRISIS of MAGICAL GIRLS WHO WEAR ORANGE in their series even greater than this...

with that said: the 5 magical girls i can think of who are primarily orange all have completely different associations for me, so i figured it'd be fun to pick a perfume or two for each of them.

cure soleil from star twinkle precure - i think they technically classify her as yellow so she might not even count. that's stupid. she's orange. being blonde does not change the color of her outfit.

for her, i pick aqua allegoria nettare di sole by guerlain. it has solar notes, which are critical for her IMO, along with beautiful white florals, which i think matches with her association with flowers.

hazuki from ojamajo doremi - ah, i'm struggling with this a bit.. she's very shy, naive, and studious, with an interest in things like violin and ballet. i was hoping i could find something with maybe a light varnish accord, but no luck. instead, i looked for things with an old book/paper smell without being overly dark or old, and i'm stuck between these 2...

gion by fantome - powdery rose tea with honey and books. light and cute.

morning room by solstice scents - you thought i was gonna do a recommendation post without mentioning solstice scents huh? huh?? *beats you up* this is another powdery and light floral, this time mostly based on violet instead of rose. and, of course, there's a paper note in here.

cure sunny from smile precure - i'm realizing that, in my head, she is the prototypical orange magical girl. i may be biased because she's also my favorite. i want to find something that evokes fire without being overly smoky or autumnal.

beach bonfire by alchemic muse - a firey gourmand with a little bit of nice sandalwood and amber, nice!

fire opal (orange 2; natural) by dsh perfumes - planning on getting a sample of this. bitter orange that people are complaining is "too masculine"

sailor venus from sailor moon - oh god. is she orange? anyways, i think i'd associate her with like, makeup accords, like the way lipstick smells. but fun and silly. it'd be cool if i could find a light and fun fragrance with a hot iron accord because she has a chain attack and all that, but no such thing seems to exist

iris crush by jimmy choo - powdery floral lipstick. yay!

nagisa momoe from puella magi madoka magica - is this even a question?

cheesecake by arcana wildcraft.

anyways, to be transparent, a lot of the time i don't answer fandom/character requests because it's always things i've never watched/read/played/etc. before. but mahou shoujo... well i've heard of it

[simpforrooster]

i fucking knew it.

aaron hotchner x f!reader

summary: you and aaron have secretly been dating for a while—and the team is starting to suspect it.

t/w: 18+. MDNI. light smut (plz don’t come for me, it was my first time writing something like it), a mention of an age-gap, some cursing, mentions of criminals. i don’t think there is too much gender identifying language, but i did imagine a female while writing.

a/n: i had no idea where this one was gonna go. i hope you enjoy!!

aaron hotchner catches your gaze over the manila folder he’s holding. to the average person, they wouldn’t think twice about this action.

but, you know better.

his eyes hold yours for a few seconds longer, before he resumes reading the details of the case.

the lowlights of the jet’s interior mask the flush that’s appeared on your cheeks. hotch feigns a stretch, his shoe tapping yours slightly as he crosses his leg.

“sorry,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off the folder.

you wave him off, knowing your voice would betray you.

i saw that, your phone buzzes with a text from jj.

it was an accident, you reply.

yeah right, emily shares.

what! what’s happening? gosh, i hate that i’m stuck in the lair, penelope adds.

hotch smirks at his folder, affirming he knows exactly why your phone is blowing up.

the two of you have managed to keep your relationship under wraps for the past couple of months, but the girls have started to suspect something. rossi too, but you can’t be certain.

aaron caught your eye as soon as you started at the bau. you’d learn that you’d caught his almost instantly. but he was your boss, and there was the age difference.

several late nights of him helping you with your reports and chinese takeout, you fell for one another.

oh, nothing. just hotch thinking he’s being subtle, jj tells penelope.

~

“three rooms?” hotch asks the tired man behind the desk.

“take it or leave it, man. it’s 2 am,” the clerk says on a yawn.

“i call reid and rossi!” derek sticks his hand in the air. emily reaches out to jj’s arm and pulls her into her side.

rossi shakes his head and exchanges a look with aaron. “which one of you boys are sleeping on the floor?”

hotch looks at you apologetically, but you see the underlying want behind those brown eyes.

“i guess that leaves us,” hotch murmurs to his bag, trying to remain unbothered. he grabs your duffle and starts toward the elevator.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

one bedroom trope! emily sends to the group.

epee! penelope replies.

he grabbed her bag, pen! jj shares.

aaron has never once carried anyone’s bag to a hotel room. his gaze catches yours over his shoulder telling you he realizes the implications. his stoic expression returns as you all enter the elevator.

~

the girls, reid, morgan, and rossi get off at the third floor, leaving you and aaron in the elevator alone. not before jj shoots you a wink. hotch visibly relaxes, and gives you one of those smiles he reserves only for you and jack.

"we're on another floor? that's really going to set the girls off," you comment. aaron shrugs like the duffle bag gave it all away and yall should just fuck the secrecy. he takes a step closer to you. back-to-back cases have kept the two of you from any quality time that wasn't outside of a police precinct and the tension radiates off him.

aaron leads you down the hall once the elevator doors open on the fourth floor. his giant hand engulfs yours, and you can't wait to get into the room.

"this is us," he gestures toward the door. dropping your hand, he pulls the keycard from his pocket. swiping y'all in, he pulls you into the room.

as soon as the door closes behind you, you're being pushed against it.

"god, I've been dying to get my hands on your for days," hotch groans against your mouth. you answer him with a small moan you tried to keep in.

you push his suit jacket off his shoulders, then grip his tie. using his tie, you pull him completely flush against you. his tall body is all over you. there is no spot where his body isn't touching yours.

“tell the criminals to take a break,” you breathe. “you almost blew it at the precinct in the last case.”

aaron moves his kisses along the side of your neck. “that officer was getting a little too friendly with you.”

“but a couple hair flips had him on our side, yeah?” you’re breathless with the work aaron is making of your neck. at the mention of your harmless flirting, his arms tighten possessively around you. his mouth moves lower along your collarbone, sucking lightly. he’s learned where most of your shirt collars lie so he can hide the marks he leaves on you.

aaron pulls you from the door, kissing you like you’re his lifeline. he walks you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. “no more work talk, baby,” he says against your mouth. heat pulls in your lower belly at the pet name and a sigh escapes.

the first time aaron called you anything but your last name, you could have climbed him right then. he still uses your last name, or just agent, in the field, but it’s softer than it used to be.

as aaron pushes you back on the bed, you make quick work removing his tie and dress shirt. the white shirt he wears underneath pulls across his chest. your arms move over his biceps reveling in just how nice they are.

“you like what you see?” aaron smirks, his hand slipping under your top.

you answer him with a hand on his chin, guiding him to your lips. “always,” you breathe.

he smiles against your lips. “why don’t we get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling your top off and throwing it to the other side of the room. you’re pretty sure it lands on the lamp. this earns a laugh. aaron checks over his shoulder and chuckles along with you.

“i told you, i need to get my hands on you.” he reaches behind you, unclasping your bra. which follows the same trajectory as your shirt.

“hmm, this isn’t quite fair,” you murmur. you push aaron back until you’re sitting up in his lap. your thighs settle on either side of his, and his hands fall to them, giving them a light squeeze.

“tell me.”

“you still have your shirt on,” you tell him, running your hands along his chest. aaron reaches back with one hand and pulls the undershirt from his body. it’s so insanely sexy, your mouth drops open. how is this guy real?

aaron chuckles again. “you never cease to amaze me.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re practically an adonis.”

he rolls his eyes and pulls you flush against him. “you’re talkative tonight.” he presses a kiss under your ear. you crane your neck to give him more access.

“i always talk a lot when i’m nervous,” you admit. truthfully, there is nothing to be nervous about. you and aaron have slept together plenty of times since you’ve gotten together. this is, however, the first time while you’re on a case.

aaron pulls back and studies your face. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, baby.” his brown eyes search yours. the want in his is palpable. you’re certain the same is reflected in yours. your hands knot in his hair and you guide his mouth to yours.

“no, i want to. i need to,” you say, rolling your hips into his, his erection has your cheeks flushing. “i just still can’t believe it’s happening. you and me,” you admit.

aaron kisses you. it’s full of wanting and urgency, as if he’s afraid you’re going to disappear right beneath his fingertips.

“you and me were destined the moment i laid eyes on you,” he says, laying you back and settling between your legs.

~

the next morning, there is just enough time to grab some continental breakfast before meeting the local pd. normally, you don’t like to waste time on something as menial as breakfast, especially with a serial killer on the loose, but you and aaron had a lot of time to make up for and you’d built up quite the appetite.

you left aaron with a chaste kiss on his cheek in the room, before joining everyone in the lobby sans duffle.

“well, you’re glowing,” jj comments as you join her and emily at the table. derek turns from where he’s sitting with rossi and reid. “what’s that?”

emily points to you with her fork. “look at her. a literal ray of sunshine.”

“she looks normal to me,” reid comments. “if not a little worn down. are you feeling okay, y/l/n?” your eyes fall closed, trying to keep your emotions regulated.

“that, reid, is post-coital bliss,” derek says.

“yall have no idea what you’re talking about,” you tell them, praying your cheeks haven’t turned pink, because they’re exactly right.

rossi jumps in to save you. “come on boys and girls. let’s not make claims of our unit chief breaking fraternization rules on a case unless we’re sure,” he chides. he gives you a knowing look. aaron has definitely let rossi know what’s been going on. hell, if you didn’t know any better, rossi was probably the one who pushed aaron to finally make a move. you shoot him a grateful look.

“who’s breaking fraternization rules?” a deep voice sounds from behind you. just the sound of his voice has you wanting to drag him back up to the room. “baby, you’ve got to have more than that,” aaron comments on your lone piece of toast.

your face jerks towards him at baby. aaron curses lightly under his breath. a rare slip up from mr. professional himself. he stands there with both your duffels in his hands, his shoulder slumped in defeat.

derek smacks the table, cause the front desk workers to look over. “i fucking knew it!!”

your head falls into your hands. aaron’s laugh reverberates through the lobby. his real, earnest laugh. “well, i did good for a while there, huh, babe?” he says to you. leaning back in your chair, you tilt your head back to see him. the grin on his face could cause world peace. it’s not everyday the team gets to see aaron’s real emotions.

“you did,” you agree. he leans down and places a quick kiss on your lips before walking over to the desk to turn the room keys in.

as you reface the girls, their eyes are sparkling.

“i fucking knew it,” emily echos derek under her breath.

masterlist.

[kaiasky]

on the one hand. yeah.

on the other hand I remember when I was maybe 12 the topic of assassinations of Iranian nuclear scientists came up at dinner w/ some family friends. (these friends are staunch pacifists so the context was presumably "god dammit, iran/israel, do not start a war")

& i remember being incensed like. science=good, scientist=non-millitary, the scientists are the good guys whoever killed them is evil. simple. fucking solved.

& yknow I think the family friend could have easily said hey kaia. do u know ANY facts about the Iranian nuclear program? about Iran or Israel in general?? no? ok shut up adults are speaking.

but to his enormous and eternal credit he was like ok kaia that may be right. are there any kinds of science that hurt people? If there was a scientist that was making a really bad disease and wanted to release it, would you call the cops on them? Ok what if they were making the disease for the cops to use so the cops said it was ok?

& idk, just generally works through baby's first introduction to "sometimes scientists are embroiled in the defense industry. and so while you're right that they're civilians I don't think we need to say that the side with the scientists is the good side, sadly. (and if you grow up to be a scientist you might need to decide what is the right way to do science.)"

ig the point is like? the internet is always gonna be a mix of people of different ages at different placed. for most of us, "we don't bomb people just because the government is bad" is pretty obvious. but for each person there was a first time hearing somebody make that case. whether that was in 1970 or 2004. & idk, yeah there are people who are old enough they ought to have got the message by now. but maybe they're newly ready to actually understand, etc.

idk. the curse of being right about shit is being condemned to explain it over and over forever. but that's just life

i kind of feel like if you take "don't bomb iran" as an endorsement of the iranian government, you're not intellectually ready to engage in conversations about real-world politics. Go talk about steven's universe instead

[strnilolover]

step brother!matts the type of guy to cum in/on your underwear and make sure you walk around with it all day or at least until he can get his hands on you again

⌗ . . . KEEP IT

WARNINGS : SMUT. MATT CUMMING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR.

you were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.

everyone else in the house had already left—your mom, stepdad, chris—every single one of them left to the family event already. you said you’d be right behind them, matt willing to drive you both in his car since neither of you were ready by the time they were all ready to go.

but instead you were fifteen minutes late.

your back was against your bed, shirt bunched up and bra pulled down, your tits on display. matt was between your legs on his knees—one hand holding the front of your panties down while the other helped glide his cock over your soaked pussy.

“fuuuck.” he groaned, rocking his hips forward again, the head of his cock rubbing against your clit. “god, you’re so fucking wet. bet you’d let me slide in all the way if we had time, hm?” he knew you would if you didn’t tell him to make it quick because you had to be somewhere.

“matt please.” you whined, bucking your hips up to grind against him. and he grunted—more like a growl through his clenched teeth. “y’not not even touching me.” you whispered breathlessly, even you were shocked at how good this felt. at how wet and turned on you were.

“don’t need to.” he murmured. “you’re gonna cum just like this if i keep going. and I’m gonna make such a fuckin’ mess in these cute panties of yours baby.” and you whimpered his name again, quieter this time, trying not to move too much.

his hips rutted faster, messier. “gonna make you wear it out. my cum all in these pretty little panties. gonna sit through dinner, thinking ‘bout me.”

you gasped at that, your walls clenching down nothing at the thought of just sitting around everyone with his cum nestled between your thighs. it was so dirty—but fuck did you love it.

his cock slid over your pussy more, the pleasure making your back arch as he kept rutting right against your clit. matt moaned low and guttural as he jerked his hips a few more times, cussing under his breath and whispering about how good your pussy felt even if he wasn’t inside of you.

it wasn’t long before he was cumming right on your folds—thick spurts spilling over your clit and running down and soaking the fabric of your underwear.

your body shivered when you felt it, a whimper leaving your lips as his hips began to slow. matt panted above you, his eyes fluttering shut before he leaned back and looked between your bodies with a proud little smirk. but you weren’t wearing a similar expression—you started to pout. he didn’t let you cum. you were right there, so fucking close to the edge, and he stopped once he was done.

“don’t change.” and you stared at him wide eyed. your pouty expression faltering slightly. you didn’t think he actually meant it—you thought it was just dirty talk—a heat of the moment kind of thing. he saw the way your face looked and smirked. “i mean it. pull your panties back up, baby. let it stay there.”

“matt..” you tried to protest, but by the look on his face you knew he wasn’t gonna budge. and he made it more clear when he spoke again. “i said wear it.” and you felt your cheeks burn. but you did it. with trembling fingers, you shifted your body and tugged your panties back into place. you could feel the warmth of him still pressed into the fabric, and you flinched at the feeling.

matt smiled at you, his hand coming down to give a few pats to your thigh before moving his body off the bed to finish getting ready.

“good girl. now c’mon, don’t wanna keep everyone waiting any longer. get dressed and later i’ll finally let you cum, yeah?”

a/n : i fear this is hot and i need this to happen to me rn 🥰

[breakmeoff]

Makin' Sweet Music

featuring: bang chan x fem!reader warnings: swearing, smut: oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, breeding kink, usage of "daddy" and "babygirl". MDNI, 18+ only* word count: 2.7k synopsis: chan swears he's almost done, but he also said that over an hour ago. you get bored waiting for him on the couch and decide to encourage him to give up working for a little play time. note: this is part of the Larie's Libations 200 Followers Celebration. this was requested by my gorg anon reader 🪩, whose selection is listed below. thank you for reading! LARIE'S LIBATIONS - Dark Bourbon Sunrise [Bourbon] — Bang Chan [Sours] — Dealer's Choice (Music Studio) [Citrus Rind] — Kink (Breeding) Masterlist

Fully reclined on the plush couch just behind Chan, you burrowed into the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from him and were aimlessly scrolling through your socials.  Eventually, you dramatically sighed, dropped your phone onto your chest and blew raspberries into the void above you.  “Channie… are you almost done?”

With his eyes glued in on the monitor ahead of him, fingers manipulating the various buttons around him while adjusting the sound of a particular mix he was working on, he heard you behind him and just smirked.  Your patience had never been a strong suit, but he loved you despite the shortcoming.

“Babygirl getting a little impatient?,” he mused, not turning around to face you.

“No…” you murmured quietly, trying not to acknowledge that you were being a brat.  But, after a few seconds of silence, you pouted audibly.  “Ok, fine, I’m bored!  The others left hours ago and I know you are a musical genius but you don’t seem to have made any headway since.”

Spinning around in his chair to face you, he dropped his jaw and stared at you in faux aghast.  “This coming from the woman who begged to come up and watch me work tonight!”  Rolling closer to you from his chair, he leaned over you slightly with an impish grin.  “Something about ‘Oh Channie… you’re so sexy when you’re in the studio,’” he said in a mockingly feminine voice.

Sitting up, you reached out to swat at him playfully.  “I do not sound like that!”  

Laughing, he reached forward at both of the long sleeves of his hoodie, your hands hidden somewhere beneath the fabric, and tugged you forward.  Attempting to dig your heels into the ground below so he couldn’t pull you, you shrieked playfully and were no match for him when he was determined.

Once on your feet and standing above him, he wrapped his arms around your waist and tipped his head to look up at you, a devilish expression on his face.  “Maybe I just need some better inspiration…”

“Oh?”  You laughed dryly, looking down at him with a smirk.  

Chan nodded his head, his eyes still affixed on your face.  “Uh huh…,” his broad hands sliding from around your waist to rest lightly on your hips before tucking his fingers into the baggy hem of his hoodie, starting to slowly inch it up your body.

“I really don’t think you’re gonna find any inspiration in your hoodie, baby…” you teased, hands gently resting on his shoulders.

“Maybe not in it, but definitely under it…” he replied, pushing the oversized sweatshirt just over your chest, still wearing a tank top beneath it, and his large palms went to both of your breasts, groping them with gentle fingers as he still kept his eyes on your face.

Truth be told, you never really got anything out of him playing with your tits.  It’s not like they hurt, no, but unlike some women they just didn’t do anything for you.  So, you shook your head slowly, that same grin still on your lips as you looked between his hands and his eyes.  “You do realize you get more out of the fun bags than I do, right?”

Groaning playfully, Chan leaned forward to rest his head on your sternum right between the valley of your breasts, hands still clutched onto them.  “I know… and it’s so disappointing.”  He barely leaned back, just enough to look from one breast to the other in close proximity.  “They’re just so big and beautiful and perfect and…” he sighed wistfully, placing a kiss to each one of them respectively.  

“Pathetic…” you laughed at his response, shaking your head teasingly before you placed both hands on his cheeks and tipped his head back again.  “Good thing I like you this way.”

Chan parted his lips like he was going to protest your statement, but you cut him off, leaning down to kiss him softly.  Affectionately taking your time, melting your lips against his full, plush tiers, you leaned your body further into his, his fingers falling back down to your hips.

Soon enough, the tip of your tongue traced his lips, coaxing them apart to explore his mouth further, humming appreciatively against him with your eyes closed.  One of your hands fell from his face and began sliding down his shoulder, over the front of his chest, past his taut abdomen, and landed right on top of his semi-hard erection beneath his black sweatpants.

A low groan rumbled through his chest, lips parting in an exhale at the feeling of your hand now starting to rub over him, his fingertips digging a bit more into your hips.

The tip of your tongue flicked at his lower lip before lightly catching it between your teeth, giving it a gentle tug before you slowly sunk to your knees before him.  “Think I may have figured out a way to cure my boredom…” Chan’s eyes opened, half-lidded, watching you reach for the waistband of his sweats.  “Lift…”

“Fuck,” he mumbled, lifting his hips quickly at your command, and watched you tug down his pants and his boxerbriefs in one fell swoop, leaving them to rest on his thighs but effectively releasing his cock, swelling by the second.  

Nudging his knees apart, you scooted closer between them and bent down to press a soft, chaste kiss to the flushed red tip of his head, already starting to leak for you.  Chris’ eyes stayed on your face, one hand gripping onto the arm rest of the chair and the other moved to brush your hair behind your ears.

Moving down to the base of his dick, you licked a long, flat stripe up the underside of his shaft.  The tip of your tongue first teased the sensitive area just below the head, eliciting a low moan from Chan, before licking your way back to the very top and lapping up his precum, swirling your tongue into this slit of his cock.  

“Babygirl…” he sighed, fingers gripping a little more firmly into your hair as you opened your mouth, lips wrapping around him and then sliding all the way down til your mouth met his pelvis and the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.  Both of your hands laid flat on his bare thighs, supporting yourself as you began a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his veiny dick in just the way you knew he liked.  

Chan’s thighs tensed under your hands, and he sucked in a breath between his teeth as he watched you masterfully take him into your mouth.  Lifting his hand from the armrest of the chair to meet his other behind your head, he made a makeshift ponytail with his palms and held your head in just the right angle to make his eyes roll back.  “Fuuuck, I’m not gonna last if you keep d-doin’ that…” 

Lifting your head and letting go of his cock with a wet pop, he groaned and you giggled, licking at some of the drool around your lips. “That’s the point, want you to lose control for me Daddy.”  Before he could reply, you dropped your lips back down his cock and hummed, the vibrations of your throat causing him to groan gutterally, hands holding your head in place as he twitched in your mouth.  “Fuckfuckfuck… stand up,” he breathed, coaxing your head back and off of him once again.  

Pulling your mouth off of him again, your lips flushed and red, you stared up at him, his hand still in your hair.  “Get up, get up…” he hurried you, pulling you into a standing position.  

“Now who’s getting impatient?”  You teased, getting back up to your feet.  Barely having time to catch your balance, Chris’ hands reached for your joggers and the waistband of your panties, tugging them both down frantically, letting you rest your weight onto his shoulders as he pulled them completely off of you, shoes and socks still on.  With a light giggle, you watched him rip your clothes off and toss them to the side, “looks like that would be you… not even giving me a chance to take off my damn shoes…”

Chan looked back up to your face, his hands going to the armrest of his chair and flipped them up before he reached forward, grabbing your ass cheeks in both his hands and pulled you up against him.  “C’mere and let me fuck that smartass attitude out of you.”

With a wicked grin of your own, teeth catching your lower lip between them you nodded as you moved to straddle his lap.  “Anything Daddy wants…”  With one hand on his shoulder, bracing yourself, you dropped your other hand to his cock and lined it up with your entrance before slowly lowering yourself down on top of him.

Once he was fully settled inside of you, you both sighed out at the feeling - him being consumed by your soft warmth, and you feeling the delicious stretch that only he could provide.  Chris’ hands moved to the hem of your tank and the hoodie that was still on you, tugging them both off in one swift motion, dropping them onto the growing pile of clothes nearby.

Returning his big, veiny hands back to your ass cheeks, he gripped roughly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he began rocking you against his lap.  “Fuck Channie…” you murmured, eyebrows furrowing and mouth parting with the new sensations the grinding was providing.

“Shit, your pussy is so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, leaning forward enough to crash his lips against yours again.  Tilting your head, you deepened the frantic kiss, a mess of lips, teeth, tongues and heated breath.  “...fucking perfect,” he repeated against your lips, leaning back into the kiss.

You couldn’t help but whimper against his mouth, your feet now falling flat on the ground to give you some leverage to start bouncing up and down on top of him.  Even with the help of his strong hands guiding your movements, the position was providing a challenge.  

Grunting in frustration at not getting as deep as he wanted, Chris gripped your ass cheeks and pushed his muscular thighs into a standing position, you now wrapping your legs around his waist as he turned around and placed you on top of the sound board on his desk.  You winced, one of the buttons digging into your backside uncomfortably.  

Chan, noticing everything, pulled you closer to the edge of the desk and tucked his arms under your legs, providing him now an unobstructed view of your pink pussy and his thick cock sliding in and out of your slick.  “Shit… you look so fucking pretty like this.  Spread open for me, taking me like such a good girl,” he muttered, eyes raking up your body to your face.

Dropping one of your legs, he brought one of his hands to the side of your neck and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip as his hips began snapping against yours.  “God, give it to me…” you whispered, the tip of your tongue going to lick against his thumb.  With a deep growl, he slipped his thumb into your mouth and you instinctively began sucking on it lewdly as he fucked himself deep inside your cunt.

“So fucking good for me…” he mumbled, staring at your lips obsessively, his eyes hooded between the sensual image of you with his finger in your mouth and then back down to where your bodies met.  “Gonna fuckin’ fill this beautiful pussy up… you want that, Babygirl?  Daddy to stuff you full of his cock and his cum?”

“Yesss,” you muffled out, lips parting in a cry, the pace in which he was fucking you exquisite.  As he slowed the roll of his hips, you could feel every inch and vein of his cock against your velvety walls, and then as he slammed himself back in as deep as he could go with a groan, your eyes fluttered shut and you tipped your head back, his wet thumb dragging down the column of your neck.

“Moan for me baby, let me hear how bad you want me to fill you up,” he whispered low, leaning over you as he rocked his hips into you.

“Mmmmnhhh, Daddy… fucking I want it, I want it all,” you cried, unable to do much other than just take every long thrust he was giving you, rocking you into the desk below.  

Dropping his head with the feeling of your inner walls clenching around him, his hips began to falter.  “Gonna fuckin’ paint you full of my cum, stuff you so full of me… gonna give you so fucking much it’ll be dripping out of you for days… fuck, gonna make you ache for days and never let you forget who…” he slammed his hips against you, hard…

“owns”, another deep thrust… “this”, teasingly pulling out… “pussy. he groaned through gritted teeth, slamming back into you again, leaving himself there buried inside you.

“You do…” you cried, the grip of his hand around your throat tightening possessively, a tear pricking at your eyeline.  “You own it, Daddy… all yours…” 

Chan’s hand from your hip snaked between your bodies, quickly finding your clit and began rubbing tight, perfectly tempoed circles on it, causing your legs to start shaking.

“Ohmygod, I’m gonna…” you moaned, your hands trying to find purchase of anything stable on the table below you.

“Cum all over my cock, Babygirl.  Cum all over me and then I’m gonna make a fucking mess of your pretty cunt with my cum, stuff you full of me…” his words were filthy, and moaned against your neck as his fingers worked their magic on your clit.  

With one more harsh thrust of his hips, your body tensed and you gasped, reaching for him in any way you could, trying to hold on to him as your orgasm waved through your body, starting from the top of your head and washed all the way through to the tip of your toes.

Chris dropped his hand from your throat, and pulled his arm protectively around you, not letting you falter as you shook beneath him.  “I’ve got you Babygirl… cum all over me, I won’t let you go…” he cooed, eyes pinched shut as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm and tease your clit.

Finally, your muscles relaxed and you cried out a breath, moving one of your hands to stop his fingers at your clit.  “S’too much… too much Daddy…” 

Chan laughed and finally stopped teasing you, but dug both sets of his fingers bruisingly into your hips.  “Hold on tight Babygirl… Daddy’s turn now,” he grunted out, fucking into you relentlessly as he chased his own release, a thin sheen of sweat covering him with his efforts.  Two or three deep thrusts later, Chan stilled, buried to the hilt inside of you and he moaned sinfully, rolling his hips against you as he emptied every last drop of himself inside your fluttering walls.

A few moments later, both of you attempting to catch your breath, Chan leaned back from you just enough to look down at the creamy ring around his cock - the mixture of both of your releases creating a sticky mess between you.  With a heavy sigh, Chan slowly pulled himself out, mesmerized by the amount of white cum that was coating his dick, and was starting to leak out of you.

“Can’t let any of that.. go to waste…” he mumbled, finally pulling himself out of your warmth before his fingers went to your entrance, pushing his seed back inside you.  

With a wicked smirk, he began smearing any of the remaining cum all around your soaked and twitching pussy.  “I’ll never get tired of seeing you covered in me…”

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