#they wanted us gone again and again and again

[atisecnom]

NSFW alphabet ♡♡

Characters: The Hanks, AFAB!reader

Warning: uh sex

Summary: title is prettyyyyy self explanatory

A/N: sorry if this sucked I've been gone for soooo looooong

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

They're all suuuuper cuddly after sex. Well, they're cuddly no matter what, but it's extra when it comes to aftercare. They'll get you- and the other guys- whatever you need in a heartbeat. A bath, water, some food. And after allat, they just form a big cuddle pile and go to sleep with you in the middle.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Hank 1: His favorite body part on you would be your hands. He likes just the feel of them and the intimacy feeling of holding them while making love to you. His favorite body part on him would be the same as yours- his hands. For the same reasons too. The intimacy feeling.

Hank 2: His favorite body part on you would be your face. If that even counts 😭. He just thinks you're jaw-droppingly beautiful. Straight eye contact and everything during sex. His favorite body part on him would be his arms. They all got hellaaaaa muscle. And he know he looks good.

Hank 3: His favorite body part on you would be your ass. He doesn't care if it's fat, skinny, or in the middle; ass is ass. His favorite body part on him would be his dick. Let's be so fr 😭. And every moan that comes outta your mouth makes his ego inflate a little bit more.

Hank 4: His favorite body part on you would be your belly or your face. Your belly because he like the way it moves when you're have sex. He gives me the vibes that he loves himself a chubby woman. Your face for the same reason as Hank 2. His favorite body part on him would be his abs/torso. He's so proud of his abs, like why do you think he's out there rocking a crop top?

Hank 5: His favorite body part on you would be your boobs. If you asked him tho, he'd say your face because you're just that pretty. But it's your boobs. Like Hank 3 with ass, it doesn't matter if they're big, small, or in the middle- boobs are boobs. He just thinks they're pretty fr. And mesmerizing when they bounce. His favorite body part on him would be his hands. Like Hank 1, he just likes to grab onto yours and your body.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Hank 1: He will cum anywhere you want to. He asks before it happens where you would want him to and he just follows.

Hank 2: He loves your face, so if you let him, he'll either cum in your mouth or on your face. He cums like 10x harder when you let him. But yk if you say you want him to finish in a specific spot, he won't complain fr.

Hank 3: Practically begs you to let him cum inside you. He either cums in you or on your pussy.

Hank 4: He prefers to either cum on your belly or inside you. Again, he loves your belly soooo. He gets hard right over again when he sees his cum on your stomach.

Hank 5: Prefers to cum on your pussy. If he can pull out in time, which is a 3 out of 10 chance. And of course if he doesn't pull out in time, he comes inside.

And if they're wearing a condom, they are NOT pulling out for shit. Why bother yk?

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Hanks 2 and 3 have def stolen your underwear and used it to jerk off. Hank 3 has done it more than 2 but yk. Hanks 1, 4, and 5 don't have much secrets. Everything just comes out of the wazoo with them. #shameless. Hank 3 would totally tell you everythinggggg tho, but you haven't asked so he hasn't said nothing.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh they're experienced. They've been fucking since you came into the picture. #boyfriends. They know what they're doing, for sure. Don't even worry.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Hank 1: His favorite is cowgirl. He loooves seeing you on top.

Hank 2: Very vanilla, but he likes missionary.

Hank 3: His favorite is either doggystyle or cowgirl.

Hank 4: He likes mating press. He likes to be in ittttt.

Hank 5: Same as Hank 2, his favorites missionary.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

When are they NOT goofy? You best believe their borderline cringe vocabulary and jokes are being expressed during sex. They just like hearing your laugh being cut off by moans. Don't even get me started on Hank 3s dirty talk. It works, it turns you on, but a little part of you cringes everytime he talks. But it makes the experience better.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Hanks 1 and 3 have a bit of a bush down there. Hanks 2, 4, and 5 are almost clean shaven, they have a little happy trail.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It's kind of hard to be like candles and rose petals type of romantic because of their goofiness. But if you want candles and rose petals, they'll give it to you. They're always talking and praising you during sex. And the way they look at you with their pupils dilated too. Sex with the Hanks is a mix of romantic intimacy and goofy jokes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

They barely jerk off. Why look at a picture when the real things right there? But sometimes Hank 3 does- like I said before- using your underwear he stole.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hank 1: Praise, Neck kissing/licking

Hank 2: Eye contact, overstimulation (either you or him), Praise as well

Hank 3: Spanking, dirty talk, overstimulation, praise

Hank 4: Teasing/edging, begging, praise

Hank 5: Eye contact, praise, slight scratching, maybe a bit of breeding

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

They all prefer the bed, occasionally a couch. Just anywhere with cushion on it. The bed is the best place for then to take turns with you or have you take them all at once. The couch is good for one or two at a time. It's less moving room compared to the bed.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Hank 1: Dirty talk and teasing gets him going quiiiick. A little whisper in his ear and a hand trailing down his chest gets him hard immediately.

Hank 2: Almost the same as Hank 1, lightly touching him sensually gets him going. A low-cut shirt and anything that exposes your thighs also does the trick.

Hank 3: Everything gets this guy going. You can say "hi" and he's semi hard.

Hank 4: Any touch to his hips area turns him on. If Hank 3 is the easiest to turn on, Hank 4 is second on the list.

Hank 5: Short skirts and shorts turns him on. Hellaaaaaa stares but won't tell you he's hard. He just waits for you to do something.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

They will never hurt you in any shape, way, or form. Sorry to all you freaks, but they wouldn't be into BDSM or S&M. Most they would do is bondage. They also won't do degrading or anything like that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

They all prefer to give head than receive it (maybe sometimes giving and receiving at the same time yk). The best at giving head is Hank 3. He eats it like he's starving PLUS his hooked/big nose. Heaven. But they're all really dam good at it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Hank 1: His pace depends on the mood yk. Sometimes it's slow, sometimes he's fast. It also depends on if he's the only one inside you at the moment. If there's more than one dick inside of you, he's going slow. Don't want to overwork you.

Hank 2: He's a mix of both. He's slow and rough, if that makes sense. When he's close, he speeds up a bit. And if you finish before him, he goes slower, then gradually speeds up to his normal pace.

Hank 3: He's also a mix of both, but the opposite of Hank 2. He's rough and sensual. And if you finish before him, he doesn't go slower. Unless you literally cannot take it anymore. THEN, he'll go slower.

Hank 4: He's slow and rough too. He wants himself as deep as he can get in there. But it depends on how you want it. Like he asks you beforehand. If you want fast, he'll give you fast. If you want slow, he'll give you slow.

Hank 5: He's slow and sensual. Takes his time with you. When he's getting closer, he gets rougher but not faster. But if you beg for fast, he'll go faster. But not like Hank 3 kinda fast. Just a little bit faster.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

The only one open to quickies would be Hank 3 (obvi) and maybe, possibly Hank 4. The rest want to take their time, make it comfortable and sensual. Plus there isn't much quickie opportunities if you're inside all day. The bed/couch is right there, why are we in the bathroom? But after Realization and they're actual people and they're going out and about in public, Hank 3 and 4 are the only ones that would probably have quickies in like bathrooms.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Their whole persona is risk-taking. If you want to try something out and it doesn't involve pain in any way, they're willing to try it out. Like I said before, after Realization, there'll be more risk-taking opportunities. But before that, you're all cooped up in your house, alone. No risks there. Kinda sucks but yk.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Hank 1: He can last like 2 rounds, but he'd need a bit of a breather in between them. He lasts a pretty good time, doesn't cum too early or too late.

Hank 2: He can last like one round, MAYBE two if he has enough energy. He also lasts a pretty good time, but he cums earlier than Hank 1. But not like off-puttingly early.

Hank 3: He can last two-three rounds with breaks in between. He cums the earliest out of all of them but he makes his turn enjoyable don't even worry gang.

Hank 4: Same as Hank 2, can last one round, two if he has enough energy. Everybody thinks he lasts the most time but he's just prolonging his release as long as possible. Literally just edging himself everytime. 1, because he wants you to cum first. 2, because he likes the struggle of keeping it in.

Hank 5: If Hank 3 is the fastest to cum, Hank 5 is second in line. He can last one round before he's burnt out. But maybe if you give him a long enough time to recover, he can go again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

They have a couple cock rings and bullet vibrators, but that's it. And in the game, you obviously have some toys yourself. They use the toys on eachother, if they feel like it. But it's five guys plus you. There's enough stimulation and pleasure. Toys are useless. But hey if they feel like it and you agree, they might just use them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Hank 3 and 4 are the only ones into teasing. The others like to get to the point. Slowly, but they get there. Hank 4 likes teasing more than Hank 3 tho. Hank 4 actively chases that high everytime he's having sex. With anyone. Hank 3, tho, teases occasionally. He just likes the way you react to it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Hank 1: He grunts and moans. But he talks too. Like I said before, he's asking you if you're feeling okay. And his words come out all breathy and moan-y.

Hank 2: He let's out loud, shaky breaths. But sometimes he DOES moan. Sometimes. But it sounds so good everytime he does.

Hank 3: He does not stfu during sex. Dirty talk galoreeeee. Moans a lot too.

Hank 4: He also doesn't stfu during sex. Not much dirty talk, just regular talking. And hyping you and the other Hanks up. Moans a lot too.

Hank 5: Hes the loudest moaner out of all five. If he talks, it's all breathy and quiet. Lowkey high-key whimpers.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Most of the time, they prefer to have you all at once rather than one at a time. But again, depends on what you want and if everybody agrees.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Hank 1: He's the biggest of the 5, at 8.5 inches. He's a shower too. And he's thickkkkk.

Hank 2: He's the third biggest. He's about 7.5 inches in length and a little thick but not as thick as Hank 1. He's a grower. Soft, he's about 6 inches.

Hank 3: He's about 7 inches in length and he's not thick and he's not thin either. Right in the middle. And he has a vein going through the left side and to the middle.

Hank 4: He's the second biggest, at about 8 inches. Also a shower, and thick. Curves up a little.

Hank 5: He's the same length as Hank 3, but a wee bit thicker. It curves a bit to the right. And when he blushes, his tip gets a bit redder.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Hank 1: It's pretty normal, but it's more high than low. All of the Hanks have a pretty high sex drive. But out of all of them, he has the least. But it's still high.

Hank 2: It's pretty high. A little higher than Hank 1s.

Hank 3: The highest sex drive anybody has ever seen. If you want it every single night, he will give it to you every single night.

Hank 4: Second highest sex drive. Almost as high as Hank 3. He can just hide it better than Hank 3.

Hank 5: He's right in the middle. Not super high but not super low.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

After the aftercare, whatever it may be, they are spentttt. The form a cuddle pile with you in the middle and sleep. Hank 3 and 4 snore like dads bro. Good luck if you're a light sleeper. All the Hanks sleep like rocks. It takes an arm and a leg to wake them up. It's always Hank 1 and 4 on the bed, you're laying on top of both of them, Hank 2 on the left, Hank 3 on your right, and Hank 5 with his head on your lap/on your legs.

I haven't posted in a hot minuteeeee

Sorry if it sucked

I made this while watching a movie so I was lowkey distracted 💔💔😗

[piastriprincess]

sometimes all i think about is you  ⸻  oscar  piastri  x  reader  .

featuring  oscar  piastri  ,  roommate!au  ,  friends  to  lovers  ,  smut  ,  use  of  fahrenheit  (im  american  sorry deal  w  it) , unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it bbys !) word  count 4.2k author’s  note 18+  MDNI  !!!  once  again  (and  probably  every  time  i  write  smut)  i  will  say  i  have  no  excuse  for  this  one  .  if  oscar  piastri  doesn’t  want  me  to  write  smut  about  him  then  maybe  he  should  stop  posting  slutty  little  photos  where  he’s  all  tan  and  sweaty  !!  like  really  …  what  was  i  meant  to  do  with  that  .  anyway  let  me  know  what  you  think  ,  i  hope  you  all  enjoy  <3  title  is  from  heat  waves  by  glass  animals  !

You’re halfway through your research when you notice the silence. 

It’s not the comfortable, productive kind of quiet that tends to fall over the apartment while you work. This feels different. Ominous, even. Like there’s something you’ve gotten used to that’s suddenly gone missing. 

You sit up straighter in your chair, frowning down at your laptop as you blink sweat out of your eyes. The cursor blinks back at you like it knows something you don’t. The air feels off — heavier, a little more stagnant, pressing down on your skin. Something about it makes your stomach twist nervously.

You push back from your desk and open your bedroom door. Your roommate is exactly where you expected him to be: sprawled on the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs as he types relentlessly away at the coding project he’s been “almost done with” for the past two weeks. 

“Hey, Osc?”

He pulls out one AirPod, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he turns to look at you. You can hear his music even from your doorway, the house beats bumping through the tiny speaker. “What’s up?”

“Do you…” you pause, stepping fully into the living room. “Does it feel kinda hot in here to you?”

He presses up on his elbows, tilting his head slightly like he’s registering the temperature for the first time. “Yeah, actually. Weird.” He tosses his laptop on the coffee table, exchanges it for the air conditioner remote. When he points it at the unit and presses a button, nothing happens. 

Your eyes flick to the AC unit. There’s no air moving above it. No breeze blowing through the leaves of the plants you’ve stacked across the windowsill.  

Oscar tries again, pressing the buttons more frantically as you’ve ever seen him (which is to say, slightly harder than he did before). “It’s not working.”

“Shit,” you say, dread rising in your stomach. “You’re kidding.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, deadpan. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He doesn’t. He looks mildly concerned at best, cheeks flushed and sweat starting to dampen the hair at his temples, brow furrowing in that calm, clinical way of his. You can tell he’s already cycling through possible fixes in his mind; to him, this situation is just another puzzle to be solved, an amusing diversion to take up his afternoon.

You, on the other hand, are spiraling. 

“Oscar,” you say, words dripping off your tongue, “it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside. There’s been an extreme heat warning this entire week. I saw someone on TikTok this morning fry an egg on the sidewalk. And you’re telling me our AC is out?”

He points the clicker at the unit one more time for good measure. Nothing. Your chest tightens, as you glance down at your phone. 98º, the weather preview reads, next to a bright little sunshine icon. 98 degrees, and it’s barely 9 AM. 

“Oh god,” you whine, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead. It comes away damp. “Oh god, we’re gonna get heatstroke and die in this tiny shitty apartment.”

“Whoa. Okay. Don’t panic,” Oscar says softly, eyes wide, like he’s not quite sure what to do with the freaked-out version of you. He walks past you into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and handing it to you. “Drink this. I’m gonna check the breakers, yeah?”

He disappears down the hall to the fuse box, and you collapse onto the couch where he’d been laying. It’s still warm from his body heat, which somehow makes everything worse. You can already feel your hair sticking sweatily to the back of your neck. The water is lukewarm, but it helps a little.

Oscar’s back a few minutes later. “Did it work?” you ask hopefully, but he’s already shaking his head, holding his phone out to you. You can read the giant, size 128 font your super always uses in his emails from across the room: Building-wide HVAC outage. No ETA for repair. 

“Okay,” you say slowly as you sit up, trying to channel some of his calmness. “Okay, we can figure this out. Ice packs. Cold showers. We can handle this. It’s gonna be fine.”

He nods uncertainly. There’s sweat starting to bead at his hairline. “I think there’s a fan in the closet that the people who lived here before us left. I’ll grab it.”

When he returns, he’s carrying the fan under one arm, biceps flexed around the frame. It’s an old thing — white plastic going yellow at the edges, wide square cage locked around three dusty blades, power cable frayed from use.

“That thing looks like it’s going to electrocute you,” you say, eyebrows raised. 

He grins, plugging the cord into the wall. “C’mon, it adds character. Ready for sweet, sweet circulation?”

You scramble to the floor, sitting cross-legged directly in front of the fan. “Hit me, Piastri,” you say decidedly, and he flips the switch. 

The fan wheezes to life, sort of. The blades creak into motion like they’ve woken up from a decade-long nap, and it only takes a moment before the first gust of air hits your waiting face. 

Hot air.

“No,” you moan, and Oscar crouches next to you, hand in the corner of the frame like he’s trying to run his fingers through the breeze. “I thought this was gonna help. It feels like sitting in front of a fucking hair dryer.”

“Maybe it just needs a second to warm up?” he tries, but you’re already shaking your head. 

“It is warm. That’s the problem.”

He sighs and sits on the floor next to you, knee brushing against yours. The fan keeps pushing the stifling air at your faces, like it’s mocking you. “Verdict: the fan is shit.”

“The fan is worse than shit,” you groan, letting your head loll against his shoulder. You can feel his skin even through his shirt, warm beneath your cheek. “The fan is actively taunting us. The fan is betraying us.”

“Okay, drama queen,” he says fondly, pulling the cord out of the wall. The fan stutters to a stop and silence falls again, the air feeling even swampier than before. 

“We’ve got other ways to beat the heat,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself and you. “It’ll be fine.”

It’s absolutely, completely, one hundred percent not fine.

“This is hell,” you moan, fanning yourself with an old takeout menu. “Actual hell.”

Oscar swipes lazily at the menu, pulling it out of your hand. “Give me that.” He fans it at himself a few times, before letting it drop out of his hand with a groan. 

For a while, it had kind of felt like an adventure. The two of you had dragged your stuff into the living room, worked side by side with bags of frozen peas pressed to your heads, cold beers sweating on the coffee table. The day dragged on, temperature climbing higher, and you’d been forced to get creative. On one trip to the kitchen, you’d figured out it was the shadiest place in the entire apartment, and promptly moved to lay out on the floor, tiles cool beneath your skin. The two of you took turns sticking your head in the freezer, too hot to be self-conscious about how stupid you looked. At least you’d gotten an ancient, frostbitten box of Bomb Pops out of it, long forgotten behind your ice tray. You’d spotted it, pulled it out and split the entire box between the two of you, rationing them like wartime supplies. 

But now the popsicles are gone, the last of the beers going lukewarm, and you’re both pleasantly tipsy and running out of ways to keep yourself entertained. Judging from the way the sun is slanting golden through the window, you’re guessing it’s late afternoon, but you don’t dare get up and check your phone. That would mean expending energy and leaving the cold tiles behind, two things you are very much not prepared to do.

“This is such an undignified way to die,” you mumble instead, cheek flat against the cool floor. Your bottle is dripping with condensation, pressed into the skin of your neck. 

“We’re not going to die,” Oscar says automatically, sliding down the cabinets until he’s on his back next to you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed. 

You roll your head to the side to look at him. “I’m pretty sure this is how we go out. I’m wilting. I can feel my brain literally melting. Dripping out my ears.” 

“Nah, I think that’s just sweat,” he grins, eyes sparkling. 

“Ew, Osc.” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. And also not helping.”

He lets out a laugh, lazy and breathless, forearm thrown over his eyes. “At least we’re going out together.”

“Yeah, put that on the tombstone,” you snort. “‘Here lies two idiots who died because they were too cheap to rent in a building with a competent super.’”

“We’re not cheap,” he protests weakly. “We’re… financially responsible.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s so financially responsible to just die of heatstroke.”

Oscar sighs, taking a long swig and then setting his beer down. The glass clinks against the tiles. “Okay. Well, we’re definitely not gonna survive if we keep wearing this much.”

You blink, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What?”

But he’s already shimmying his shorts down his legs, kicking them across the floor to the corner of the kitchen. “It’s basic heat management. Less layers means our skin’ll cool off faster.” He pulls his shirt over his head next, one clean, graceful movement. 

And — okay. Okay. You weren’t prepared for Oscar to be shirtless. 

You’ve lived together for almost two years. You’ve seen him before, on laundry day in a ratty muscle tank, on the way into the gym, even one particularly embarrassing moment when you walked into the bathroom before he’d gotten dressed, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. But you’d filed the moments away in your head as normal roommate occurrences, nothing to think twice about. 

Clearly, you hadn’t been paying enough attention. Because now you don’t know what to do when he’s sitting on the kitchen floor in a pair of grey Calvins, skin flushed golden and peppered with moles, covered in a sheen of sweat. There’s a drop trailing down his chest, catching in the grooves of what look like very defined abs. 

You know you’re staring. It’s shameless. You feel a little bit insane, actually. Oscar is… hot?

“You okay?” your roommate says, a little too casually. 

“I —” you stammer, forcing your eyes up to his face. “What the hell, Osc. You have muscles.”

“Humans tend to have those,” he replies dryly. 

“No, but like, I thought you had programmer muscles. Slouch over a computer all day and code muscles,” you try to explain. “But you look like you could be in like, a sexy sunscreen ad or something. When did you get so jacked?”

He laughs, a little breathless, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears look a little pinker than they were before. You’re not sure if it’s the heat or something else entirely. “I’ve always been like this. You just never noticed.”

You shake your head. “No way. I would have noticed that.”

“Apparently not,” he says, voice a little rough in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

He gestures at your sweat-soaked tank top. “Heat management, remember?”

“Right, yeah. Makes sense. Equal opportunity stripping,” you breathe, trying very hard to sound casual even though your pulse is racing under your skin. You take a breath, averting your eyes to the floor, and tug your tank top over your head. 

The air hits your skin first, surprisingly cool. And then, unmistakably, Oscar’s eyes next, trailing down your body, heavy and lingering. 

“You’re staring,” you note, and his gaze snaps back to your face. 

He swallows hard, rakes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry, I —” His eyes flick back to your chest, like he can’t help himself, then quickly back up to your face. “Jesus.”

You raise an eyebrow, tiny smile on your face. “Humans tend to have those,” you echo him, gesturing vaguely at your bralette, and Oscar makes a strangled noise like he’s choked on his own tongue. 

He rolls toward you on the floor slightly, one arm falling lazily over his waist as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “You can’t just do that.”

“Hey. You were the one who told me to take my shirt off,” you say, suddenly defensive.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Well, I didn’t think you’d do it and look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Hot,” he says lowly, and now it’s your turn to sputter around your own breath.

“I mean — it is the middle of a heatwave,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. 

His eyes find yours. Hold them with an intensity that makes you shiver even in the heat. “You know that’s not the type of hot I meant.”

The air doesn’t feel stagnant anymore. It feels alive between you, some kind of simmering tension that’s using the heat as an excuse to finally, finally boil over. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice pitching high and unsteady. 

His brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me or something,” you say, breathless. 

A beat. Oscar’s lip catches in between his teeth as he looks at you, and you can feel your traitorous eyes drop to his mouth. His grin spreads slowly across his face, like he’s won something he didn’t know was up for grabs. 

“I do want to kiss you,” he says. And then he leans in, slow, like he’s giving you the chance to stop all of it in its tracks, until there’s no space left between you. 

When his mouth finally finds yours, it’s careful. He tastes like cherry popsicle, lips sticky with the leftover sugar and a salty twinge of sweat. One hand cups your cheek, the other resting tentatively on your waist, thumb skimming at the hem of your bralette like he’s still trying to figure out how far he’s allowed to go. 

You don’t want him to be careful anymore. 

You swing a leg over his lap, straddling him, knees knocking against the tile. His breath hitches as you settle against him, muscles tense beneath you. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” you murmur against his mouth. 

He pulls back, chest rising and falling unevenly as he looks up at you. “Just — trying to be respectful,” he says roughly, fingers digging into the skin at your waist. 

You smirk, rolling your hips against the obvious bulge in his briefs, hard and thick and throbbing. The groan he lets out is nothing short of filthy. “Osc, I’m literally half-naked on top of you. I think we’re way past the point of respectful.”

It’s like the permission flips a switch inside him. His mouth attaches to your neck, sucking little bruises into the soft skin, and suddenly, his hands are all over you. One sliding down your back, splaying over your hip and rocking you against him, cock rutting against your wet heat through your shorts. The other palming at your chest through your bra, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples pearl under his touch. 

“So fucking hot,” he breathes into your skin, pausing between words to suck another mark at the swell of your breast. “Driving me insane, you know that? All fucking day with those shorts and that little tank top.”

You don’t respond. Just reach behind you, fingers nimbly unhooking your bralette, clasp damp against your back. The fabric falls away easily, straps slipping down your arms until you’re bare on top of him.

For a second, you think Oscar might have stopped breathing, hands frozen on your hips, eyes fixed on your tits.

“Oscar?” you say, breathless, rutting your hips against his in a shameless attempt to bring him back down from whatever planet he’s on. He blinks hard, shakes his head slightly like his brain is an Etch-a-Sketch he’s trying to reset. His pupils are blown, eyes wide as he stares up at you.

“Sorry, yeah, I —” he mumbles, and then his head is ducking down, mouth closing around your nipple, warm and wet. His tongue flicks sharp over the nub of it, his other hand coming up to palm at your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. 

It feels like he’s everywhere, all hands and lips and tongue, and you gasp, arch your back like you’re trying to get more of your tits into his mouth. He groans around you, teeth grazing against the sensitive area gently. The vibrations go straight to your core. “Osc — fuck — ”

“Good?” he mutters against you, and you nod frantically. His free hand wraps under you, fingers splaying against the curve of your ass, and he picks you up and presses you into the kitchen tile without taking his mouth off you. The move is so absurdly, unfairly hot that the only thought in your mind is why you didn’t let him do it sooner.

He pulls back, and you’re about to whine at the loss of contact until you feel his mouth against you again, pressing messy open-mouthed kisses in a trail down your stomach, tongue dragging against your skin like he needs to taste you. Your fingers weave easily into his hair, tugging loosely at the roots, and he whines.

“Can I —” he breathes when he gets to the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you through his lashes, and you’re lifting your hips in reply before he can even really get the question out of his mouth.

“Please,” you gasp, like he needs any extra confirmation. Like he’s not already hooking his fingers into the elastic and tugging your shorts and panties down your legs. 

“Fuck,” he rasps once you’re laid bare in front of him, hand sliding slick up your thigh to your center. “You’re unreal.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh gently, then again. Higher and higher he goes, mouth dragging just shy of where you need him most. “Taste so fucking good already f’me,” he mumbles to himself, almost reverent. “Can’t believe I get to do this.” 

Your hips kick involuntarily at the vibration from his words, his breath teasing at your cunt. “Then do it, Osc,” you whimper, fingers tightening in his hair. “Please.”

Apparently your begging does the trick. He plants one hand on your thigh, uses it to pull you towards him, spreading your thighs wide enough to keep them apart with his shoulders, and then presses the flat of his tongue to you, licking a long, hot stripe up your center. 

He eats you out like he’s been dying to do it, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what makes you tick, what will make you fall apart the fastest under him. It’s a little sloppy, hot and wet and reckless, but it works — tongue circling around your clit in a way that makes you moan high and breathless. The sound only seems to spur him on, fingers slipping into you a second after that. 

Your back arches off the tile at the feeling of his fingers, fucking you open slowly. Not that it’s doing a thing to cool you down anymore. With his mouth and his hands on you, you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out. 

When he sucks your clit into his mouth, crooking his fingers inside you, the sensation is nearly too much to bear. “Osc, don’t stop — I’m gonna —” you pant brokenly, hips rocking against his face, his hand.

“Let go. Come on, baby, let me taste it,” he murmurs directly into your core, and your orgasm rips through you, thighs shaking around Oscar’s shoulders. He works you through it, tongue lapping at you like he wants to devour you as you writhe beneath him. 

When you finally come back down to earth, you tug him back up your body until you’re face to face. “You good?” he asks breathlessly, looking down at you. He’s so pretty like this — wild-eyed, flushed and panting, hair mussed, mouth shining. 

“Yeah. Yes,” you nod, dazed. “So fucking good.” He grins down at you, obviously pleased, if the way his hips twitch into yours is anything to go by. 

You reach up for him instinctively, suddenly desperate to taste yourself on his tongue. The resulting kiss is hot and sticky and perfect, even better when you let your hand slip between the two of you to palm at his cock through his briefs. He hisses, jerks his hips forward as you work your fingers beneath the waistband, pulling them down just enough for his length to spring free, hard against his stomach. 

He breaks the kiss just enough to shove the briefs down, past his ankles, kicking them to the rapidly growing pile of clothes in the corner of the kitchen. When your hand wraps around him, thumbing across the tip and spreading the wetness gathering there down his length with one experimental pump, he gasps, hips canting against your hand. 

“Fuck, you can’t — I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he admits, eyes closed and breathing uneven. 

Maybe it’s the heat that makes you bold, or maybe it’s his honesty, saying straight out how badly you affect him. But something makes you grin up at him and say it: “Maybe you should hurry up and get inside me, then.”

His eyes snap open, and he makes a wrecked little noise at that, something between a whimper and a growl. “Fuck. Okay. Condom. In my room, I think —”

You laugh, breathless, hooking one leg around his waist and pulling him down to press his forehead against yours. “I’m on the pill. And I trust you, Osc.”

His eyes flutter shut like that might legitimately be his undoing, cockhead pushing at your slick folds, barely holding himself back. “Jesus fucking Christ. Okay.”

He lines himself up, sinks into you so slowly that it’s torture. The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat of it. He’s thick, perfect, pressed so deep into you when he finally bottoms out that it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. 

“Shit,” Oscar chokes out, helpless. “You feel — fuck, you feel insane.”

You dig your heels into his back, nails dragging over his shoulders. “Probably feel better if you move,” you breathe, and his eyes go dark, pulling out just to slam back into you with a long moan.

He finds a rhythm fast. Messy, desperate thrusts that echo filthily against the tile every time his hips snap into yours, skin sliding against skin. He’s bracing one hand beside your head, the other gripping under your thigh to keep you spread open, flushed and panting beneath him.

“You’re so —” he starts, voice breaking into a moan as you rock your hips to meet him with each thrust, your cunt gripping him warm and tight and ready. “Fuck. Wanted this so bad.”

“You thought about this?” you manage between gasps, and he nods. 

“All the fucking time. Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, voice rough and hot against your ear. “So fucking tight, baby — m’not gonna last.”

You’re a mess beneath him already, gasping and clawing at his back as he fucks into you. “Don’t have to,” you whine as he hikes your leg up his waist, opening you up even more for him. The angle has your vision blurring, seeing stars every time his length scrapes that one spot inside you. “Want you to come, Osc, please, need to feel you.” You clench around him on instinct, and he shudders, hips stuttering.

“Fuckfuckfuck, don’t do that, I’m so close,” he grits out, hand sliding between your bodies to your clit, rubbing tight little circles against you. “Need to make you come first.”

You let out a moan, almost incoherent. You can already feel it building, coiling low and tight in your stomach, sparked by the heat and his voice and the frantic way he’s moving inside you. “Osc, I’m gonna —”

“Yeah?” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut as you pulse around him, so close to falling over the edge. “Do it then. Want to feel it on my cock.”

You come with a yelp, back arching and cunt fluttering around him. A moment later, Oscar’s rhythm falters inside you, and then he’s gasping your name, spilling into you with a groan that vibrates against your skin.

He stays like that for a moment, shivering in the aftermath, pressed fully against you, skin slick and sticky, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

“...So,” he breathes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “That definitely didn’t help us cool down.” 

You laugh, breathless. Fucked out. “Not even a little bit.”

“Cold shower together next?” he grins, dazed, cheeks flushed as he waggles an eyebrow at you. You smack him on the arm lazily in response, no real heat behind it. 

But you don’t say no. And when he scoops you up off the floor into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, you get a distinct, giddy sort of feeling that no matter how long the heat wave lasts, whatever is happening between the two of you isn’t cooling off anytime soon.

[sugxto]

electrical storm - volt/eddie/reader

⋆syn: Eddie doesn't do well during storms. You and Volt help give him what he needs for some relief.

⋆wc: 3.5k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, domestic fluff, comfort, explorations of chronic pain/fatigue.

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, entrance, and cunt . no spoilers for any of the routes but it is a more established relationship. other e/v one shots.

⋆snippet:

You feel the smallest shiver run through Eddie’s body at the words, and his eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment before he inhales sharply. You bring your hand to his face, cupping his cheek once again. “Eddie,” you breathe into his mouth, “let us take care of you.”

It’s like your words flip a switch inside of him, relief flooding his body in a surge, and any stress in his shoulders simply melting away. You think, for just a moment, that his eyes might be sparkling with the beginning of tears, but he blinks, and the thought is gone.

“Do you want that, Eddie?” Volt whispers, the bolts of his hair sparking over Eddie’s face, his hand slowly encircling his neck. “Do you need it?”

electrical storm

Soft isn’t a term you would use to describe Volt or Eddie. Or, Volt and Eddie. 

Maybe it’s because they are, in their basest form, unpredictable, powerful forms of energy, kept in check by each other’s presence as their essence flows through the currents of your own home. Their very touch sends sparks through your veins, electrifies your heartbeat, all with an unspoken potency that they could be far more damaging if they so choose. They are harsh, formidable, thrilling, alive. 

But soft?

It wouldn’t be your first choice.

Except, there are glimpses of it on days when Eddie’s strained himself a bit too far. When the to-do list takes the three of you much longer than expected, or in the late hours cleaning up when last call was ignored, or after a storm, and he tries as hard as he can to hide the way he breathes a little deeper, pauses for a little longer. Maybe he thinks you don’t notice (Volt always does, and it did take you a while to learn what to look for), maybe he thinks it's not a problem. But it makes your heart bleed a little, when you can see the spark dimmed in his grey eyes, as yet another guest asks him for a drink that’s not even on the menu, and begrudgingly, he makes it without a single complaint.

It’s one of those nights, after a summer day where, promptly at 5:30pm by Timmy’s clock, the skies burst open, and lightning streaks through Wyndolyn’s panes all through the night. It’s been non-stop for weeks, the boys can hardly catch a break, and you just wish you could yell at the clouds and make them listen. Force them to understand the discomfort the constant brownouts and flickers do to your partners, to one of them in particular.

A clap of thunder makes the bottles behind you at the bar clink together, and you sigh. Even here, in the recesses of the Breaker Box, it felt non-stop. Miranda, strumming away on the velvet stage, pays it no mind, and it seems like none of the other guests do either.

Volt, mingling his way through the tables, looks up as he claps Dorian on the shoulder, the white light of his eyes immediately finding yours. He senses your distress, you know he does, because he promptly pauses his greetings and makes his way to the bar.

You sigh in relief at his presence, but then gasp at the shock on your skin when Volt’s hand finds your arm. He’s more charged during the storms, you’ve found, like all the electrons in the air swarm to him, powering him.

He tsks his tongue, removing his touch. “Ah, my apologies, live wire.” He doesn’t look hurt, only concerned, as his dark brows scrunch together. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no Volt, not at all.” To prove it, you take his hand again, finding the spark more calming since you’re expecting it.

“What seems to be troubling you then, hm?” He reaches up and runs a silver thumb over your cheek. He studies your face, tips your chin up to meet his eyes, and you see him realize it before you even find the words. “Ah. Our Eddie, hm?”

You nod, relaxing into Volt’s touch. “I just wish the storms would stop, this can’t be good for him.”

Volt tsks his tongue again, a quiet “I know, darling,” leaving his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I know it’s hard. Amps sake, I was created to help prevent his suffering, and it took me a very long time to reconcile with the fact that, much as I’d like to, weather isn’t for us to control.”

“But he’s so tired, Volt.” You know he knows, you know there isn’t anything to be done about it other than wait. But it helps to talk to someone who understands. “And I know you are too.”

“Hmm, maybe. But we’ve been through worse.” His thumb leaves trails of tingles on your cheek. “Remember, say, three years ago, that freak tropical storm that came our way?”

You do - it came with hardly any notice, changing directions and coming straight at your city in the middle of the night. You didn’t have power for almost eight hours, though you do remember it flickering on and off every now and again. “Were you hurt, during that?” you ask, and you start to wonder how the other experiences your home has been through has impacted its (previously unknown to you) residents.

“Not hurt, per say. Thrown through the ringer might be the best term for it,” he says, a hint of a smile as his brows relax. “We worked for every possible moment we could manage. Eddie… I’d never seen him like that before, or since. But then, when it was over, he slept for what must’ve been a week, good as new.” His white eyes go soft, making sure you look into them as he says his next piece. “The storms will pass. And he will be alright, and you and I can do all we can to lighten his load, yes?”

You swallow and bite your bottom lip. You’re still not sure, but you trust Volt. With everything. Of course you do. “Yes.”

Volt’s resulting smile is one of relief, but the concern is still evident in his brow. “Why don’t you go to him, hm? It’s not too busy, and I can manage the bar. Ah ah ah, no arguing, spark, I’ve decided that’s what’s going to happen, and so it shall. Upstairs, to Eddie.” 

You know better than to disagree, Volt isn’t one you can easily win against. And, you don’t even want to - you just want Eddie. You turn to go, but Volt holds you still for just a moment more.

“Here, give him this for me?” he asks, before lowering his head and kissing your lips, lovingly, sweetly, softly. It ignites your heart, makes your head buzz, your lips tingle, and he breaks away, whispers against your lips, “and keep this one for yourself,” before kissing you again, deepening his hold on your cheek.

When you part, it’s because applause for Miranda snaps you back into reality, and you flush red at the glint in Volt’s eyes. “I’ll make sure to get it to him,” you say, slipping away up the stairs behind the bar, knowing Volt’s gaze follows you every step of the way.

You find Eddie, a bit unexpectedly, on the floor of the boys’ bedroom, with his head leaning back on the edge of the mattress. His eyes are shut tightly, his jagged brows nearly kissing in the middle of his forehead, jaw set firmly. You glimpse at his hands, relieved when you see they’re not shaking, just balled into fists.

You crouch to the ground, steady yourself with a hand on the mattress. “Eddie?”

He makes a small sound and blinks his eyes open before rolling his head towards you. “Hm. Live wire. You okay?” he asks, his voice haggard and gruff, more clipped than it sounds when he first wakes up in the morning.

“Me? Eddie, yeah, I’m okay.” These men, always worried about you, of all people. “Did I wake you?”

Eddie scoffs, then groans as he stretches his neck. “Not at all. I’m about as far from restful as you can get, I think.” He sighs, extends his legs out to lay flat on the floor. “Just trying not to exert myself too much. Everything alright downstairs?”

“Don’t worry about it right now.”

“Well, I’m a little worried by that answer.”

You roll your eyes, only because you know he says it in jest. “Everything’s fine, Eddie.” You move to settle on the ground beside him. “I’m just worried about you.”

You swear there’s a split second that a corner of his mouth twitches up, and his gaze changes, almost softens, when you reach out to hold his hand. “I know you are. But, I’ve been through worse. Not dead yet.”

You try not to grimace at the phrase. “Yeah, Volt told me about the tropical storm.” You squeeze his hand. “I wish I knew about you back then. I’m sorry you went through that.”

He shrugs, though it’s hardly nonchalant. “S’okay. Nothing you could do.”

It’s quiet for a moment, as he breathes with you. You remember something though, and shirt to face him. “Volt wanted me to give you something.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You cup his face, his stubble rough on your palm, and cautiously dip your head towards his. Gently, you meet his lips, delivering Volt’s message as best you can, and he hums gladly as your kisses deepens.

It’s a moment later when you pull apart, and your foreheads rest together. Eddie leans into your hand on his cheek, his steel eyes finding yours.

“Five star delivery, live wire,” he says, his voice low. “I’ll let Volt know it was received.” He cocks a brow and runs a hand over your thigh. “And what about you? You got anything for me?”

You let out a giggle and move your hand to his collar. “Just my love and devotion. And worries about your stress.”

Eddie nods, and you realize his hand is still making its way up your thigh. Thunder once again shakes the room, and you watch his face for any sign of distress, though it doesn’t come.

“And what if,” he says, his eyes moving to glance at your lips, “there was something I need from you?”

“Name it,” you respond, meaning it with all your heart.

He leans even closer to you, your noses pressed together, your lips only a breath away, and you feel his tough dip into your inner thigh, familiar sparks under his touch. “I need you, on our bed, with my cock inside you. Now.”

You breath hitches, like your brain has momentarily short circuited. You pull away, surprised - soft with his words, Eddie is not. But still, it’s not what you expected to hear. “Eddie, you’re -”

“What?” he cuts you off, and it looks almost like another storm is brewing in his eyes. “I’m what? Incapable of fucking as a distraction to my headache?” His grip tightens on your thigh, and you gasp. “Unable to want one of my partners just because of the weather?”

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, but you’re still worrying,” he says, almost with a laugh in his voice. “And I’m telling you, that right now, what would make me feel better, is fucking you. So,” he’s so close to you now, you feel his breath on your cheek, “you gonna let me?”

Well. It’d be rude to say no to that, wouldn’t it?

Your hand on his collar slides to the back of his neck, holding on tightly. “Always.”

Like lightning, Eddie scoops you up, and the mattress bounces beneath your bodies as you both land. You’re on your side, pressed close to Eddie’s chest, one of his hands cupping your face, the other pulling your thigh over his, making sure no space exists between you and him. He kisses you, but it’s not his usual hunger that you find on his lips, but something you’re not used to tasting. Something calmer, sweeter, softer.

His hand glides from your thigh up to your waist, leaving a current in its wake, and he squeezes your skin, not as hard as usual, almost like he’s grasping at something he expects to disappear. You moan into his mouth and grind your hips into his, and he bites your bottom lip in response. 

“Little wire,” he groans after a moment, steel eyes dark and voice low, “I don’t want to wait, I need you, now.”

And you don’t need to be told twice. 

You both shed your clothes without a moment’s hesitation, pulling at whatever piece of fabric you can find on the other’s body, and throwing it to the floor. When you come back together, press back to him as close as you can, the charge of his skin momentarily takes your breath away. Eddie’s skin is different than Volt’s, less electric, less shocking - it always brings goosebumps to the surface on your skin, almost hums under your touch, and you wonder if you could follow his veins like currents.

Eddie’s cock rests against the lips of your cunt, rocking gently against you, but he holds your hips still when you try to get even closer, and you whimper his name, your nails scraping at his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathe through gritted teeth. “I may not last long, baby.”

“I don’t care, Eddie.” You find his eyes, deep grey and bursting with love. “I need you too.”

That’s all the permission he needs, and he lifts your leg to angle his cock at your entrance. Your jaw goes slack as he presses his length inside you, your eyes never leaving his, watching the way they shine as he slides inside you. When he stops, your bodies fully combined, he breathes, shaky, and digs his fingers into your flesh. 

He waits a moment, a breath, and he kisses you just as he starts to pull out, setting a languid, easy pace. Your body is liquid, puddy under his hands, and when you exhale, he inhales, sharing the charged air between you. You rock together, unhurried, Eddie’s hands roaming every inch of your sides, your back, your legs.

It’s different than usual. It’s patient. It’s soft.

“Mind if I join you?”

You hear Volt’s velvet voice rather than see him, but you can just imagine how he leans against the doorway, hands in pockets, some sort of grin on his face.

Eddie slows, doesn't fully stop fucking you, but his breath is heavy when he speaks. “Volt, you -”

“Already closed up early. Thought it best to soothe our little wire’s worries as quick as I could.” You hear a thud, and imagine it’s his jacket falling to the floor.

Eddie sighs, stills inside you, and his eyes leave your face, flit past your shoulder to the doorway, to Volt. “You can join, I just - I needed them, Volt.” 

“Oh, my darling,” Volt coos, “I don’t doubt it.” Finally, he steps into your view, coming behind Eddie, dipping down to kiss his head. His lips brush Eddie’s ear, and silver fingers graze his shoulder. “How about, I give you something else you need, hm?”

You feel the smallest shiver run through Eddie’s body at the words, and his eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment before he inhales sharply. You bring your hand to his face, cupping his cheek once again. “Eddie,” you breathe into his mouth, “let us take care of you.”

It’s like your words flip a switch inside of him, relief flooding his body in a surge, and any stress in his shoulders simply melting away. You think, for just a moment, that his eyes might be sparkling with the beginning of tears, but he blinks, and the thought is gone.

“Do you want that, Eddie?” Volt whispers, the bolts of his hair sparking over Eddie’s face, his hand slowly encircling his neck. “Do you need it?”

“Y-yes. Yes,” he manages out, rocking his cock back inside you and digging his fingers into your flesh, making you gasp, making you ache. 

Volt chuckles, grinning in a way that shows his teeth, and you notice for the first time that, like you two, he’s naked, his free hand slowly stroking over his cock, shiny with what you guess is lube that coats his fingers too. You feel the bed shift as his weight presses into the bed, effortlessly spooning Eddie so that they perfectly slot together. Made for each other.

You wrap your hand in the coils of Eddie’s hair, holding him steady with the help of Volt’s grip on his neck, and you squeeze the muscles of your cunt to keep his cock warm inside you. He groans, and Volt guides Eddie’s leg to rest atop your own, a jumbled mess of limbs and sparks and sweat. 

Eddie gasps, and his eyes fly open, and he grunts something that sounds like Volt’s name.

Volt’s lips kiss Eddie’s ear, close enough to your hand that you can feel his breath, and you feel it when he says, “that’s it, that’s our good boy.”

“Volt, please -”

“Be patient, darling, just -” Volt says, and Eddie groans again, his grip on you tightening so much, you might find burn marks in the morning, “a moment more. And then you’ll have what you need.”

“I don’t, fuck, I don’t need prep, Volt, fuck I need you.” Eddie’s voice tumbles quickly from his mouth, his hips feebly trying to buck up into your cunt, his titanium eyes glossy with want, need.

Volt sighs, mutters an acquiescence, and his lightning eyes find yours over the head of your partner, their usual mischievous shine replaced with something deeper, something softer. Love, you realize it must be, and your fingers curl in Eddie’s hair, giving Volt the smallest nod.

You can’t see his movements as his fingers slip out of Eddie, but his eyes never leave yours as he adjusts Eddie’s legs again, then grasps his cock, finding Eddie’s waiting, needing hole, and presses his way inside. You watch each other as Eddie groans between your bodies, his body stiffening as he takes Volt inside him, and you, in turn, feel him twitch inside you.

Volt waits, just a moment, for Eddie to find his breath, and when you finally glance down at his face, you notice the streak of a tear that has fallen down his nose.

“Eddie,” you say, in the softest voice you can muster, “you alright?”

He exhales a breath that may be a laugh, and it tickles your cheek. “Live wire,” he says, his voice finally sounding relieved instead of depleted, “I’m perfect.”

It’s like the word grants Volt the permission he was waiting for, and he drags his length almost fully out of Eddie, before thrusting back in a flash. Your legs are a mess, intertwined in such a way that you’re not sure whose skin is whose, but as Volt moves, Eddie’s hips move in tandem, and you squeeze your cunt to wrap around him even tighter, wanting, needing him as close as you’re allowed.

Usually, nights on this bed are rougher, with more teeth, nails, and shocks, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. But this… this softness… it warms your heart, livens your nerves like you’ve been plugged into a socket, and you never want to let it go.

Eddie groans, he whimpers, at Volt’s unrelenting cock, the searing grip on his neck. “Fuck, V-Volt, baby, I’m - please -”

You kiss his forehead, kiss his temples, softly, lovingly, as you whisper, “We’ve got you, we’ve got you, Eddie.”

“You’re doing so well, darling,” Volt adds, honey falling from his lips. “Doing so well for us.”

Eddie’s voice sputters just as his body stiffens, tightens, and you know he won’t hold out much longer. His fingers singe the flesh on your waist, your thigh, and his cock ruts into you even faster, chasing his release - before you can even offer him more reassurances, he cries out, louder than you’ve heard from him before, and you feel his cum fill your cunt as he bucks erratically through his release.

“Oh fuck, oh yes,” you whisper against his lips before his weight goes slack.

Volt doesn’t stop, in fact, he fucks him faster, harder, and a few tears fall from Eddie’s eyes at his unabating pace that you swiftly kiss away. Despite that, you know Volt can’t be much further behind, and you reach out your hand to find his cheek, needing to feel his skin on yours. 

Just as you thought, soon Volt’s pace becomes more erratic, less precise, and his fingers around Eddie’s neck tightens as he too comes with a groan of Eddie’s name and a bite to your hand.

You stay there, the three of you, in the soft afterglow, until, who knows how long after, Eddie finally stirs, and sighs, a sound of contentment coming from the back of his throat.

“Well -” Eddie’s voice is best described as well and truly fucked - “my headache is gone.”

You and Volt smile, a shared successful mission completed.

It’s Volt that first separates from your pile of legs, returning in a blink with water, towels, a blanket. When Eddie rolls onto his back, his cheeks are flushed red, and the rise and fall of his chest is even for what seems like the first time in weeks. Volt throws the used towels aside and sits next to him, running a finger along his jaw.

“How’s our Eddie?” he asks, and you settle into the crook of his shoulder, throw your arm over his chest. 

“Better.” You hear his voice in his chest, and know he has a smile on his face. “I got your message, earlier. Had a very good messenger deliver it.”

“Did you?” Volt glances down at you, sends you a knowing wink. “That’s good to hear. But, I have one to deliver myself, as well.” Eddie hums in satisfaction when Volt kisses him, and your heart flips in your chest at the sight. They separate, and white and steel eyes find yours before two sets of lips find your cheeks simultaneously. They’re soft kisses. They’re yours.

[jeeseth]

# GABRIELA? — megan skiendiel x f!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ you fell for the nerd. now she’s hot—and obviously gabriela wants her. but too bad so sad megan’s already yours. and gabriela? she never even stood a chance.

˖⋆࿐໋ ( hotnerd!megan x f!rᥱᥲdᥱr ) ── .✦ you might wanna tune in < gabriela by katseye > ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⟡﹒ tᥲgs ﹐ ﹅ ⟢ angst. tiny bit of fluff at the end :D idek the genre atp. non-idol au, college au, nerdy!megan, hotnerd!megan, mention of that stewpid gabriela, jealousy?, kissing, lowkey suggestive if you squint your eyes, lowercase intended, mens dni, grammatical errors .

( ˶°ㅁ°) !! a/n - i’m going insane as i patiently waits for katseye comeback BUT HERE THEY ARE ! so this fic is clearly based on their first comeback and i hope yall like it! i use grammar checker. anyway enjoy :3

megan’s wearing two different socks again.

you notice it halfway through class—her left foot has tiny cats doing yoga, and the right one has pineapples. not even trying to match. and somehow, you think that’s kind of cute.

she’s hunched over her desk, bangs in her eyes, poking at a calculator that looks like it was made in the early 90’s or sum.

"megan," you whisper, nudging her arm. "that’s a scientific calculator. we’re doing stats."

she looks up, blinking rapidly like a baby deer caught mid-crash.

"oh!" then she laughs quietly. "that explains a lot."

you didn’t mean to fall for her. she was just the quiet, weird girl in your class who asked too many questions and carried way too many pens. but then she offered you her last highlighter. and you both got locked out of the lab once and sat on the floor for an hour talking about which disney princess would survive a zombie apocalypse (she said mulan. you said anna. and she obviously judged you).

she wasn’t cool. she wasn’t smooth. but she made you laugh when your life felt flat. and when she finally kissed you under that sad-looking tree behind the science building, you knew. you were gone.

now it’s your third year.

and megan—your megan, is no longer the girl who forgets her id card every other day. she still snorts when she laughs and still can’t really do her eyeliner to save her life. but she’s hot now. confident. witty. everyone looks at her when she walks by. you pretend it doesn’t bother you. you pretend you’re used to it. until she shows up.

gabriela. the new transfer with perfect hair, smooth talker and suddenly, she’s everywhere. in the library where you and megan used to study alone. in your group chats. next to megan in the cafeteria, smiling like she owns the place. you don’t like how she looks at megan. and you hate how megan doesn’t seem to notice it.

"you’re staring again," megan says, bumping your shoulder with hers gently.

you blink, trying to pretend that you’re clearly not staring. "no i’m not."

"yes you are." megan grins, turning her head toward you. "what is it?"

you hesitate, the words catching in your throat before you finally let them out. "gabriela," you say quietly, like just saying her name might shift the mood. "i don’t trust her."

megan looks up from her phone, brows pulling together. you’re not sure what you expect her to say. maybe to agree. maybe to ask why or maybe even nothing at all. but right now, the only thing you do know is that something about gabriela makes your chest tighten and you need megan to know that.

"what? she’s just friendly." megan blink in confusion before she burst out laughing. you don’t laugh with her because why would you?

"she’s not. she wants something. and i think it’s you." megan’s smile fades a little upon hearing you say that, her smile softening into something you can’t quite read.

megan then reaches out and tucks your hair behind your ear. something she always do to calm you down. "then she’s already lost."

-

you try telling yourself that it’s fine. when it’s clearly not. you’re sitting across from megan at the library table. your laptop’s open, but you haven’t typed anything in ten minutes. why? because you’re too busy watching gabriela slide into the seat beside megan like she’s been doing it all semester.

"sorry." gabriela says, out of breath and smiling like she’s in a freaking romcom. "there were no seats left." that’s a lie. you literally passed by four empty tables on the way in.

megan only took a glance at gabriela before focusing back on her laptop. "you can sit." she says, friendly as ever. you clench your jaw but still nod. whatever. be positive, right?

the next day, gabriela shows up with two iced coffees and she places one in front of megan with a huge grin on her face.

"i noticed you always get oat milk." she says, biting her straw.

you don’t get a coffee. plus you weren’t even told they were meeting. like what? megan thanks her then laughs awkwardly, and then she shoots you a look across the table. one that says i swear i didn’t ask for this.

you nod, trying to stay calm and collected. and suddenly freezing in your own relationship.

day by day, it’s starting to get out of hands. gabriela starts tagging megan in memes. makes a private story and only adds you two. starts borrowing her pens, then her jacket, then you swear you saw her wearing one of megan’s hair clips.

and megan? sweet, clueless megan? she’s still trying to see the good in her.

"she’s lonely." she says one night while scrolling through her phone beside you. "i think she just wants to be friends."

"she clearly wants you." you reply almost immediately.

megan snorts before laughing softly. "stop."

the last straw for now, comes a week later.

you walk into the cafe near campus, holding your breath and a half nervous smile, ready to surprise megan after her class. maybe share a slice of cake, maybe just sit with her for a bit. cute right? but there she is.

megan. sitting by the window, sunlight catching the strands of her hair. and gabriela. leaning across the table her fingers brushing megan’s hand and whispering something that makes her laugh—her laugh. the real one. the one that reaches her eyes.

your heart immediately drops into your stomach. but you don’t storm in. instead, you just watch from the cafe door for a second too long. well, long enough to see the way gabriela looks at megan like she’s already won. like this is all a game.

and in that moment, you realise that this isn’t friendly anymore. gabriela? she’s not playing fair. and worse, she’s playing hella dirty.

-

it’s one random night where you just can’t seem to shut your brain off. you toss and turn then toss again. your pillow is too hot, the air is too still, and your thoughts won’t shut the fuck up.

you stare at your ceiling like it owes you an answer, but all you get is silence and that heavy, itchy feeling in your chest like something’s off or wrong, crawling under your skin and settling there like it belongs.

gabriela. you don’t even want to think her name, but it’s stuck in your brain like a bad song. you grab your phone and look at the time on your lockscreen. 2:04 a.m.

you hesitate for a second. then type. you don’t care anymore. you need megan.

you : you up meg?

meimei : always. what’s up??

you : can we meet? i can’t sleep.

meimei : see you in 10.

the wind bites a little as you sit on the chipped concrete ledge, pulling your hoodie tighter. you used to come here with megan all the time during your first year. at this skatepark back before things got weird. before gabriela smiled her way into your life like an infection you didn’t catch fast enough.

just then, megan’s headlights flash across the park before she turn off the engine.

"hey." she says, walking over with her usual stupid grin that makes you feel both better and worse.

"hi." you mumbles softly as megan sits beside you. she doesn’t ask why and doesn’t push. she just sits. you absolutely love that about her. but tonight, you need to say something.

"i don’t like the way she looks at you." you mumble quietly but it was loud enough for megan to hear and turns to look at you slowly. "who?"

"gabriela." you sighs before looking at megan.

megan laughs softly, like you just said something stupid like the sky is purple or something. "she’s just friendly."

"no, megan." you say, sharper than you mean to. "she’s not just friendly. she’s everywhere and it’s not normal."

"what are you talking about?" she frowns, a little confused and a little hurt.

"you really don’t see it?" you hate how desperate your voice sounds. but it’s 2 in the morning and you’re so tired and the words are just pouring out now.

"she flirts with you, she touches you, she buys you coffee, she posts about you like she’s already got you—and you let her. you smile and you thank her and it’s like i’m standing there like some background character."

megan looks at you, stunned like you just accused her of robbing a bank.

"i thought she was just being nice." megan says, voice small and soft and it tugs your heart.

"that’s the problem, megan." you whisper. "you always think everyone’s being nice. even when they’re not."

megan stays quiet for a while, picking at the sleeve of her hoodie. "i didn’t mean to make you feel like that."

"i know." you sigh. megan gently pulls you to her and make you leans your head on her shoulder. feels warm and familiar.

"i only want you," she says softly. "you know that, right?" you nod. you want to believe it. but in the dark, with her pressed against you and gabriela’s smirk haunting your memory, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

you’re quiet on the drive back. megan’s hand brushes yours a few times on the gear shift, and each time she smiles it’s like the world is still okay. like your heart isn’t pounding so hardly against your ribs with the weight of everything unsaid.

she parks in front of your dorm building and shifts into neutral. "i wish i could keep you longer." she says, eyes soft.

you smile, a little forced. "you could. just saying."

megan laughs softly. "tempting, but you have a class in six hours and i still have to finish my lab report."

you reach for the door handle—reluctant, tired, still tangled in thoughts. when suddenly megan’s phone, sitting face up in the cupholder, lights up. a text notification.

gabriela : hi pretty, you up? 🩷

then you feel like the time slows. your hand freezes. you don’t even mean to look. you really don’t. but there it is, glowing like a slap across the face.

megan doesn’t even notice it. she’s reaching to turn the engine off while humming under her breath.

you force a breath. "she has your number?"

"huh?" megan turns to looks at you, feeling confused.

you nod toward her phone. "gabriela. she texted you." megan glances down and momentarily freezes. you wait for her to say something else. explain. laugh. anything. but she doesn’t.

"did you give it to her?" you ask, trying to sound calm. your voice comes out small like you’re already bracing yourself for the answer.

megan runs a hand through her hair. "i-i yeah. she asked if we could work on econ stuff together. i didn’t think it was a big deal."

you nod slowly. "right. not a big deal."

"baby…" megan sighs, hands reaching out to caress your thigh. "please don’t do this. it’s not like that."

but your mind’s already going places. its spiraling. because damn it is a big deal. because now she can text her cute nicknames and send stupid pink hearts and megan might just smile at her phone and don’t even realise why it hurts.

you want to say something—something clear, something fair. but instead, your voice cracks "you know she wants you, right?"

silence. megan’s eyes flick down, feeling guilty now. "i didn’t reply." but the message is still there and it’s taunting you.

you open the passenger door quietly and step out. "goodnight." you mutter simply.

megan reaches out but you’re already stepping out, hoodie pulled tight with hands in your pockets.

you don’t slam the door and you don’t cry. you just walk away, trying not to think about how easy it is for someone else to call your girl pretty at 2 in the morning. and how easy it might be for her to answer.

-

megan’s eyes light up the second you walk into class. you see it. of course you do. that tiny lift of her shoulders, the way her pen stops mid scribble, like her entire body is quietly screaming finally.

but you don’t look at her. you walk past and take your seat two rows behind. no wave, no smile, not even a glance. if she notices, she doesn’t show it. but gabriela does. and that’s the part that really stings.

gabriela turns in her seat just slightly, her lips curving when she catches your cold silence. then of course she leans a little closer to megan. you look away before you have to see her stupid smirk.

megan tries again after class. she lingers outside the lecture hall, waiting to see your familiar face.

"y/n." megan calls once she spotted you. but you just keep walking.

you hear her footsteps behind you, quick and light, trying to catch up to you. but someone says her name. gabriela probably and megan stops. you don’t.

you ignore megan’s texts, leave her on read, respond with "👍" when she asks if you’ve eaten already. because yeah, maybe you’re being dramatic and maybe you’re hurting her. but it hurts to feel replaceable. to feel like someone else can call your girl pretty at 2 in the morning and you’re just supposed to laugh it off?

by lunchtime, megan’s getting way desperate.

you see her walking across the quad, squinting into the sun, scanning the crowd for you. you duck into the side hallway before she spots you. five minutes later, you hear her calling your name again. soft, almost confused. you keep walking.

you think you’ve escaped her for the day, but no. not megan. you’re halfway through washing your hands in the girls’ bathroom. just trying to breathe, honestly—when suddenly the door swings open.

"y/n." you look up and see megan standing in the doorway, clearly out of breath after finding you, her eyes wide and red-rimmed like she’s been holding it in all day. she walks in quietly.

"can you—" her voice cracks. "can you just stop running for one second?"

you don’t say anything. she moves closer, gently placing her hands on your shoulders. "please," she whispers. "talk to me, baby."

"what’s the point?" you shake your head slightly, no you’re not angry. just tired.

"because you won’t even look at me anymore."

"yeah." you snap, sharper than you meant to, but it’s too late to pull it back. "and you barely noticed until now."

megan flinches just slightly, but you see it. the way her shoulders tense. the way her eyes drop for a split second like your words hit exactly where they were meant to.

"you gave her your number, megan." you say, stepping back. "you let her call you pretty. and you think i’m just supposed to sit there and smile while she plays this whole innocent act in front of you?"

her voice trembles. "i didn’t reply."

"you didn’t stop her, either."

-

you don’t say let’s break up. you just say, "maybe we need space." and megan? her eyes red and shoulders trembling, just nods. no begging. no yelling. just silence. and that actually might hurt more.

she leaves the bathroom first. you wait until the door closes before letting yourself cry.

days pass.

you still see her across campus, in the shared classes you now sit far apart in. she looks smaller, almost like she’s folding in on herself.

you almost want to run to her. but you remember the text. the smirk. the way she looked confused when you told her it hurt. so you don’t.

gabriela, of course, notices. and now that you’re ‘on a break’ she turns it up. first, it’s subtle.

"oh sorry, didn’t know you two weren’t sitting together anymore." she says loudly in class, like it’s some kind of news.

then it’s the coffee. again. the same iced oat milk latte now with a little pink sticky note on it.

you looked pretty tired today, thought you could use this ☕❤️ - g

you don’t drink. for some very obvious reasons.

by the end of the week, gabriela starts worming into your friends. laughs with them too easily, shares inside jokes you’ve never heard before and suddenly, you’re not being tagged in the group’s stories anymore.

one day, you walk into the student union and see her sitting in your usual spot—your seat, laughing with people who used to sit beside you. one of them looks up, sees you, and hesitates. but they don’t say anything.

gabriela does. she waves and mouths "you okay?" so you just turn around and walk out.

-

it was one random day where you’re sitting alone on the campus bench near the main hall. you weren’t planning to be here. it’s just where your feet stopped walking.

the breeze is cool, but not enough to calm your thoughts. your phone’s been silent all day and even the birds seem to know you’re not really in the mood. you’ve been holding yourself together for weeks now. but today? it feels heavier and lonelier.

you scroll aimlessly on your phone. click your screen off and then on again. still nothing.

elsewhere, megan is watching gabriela laugh with your friends again. but it doesn’t feel so casual this time.

gabriela leans into one of them, whispering. they all laugh. megan watches one of them glance at her, then quickly look away. something twists in her chest.

later, gabriela catches up with megan after class. "megan!" she calls happily, like they’re best friends- no. like they’re lovers. megan stops walking.

"hey." gabriela says, touching megan’s arm. "are you free right now? i wanted to—" but megan isn’t listening.

her eyes flick past gabriela’s shoulder. and then they light up almost immediately upon seeing you’re sitting on that bench with your head down. and suddenly, nothing else matters.

"megan?" gabriela steps in front of her, trying to get her attention. "i said—" but megan doesn’t even look at her. she pushes past, literally brushing her shoulder and walks straight to you.

your heart stutters when you hear footsteps approaching fast. you look up and there she is. your sweet megan looking all winded and flushed. her hand holding her bag like she ran across campus just to get here.

"y/n." megan says, a bit out of breath.

"meg?" you blink, clearly stunned. she doesn’t wait for another word. she just sits beside you like it’s the only place she wants to be.

"i was so stupid." you open your mouth, but megan cuts you off. "no—listen. i thought she was just being nice. i wanted to believe that. but she wasn’t and now she’s trying to replace you. trying to replace us. and i let her get too close. i’m so sorry, baby."

you stare at her. megan’s breathing hard, eyes shining like she’s about to cry.

"i miss you." she says. land i don’t care if you hate me right now. i just need you to know that gabriela never even had a chance. it’s always been you."

you don’t say anything at first. you just look over her shoulder and see gabriela standing in the distance, watching and clearly stunned. exactly how you once felt. you turn back to megan. and for the first time in weeks, you smile again.

you don’t speak for a moment after she says it. megan’s eyes are locked on yours like she’s afraid if she looks away, you’ll disappear.

"you’re really late." you whisper softly to megan. she swallows hard. "i know."

you cross your arms over your chest while looking at megan. "you ignored me while she was crawling all over you."

megan nods quickly, fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie. "i did. i-i’m literally the worst."

"literally?" you raise an eyebrow. "scientifically." megan blurts out. "i ran the numbers."

she opens her tote bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper. you unfold it slowly. it’s a handwritten bar graph titled, ‘times i’ve been an idiot in the past three weeks.’ you snort at it.

"i was going to make it in excel." she says sheepishly, pushing her glasses up, "but you stopped answering my texts so i kind of panicked."

you cover your mouth, trying not to laugh. "you’re such a loser, mei." you mumble quietly but loud enough for megan to hear it.

then megan leans in, hopeful. "but like, your loser?" you look at her. messy hair. anxious eyes. notebook paper graphs and all. gosh.

"yeah. my loser." you says softly. megan grins so wide her whiskers dimples show.

then she reaches into her bag again. "i also made you this." she pulls out a keychain. it’s a tiny pixel heart. "it’s from that game we played last summer." she says, voice quieter now. "the one where you said if we were video game characters, you’d always pick me."

she hands it to you carefully. like it’s fragile. like it means everything.

"so… do you forgive me?" megan asks, her eyes filled with hope. you don’t answer right away though. instead, you loop the keychain onto your bag before standing up and hold out your hand.

"buy me a hot chocolate and maybe i’ll think about it." you say while looking at megan. she stumbles up so fast she almost drops her phone. "yes. absolutely. i brought my punch card. you get a free one if—"

"megan meiyok skiendiel."

"yeah. right. i’ll shut up now."

you take her hand. you’re walking away together when you glance over your shoulder, just once. and gabriela’s gone. and this time, you’re the one who won.

-

the campus is warm under the golden hour light. you’re walking beside megan, sipping the hot chocolate she bought you. extra whipped cream, because she said you deserved it and listening to her nerd out about something you don’t even fully understand.

"so technically." she says, pushing up her glasses, "the multiverse theory means there’s a version of me out there that never messed up, and we’ve been together the whole time."

you raise an eyebrow. "so you’re blaming parallel universe you for this entire mess?"

"i’m just saying. it’s possible." megan shrugs making you laugh. and she grins hearing that sweet sound of your laughter. and for the first time in what feels like forever—it’s easy and it’s light again. until.

"oh my god." you whisper, abruptly stopping in your tracks. megan follows your gaze and freezes. stupid gabriela turning the corner. with her perfect hair, her fake smile and her eyes locked right on megan.

"nope." you mutter. "same here." megan says. you waste no time and grab megan’s hand and bolt away.

"this is ridiculous." you gasp for air while ducking behind a vending machine with megan. then you spot the janitor’s closet. open and empty. you don’t need to think twice. so you dive in and pull megan with you.

the closet door barely clicks shut before your back hits the wall. you gasp when you feel megan’s already on you. her glasses fogged, her jaw tight and her eyes burning.

"you’ve been running." megan says lowly, bracing a hand beside your head.

your breath catches in your throat. "megan—"

"shut up." she whispers, tugging you in by the collar. "you owe me." her thigh slips between yours, and your knees almost give out.

"thought so." she grins. the dangerous type of grin. you try to answer, but her mouth silences yours, rough and desperate and starved. her hands swiftly slide up your thighs, taking her time. taking everything.

"you’re not walking out of here the same." she mutters, biting down on your lower lip. and damn she’s right.

when the door finally creaks open, the hallway’s quiet. you step out first with you cheeks flushed, skirt crumpled beyond saving. megan follows behind, hair a wreck, glasses crooked, lips pink and smug.

someone passes by and does a double take to make sure they’re not hallucinating or something.

megan gently wraps her arms around your small waist and keep walking with that stupid smug grin on her face.

[nekonaps0]

The mood is gone pt4

✦part1 part2 part3

✦gn!reader

✦characters: Rook, Sebek, Jack, Deuce

✦slightly smut

✦how the boys would react when things are just about to get heated with their beloved… and then bam! someone barges in, killing the mood.

Rook Hunt

Rook is a man of passion.

So when he had you pressed against the studio wall during a quiet evening in Pomefiore, his lips teasingly dancing across your collarbone, his voice humming poetry in your ear, it felt like the start of something sinful and divine.

“Ah… my love, you drive me mad with desire,” he whispered, tracing your lips with his thumb. “Let me worship you properly…”

Your hands tangled in his golden hair, tugging gently. He let out a soft groan, his mouth grazing yours.

“Just say the word…”

SLAM.

“Rook. Are you—OH NOT AGAIN!"

Vil’s voice cut through the moment like a guillotine. He stood in the doorway, horrified, eyes wide as saucers.

“I told you not to use the studio! We sanitize that space!”

Rook blinked, then laughed softly, though his arms remained protectively around you.

“Vil, mon ami, you have ruined a masterpiece in progress.”

You blushed furiously and pushed Rook’s chest.

“Mood’s gone. And I’m really sorry Vil!”

You quickly walked off before Vil could lecture you too.

Rook sighed dramatically and turned to Vil.

“hope I can paint this moment anew tonight, or I’ll hold you responsible for the loss of art.”

That night, Rook found you again, candles, music, and locked doors.

“Now… where were we, ma belle?”

Sebek Zigvolt

You were in Diasomnia’s bedroom, alone with Sebek, surrounded by soft candlelight.

Sebek had been a gentleman all evening, until you kissed him first.

Now? His usually sharp voice had gone husky.

“Human or not, you… captivate me.”

His gloves were off. His hands were warm as they cupped your waist finger trembling and digging into your waist.

His forehead rested against yours, lips barely brushing—

BOOM.

“Sebek. I require your assistance with—”

Malleus stepped in, expression calm until his eyes landed on the compromising scene.

Sebek jumped back so fast he nearly tripped over a chair.

“WAKASAMA—I—I—FORGIVE ME—I DID NOT—”

“Mood’s gone, see you later Mal.” you muttered, smoothing your clothes and walking out.

Sebek stood, frozen in horror and then dropped on his knees.

“...Please erase this from your memory, and please forgive me…”

Later that night, Sebek showed up outside your window, knocking nervously.

“I swear to protect your honor next time... and your privacy.!!”

Jack Howl

You were in the Savannaclaw gym… definitely not training. Jack had you pinned between the wall and his chest, his arms cage you in.

He was breathing heavy from your teasing, lips ghosting over your jaw.

“You’re really… testing my control,” he muttered.

His hands settled on your hips, his mouth descending to your neck—

CRASH.

“Oi, Jack. Did you—huh… Guess you’re getting more cardio than I thought.”

Leona stood in the doorway, smirking like the smug bastard he was.

Jack immediately jerked back, ears folded low.

“LEONA—WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?!”

“Forgot my towel. Thanks for the free show.” He waved before just turned around and walked away like nothing happened.

You sighed and stepped aside.

“Mood’s gone Jack.”

Jack looked like he was going to explode from embarrassment.

Later, he came to find you on your dorm balcony, tail twitching nervously, holding your favorite flowers and snacks.

“Im really sorry Y/N! Can we… try again? I do everything for making up for you I swear.”

Deuce Spade

The Ramshackle living room was dim, quiet, and surprisingly cozy, just the two of you curled up together on the couch after hours, some random movie lights the room. Deuce had been fidgeting with his collar all night, his ears pink, but when you whispered something naughty in his ear? It was like flipping a switch.

He suddenly had you pinned softly beneath him, hovering over you, eyes wide and hungry.

“A-Are you sure?”


“I’ve never wanted anything more,” you breathed giving him a soft smile while you cup his cheeks.

His lips just barely grazed yours, noses brushing—

BANG.

“YO DEUCE, Y/N! ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUSLY HAVING MOVIE NIGHT WITHOUT—”


Ace stood in the doorway, wide-eyed. A wicked smirk bloomed across his face.

“WELL DAMN, GET IT, DUDE!”

Deuce turned redder than Riddle on a bad day.

“ACE—WHAT—CAN’T YOU KNOCK!?”

You groaned, tugging your shirt back down.

“Mood’s gone… and Ace… please leave the house and never come back…” you glared at him.

And you left, walking back to your room, cheeks burning.

Deuce collapsed onto the floor with a tortured groan.

“I swear to the Great Seven… I’m gonna lock every door next time. OR LOOK YOU SOMEWHERE!”

Later that night, Deuce showed up with your favorite drink and flowers and nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“Let’s try again. This time… I’m locking the door. And ban Ace I swear.”

..............................................................................................................................

[encherries]

MAKE ME YOURS ​─ P. SH 1.0k SMUT (MDNI)

sunghoon x inexperienced fem!reader, implied first time, fingering, protected sex (why is this a first for me), lots of dirty talk, praise, corruption kink

this was requested and tbh it took me longer than it should have but it’s here !! written and edited by me so i apologize for any mistakes. comments and reblogs are appreciated ><

your boyfriend sunghoon is the sweetest and most caring person alive, and in most aspects that’s not something you’d complain about. you just wish he wouldn’t treat you like you’re actually made of glass when it comes to being intimate. you’d told him early on that you weren’t very experienced and it’s something he’s always been respectful about, always reassuring that he’d be willing to wait until you were ready. 

the thing is, you just don’t really know how to bring it up. you may be inexperienced, but you’re not oblivious. you’ve been around on the internet long enough to know exactly where to find the stuff you’re into, the problem is you truly don’t know how to ask sunghoon about it. every time you try to advance further, he pulls away with some comment about how he doesn’t wanna pressure you, and then goes back to simply cuddling or kissing you. 

you’re starting to feel a little bit desperate so you come up with an idea. he’s still in the bathroom, the shower still running so you have the perfect opportunity to put your plan into action. 

you get comfortable on the bed first, strategically positioning yourself on the sheets. your thoughts naturally drift to sunghoon as you trail your fingers down, pulling your panties to the side and sliding one finger inside your cunt. 

sunghoon is gonna lose his fucking mind. there you are, his angelic and innocent girlfriend moaning out his name as you pleasure yourself, your eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavy.

“oh angel,” he coos. “do you need some help with that?” 

your eyes fly open, and fuck you look so desperate as you make eye contact. “hoonie please, need you…” 

he makes his way over to the bed, planting one knee down on the mattress and hovering over you. “don’t worry doll, hoonie’s gonna make you feel so good.” he lets his hand rest on your thigh, slowly inching up higher and you instinctively pull away your own hand, giving him a full view of your dripping pussy.

“what do you want me to do angel? use your words for me.” he half expects you to hide your face in embarrassment, but you’re already so far gone that your response is immediate. “please hoonie, need— need your fingers inside.” you spread your legs further as you grab his wrist, guiding his hand to where you need him. 

your gasp when he finally pushes two fingers in halfway is downright sinful and sunghoon has to bite back a growl. he’s going to make you his. "clenching my fingers so tight angel. gonna have to stretch you out a little before you can fit my cock."

your face twists in discomfort as he adds a third finger and he attaches his lips to your neck, sucking on your sensitive spots to distract from the pain. in a twisted way it makes him feel satisfied knowing he'll be the first to fuck you, that he'll be the first to mould your insides to fit his cock. soon you're letting out pretty moans again and he presses his palm against your clit, stimulating it to make you come. the broken whine of his name when you reach your orgasm is something that will stay in his mind forever, your eyes squeezed shut, mouth drawn open in a perfect o. 

god. if he doesn't fuck you soon he's gonna explode.

sunghoon prides himself on still having the presence of mind to open the bedside table drawer and reach for a condom, before pushing his underwear down. 

"ready, doll?"

"yes, yes 'm ready sunghoon, wanted this for so long." your voice still sounds so desperate despite the fact that you came once already and he can only give you what you want. he pushes his cock in slowly, checking on you for any discomforts, but you're only staring at where he's entering you, eyes wide and so full of lust that he continues bottoming out. 

"fuck. you're still so fucking tight angel." he has to take a few deep breaths to avoid coming embarrassingly quickly himself. 

"please move, i can take it, promise." you're looking up at him now, hands clenching around the bedsheets, your hair all messy, so ruined for him already and he hasn't even fucked you properly yet. his first few thrusts are slow and careful, feeling your walls grip him tightly and he wishes he wasn't wearing a condom so he could feel everything. next time. 

"look at you," he groans. "taking me so well, fuck. like you were made for me."

you mewl in response, arching your back off the bed and clenching impossibly tighter around his cock. you reach up with your right hand, wrapping it around his wrist and he understands what you’re trying to do as he shifts his weight before interlocking his hand with yours. 

“sunghoon, please.” you sound so pretty begging, and he’ll have to do something about that later too, make you beg for him some more. for now though, he needs you to come on his cock.

“sunghoonie,” you whine again. 

“doing so good for me doll. fucked you so dumb already the only thing you can remember is my name, huh?” he leans down to capture your lips in a filthy and sloppy kiss, before pulling away and softly biting your lip.

“‘m gonna– sunghoonie, i’m gonna come,” you cry out.

he speeds up his thrusts, not far away from orgasming himself.

“go ahead angel, just let go for me. so perfect, and all mine.” 

your eyes roll back as you reach your second high, your hand tight in his, and god he’s really gonna have to fuck you raw next time because you’re squeezing him so well, and he can’t help but imagine what it would be like if he could feel the drag of his cock against your walls. you moan out his name loudly and it’s enough to send him over the edge too, filling up the condom with his own come as he gives a few more sloppy thrusts. 

once you’re all cleaned up he hugs you close in bed, ready to fall asleep, but your sweet voice cuts through his haze as you ask cheekily “will you teach me how to suck you off next time?”

[meadowfics]

held my own weight

park gyeong-seok x f!reader

synopsis: the worst moment in your life brings you a gift

warnings: stepmother!reader. adoptivemother!reader. adoptivefather!gyeong-seok

SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON THREE BELOW -> DON'T CLICK 'KEEP READING' IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!

gi-hun pushed himself backwards, falling to his death a hundred feet below.

your eyes are wide, not believing the sacrifice that this man made for the baby.

the baby didn't have a mother, and needed one. everyone knew since junhee died, that you were the babygirl's only hope at having a good life if you survived.

you stumble out of the elevator which took you away from the sky squid games, clutching the tiny, squirming baby in your arms.

the infant's soft whimpers pierce the heavy silence that wraps around you like a cloud. the weight of her small body feels like the only thing keeping you pulled to the earth.

your heart is a fractured thing, splintered by the losses that pile up behind you.

junhee, the babies' father player 333, and gyeong-seok, your gyeong-seok, whose name still burns on your tongue.

you thought you’d lost him in the rebellion, that chaotic blur of screams and blood a few days ago. the heart inside of your chest aches for his comfort.

the memory of his face, his warm hands, his quiet strength, haunts you as you step into the blinding light of the outside world.

the baby, daughter of 222 and 333, clings to you, her tiny fingers curling into your shirt.

you’re all she has now, and the weight of that responsibility presses down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

the prize money is yours...or rather, yours and hers.

they call it a “split,” but you know better.

every cent of her share will go to her future: diapers, formula, clothes, a savings account for when she’s older.

you’ll make sure she’s cared for, even if it means using your own share of the 45.6 billion won.

you can’t think about the money now, though, not when your heart is still raw, torn open by the thought of na-yeon, gyeong-seok’s little girl, waiting for you in the hospital.

she’s sick, her fragile body fighting a battle no child should have to face.

you’ve been her stepmother for only a short time, but the love you have for her is undeniable.

how will you tell her about her father?

how will you explain that you survived when he didn’t?

the hospital is a blur of white walls and antiseptic smells when you arrive.

your arms ache from holding the baby, but you don’t dare let her go.

she’s asleep now, her tiny chest rising and falling against your own. you navigate the sterile corridors, your worn shoes squeaking against the polished floor.

na-yeon’s room is at the end of the hall, and you brace yourself as you push open the door, expecting to see her small form alone in the bed, her eyes searching for a father who’ll never come back.

fortunately, he’s there.

gyeong-seok is there, sitting beside na-yeon’s bed, his broad shoulders hunched as he holds her tiny hand.

the man's dark hair falls over his eyes, and he looks tired, so tired, but alive.

your breath catches, a sob clawing its way up your throat.

you thought he was gone.

you thought the rebellion had taken him, that the games had stolen him like they stole so many others. here he is, real, his gaze lifting to meet yours. his eyes widen, and for a moment, the world stops.

the baby stirs in your arms, and you clutch her tighter, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

he stands, crossing the room in two strides, and then his arms are around you, pulling you close. you sink into him, your face pressed against his chest, the familiar scent of him...paint and cedar and something uniquely gyeong-seok...flooding your senses.

you thought you’d never feel this again, never know the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart.

he’s alive.

he’s here.

na-yeon watches from the bed, her eyes bright despite the paleness of her skin, her newly transplanted bone marrow giving her a fragile kind of hope.

“i thought you were dead,” you choke out, your voice muffled against his shirt, “the guards said you were eliminated and i thought—”

“i know,” he murmurs, his hand cradling the back of your head, “i thought the same about you.”

gyeong-seok's voice is thick with emotion. when he pulls back, his eyes are wet. they land on the baby in your arms, and his expression shifts...grief, understanding, and something softer, something resolute.

he doesn’t need to ask. he knows.

“222?” he says quietly, and you nod, your throat too tight to speak.

“also 333's daughter,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper.

you felt the need to honor him too somehow, even though he nearly killed you and the baby during the last round of the last game.

gyeong-seok's jaw tightens, and he reaches out, brushing a gentle finger across the baby’s cheek.

“she’s ours now,” you say.

the words are a vow, “I promised junhee.”

gyeong-seok’s eyes meet yours, and there’s no hesitation in them.

“we’ll raise her,” he says, his voice steady despite the tears that threaten to spill.

“together. you, me, na-yeon, and her.” he glances at his daughter, who’s watching you both with tired, yet curious eyes from her hospital bed.

the days that follow are a blur of adjustment.

you move into a small apartment, paid for with the prize money. it’s modest, but it’s yours, a sanctuary for your patchwork family.

na-yeon’s health improves slowly, her hair starting to grow back in soft, dark wisps.

she’s enchanted by her new little sister, whom you name ji-yeon, a name that feels like a promise of joy.

na-yeon spends hours sitting beside ji-yeon’s crib, singing soft lullabies or telling her stories about a world she’s only beginning to understand.

you watch them, your heart swelling and aching all at once. na-yeon’s laughter is a fragile, precious thing, and you’d do anything to keep it alive.

gyeong-seok is your rock, as he always has been.

he paints again, his fingers stained with color as he creates portraits and landscapes, pouring his grief and hope into every stroke. you find comfort in the routine of your new life: feeding ji-yeon, helping na-yeon with her schoolwork, curling up beside gyeong-seok at night, his arm draped over you as if to shield you from the memories of the games.

the pain still lingers andyou see it in the way gyeong-seok’s hands tremble sometimes, in the way na-yeon asks about the “bad place” you went to, in the way ji-yeon’s cries sometimes sound like a reminder of the parents she’ll never know.

one afternoon, you’re at the park with ji-yeon strapped to your chest in a carrier.

the babies' tiny head rests against you, her soft breaths a steady rhythm.

gyeong-seok is nearby, sketching a portrait for a woman who approached him earlier.

she’s around five years older than you, with kind eyes and a quiet demeanor, and she mentioned working with gyeong-seok at the park before.

the woman's name is no-eul, and there’s something familiar about her, something that tugs at the edges of your memory.

however, you can't place it.

she watches gyeong-seok work, her gaze occasionally drifting to na-yeon, who’s playing nearby, her laughter ringing out like a bell.

“she’s beautiful,” no-eul says, nodding toward na-yeon, “she looks so much healthier now.”

you smile, your heart swelling with pride.

“she’s a fighter,” you say, adjusting ji-yeon in her carrier, “like her father.”

you glance at gyeong-seok, who’s focused on his sketch, his brow furrowed in concentration.

no-eul’s eyes soften, and you sense a story there, a connection to your family that she hasn’t shared.

you take a chance, your voice gentle.

“would you like to grab some tea with me sometime? it’d be nice to talk. maybe… make a friend.”

no-eul’s expression flickers, a mix of surprise and something like gratitude. she shakes her head, but there’s a warmth in her refusal.

“no, thank you,” she says softly, “but I appreciate the offer.”

the woman's gaze drifts to ji-yeon, and for a moment, you see a flicker of longing in her eyes, as if she’s remembering something or someone lost to her.

when no-eul leaves, without letting gyeong-seok finish her sketch, you look at gyeong-seok, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

you know he feels it too.

the happiness of the fragile, beautiful hope of a life rebuilt.

ji-yeon’s tiny hand brushes against your finger, and na-yeon’s laughter fills the air as she eats her candy.

for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

masterlist

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I'm so curious now, what did the reddit creeps say about your bath snacks post? Tumblr interpreted it pretty poorly sometimes so I'm curious how much worse reddit was

Lol, yeah, so

That post has gone past 100K notes on Tumblr, so you naturally get the full range of responses. It's therefore all about proportions. I obviously haven't run actual stats here, but I would estimate the following:

Majority commented some variant on "this is adorable" (including the popular variants "me and who", and "lord I see what you have done for others"). 70%

Significant minority was tagging with fandoms, with one example of fanfic and one memorable example of someone screenshotting, erasing mine and Steff's names, and replacing them with their blorbos. 25%

A smaller minority tags it with the phrase "the straights are alright" or similar sentiments, and have to be informed that neither of us is straight. 3%

A very small minority who can't seem to shut the fuck up about their opinions on bath snacks and don't seem to have heard of the advanced technology that is plates, being as they are absolutely convinced that the snacks would definitely either pour a torrent of crumbs directly into the bath like the dammed outflow of the Yellow River, or become physically saturated with water as I ate. 1%

About 3 people total who tried to tell me this was actually a fetish for my husband that I was innocently unaware of and ORDERING me to nurture it for the sake of his emotional and sexual happiness (lol for many reasons). <1%

1 single incel who lost his entire fucking mind when he saw the phrase "eager bathroom butler" because he thought it was sexist and demeaning to my poor abused husband and went on a weird rant that concluded with "I hope you've learned not to describe someone who loves you like that ever again." <1%

So, yeah. The main issue by a country mile has been the blorbo tagging. Which! In actual fact! Is not in and of itself a problem! Provided, that is, you FIRST acknowledge the real life human beings the post is about. And there has been plenty of that, and I don't mind that at all. Stuff like "Oh my god this is so sweet! OP your husband is amazing. Also this is making me think of (blorbos)"

Respectful, recognising that real human beings exist and not just to be fodder for your fanfic, giving praise where it's due to the star of the post (my husband). I have no issue with that at all.

MEANWHILE OVER ON REDDIT

Almost every single comment was one of the following:

Anything so you can see a naked woman amirite hurr durr

He's definitely doing it so she'll fuck him later haha hope she put out

Wow this dude clearly wants to be her sex slave

And like. What the fuck. What the literal and figurative fuck is that. He sees me naked every day, our sex life does not require transactions, and I'm sorry no one has ever loved you for you to know this, but sometimes you do things for your partner because the end goal is them being happy rather than you being horny.

Absolute wankers to a man.

[luvyeni]

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── you need to let him … but you just can’t …

( 対 ) anton lee + fem. reader wc. 0.9k genre smut · contains! toxic!anton , unprotected sex , breeding kink down bad anton mature content. / back to library

you remember that night all too well; no matter how much you tried to forget it — it played over and over in your head. the screaming , the cursing , the throwing glass around the house… it played in your head like a reoccurring nightmare — you kicked him out that night , slamming the door in his face.

he called so many times; but you ignored him , eventually blocking him , you just needed space for a bit to think — anton wasn’t gonna give you that , he showed up to the apartment , knocking on the door , speaking through the door to let him in , you were tempted , the way he spoke , so softly , you had to force yourself to walk away. this space was good for you , the both of you needed this time away from each other.

the thing is, anton didn’t want space from you , he needed you. you were his life line , his only reason for living… he couldn’t just let you go…

you knew you shouldn’t have unblocked him , never gave him the opportunity to have access to you while you were still healing and trying to figure things out — but he said he needed his clothes and some other things , and although you were pissed at him , you cared for the boy deeply and this was still his home so you let him come back — that was your biggest mistake.

“baby please — anton no.” you pushed him away , but he followed behind you. “we can just talk this out , i don’t want it to end like this.” he grabbed your wrist , spinning you around so you were facing him. “anton— no i’m not giving up on us.” he kissed your cheek , down to your neck. “please don’t end it , i need you.” he breathed against the wet spot. “do i need to get on my knees and beg , baby i will beg , i’ll fucking beg if i need to.” he gave you no room to breathe , you felt so overwhelmed. “t-ton.”

you felt his hands sliding down your waist , down to your bum. “shh , stop talking..” he said softly, taking you into his arms , your arms wrapped around his neck , he knew what he was doing , anton knew how to make you crumble in his arms even if you didn’t want to. “yo-you need to go, ge-get your things and leave.”

the quiver in your voice as he laid you down , crawling on top of you. “i don’t want to.” he said. “i want to stay here with you.” he kissed down your neck , you gasped. “i want to lay next to you.” he kissed all the way down your chest to your stomach , your legs responding to his words , opening slightly , he pried them open. “i want to feel you.” he kissed the inside of your bare thighs. “you smell so good.” kissing your clothed cunt. “i want to taste you.” he lick your folds , making your body arch up. “anton.” he moaned into your cunt as he licked you , like he’d been starving for you. “anton fuck.”

it’s like his tongue was magical , because as you came into his mouth and he drank you up like you were his favorite drink — you completely forgot why you were mad at him , all you could think about was him , that’s exactly what he wanted.

“hold still.” he pinned you down by your waist. “fuck.” his cock pressing against your hole. “so fucking tight.” you moaned as he pushed himself inside. “anton.” you yelled as he began to pound into you , he was gone for a week — but he was fucking you like he’d not seen you for ages. “fu-fuck , i missed you so much.” he groaned into your ear. “i missed the way you felt around me , the way your pretty pussy remembers my dick.” he was deep inside you , kissing your cervix. “you were made for me , made to be mine.”

your hands were pinned up above your head as he claimed you once again , you couldn’t do anything but moan his name as he carved himself back into your life. “you’re mines.” he whispered into your ear. “t-ton.” he moaned at the way you desperately called his name. “you can’t leave me , i won’t allow you to.” you clenched at that. “fu-fuck see? even your body knows , your body knows it belongs to me , just gotta get that stupid head to understand.” grunting out. “say you love me.”

“i-i love you.” you knew you’d end up regretting it again , but you didn’t care at the moment. “i love you so fucking much!” he growled , speeding up. “say you won’t ever leave me , say you’ll stay with me forever.” he grabbed your jaw. “fucking say it!” he yelled in between deep thrust. “anton i’m gonna cum!�� he wasn’t ready for you to , he wanted to hear you’ll never leave him. “not until you say it.”

“fuck anton ! i’ll never leave you.” you moaned out , your body begging for a release. “please , please let me cum , i’ll never leave you, i promise.” your poor body was already trembling. “good job , now cum for me.” he whisper in your ear , biting down on the lobe. “cum all over my fucking cock.” you finally let go , your mouth dropped open as you came around him , he cursed , completely forgetting about his own orgasm until he felt his cock twitch , his seed spilling inside you. “ah sh-shit.” he bit on his lip , letting himself fill up your waiting womb , you let out an exhausted whimper. he kissed the side of your cheeks. “good girl , taking all my cum like that.”

“when you’re all round and swollen for me , you won’t be able to leave me.”

©️LUVYENI

[maskedbyghost]

last part of toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader

You weren’t even sure what you were supposed to feel anymore, and maybe that was the worst part of all of it, because at least when you were angry, you had direction, something to aim at, something to burn down, but now everything just felt kind of… flat.

You were tired in places you didn’t even know could get tired, your body was carrying weight that didn’t belong to you anymore, and your brain kept trying to replay every fight, every night you waited for him to show up and he didn’t, every time you thought maybe this time, only to realize he hadn’t even noticed that you were hoping.

You weren’t sad, because that part had already happened, that storm had already come and gone and ripped through every soft part of you, and now there was just this… this weird emptiness. This dull ache that sat in your chest.

And the worst part was that you still kind of missed him. Or not even him, really, just the idea of him. The idea of someone who used to know how to make you laugh without trying, someone who used to touch your back in passing like he couldn’t help it, someone who used to say your name like it tasted good in his mouth. You missed the version of him that only existed in your head now, the one you used to imagine was just hiding under all the bullshit if you could dig deep enough to find him.

But you weren’t stupid anymore. At least, not in the same way.

So when the first text came through, just a short, careful message that read: Morning. Hope you slept okay. Don't worry, I’m not expecting a reply. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you—you didn’t answer it.

You stared at your screen for a few seconds, heart doing that annoying lurch it always did when his name popped up, and then you locked your phone and tossed it on the bed.

You weren’t going to do this again. Not for a text that took five seconds to type.

And when he sent one again the next day? Same thing.

Made coffee and thought about how you always put way too much sugar in yours. Miss that.

Still no reply.

The third day?

Morning, love. I just opened a cupboard and found one of your hair ties. I held it like a grieving Victorian widow for three minutes. So that’s fun.

You almost smiled at that one. Almost.

But you still didn’t answer.

He didn’t double-text. Didn’t follow it up with a question mark or a “Did you get my message?” or anything that would’ve given you more reason to roll your eyes. He just sent one a day. Always in the morning, and a little nervous, like he was scared you might actually block him again, but was still doing it anyway.

Day after day, for a full week. You didn’t block him this time. But you didn’t answer either.

Because part of you wanted to see how long he’d keep doing it without getting what he wanted. How long he’d be willing to sit in the quiet. How long he’d go before breaking the pattern and asking for more.

And honestly? You didn’t even know what you wanted him to do. You just knew you weren’t going to make it easy.

Not this time.

It had been a long week, and you weren’t even really in the mood to go out, not at first, not when your friends were pulling outfits out of your closet and hyping you up while you just stood there pretending like you weren’t still kind of hollow inside, like your stomach didn’t still do that annoying twist every time you saw his name pop up in your notifications, even if it was just another one of his dumb, soft morning texts that you still hadn’t replied to.

But they didn’t let you stay home. They dragged you out, shoved a drink in your hand, and told you you were hot and you deserved to feel good again. And honestly? After the second drink, after the third song, after the lights started to feel warmer and your feet started to move on their own, you started to believe them a little.

You danced, you smiled, and you let your body move without thinking too hard. And when some guy stepped close and started dancing with you, you didn’t say no.

It wasn’t anything crazy. You weren’t grinding on him or making a scene. You were just letting yourself feel something that wasn’t grief or guilt or the hollow ache of remembering someone who used to know every inch of your skin and now felt like a stranger who texted you about breakfast.

And then you turned.

And you saw him.

Simon.

Sitting at the bar.

Alone.

He wasn’t drinking. There was a beer in front of him, but he wasn’t touching it. He wasn’t watching the game on the screen behind the bar or scrolling through his phone or pretending not to notice you. No, he was just sitting there with his forearms on the bar, that stupid hoodie pushed up to his elbows, and his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the goddamn room.

You froze for half a second, caught mid-step, one hand still raised like you were about to toss your hair back and laugh, and your heart just… stopped. Because there was something in his face that made your chest feel like someone had wrapped their hands around your ribs and squeezed.

And he didn’t look away.

Not when you turned back toward your friends. Not when the guy you’d been dancing with leaned in to say something. Not even when your friend grabbed your hand and spun you around, laughing. Simon just watched quietly.

Like he’d seen everything he didn’t want to see and couldn’t look away from it.

You didn’t go over, you didn’t acknowledge him, you just danced. Let yourself move more freely. Let yourself pretend that he wasn’t sitting twenty feet away, like he was reliving every mistake he ever made and feeling every single one of them hit all at once.

And when the night ended, when the music died down and your feet were sore and your throat ached from yelling over the speakers, you walked out into the cool air with your girls, arms linked, laughing and stumbling a little, too tired and tipsy to care.

And there he was again.

Leaning against his car, hands in his jacket pockets, hair slightly messy, that same unreadable look on his face, but softer now, just tired. He’d been waiting there for hours and would’ve waited longer if he thought it meant you’d speak to him.

“Need a ride home, ladies?” he asked, voice low but smooth, but he didn’t look smug, didn’t look flirty. He looked like someone who knew exactly where he stood and was offering anyway.

And your friends?

Oh, they swooned.

One of them leaned in and whispered, “Is that the Simon?” like he was a celebrity instead of your ex. Another one literally fanned herself with her hand and said, “He could drive me home any night.”

You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t say no.

He opened the passenger door for one of your girls, helped another into the backseat, didn’t comment when they giggled a little too loudly or gave you a look that said this is so not over. He didn’t push. Didn’t even try to talk to you, really. He just drove.

Like he wasn’t breaking apart slowly behind the wheel.

He dropped them off one by one, and every time one of them got out, she’d turn and give you a look—one of those do you want us to wait? do you want us to make an excuse? kinds of looks—but you just shook your head.

Until it was just the two of you.

The silence filled the car, awkward and pressing down on your chest until it was hard to breathe. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. He just kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, fingers flexing slightly on the wheel like he was trying not to say the wrong thing.

He pulled up to your building and parked, let the engine idle for a second too long.

Then he looked at you

“I wasn’t there to ruin your night,” he said finally, voice rough and low like it hurt to talk. “I didn’t even know you’d be there, swear to God. I just… I haven’t seen you laugh like that in months. I didn’t know if I should feel happy for you or fucking sick.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t come out like a confession or a slap.

So he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and then added, even softer:

“You looked happy. That’s all I’ve wanted. Even if it’s not with me.”

You still didn’t speak. Your hand was already on the door handle.

But before you stepped out, he leaned slightly forward, not close enough to touch, just enough to say it:

“I’d rather watch you be happy from a distance than fuck up your peace again. But I’m not gonna stop hoping you let me try.”

Then he leaned back, hands back on the wheel. And you opened the door and stepped into the night, heart pounding, head spinning, trying to decide if it was anger or longing or both curling up in your chest.

You didn’t look back until you reached the door to your building.

And when you did?

He was still there.

There were moments when the world slowed down and no one was talking and nothing urgent needed doing, where you’d stop and realize you didn’t actually know how you felt anymore. Some mornings, you woke up feeling like maybe you could move on. Other mornings, you missed the shape of his arms around you so badly you had to physically sit on your hands to keep from texting him first.

And through it all, Simon kept texting.

Every single day.

Not demanding, not pushing, not trying to force a response. Just… there. Sometimes it was early in the morning, sometimes mid-afternoon, sometimes twice a day if he thought you’d had a bad one. And even though you never replied, not once, you read every single one.

Morning. Hope today doesn’t suck. I mean it. Go drink water or something.

Dropped my toast butter side down. Is that karma? Did I deserve this?

Just walked past a couple holding hands. I don’t wanna talk about it.

There was a dog outside the bakery this morning. I told him about you. He seemed supportive.

And you’d always read them.

Eyes rolling, lips twitching, heart doing that annoying little ache that you swore you were done feeling. But still, you didn’t reply.

Not until the bookshelf.

You got home late one night, tired and irritated and already half-ready to crawl into bed and ignore the world. Your bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and you kicked off your shoes, not even looking up as you walked toward your room, fully intending to faceplant and scroll TikTok until your eyes hurt.

But then you looked up.

And froze.

In the corner of your bedroom was a brand new bookshelf. Not a flimsy little piece from a discount store. No, this was beautiful, tall and dark-stained, filled with books so neatly arranged you thought you might be hallucinating for a second.

“What the fuck,” you muttered, stepping closer, blinking hard like the furniture might vanish if you stared at it too long.

And then you saw the note.

Taped to the shelf with one of those dumb gold star stickers.

A gift for you. I found your Goodreads account. (Your friend helped me. I bribed her with cupcakes. She’s disloyal.) These are all from your TBR list. Yes, all of them. No, I don’t want to talk about how long I was in that store.

Also, a real question... Did you mean to save the one where the guy kidnaps her and she calls it romance?? Are we not calling the police in these?? Also what is a ‘reverse harem’ and why is there a dragon on the cover?? I’m not kink-shaming, I swear. Just... blink twice if you need help, or like... a stable relationship?

You stood there for a full minute just staring at it, at the books, at the note, and at the fact that he had spent God knows how much time and money finding your unread books and building you a whole-ass bookshelf and then roasting your taste in spicy novels like that would somehow soften the blow.

And then?

Then you laughed.

Like, really laughed. Loud and unexpected, almost wheezing as you reached for your phone and opened his message thread for the first time in forever. Your fingers hovered for a second. Then typed:

I read the smut so I don’t text you ‘come ruin my life again’ at 2am. It’s called coping. Don’t judge me.

His reply came instantly:

Okay, well now I have 4 tabs open trying to figure out why that man in your book liked being stabbed. You scare me. I miss you. It’s confusing…

And that night, you fell asleep with a stupid smile on your face for the first time in forever.

Some days, it felt easier. You could get through a full twenty-four hours without thinking about him every time your phone buzzed, or without letting his name run laps through your mind just because you saw someone wearing his cologne at the store, or caught the tail end of a song he once hummed under his breath while cooking eggs at 2am in your kitchen.

Other days it was still a mess.

He still texted. Every morning without fail, like some broken record that somehow never made you roll your eyes hard enough to block him again. Sometimes you answered, short and sarcastic “wow you’re up early” or a “why are you telling me about your toast again.” Sometimes you didn’t. Sometimes you read his messages and stare at them for too long, and lock your phone before you can type something you’d regret.

Sometimes you laughed out loud when he sent you a picture of a dog in a sweater and said “he said he misses you, not me, just you.” Sometimes you wanted to scream when he followed it with a soft: “I miss you too though. Every version of you.”

You didn’t know what you were doing. Not really. Letting him text you, not shutting it down completely, letting him hang in the doorway of your life like he was waiting to be let back in if you just gave the word.

And today, it all felt like too much again.

So you left your apartment, pulled on a hoodie, headphones in, and wandered out until your feet took you to the park. You didn’t have a plan. You just needed to be somewhere else, somewhere quiet. You sat on a bench near the edge of the lake, watching ducks paddle around, watching couples walk hand in hand, the same aching scene you thought you were done getting crushed by.

But it still hit you.

The soft stuff always did.

A girl sat across the path with her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder while he played with her fingers. An older man helped his wife sit down carefully on a bench, then pulled a thermos from a bag and poured her something hot while she smiled at him like he was the only person in the world who mattered.

It made your chest tight again, that type of wanting that snuck up out of nowhere and sat on your ribs. Not for someone in particular—just for something that didn’t make you feel like you were bracing yourself all the time. Something that didn’t break and beg and promise, only to leave you rebuilding everything from scratch again.

And then you felt it. That weird shift in the air. The kind of awareness you’d only ever felt when he was near.

You turned your head. He wasn’t moving toward you, just standing there a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking at you like he didn’t know whether he was allowed to come closer or not.

You didn’t speak, didn’t wave, but you didn’t leave either.

So he walked over. Sat on the opposite end of the bench, he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

You didn’t say anything for a minute. Just sat there, watching the water.

And then he spoke.

“I’m not trying to win you back in some big dramatic way,” he said, glancing over at you now. “No grand gesture, or some stupid speech. Just… me. Every day showing up and being better. Whether you want to forgive me or not.”

Your throat felt tight, and you hated that.

You hated that your first thought was that he looked tired. Not messy tired, not in a falling-apart way, just like someone who hadn’t had a full breath of air since you told him to leave.

You looked back at the lake, arms crossed over your chest like that would keep anything else from slipping out.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you said eventually. “I don’t have a big answer for you. I don’t even know if I trust you again, or if I should.”

“I don’t expect anything,” Simon said. “I mean, I hope. But I don’t expect. I just wanted to see you, even if we just sit here in silence and you never text me back again. This is enough for me.”

You both sat there quietly, for a long time of nothing but wind and leaves and distant laughter from a kid feeding the ducks with too much bread.

“I still think about it, you know,” you said suddenly, almost surprising yourself. “Everything. But I also think about the nights I cried myself to sleep, and how exhausted I was all the time from hoping you’d show up the way I needed you to.”

Simon flinched a little, like your words landed right where they were supposed to.

“I know,” he said. “I think about that too.”

You let your eyes close for a second, just to breathe through the ache.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, softer now. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to, or if I even want to.”

“I’ll wait,” he said.

You turned to look at him, finally, really looked at him, and he didn’t smile or try to touch you or do anything that would tilt the balance.

He just looked back.

And then you stood. Brushed off your jeans, adjusted your hoodie, and slung your bag over your shoulder.

Simon stood too, but didn’t reach for you.

“I’ll see you around,” you said, voice unreadable.

He nodded. “I hope so.”

You gave him one last look, something tired and unsure but not entirely closed off, then turned and started walking down the path.

He didn’t follow.

And maybe you’d text him tomorrow, or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe this was a step forward, or maybe it was the start of goodbye.

But either way, for now, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

And that was enough for now.

----------------------------------------

I left the ending open on purpose because honestly it’s up to you. Maybe she forgives him eventually. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she texts him back that night, or maybe she blocks his number the second she gets home. Either way, I wanted it to feel like those unfinished things we all go through sometimes. So whatever ending you pick in your head? That’s the right one.

Thanks for reading. <3

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608

[heartsiebyul]

Can you do Malleus+Leona and whoever chooses *separately with a reader who usually shows no facial emotion, but due to a potion, they temporarily have a tail (sort of like Jack's) when they get kissed, even though their face doesn't react, their tail wags really fast? Lol

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

(not mine)

featuring — Leona Kingscholar : Malleus Draconia x reader.

˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was used to people being loud, emotional, and exhausting. That’s what made you different. You didn’t react to everything. You didn’t squeal or panic or demand things from him. Your face was like stone most of the time, and Leona liked that. It made you easy to read, ironically.

But not today.

Thanks to a class mishap, you were now sporting a tail. You didn’t want to talk about it. Leona noticed immediately, of course.

“Tch. You grow a tail and act like that’s normal?” he said with a raised brow as he lay in the dorm lounge, eyes lazily roaming over you. “You’re even twitching it like some Savanaclaw mutt.”

“It was a potion mishap. Temporary,” you replied flatly.

He grunted and pulled you down beside him by the wrist. “Fine. Doesn’t change anything.”

What did change everything was when he suddenly leaned in and planted a kiss on your cheek. A casual act, until your new tail went stiff for a split second, then burst into rapid, wagging movements like a fan on high speed.

You froze. Your face didn’t flinch, but your tail... traitor.

Leona slowly pulled back, ears flicking as he smirked. “...Huh. What’s this? Your tail’s makin’ a fool of you.”

You turned to him deadpan. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he drawled, already leaning in again. This time, he kissed the corner of your lips. Your tail wagged even harder, thumping against the bench like an excited puppy.

Leona barked out a laugh, real and loud. “Oh, I like this potion. Gonna miss that tail when it’s gone.”

You sighed. “Can you pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “In fact, I’m gonna make it wag every damn chance I get.”

You didn’t answer.

But the tail twitched again.

Malleus Draconia

You rarely react to things, at least, not on the surface. Your face stays blank in most situations, a trait many mistake for aloofness. But Malleus never judged that part of you. In fact, he found your stillness quite calming. Today, however, that calm exterior had a new weakness, one with a tail.

A potion from Master Crewel’s class had accidentally spilled on you, and the effects were strange, you now had a long fuzzy tail. According to Master Crewel, the potion was temporary, but it would “reflect your true emotional state via nonverbal expression.”

Which wouldn’t have been a problem, until Malleus gently pressed a kiss to your forehead while walking with you in the garden of Diasomnia.

“Dearest, you are quite radiant tonight,” Malleus whispered, brushing back a strand of your hair. “May I...?”

You gave a single nod.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. It was soft, slow and sweet, barely more than a brush of warmth.

Your face remained as neutral as ever.

But your tail, instantly began wagging so rapidly it looked like it might fly off your back.

Malleus blinked. Then again. “...What curious behavior,” he murmured with a tilt of his head, eyes glowing in quiet amusement.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied calmly, expression blank.

He leaned in again. Another kiss. Your tail wagged in bursts, like it had just been hit with a sugar rush.

His lips quirked into the most pleased, smug little smile you had ever seen on him. “You say nothing,” he mused, voice low, “but your tail sings your truth, my dear.”

You cursed Crewel in your mind.

˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙ᵕ˙˙

[nixnbob]

THIS. This was one of the best scenes for writing and acting (to me) around heartbreak. Actual, real, shredding heartbreak. Whether you see it as platonic or otherwise. It felt so real. Like it really tapped back into the energy from the Fishes episode.

Especially to open the season with them reconciling and Carmy literally telling her that's what he wanted. He wanted them in the kitchen. No dysfunction. How she opened up to Claire while her dad was in hospital and everything pouring out about needing consistency, while her one piece of it lies in a hospital bed. And how it had felt like her and Carmy were starting to get that.

And the conversation with Carmy's mom. After all of the set-up each season around Sydney and Carmy's partnership and then like, when she felt it like a gut punch, so did we as viewers. She had chosen him over Shapiro and the Bear over anywhere else. And then... It was *chef's kiss*...

Hell of a way to end the season. Hoping there's another, but we'll see. I don't hate Claire, I just feel like she's a bit of a nothing character. She's just kind of there. And I feel like they've constantly gone well out of their way to have every character tell us 'how amazing' and 'how awesome' she is.

Like, so is Sydney, but they really haven't shied away from showing us her flaws either. Or any other character in the show. Sydney feels REAL. To the point it feels odd with Claire that they're not showing her flaws, or at least trying to actively tell us as viewers that there's no flaws, she's perfect.

Selfishly, I want another season just to finish a few arcs off, as it feels unfinished at the moment:

- It feels like Carmy is burnt out and has never had freedom to reconnect with what he loves in a healthy way. And that's why he's noping out if things. I see him trying to retire and it not really being possible for him. Especially with the chat with Sugar around how he had such a spark with it. Maybe he gets a few episodes of just cooking to enjoy it, or travelling again with some of the chefs that cared about him and helped him develop.

- Ibra's sandwich franchise is teased as maybe a bigger plot point for another season. Why have Unc and Albert only almost meet?

- What's going in with Unc and his money. Downsizing by choice or was there more going on?

- The (food and wine?) review hasn't been published, the one the guy called Sugar about.

- Frank, Tiff and Eva haven't visited the Bear yet. I would love them all to see how far Richie has come and for Tiff to tell Richie how proud she is of him. And even sweeter would be if it came from Eva, because she can see how together her dad is now, compared to where he was at the start of the series.

- The guy that came in the restaurant on his own and asked for a Beef. Was he another reviewer? Are we ever going to get an answer to that? It feels a little weird to focus in on him like that, more than with other guests.

- Whether there's something more going on with Donna. Felt weird to have Lee just say something hinting at it as a throwaway line.

- If they're hunting a star, maybe that's one of the main drivers for the next season and it would feel amazing after everything the characters have been through, if that's how they ended.

- There's a suggestion Carmy and Claire have reconciled, but they haven't really shown them back together-together. Maybe Claire is who Carmy thinks he needs, but then with her finishing her residency she'll surely be even busier now? Maybe they try to make it work and he sees how much she loves what she does, but how she can't give that up just for him. I feel like that might be a way to explore where their relationship is going.

I dunno. I just think Sydney deserves to realise her dream and Carmy deserves to be happy. And I don't think either of them are quite there yet. IMO it's being hinted that where things are heading, they might get there. But let us see it. Please.

Anyway, this was meant to be a short post and has now turned into something with paragraphs 😅.

i got shot a million times

[kdh-tally]

Abby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Abby and his Partner

Author's Note : This was requested (i was gonna write it anyways) and the request was so adorable but I unfortunately deleted it cause the first post wasn't loading 😭 But to the anon that asked, please keep your soul!! I'm not like Gwi-ma ;P

For context, you work at a pilates place. It's mixed building so they're both multiple female and male customers (i forgot what u call people who do pilates)

It’s bright and sunny with colours like yellow and pink being in the main design. Opposite of you is this minimalist and dark themed gym.

Both places are more or less enemies in business.

Not necessarily boys versus girls but instead gym junkies and muscle heads vs elegant bodybuilders and core strengtheners. 

It had been a long day and you were not supposed to be working but your co-instructor called in sick, and now you were the only available trainer on site. 

The building would be closing in a few hours and you seriously hoped no one else was coming in. Then the door opened.

In walked a guy who looked like he belonged in a boxing ring. He was crazily muscular, tall, slightly intimidating but 100% cocky.

You knew who this was, kinda.

He recently started going to the gym next door (traitor!!) so it was odd as to why he was here. Other than his pink hair, this definitely wasn’t his scene.

You were also pretty sure he was some new Kpop idol but apparently his group had gone on hiatus or something?

“Hey,” he greeted. “I’m here for the pilates thing?”

You glanced at the schedule. There was no appointment listed under his name. You looked back up at him in confusion, his cocky smirk was starting to piss you off.

He grinned. “It was a last-minute thing. Manager said she’d booked me in for some stretches or something. Said I need to ‘loosen up’.” He even added air quotes.

You tried not to roll your eyes. 

“Right. Lucky you. I’m the only one available.”

“Perfect,” he said without missing a beat before eyeing you up and down. “You look like you know what you're doing.” Cue the smirk, then the flex. 

Even though you swore to be loyal to pilates, you had to admit his muscles were… 😋

Five minutes later, he was on the reformer machine (in a position that should not have been physically possible) and asking if he was supposed to be feeling core activation.

“Is this normal?”

By the end of the session, he was drenched in sweat and fully humbled. You handed him water with a smirk of your own.

“Still think Pilates is just stretching?”

“…No comment.” after a moment of silence “…When’s your next opening?”

He proceeds to walk in every day after his gym sessions.

At first you’re confused cause he never seems tired?

You made him hold a side plank for 20 minutes and watched his soul leave his body.

“I can do squats with 200kg,” he gasped, “why is this band killing me?”

“Because you’re not using your core, muscle-head.”

He swore he wouldn't return again but came back the very next day.

All of a sudden he’s a regular.

Slowly starts coming to Pilate’s instead of the gym.

Many of the members, men and women alike, are super hyped.

It boosts their ego when the muscle-head can’t do half of the things they can.

He meets a decent amount of fans and they (very respectfully) ask why he’s taking Pilates classes all of a sudden.

He tells everyone he’s training to be more flexible for the dances Jinu makes them do, but honestly, he just wants to see you.

Brags that you’re his private instructor to literally everyone, even though you told him to stop doing that.

Whenever you correct his form, he smirks and says, “You just wanted an excuse to touch me, huh?”

You threaten to make him hold a wall sit for 10 minutes.

Will flirt with you. ALL THE TIME.

“You know, your hands are really strong. Its kinda hot.”

“Are you checking me out?”

“Breathe through the stretch, Abby.” you’d tell him

“It’s hard to breathe when you’re looking at me like that, cutie.”

You’ve smacked him with a foam roller at least three times. 

He soon convinces you to hang out outside of Pilates classes. 

Fortunately for you both there's a smoothie and snack bar next door.

After every session, he insists on walking you there.

You always order something healthy but he orders the fruitiest, sugariest thing and insists you try it.

You say no. He forces the straw in your mouth anyway.

When he confesses to you, he doesn’t make it big and dramatic.

I lied. It's kinda dramatic.

It was supposed to be a normal session.

You had no idea what was coming.

Abby had stayed behind again, lounging shirtless on a mat like he owned the studio, which he absolutely did not.

He’d more or less stop going to the gym at this point.

He’d just finished a perfect cobra stretch, smirking the whole time, and now he was watching you clean, spinning a towel around his hands like a bored pet.

“You always stare at me when I stretch,” he said suddenly. You didn’t look up, already used to the teasing remark. “I stare at all my clients. I’m making sure your spine isn’t breaking.”

“That’s cute. You care about my spine.”

You did look up that time, only to see him already walking over to the front desk where you stood.

“Abby,” you warned, “if you break another foam roller—”

“I’m not going to break anything today,” he cut in, laughing as you rolled your eyes. “I’m here to ask you out.”

You froze. “…What?”

“You heard me, cutie.” He leaned on the desk. “You’ve been driving me insane since day one. Yelling at me, correcting my form, making me sore for days.”

“That’s literally my job.”

“And you’re really good at it.” He leaned in, voice dropping just a little. “But I want more than our little pilates dates. Let me take you out.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He tilted his head. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

You wanted to say yes. But his eyes weren’t playing around. Not this time.

“You really want to date your pilates instructor?”

“Hell yeah. You’re hot, you’re scary, and you’ve forced me into a split. I trust you with my life.” A beat. “Also,” he added, smug as ever, "I know you’ve been checking me out since the first class.”

You opened your mouth and closed it. “…Shut up.”

“Is that a yes?”

“…Maybe.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, reaching over the counter and stealing one of the protein bars you were fiddling with. “First date’s on me. Dress comfy.”

He left with a wink and a flex, the bell above the door jingling musically.

Now that he has boyfriend privileges, he’s constantly barging into your sessions to “check if your clients are better looking than him.”

They’re not. He makes sure of it.

You keep telling him it would be physically impossible for you to find someone more attractive than him anyways.

He does not like when other guys flirt with you.

He’ll sit on a mat, arms crossed, glaring while you lead a class. He’d be closer to the front of the class, which is odd cause he normally remains near the center to show off.

“I'm just observing.” he’d excuse, but you know he’s truly just trying to block any other on-lookers from seeing you.

He’s secretly very soft, though. 

Brings you water. 

Wraps his jacket around you if it’s cold.

Packs your bag the morning before classes (yes he stays over)

He pretends not to care, but sulks if you forget to text him after a long day.

The boys would be shocked that he managed to find someone willing to date him.

They only thought he had love for his muscles

“You’re dating a human pilates instructor?? Since when did you do pilates?” Baby would glare at him curiously.

Romance tries not to die laughing. “Wait, so she told you what to do and you liked it? Bro…”

Jinu was just happy he didn’t have to be forced to go to the gym with him anymore.

Abby would just take you instead.

Mystery was quite impressed. He didn’t care so much about Abby dating but was really interested in the mixed pilates center.

Would probably book a session to see what the hype’s about.

He would call you things like:

Ma’am - Whenever you boss him around.

Star-fish - Your super duper flexible the way a starfish is.

Brat - The name he uses to “bully” you

Y/N - Drags it out whenever he wants something from you.

Cutie - What he calls you most of the time.

You would call him things like:

Muscle Head : Cause he’s all muscle no brain

Baby : Cause it’s Abby spelt differently. (It kinda threw him off at first cause yk his band mate is also named Baby)

Loser : Banter is a very prominent thing in your relationship.

Himbo : He’s really pretty, you’ll be the first to admit it, he just isn’t the smartest sometimes….

Sweetie : Cause he can be such a sweet guy sometimes.

[rhettrosunsets]

Thesis Papers And Welcome Home's. - Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: Joaquin's been on a long mission and he want's nothing more than to get home to his girlfriend, his cat and his bed. But when he come's home what he find's surprises him.

Masterlist

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Reader wears Joaquin's hoodie, reader is sleep deprived due to her thesis paper. No description of reader. Reader has drank way too many energy drinks, reader is in college working on their thesis.

Notes: This is my first time writing for Joaquin! I wanted to do something super fluffy and indulgent. I hope this came out okay!

Joaquin stood just outside your shared apartment door as he reached for his keys. The weight of his heavy duffel bag hanging off his shoulder nothing compared to the weight currently in his chest. He was buzzing with anticipation, because God, he’d missed you.

It had been three weeks since he last saw you. Three long weeks of almost no contact while on his mission. There were just a few small voice notes between the two of you at odd hours of the day. It was something he cherished whenever he got to hear how your day went, your ramblings over your thesis paper, or how your cat was doing something stupid that you wished he could be there to see because the cat had obviously picked it up from him.

He got one photo from you the whole mission. One grainy photo of your guy's cat sleeping on Joaquin's favorite hoodie like it was his own personal throne.

He missed you so much, he missed your sleepy smile and the way your eyes lit up when you saw him. And he especially the way you always hugged too tight and refused to let go for a full minute when you finally saw him after a long mission.

He just missed you.

He felt freer as he knew that in just a few moments he’d hear your beautiful voice, feel your arms around him, and he’d finally breathe easy again. He turned the knob and pushed the door open grinning wide, ready to curl into bed with you as soon as he could.

Joaquin had barely set his bag down before your cat came running up to him with a loud meow before nuzzling his face into Joaquin’s pant leg. “Hey buddy.” He said softly as he bent down to greet your cat, gently scratching him behind the ears. “Where’s mom at? Hmm?” He asked the cat.

“Meow”

Joaquin laughed and grumbled a soft “That’s a lot of help buddy.” Before standing up and taking a look around your apartment. That's when he noticed the glowing white light spilling out of the kitchen and into the living room, which was odd considering it was almost two in the morning and he thought you’d be asleep in your bed by now.

He padded in quietly, his thick boots muffled by the carpet, and paused in the doorway. 

There you were, his beautiful girlfriend who should be asleep in bed, perched on a kitchen chair in your favorite oversized hoodie that you had stolen from him after you first started dating. While you were surrounded by what he could only describe as organized chaos.

Textbooks were sprawled out across the table in varying forms od dismay. While color coded post it notes stuck to absolutely everything in the kitchen that you could seem to reach. From your laptop to the microwave laid the post it notes, all with different levels of readability. And there on the counter next to you sat at least eight empty energy drink cans lining the table. 

He blinked confused, before leaning against the doorframe crossing his arms as he raised an eyebrow “Did I come home to a crime scene, Baby?”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, but didn’t bother to look up as you kept typing, your eyes completely focused on the screen in front of you. “Didn’t know drinking energy drinks was illegal now, Torres.” you muttered softly.

Joaquin stepped away from the doorframe and finally moved fully into the kitchen to get a closer look at you as he scanned the table with inquisitive eyes. “Baby, did you sleep at all while I was gone?”

You finally turned to look at him, your eyes a bit too wide for his liking and dark circles firmly planted underneath your eyes.  “Didn’t need it or did I have the time for it. Sorry to tell you Quin, but I’m now officially in a long term committed relationship with this thesis paper."

He snorted loudly, crossing his arms again as he shook his head, “And the five energy drinks you’ve probably had in a row that are currently sitting on our kitchen counter?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, one that may make you typically shiver if you weren't so focused on your thesis paper.

“I needed to feel something. I have to finish this thesis before it finishes me.” You groaned out as you kept typing, your fingers aching with each press of a button.

Joaquin chuckled and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. Muttering a soft “God, I missed you.” to himself.

You hummed softly as you tried to focus on the blurry words crossing your screen as you kept typing. You were out of it and he could tell.

Joaquin sighed softly seeing your tense state, before finally deciding to do something, and said “I’m sure you’ve gotten enough done, you’re the smartest girl I know. Now, you’re gonna feel my intervention. Let’s go baby, step away from the glowing screen and redbull cans.”

“Quin” You say softly, ready to argue about having to finish your paper. “I can’t just dro-“

“Nope.” he said, tugging your chair back gently as he pulled you away from the counter.

“I'm getting you a real meal that’s not just energy in can, and then we’re watching some ridiculous reality tv that you love so much for some reason until you fall asleep on me in our bed that i’ve missed so much.” He say's as he closes your laptop.

You gave a dramatic groan but allowed yourself to be pulled up by your boyfriend's strong arms. He grinned as he saw your defeat of the fact that you wouldn’t be getting back to work tonight, knowing he won this little battle. He tucks you under his arm as he leads you away from the kitchen and back into your shared bedroom.

“Yeah, groan all you want baby, I came back from a mission expecting to see my girlfriend curled up in our bed and you’ve been in your own war zone via red bull cans and textbooks. It was time to call in reinforcements.” He said, as he slightly flexed the arm that wasn’t holding your shoulder making you giggle loudly for the first time that night.

You leaned into him with a sleepy smile. “I love my reinforcement. Welcome home, Love.”

He grinned widely before kissing your temple, already steering you gently toward the bed as he reached for the remote. “And your reinforcement loves you too. Now the real question, Love Island or Survivor”

“MEOW”

[farfromharry]

Summary: Lando’s girlfriend broke her leg and obviously he had to be the first to sign it

lando norris x reader

w/c 963

A broken leg, that was Y/N’s diagnosis. That and being incredibly clumsy. And she had been sulking about it for the better part of a day.

Lando had been scared to overstep. He knew she was upset, her movements for the next 2-3 months were limited, of course she would be upset. But he missed her. Being a boyfriend had taught him a lot about himself and one of those things was that he was extremely clingy when the right person was involved. He just wanted to spend time with her.

He gave it till 2pm the day after they left the hospital before he broke. He needed bribes and a smile and hopefully everything would go to plan.

The man knocked on the bedroom door, getting no response just as expected. “Are you still moping or can I come in?” It was a dangerous game he was playing. Poking the bear. Luckily for him, this bear had a soft spot. That soft spot was named Lando Norris. She was just as gone for him as he was for her. A match made in heaven.

A huff came from beneath the blankets. It made him smile. “Depends. Did you bring ice cream… or chocolate?” Her voice was quiet, like she was being shy about it. He knew her too well though.

“Chocolate ice cream okay?”

She lifted her head like she was checking he was being honest. The man waved the tub where she could see with a spoon in his other hand. For the first time in a full day, she smiled. “You beautiful man, get over here.”

That was his green light. He basically jogged over to the bed, throwing himself in beside her. He offered the ice cream and a kiss, both doing wonders to lighten her mood.

“How you feeling?” He brushed her hair from her face.

She frowned, curling into his side. “Like I can’t go anywhere without burdening someone.” Considering she had never used crutches, everyone agreed it was best to accompany her places in case she stumbled or fell. It was out of love. No one wanted her to hurt herself more than she already had.

Now it was his turn to frown. He couldn’t even begin to tell her how much of a burden she wasn’t. “I will literally carry you everywhere until it’s healed. You’re not allowed to be sad anymore.”

Unfortunately she knew he was being serious. “Lan, you can’t just—“

“Yes, actually, I can.” He raised an arm, pulled up his sleeve and flexed. “I have incredible biceps. It’d be a breeze.” He winked for good measure and she hated how it made her a little flustered.

It all started with his finger tracing shapes on her leg. That was probably where he got the idea from. Then it graduated to him shuffling down the bed, deciding he had to make his mark on her cast.

She didn’t know where he got the pen, probably in one of his many pockets for some random reason. It did take her by surprise though that he was just blindly helping himself. She might not have minded if he had written her a nice message or something. “Did you just sign my cast?” She blinked, blankly.

“Obviously, that’s what you do with casts.”

Her eyes flickered down to the ink now soaking into the plaster. It was there clear as day. The squiggly lines that somehow made up ‘Lando’ with a little 4 beside it. “No, Lando, you literally autographed it.”

He looked down with a furrowed brow, like he hadn’t even realised what he’d done. It was sort of a reflex. When a pen was put in his hand and he was supposed to sign something, that’s exactly what he did. His signature was scrawled mindlessly across the cast because that’s what he was so used to doing. Over the years he’d signed everything from skin to wrappers. Apparently now he even signed his girlfriend.

“Shit.” Any normal person would have felt guilty or even feigned it, but not him. Lando laughed, like, full belly laughed at his mistake. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The woman rolled her eyes. Admittedly she couldn’t help but feel slightly amused herself.

“I’ll fix it.”

“How?”

There was that evil grin on his face again. “You just eat your ice cream. Let me work my magic.”

She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. When it came to Lando sometimes it was better to turn a blind eye and let him do his thing. She sighed, doing as he said. As long as he didn’t draw something phallic like the child he was, she supposed she could get over it.

The man was concentrating hard. Every now and then she would glance at him, find him with his head practically buried in her thigh and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. It was adorable.

10 minutes must have gone by before he finally announced he was done with his masterpiece. “All done.” He sat back with a proud smile on his face.

When she finally took a look, it was like something a crushing teen might draw in the margin of their high school notebook. Hearts, everywhere, followed by a ‘Lando <3 Y/N.’ It was silly, but it made her smile and that was all he wanted to do. Plus now that he’d dedicated his love to her, at least everyone would know she was his.

“I love it, you’re a real artist.”

He beamed. It would be with her for the next 3 months so he was glad she liked it. He stole a quick kiss and then a bit of ice cream when she wasn’t looking. “Good, ‘cause I love you.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

His Soul Living On | Yandere HUNTR/X

She felt the droplets before she bothered to see their source. 

It was the dead of night. Another successful performance and she was happy to be back home. Happy to curl into the undone sheets she left behind, a silent invitation to return to the only reprieve from…all of it. 

While the city glowed with a menagerie of individual lights the golden barrier of the Honmoon glowed above it all. Instilling a peacefulness that Rumi felt was so long sought after. Rubbing her arms, tracing the marks along them with a newfound appreciation. Still, it felt….incomplete without him here. At night she was plagued with visions of the demon. Haunting as they were mesmerizing, always lulling her into those meetings where she was free with him. Before dropping her into the warm but harsh concrete of reality. 

Jin was gone but she was free. Accepted by herself and her friends, soaring higher in the idol space, and having fewer demons appearing than ever before she should be happy. She should be full. 

But like the night that bird with a hat appeared on her balcony. It’s what’s least expected that opens the door to the part of her heart she keeps sealed away. 

“You knew him, yes?”

It was the dead of night. The sun is long gone. The other parts of Hunter/x are all fast asleep by now. Her sheets are lightly damp with sweat and the wetness on her cheeks isn’t solely because of her. 

Floating above, in the space between the ceiling and her bed is you. Half of your body lightly curled from the blue ring of a familiar portal. Defying all laws of gravity as none of your clothes or hair sag. The marks on your skin are like hers glowing golden and your eyes amber as any demons are filled with tears. 

It’s second nature for her to reach up. To hold a face filled with tears for the one she hasn’t stopped grieving. It didn’t matter that Mira and Zoey bought tubs of ice cream or played break-up songs on her off days. 

It hurt. 

And the hardest thing about mourning is when you’re doing it by yourself. Only then when you escape the neat platitudes that come with loss are you forced to confront it—accept it. For Rumi, it’s the hardest thing to do and while it’s no comfort that someone’s in pain like her, she’s happy to not be the only one. 

Without thinking she pulls the rest of you out of the portal, holding you tight as she settles back into her bed. Barely detaching herself to pull at the duvet engulfing the both of you in the warmth of puffy cotton. 

Stay here. 

The words are unspoken as she hugs you tight and you return it. Both of you giving into the pull of peaceful slumber. 

Nightmares spare you both for the night.

______________________________________________________________

The coming morning is awkward. It’s natural that she wakes bright and early to abide by her skin routine, forgoing the makeup for the day off. Turning to her bed to make it neat only to remember why a demon with tussled hair is staring back at her. 

“Who are you?!”

“How’d you get in here?”

“Where’d you get those earrings?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

The questions come fast and so do their faces. Barely allowing you a hair of difference as they inspect you like the mystery you seem to be. Rumi lets them, curious herself and allowing herself to rule out every situation that this could be. 

A hole in the Honmoon?!

Another iteration of Gwi-Ma?!

A new demon risen to power strong enough to tear a hole throught the HONMOON!?

“Uh Rumi your making that face again,” Mira mused picking at the plate of uneaten food in front of you.”

“W-what there’s no face!”

“Uh yeah, it’s the face where you like totally overanalyze something and you don’t want to share.”

Zoey ended with a pout as if reminding Rumi of her all too recent past of omitting her feelings. Their lead sighs before sitting down next to you, grabbing at the hands that were gingerly holding chopsticks before.

“Okay, can you please just tell us who you are and why you’ve come.”

For a moment you just stare at her, making her think for a moment you don’t speak the same language but then you lean back. 

Taking an audible intake of air you speak.

“I used to know Jin he was my friend…he protected me from Gwi Ma for a long time.”

They all look at you with their jaws dropped. You shrink into yourself.

“Wow, you like have a really pretty sounding voice even though you’re super quiet.” 

“Yeah you almost sound like an angel!”

You shrivel at the compliments. Rumi squeezes your hand bringing your attention back to her. 

“So he protected you, is that why you’re here because he’s…” She doesn’t finish her sentence with you she knew she didn’t need to.

“No. More like I’m finally doing what he told me to.”

“And what was that?”

“To learn who I really am,” you trailed off looking skeptically at the idols hanging off your every word,” with…him?” 

They all share a loud “WHAAATTT?” Before reeling it back. Mira was the first to question turning your chair in her direction.

“Wait so Jinu told you to go learn who you are with him?”

You nodded. 

Zoey scooted closer, “So this had to be pretty far in the past. Maybe an old promise he made! Like a hundred years ago or something, right?”

“He made it before he died.”

The team was in a craze. Openly theory-crafting about what this meant. Perhaps Jinu thought he’d be free to do as he pleased once Gwi Ma won so that’s why? But that didn’t make sense considering Rumi felt he’d always planned to help. It was a mess.

“I GOT IT!”

You jumped at Rumi’s declaration while her teammates leaned in both of them tapping their fingers for an imaginary drumroll.  “Jinu said that because he was planning to use his soul to help Huntr/x beat Gwi Ma so he means us! So we’re supposed to carry on the mission of helping them find themselves!” 

“Hm, that does sound like the actions of the heartthrob you fell in love with.” “ZOEY!”

“But how do we know that we wouldn’t kill them on the spot we are hunters after all

“I don’t know…I guess he just knew”

From that day forward, Huntr/x takes you under their wing. Showing you the casual comforts of everyday life you seem so unfamiliar with. Talking with you more they discovered you were similar to Rumi in in that you weren’t fully a demon. Able to live among humans and not crave their souls.

It was easy to appoint you as Bobby’s assistant, learning from him the ins and outs of the business while discovering how vast the world is. Stuck in the demon realm for most of your life, you’d never seen much of the world. 

It was on their world tour that Rumi watched your eyes light up at the sight of the Honmoon. Just as elated as they are to see a world filled with fans’ joy protecting the world from the demons that threaten it. It’s here, bathing in the afterglow of a successful performance that she feels as though she’s reached it. The high she had with Jinu, continued well into the night as you joined them on their relaxed nightly patrol. Laughing as you try to outrun Zoey across the rooftops of Japan. She feels as though this is what he gave his soul to her for.

To witness the blossom he’s protected bloom under the caring hands of Huntr/x. This is her perfection, her fulfillment and she won’t ever stop accepting that this life is all hers. 

__________________________________________________________

“I’m going to America!” 

You had shouted over victory ramyeun. Incurring the turning heads of everyone in Hunter/x and the steady slurping coming to a stop. Unbothered you finish slurping yours before going for the rest of the minute-ready broth. The ramyeun cup slowly turns up blocking your view of the shocked faces looking at each other across from you. 

By the time your broth was gone and you were looking at them all again, they had wide insincere smiles on their faces. None the wiser, thanks to your lack of social-awareness you smile back taking their response as pride in you.

“One of the managers from that collaboration gave me a call, and said I could maybe join the team and learn the ropes from them.”

Mira was struggling, “So how do you plan to…live out there? You don’t exactly have any money.”

“Oh she said she’d take care of it, said she’d also help me make a bank account too.”

“Wow,” Zoey’s eye is twitching and so is her smile,” how…generous.”

Rumi takes the initiative scooting closer on the couch to you as if proximity would make you reconsider the offer.

“You know we don’t feel burdened by you at all!”

She gestured to the group, “We’ve all really enjoyed having you with us, and if you want you can keep staying with us!”

The team was smiling for real, their sincerity shown in the joy in their eyes. Because like Rumi, they accept her, they accept you for all that you are. All that Jinu meant to protect.

“Thanks but I think I’m going to take the job. Bobby thinks I should too, said he’s worried about me taking his job one day.”

You continue raving about the manager you met, the group she manages, and all the things you heard of from another place you’d never explored. Accepting their too-wide smiles, their twitching eyes, and the violent crushing of empty Ramyeun cups. 

Completely unaware of the upset you’d created. 

Rumi didn’t mind.

She could fix this. 

Just like with Jinu.

She has a plan.

_____________________________________________________

“Welcome to the Blue Table: Live with Laura Singh! Today we have all of Hunter/x tonight to talk about the latest album: Living On! Good evening to you all!”

“Hey everyone.”

“Hiiii!”

“‘Sup!”

“....Hi.”

“Now let’s get into all the hot new buzz about Hunter/x’s biggest update. An all-new member to the infamously adored trio! So what’s it like to join this legendary group?”

The new member looks surprised, turning to the live audience eagerly waiting and to the members of their team on each side of them.

“It’s really…awesome!”

The audience erupts with cheers and applause. The host smiles widely and waits for the audience’s praise to die down before she asks her next question. 

“So tell me (Y/n) what made you join this group? Some might say that this trio didn’t need anyone else, what do you say to that?”

The audience leans in like the host, all of them eagerly awaiting the response to such a long-anticipated question. Socials were blowing up with more and more people streaming biting at their nails to hear what the response.

The new member stutters, frantic eyes looking at their members. Rumi dutifully steps in,”(Y/n) is a little nervous but we’ve all accepted them as a part of our family and we hope you do too!”

The audience coos.

“Yeah,” Mira smiles at the camera,” this family sticks together and we couldn’t have made the latest album without them.”

The crowds swoon.

Zoe strikes a pose,”(Y/n) was destined to be a part of us Hunters and I think we can all agree there’s no better role for them than right here.”

She pulls everyone in for a hug, with you right in the middle.

The fans watching frantically clip the moment, reposting immediately to their socials and into their editing software. 

“Uh, I guess to answer the question myself the role kind of…snuck up on me?”

Zoey casually flicks the back of your neck, which makes you straighten your posture. Sending a smirk your way, Singh watches with amazement. 

“Our gwiyeoun hubae is still learning! So give them some time to learn the ropes.”

Mira hums, “ Yeah because this baby has a lot to learn.”

As casually as ever the choreographer kisses your cheek leaving a maroon stain that makes the new idol’s cheeks burn.

Singh faints and there’s a cut to the commercial. TV ratings skyrocket. The internet is blowing up. The Network makes an exception to cut commercials early to get a final winning snapshot of the Huntr/x group all gathering around their new member.

“Please accept our hubae! We’ve decided they’ll be living on in our souls and by our sides and in our songs forever.”