#(<- has been thinking about it for too long)

[madamechrissy]

goodnight n go

pairings- Satoru x Suguru x F!reader

warnings- Gojo and Geto kissing bc YES, they kinda like it but they'll deny it lmaoo, them both eating you out, fingering, blow jobs, cum swallowing, mentions of masturbation, they're being all bratty and competitive, explicit sex, them being greedy with you, SatoSugu but they love your coochie so much you're special </3 - WC 3k

This is for my baby @baepsays who got thrown in TUMBLR JAIL grr for no reason!!! It's based on the Challengers movie, specifically that hotel scene hehe <3

"So... are you two like... together?" you ask the two men sitting right in front of you, both wearing open kimonos that show far too much of their chiseled muscles. Satoru wears a deep blue, Suguru a pretty bright red, you have to keep your eyes from trailing down each of their bodies and act normal. You sip on a beer right with them, sitting on the old hotel carpet in the late hours of the night.

The ac has gone on the fritz, so the windows are wide open, blowing the still humid air into the room, as the two of them avidly watch you, they'd been staring at you for the entire game, the entire after party, clearly both enamored with you. The way you curve that ball had them both hard in the stands.

It was Suguru who mentioned it first, how sexy you were, hyping you all up - Satoru knew who you were by name, but never saw you - he was helplessly in love with himself and being the best. So when he did see you step out in that little tennis skirt, and see the way your pretty body looked in it, especially your ass and how it bounced underneath it? He was already hooked.

But nothing took them out more than how you played, how you danced around the court and fucking annihilated everyone. Satoru and Suguru were two of the top tennis players themselves, but they'd be lying if you didn't say you were better than them both.

Tennis is all you know, there was no dating or doing anything for you, it was all tennis all the time. Even just being here was on a whim, but how could you turn down their invitation?

Suguru's holding a blunt, passing it over to Satoru, the smoke lingering in the air, you smell its sweetness while he wraps his plump lips around it, both men glaring at your question as you giggle. You can't help but ask it, it's the notorious rumor of these two.

"Together?" Suguru blows the smoke up, leaned back on a pillow he'd snatched up from the bed, looking far too good as he eyes you, lidded gaze slipping up your bare thighs. "Why do you ask that?"

"Everyone thinks you two are," you take the blunt from Satoru's long fingers, looking at the two men carefully. "I think you two would be cute together."

"We're not together, why do people think that?" Satoru frowns, and Suguru chuckles, shoving at him. He rolls his eyes, and you pass Suguru the blunt, as you and Satoru go to sip your drinks. You feel a gentle cool breeze blow in for just a moment, tickling your skin as Satoru now runs his fingers across your ankle, the motion making you tense. It feels too good.

"You've never been together? No kissing, nothing?"

"Never!? well..." Satoru trails off, and Suguru smirks.

"Spill!" You're eagerly on your knees now, strap slipping off your shoulder, Suguru leans up to fix it, watching your nipples perk up under your tank at the action.

"You're bratty," Satoru murmurs, fingers running up your calf, leaving. goosebumps on your skin, Suguru inhales the blunt again, blowing it into your mouth now. At the contact of his lips you tremble, inhaling that smoke deep in your lungs, feeling lightheaded, tummy clenching at how good his lips feel.

"Tell me about the time you almost did something then," you tease, while Suguru brushes a thumb over your lower lip. They are both chuckling softly, Satoru is rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you all jerk each other off?"

"You're a freaky brat." Satoru says, glaring so cute at you.

"We didn't do that, but I did teach Satoru how to jerk his-"

"Suguru!" He shoves Suguru now, but you're all wide eyed with attention. "Shut up!"

"What, you didn't know how to." Satoru scoffs, shaking his head.

"Wait that's cute!" You are laughing so hard you're holding your tummy now, as the two pretty boys tell different sides of the same story.

"I was thinking about my girlfriend and started..." Suguru trails off, Satoru's blushing. "Well I thought he was asleep."

"Well I was you were loud," Satoru leans forward now, pressing a little kiss against your neck after brushing your hair back. "You really wanna hear about it?"

"It sounds so adorable." He rolls his pretty blue eyes.

"I asked him to tell me what he was doing, we were young. Then he just sort of told me - but under the blankets!"

"We didn't touch each other." Suguru confirms, snorting in laughter as you giggle at Satoru's embarrassed face burying against your neck now.

"Do you guys do that alot too?"

"Whatever no!" Satoru nips at your neck, making you tense at how good it feels. "We do cuddle."

"He cuddles me, I shove him off."

"The ship is going strong. I don't think I can stay here and ruin this, what would they say about me?" You stand up then, Suguru smirks as Satoru pouts, Satoru's cuteness and Suguru's prettiness are honestly a lot to handle.

"Don't leave us yet, we haven't even finished our drinks." Satoru watches as you brush his hair back, while he's on his knees, sighing a bit.

"All right then, as long as I don't ruin your love." They both scoff as you go to sit right on the edge of that bed, thighs pressing together - as much as you're kidding, you can't help but be excited by the two of them. You pat each side and they both jump next to you, earning your giggle. "Who do I kiss first..."

You look at Suguru, brushing his lips, he exhales and leans closer, but Satoru yanks you by your chin, slamming his lips on yours first. "She was gonna choose me."

"No way, mnh - cherry lip gloss." Satoru licks his lips as he pulls back, you're left breathless, Suguru is quick to kiss you after, his tongue slipping inside, dancing across your teeth, while their hands so huge take over your entire body slowly. Your breath comes quicker and quicker, trembling as they take over your senses.

You have just a bit of sweat dancing along your skin, they're lapping it up, Satoru kisses across one side of your neck, while Suguru kisses along the other. You gasp out, still so sore from the tennis game, their big hands grip each thigh and press in, as if massaging you, their breaths heavy and sensual against your ears.

"Do you all... do this a lot?" You murmur then, teasing as you look into Suguru’s violet eyes, while he slips his fingers higher. "Share girls?"

"Maybe a couple of times, but never with someone like you," he murmurs, while Satoru tilts your chin to him, bringing your gaze to his pouty lips.

"We can kick him out."

"We can kick him out." Suguru tilts your chin back over to him now, only making Satoru drag your thigh over his, opening your pussy wide for both of them to touch you.

"Mnh," your head leans back, the alcohol working through you, mixed with their addicting kisses along your neck, their fingers brushing against your pussy over your shorts. "Fuck..."

"You're so wet, need us to take care of you?" Satoru murmurs, pressing a kiss on your lips, only for Suguru to turn your head and kiss you brutally.

Suguru moans as his finger slip into your hole, while Satoru's roll along your clit, his tongue slipping up your neck as Suguru's is massaging the inside your mouth. You feel how wet you are, as the two of them making you a mess, which they seem to relish in, eyeing each other as they play you.

"So wet, wonder how you'll be when you cum? Squirt all over, or drip slowly?" Suguru's words fuck you up, where you felt in charge, when those dilated eyes hit you, you're trembling and gasping.

"Bet she's messy." Satoru murmurs those words hot and heavy against your skin, his free hand gripping your breast and squishing it.

Suguru's thick finger stretches you out, when Satoru kisses you again, tongue delving into your mouth a little more desperate. You hear his whimper when you touch his toned abdomen, slipping down, before touching Suguru's ribcage now, feeling how hot his skin is under your touch. Husky moans and little whimpers dance along your skin as you touch them.

You kiss Suguru again, then can't help but bring them together, bit by bit, kissing them quicker and quicker, until you drag their faces ever closer. They lose themselves in you, your cunt squelching loudly with how wet it is, you're throbbing around Suguru’s finger as your clit twitches against Satoru's, pressure building in your tummy. You're shifting your hips, arching for more as the wind blows gently against your overheated bodies.

You all three kiss then, together, with each tongue dance along each side of yours, as the three of you exhale and gasp, hands entangled now in your hair, you can't tell who's pulling it from each direction. That's when their own tongues meet, all while their skilled fingers are playing with your slutty, messy cunt, and you're losing yourself in them. One hand in silky black locks so long, the other carding through silly white hair.

You pull back just a bit curious, as you truly think these men must be together, everything about them screams it. Satoru and Suguru kiss each other in front of you, your heart races at the sight, of Suguru and Satoru moaning and still touching you, unrealized with their closed eyes that you've pulled back, smiling as you watch them.

"Okay I should.. go." You say after a long few moments when they blink and pull apart, a trail of saliva dripping between them, before they're scowling at each other, then at you as you giggle. "I can't break up a happy marriage." You say with a pout, getting up and tugging off their hands.

"You're a brat," Suguru huffs, pressing you down on the springy hotel bed then, Satoru kneels and slips your shorts down, while Suguru slips up your top, his lips dancing across each breast. "We aren't together."

"I don't know, I thought it was pretty hot." They both glare at you, Satoru sinks his teeth in your inner thigh, blue eyes vivid in their brightness. "I ship you two even more now."

"I like to eat pussy thank you very much," Gojo presses a kiss to your slick cunt then, making you whine out. "and I'm the best at it."

"That would be me," Suguru is down there too now, both men gripping a thigh, scowling at each other again, they're way too fucking hot and simultaneously cute. "Time we shut you up."

"Past time," Satoru licks a stripe up your slit while Suguru slips two fingers in your hole, you moan at it, at him pumping in and out while Satoru holds your hood up. He swirls the tip of his tongue on your slit, moaning. "Fuck I wanna be inside you."

"She's so tight," Suguru pulls his fingers out then, sucking you right off them, cheeks hollowing while Satoru slips impossibly longer fingers so deep, curling when Suguru's tongue slips against your twitchy little clit. "Mnh."

"She's so sweet here." Satoru's licking you right with Suguru, together they're working you, their tongues touching as they make out with your clit together. You can't help but grip them tightly, thighs shaking on either side of their heads.

"Ah! there, there," your eyes roll back, lost in them, hips raised up for more of their touch, while there lips brush just slightly together while they share your taste.

"Stop kissing me," Satoru's words make you laugh, breathless, even as the orgasm is approaching even closer.

M'not, you're taking all of it." Suguru is burying his face so greedy, tongue slipping into your hole now, you're so close you feel yourself about to fall apart, back and hips arching for more of them.

"S-satoru... S-suguru..."

"Said my name first," he's grinning and nudging Suguru with his shoulder, earning an eye roll, before your eyes roll back again in your skull, both of their fingers inside you.

"Ah!" You're gripping the cheap material of those flowery hotel blankets, while they find spots inside you didn't know you had, fingers in sync while they watch you.

"So pretty," is what one of them whispers, but your pulse is racing in your ears as they curl up simultaneously, hitting a spot that makes your cunt gush and spasm. "There it is."

You think they said it simultaneously, you can't really place where the voices are coming from when you're screaming like that, so loud you're for sure your teammates hear in the adjoining rooms. You can't say you care, while they moan and slurp you up, hungry messy sounds making you reach higher.

"Ngh!" You're shaking, breasts heaving up and down, slightly out in your top all askew. Two hands reach for them, while they share your taste together, moaning against you and vibrating your cunt.

"Who's gay now?" Satoru asks, leaning up and gripping your chin, you barely manage to focus on his pretty face

"I'll give you bi- ah!" Suguru smacks your cunt, it feels far too good, leaning over you too, both taking turns kissing you softly. "Fuck, okay, okay you two are insanely good."

"Who's better?" Suguru is met with a shove from Satoru, grinning all pretty and not budging.

"Equal talent, just like on the court." Your words are sincere, though different in their play styles, both men were fucking beasts on the court. They both blush a bit as you lean up and trail your fingers across their cheeks. Your breathing comes down as you share your taste between them.

You feel their touches getting harder, grips deeper, as you are pulled between them both, kissing each one over and over, losing yourself in them, they're both tugging at your thighs, pressing their cocks against you under their thin shorts.

"Wanna be inside first," Satoru practically whines, Suguru scoffs.

"No," he's shoved Satoru off the bed, you can't stop the little laugh at seeing the six foot four man careen off the springy bed with a bounce and thud to the floor. Suguru's on top of you, dark long locks falling against your skin. He's moaning into your lips, you're clinging to him as he presses against the slick mess your cunt has become. "Mmm..."

"No fair." Satoru shoves Suguru off you, turning you to your side facing him, his hands gripping your ass as he presses his cock against you now too, you're soaking his shorts, feeling hands from behind wrap you now. "I don't wanna share."

"Me either, go take a walk." You exhale, looking at each of them, before touching Suguru's cock behind you, his soft moan is met with Satoru's desperate whimper when you touch his.

"Be nice and share, you two." You chide them gently, they sigh and nod, both of your hands stroking them over their shorts, while they kiss along your back and chest.

Satoru's soon tugged his shorts off Suguru joins him, revealing thick pretty cocks, so veiny and leaking pearly precum. You're swallowing nervously at their lengths, unsure how you'd fit them, when they slip off the remnants of your clothes, both rubbing their tips along your pussy. Suguru's pressing against your hole, Satoru's tip is on your clit, rubbing back and forth, filthy sounds.

You're gripping Satoru and kissing him, whining out, Suguru tugs your leg up high, sinking his teeth against your neck. Their tips rub together, they won't admit that it doesn't bother them, they're far too absorbed in how good you feel, how pretty you are between them. They do share everything, but for you they felt a little greedy, each one wanting more.

Suguru's pressing inside your cunt first, groaning as his hand grips a thigh right with Satoru, leaving bruises on your skin. "Mnh!" You're whining out at the stretch, head falling back, to be wrapped with Satoru's fingers, as he keeps stroking your clit, you're filled so full you scream out.

"Fuck she's so tight," Suguru's groaning, Satoru exhales, while he pumps you deep, your tits jiggling perfectly for Satoru's eyes.

"Lemme feel her," Satoru whispers, like you're their little toy then, Suguru pulls out for a moment, leaving you empty and crying out, only for Satoru sink inside your cunt. You're stroking Suguru's cock behind you, slick with you, as Satoru's curved tip hits your spot, making you cum all over him. "Hah, came on my cock first."

"Because I filled her up so good," they're fucking into you a few pumps each turn, till Satoru gets greedy, yanking you on him as he lays on his back, shoving you right down on his cock and whimpering.

The angle is so deep, you feel him right on your cervix, Suguru's lifting you by the hips, behind you now, fucking up into your cunt instead, only for Satoru to yank you back down. You feel like a little doll they're playing with, cunt dripping down each of them, while you're trembling, letting Suguru have you cumming next.

Satoru rolls his finger on your clit while he does, both taking turns fucking your cunt until it's sore, tightening up on them and milking their cocks, their tongues lapping along each ear as they keep dragging you from one cock to the next. They tease your entrance together with their tips at one point, burning the skin there, they both groan as the rub together.

"Where do you want this cum?" Satoru asks softly, you look down, biting your lip then.

"Mouth." They're so eager for this it's amusing, you're on your knees while they take turns fucking your mouth, until you try to suck them both at once, only managing their tips.

"Ah, that's it, gonna cum so much more than you," Satoru murmurs, Suguru is too lost in how good your mouth feels to argue, as you look up at them so pretty, sucking each one and stroking with your hands, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth.

"Shut up, Satoru, God." Your giggle earns Satoru fucking your throat harder, not that you mind, you feel him yanking your hair as you keep stroking Suguru's thick length, choking on him and gagging. The sensations have you grinding against the bed.

"Gonna swallow all of me, huh sweetheart?" Satoru's whisper is met with your whine, while you do just that, swallowing all of his cum, he whimpers and leans his head back. "Baby... feels s'good..."

Your mouth is pulled right off him while he's still twitching, Suguru mercilessly plunging his own cock deep in your throat. "Swallow like a good girl, hmm?"

He's gently brushing your hair back as he fucks your throat so deep, cumming right inside it, filling you with both their flavors, drinking them down greedy. They're both moaning then, bending down to kiss you, tasting each other on your lips, tongues messy and desperate. You lean back and exhale, earning sweet little kisses and strokes from their hands.

"I have got to get sleep," You finally manage to grab your clothes, and the boys are devastated, cocks already hard again. "You just came!"

"I have the best stamina."

"No, that's me."

"I go the most rounds."

"I last longer-"

"Okay boys," you're shaking your head at the two bickering like a married couple. You pat their chests now. "I need some sleep before the match, and so do you."

"No fun, boring," Satoru is all pouty when he helps you up, both of then adjust your clothes, fixing your hair gently, you ease in the touch for a moment, cunt still throbbing from them, thighs shaky.

"Let me have your number." Suguru asks then, you eye him with a turn of your lips, Satoru steps in front of him, blocking your field of vision.

"Let me, pretty please?"

"Whoever wins tomorrow gets my number." You kiss each of them, leaving them whining as you brush your fingers on each of their cheeks.

"I'm gonna win." Suguru and Satoru say it at once, you laugh again, turning and walking to the door. You look at them then, shoving at each other, smiling a bit.

"If you jerk off together tonight-"

"We won't!"

"Film it?"

Their scowls urge you on, surely they don't stroke themselves helplessly thinking about you!

Ahaha this was just some silliness I hope you like it 🤭🤭🤭

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[heejamas]

──★ JUST LIKE HEAVEN (part. 2)

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: jay x fem!reader … ﹒ 90s au, childhood friends to lovers, brother's best friend!jay, exes to lovers, fluff, smut … ﹒w/c: 15k synopsis: three years. that’s how long it had been since you last saw jay park. since spring break, since mixtapes and goodbye letters and i’ll write when i can. he had traded the life you knew for one on the road — guitars, neon lights, hotel rooms in cities you’d never been to. and it was 1994 now, you had your own place, your own rhythm. you had almost convinced yourself you were over it. until a concert. a song. a glance across a crowded room. and suddenly, nothing was over at all. ꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), smut, mdni!!! 💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: just like heaven - the cure | read part 1 here <3

it’s been three years since you last saw jay park. and somehow, it still feels like yesterday.

by 1994, everything feels different. you’re in your last year of college now. you know how to make your bed in the dark, how to survive on gas station coffee and a playlist that’s been the same since sophomore year. your books are underlined and frayed at the corners. the shoes by your door don’t match on purpose anymore. jungwon’s in college now, halfway through. he’s still figuring things out, but his voice has settled, and so has his energy. a little more grounded, a little less wild around the edges. he doesn’t call as much as he used to, but he writes sometimes. signs his letters with messy doodles and stories that sound like home: who’s dating who, which professor’s a nightmare. he’s talking about studying abroad next year. says it like a joke, but you know he’s serious.

your friends are scattered across cities and apartments, student loans and early jobs. some of them are in long-term relationships. some are engaged. some are already talking about house payments. they still write you, too. sometimes on postcards, sometimes in long emails typed from shared computers in dorm basements. you keep every one.

you've learned how to let go of things slowly. how to miss people quietly. how to stop expecting things to stay the same.

the world has changed since 1991. nevermind came out. so did automatic for the people. you cut your hair once, just to feel something. you fell in love with someone else for a little while, then out of it, and didn’t talk about it much after. the posters in your room have faded from the sun. you don’t live in the dorms anymore. you don’t listen to the same tapes every night. just most nights.

you don’t talk about jay. not really. not out loud.

he shows up in passing. in jokes jungwon makes. in old notes you kept but don’t read. in the way your breath still catches when someone plays just like heaven on a jukebox too late at night. you heard he’s playing in a band now. you don’t know much. just that sometimes, when you pass a flyer on a telephone pole or a crumpled gig poster in a café window, you pause a little longer than you mean to. and sometimes, just sometimes, you wish you see his name is on it.

sometimes, in the middle of doing something normal — folding laundry, walking back from class, standing in line for coffee — you remember that last afternoon.

spring break, 1991. the sky was overcast, warm in the way that made you think summer might arrive early. jay was leaving again. his band had just gotten picked up to open for someone bigger, someone you’d never heard of but pretended to recognize. he had a folded schedule in his back pocket, all scribbled in blue ink and crossed-out cities.

“you should come,” he said. “i’ll leave your name at the door.”

you smiled. nodded. said, “yeah, maybe.”

but you never did.

the next semester hit hard. papers stacked up, internships started, and time blurred. phone calls turned into postcards. then into silence. it wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really. he had tour dates. you had midterms. and something about trying too hard to hold on felt embarrassing after a while.

the last thing he sent was a letter.

you still remember the envelope. thin, bent at the corner, his handwriting slanted and messier than usual. you read it in your dorm room one night, sitting on the edge of your bed while your roommate snored into her pillow.

y/n,

i’m sorry i’ve been gone. i mean, i’ve been here, just not really anywhere at the same time. i thought i could keep up with everything. with touring, with writing, with remembering to breathe. but i keep messing it up. i keep losing time. i didn’t want to stop writing. i just didn’t know how to keep showing up if i wasn’t doing it right.

i still think about you. that’s probably unfair.

i hope you’re good. i hope you’re better than i’ve been.

— j

you kept that letter for too long. read it twice. three times. then put it away in a drawer and didn’t open it again.

after that, things just… faded. you didn’t write. he didn’t call. you heard from jungwon once that jay had been in town for a weekend but didn’t stop by. you told yourself that was fine. you told yourself it didn’t matter. until that night in 1993, in the back room of someone’s party. the music loud. drinks half-finished. two girls near the record player talking about some band they saw the week before. one of them said, “the guitarist was so hot, i swear he was flirting with me all night backstage.” and the other one laughed. “the one with the flannel? that’s jay, right?”

you froze. just for a second. and didn’t say anything. you didn’t ask if it was the same jay. you didn’t need to. you left early, walked home alone, told yourself it didn’t mean anything, that you were fine. that you’d grown out of it.

but some nights, when it’s too quiet to lie to yourself, you replay that last goodbye. the way he’d said, “you should come.” and the way you never did. you wonder if he waited. for how long. or if he stopped counting somewhere along the way.

and here you are, 1994, months from graduating, pretending the weight on your chest is just the pressure of adulthood. pretending you don’t still rewind that tape sometimes. pretending you haven’t memorized his handwriting even though you haven’t seen it in years.

you’re fine. you smile when people ask. you talk about plans. you fill your days with work and lists and voices that keep you forward-facing. but every once in a while, at the end of a song, or the bottom of a box, or when you see someone in a denim jacket that doesn’t quite fit, you feel it again.

you never really let go. you just learned how to carry it differently.

it started as something casual, something thrown into a friday night without much weight — just yunjin walking into the room with two tickets and that grin she always had when she knew you needed something to pull you out of your head. she said bon jovi was in town. said yeonjun already had his and that the three of you could go together. said she didn’t want to hear any excuses. and you didn’t have one, not really. so you nodded, and told yourself it would be good to get out. you hadn’t been to a concert in a while. not a big one, not the kind with lights and heat and voices shouting into the dark.

you didn’t think about jay right away. maybe just for a second. a flicker of memory at the name. you remembered him talking about bon jovi, you remembered that t-shirt you painted for him. 

so you went. you got dressed. you wore your denim jacket and borrowed eyeliner from yunjin. yeonjun picked you both up in his dad’s car, windows down, music too loud. it was the kind of night that felt like it could belong to anyone. the arena was full. the floor vibrated before anything even started. people were already on their feet, beer sloshing from plastic cups, voices rising together like they’d been waiting all week just to scream. you found your seats, somewhere near the back but high enough to see the full stretch of stage. the lights dimmed. a ripple ran through the crowd, electric and hungry. and then the band was there. you let yourself enjoy the first songs. let the music rush through you, let the drums hit your chest. yunjin was dancing in her seat. yeonjun kept shouting lyrics half a beat too late. the night blurred around the edges in the way concerts always do.

and then came the next song. always. you recognized it before your brain caught up. 

and that’s when you saw him.

your eyes were scanning the stage out of habit, and there he was. standing off to the left, half-shadowed in blue light. guitar slung low across his chest, hair falling forward a little as he tilted toward the mic. he looked older. not in a bad way, just real. flannel sleeves rolled to the elbows, hands steady on the strings. and then he opened his mouth and sang. not lead. just backing vocals.

your body didn’t move. couldn’t. it was like the floor had locked you in place. you stared. the rest of the crowd kept moving. the lights kept flashing. yunjin was still beside you, completely unaware. but your world had shrunk to the length of the stage and the shape of his shoulders and the way he closed his eyes when he hit a harmony.

jay. after all this time.

after postcards and silence and a hundred almost-memories you tried not to replay.

he was looking out into the crowd, past the lights, into the blur of people that you had somehow become a part of. and still, something in you reached for him. your fingers curled against your jacket, your breath caught halfway. you didn’t cry. not yet. you just kept staring, like maybe if you stayed very still, the universe would shift, and he’d look up, and see you. but he doesn’t see you. of course he doesn’t. you’re just one face in a crowd of thousands, too far up and too far back and too far gone. but when the last chorus of always starts, something in your chest breaks open anyway.

you hear him — clear, right through the echo and the noise. i know when i die, you’ll be on my mind, and i’ll love you, always.

your breath catches so hard you forget how to let it go.

your fingers find the edge of your seat. your knees lock, then unlock. and before you even know what you’re doing, you’re standing. slipping past yunjin’s knees, brushing yeonjun’s arm. you don’t look at either of them. you just go.

“where are you going?” yunjin’s voice follows you.

yeonjun chimes in too, confused. maybe a little annoyed. “dude. what—”

but you don’t answer. you can’t. you’re already down the stairs, already pushing through the hallway, the noise of the concert fading as you make your way out. the air outside is colder than you expected. your legs feel heavy. your hands are shaking, and you don’t stop walking until you’re alone. you take the long way home, even though the buses are still running. even though your shoes are not made for this. you walk like you’re trying to wear the feeling out of your body. like distance could make this less real.

and when you finally get to your apartment, you shut the door quietly behind you. you don’t turn on the lights. you just stand there, coat still on, bag still slung over your shoulder, and you let yourself feel it. you cry. you cry in that ugly, helpless way where your hands can’t keep up with your face, where your chest folds in on itself, where everything you’d been holding in since 1991 spills out like it never had anywhere to go. you cry because you saw him. because it’s been three years. because you didn’t know he would be there and now you don’t know how to be here without the weight of that moment pressed into your skin. and then you sit down on the floor, like your body doesn’t know what to do next.

you think about all the things that came flooding back the second you saw him: that christmas, the porch light, the sound of his voice in a letter, the way he used to rest his forehead against yours like it meant something. the lake house. the mixtape. the last kiss. you think about the letter he sent before it all went quiet. the way he said i still think about you, and how you never answered. you think about the day you heard someone else say his name and pretended it didn’t knock the air out of you.

you think about how, even after all this time, you still knew his voice the second you heard it. and somewhere under all of that, buried deep in the ache, there’s something like pride. because he made it. you always knew he could. he was good, really good. not just at guitar, but at meaning what he played. and now here he is, sharing a stage with one of the biggest bands in the world. and sounding like he belongs there. you’re happy for him. you are. but it still hurts. not because you wanted him to stay, but because some part of you never expected to lose him like this. not so completely.

you wipe your face with the sleeve of your jacket. pull your knees up to your chest. the room is quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the faint buzz of a light somewhere down the hall. and in the middle of all that silence, your heart keeps repeating the same question, over and over. does he ever think of you when he sings it? you don’t know. maybe you’ll never know.

but tonight, for a moment, you were eighteen again. and that’s almost worse than forgetting.

you wake up with your face still puffy, the inside of your mouth dry, and the memory of always still echoing in your chest. you sit on the kitchen floor with yesterday’s clothes and a cold cup of coffee, and you think, i’ll just move on. you don’t mean to say anything about it. you don’t wake up planning to talk. but then there’s a knock and it’s yunjin, holding a paper bag and looking like she already knows you’re not okay. yeonjun’s behind her, carrying takeout cups and wearing his we come in peace t-shirt that always makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to.

they don’t press at first. they come in, settle onto your couch, act like it’s any other morning. yunjin puts music on low — something soft, r.e.m. — and yeonjun turns on the kettle like he lives there. you sit cross-legged on the floor in your hoodie, and after a few minutes of silence, yunjin says, “you didn’t come back.”

and that’s when it breaks, and you tell them everything. not the whole thing. not every letter, not every tape, not the lake or the kiss or the way he once said you make things feel easy. but enough for them to understand that it wasn’t just the shock of seeing him. it was everything around it. the time, the loss, the space between who you were and who he is now. they don’t interrupt. they don’t try to fix it. yeonjun just nods, real slow, and mutters, “damn.” yunjin reaches over and squeezes your hand.

hours pass, blurring into a quiet afternoon of them helping you pack away some of the memories, pausing only to put on some mindless show. they don't stay too long after that. eventually, they get up and start talking about dinner, about how you're going out whether you like it or not, and you let them take you along because the apartment feels too full of memory, and because they're trying, and because you've always been better at pretending when someone else is watching.

the diner they pick is on the corner near the old bookstore, the neon sign flickers a little, and you feel something in your chest settle as soon as you sit down. yunjin and yeonjun are talking, laughing quietly about someone from class, their legs brushing under the table in that way that makes you suspicious. they’re trying to act normal, but there’s something too soft in the way she hands him the salt. you watch them out of the corner of your eye, chewing on your straw, and finally smile for real for the first time all day.

but after a while, the noise gets too much again. you excuse yourself, and step out the front door, letting it shut behind you with a soft click. the sky’s dark now, but not cold. the street’s mostly empty and silent, except for a few cars passing, the occasional sound of a skateboard or a laugh from somewhere around the corner. you reach into your jacket pocket and pull out a crushed pack of cigarettes. one left. figures. you picked this habit up during finals last year. felt cool. felt like the end of a music video, like it did in the 80s. but now, in the 90s, they say it’ll kill you. but it shuts everything up for a second. so.

you don’t know how long you stand there like that, leaning against the brick wall, cigarette between your fingers, letting the night breathe around you. and then headlights hit the pavement, a car pulls into the lot — dark green, polished, the kind of old-school cool that feels deliberate but not forced. it’s a 1992 chevy camaro z28, all angles and muscle, the kind of car a guy buys when they’re not quite ready to settle down.

you watch without thinking. the door opens. a guy steps out, tall, black jacket, looks vaguely familiar. another follows, laughing, pulling off a beanie. you know them. not well. not personally. but you recognize them. because you’ve seen them before.

on stage.

the third door opens slower.

and there he is.

jay.

he steps out like he’s unsure of the ground under him. same flannel, sleeves rolled, hair a little shorter now, but still him. still the same shape of boy you kissed once in a field of stars, the same voice on every tape you kept hidden in your drawer.

he’s looking down at first, shoulders slightly hunched. and then he looks up. right at you. he freezes. you freeze too. for a second, maybe longer, neither of you moves.

the other guys are still talking, already walking toward the diner entrance. but jay doesn’t follow. he stays there, by the car, staring at you like you’re something he thought he made up. like seeing you breaks some rule. your cigarette burns down between your fingers. you forget to breathe. you forget to blink. and in the silence between one breath and the next, the years fold up like they never happened. it feels like you’re just two kids again.

the car door is still open behind jay, one of the other guys calling his name from a few steps ahead, not noticing, or maybe not caring, that he hasn’t followed. his eyes stay on you like they’re trying to make sure you’re not just a trick of the lights, something he pulled out of a dream too late at night. you don’t look away. you can’t.

he closes the door and takes a few steps forward. slow and careful, like you might run.

“hi,” he says, voice low, uncertain, like the word isn’t big enough for what he’s feeling.

“hi.” you say it back.

and then silence again. the kind that comes heavy and weird, pressing between the two of you like fog. you cross your arms. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. a door opens somewhere behind you, someone laughs from inside the diner, but it doesn’t touch either of you. he clears his throat first.

“i forgot we were in your city,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “too many cities lately. i don’t even know what day it is half the time.”

you let out a small, dry laugh through your nose — not exactly mean, just tired. “yeah,” you say quietly. “i went to the show.”

his eyes widen a little, like the information hits harder than it should. “you—what?”

you nod once, slow. “i didn’t know you were part of the band. it was my friend’s idea. she dragged me out.” your voice is steadier than you expected. “i recognized your voice first. then i saw you.” he doesn’t say anything. his mouth opens slightly like he might, but nothing comes out. “you’re really good,” you add, softer this time. “i mean it.”

his shoulders drop a little. his mouth twists, not into a smile, exactly, but something close. “thanks.”

“i didn’t know you made it that far,” you say. “bon jovi.”

he exhales. his eyes are shining a little, and he looks down like he needs a second to get control of whatever’s happening inside him. “i didn’t know you’d be there.”

“me neither.”

he takes another step toward you. you don’t move. "i didn’t think i’d ever see you again," he says. his voice cracks at the end, just a little. "and now you’re here, you’re smoking."

you let out a low laugh, real this time. “yeah. turns out i have terrible coping mechanisms.”

he smiles, but it’s cautious. “i’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “for disappearing. for not writing. for—”

you hold up a hand, just slightly. “you don’t have to.”

“i want to.” his voice is steady now. quiet, but clear. he’s still standing a foot away, but it feels like he’s closer than that. “i wanted to reach out a hundred times,” he continues. “but it felt like too much. or not enough. and then time just… passed.”

you nod, slowly. “yeah. it does that.”

he looks at you again, really looks this time, like he’s trying to see who you became. “you look good,” he says. “different, but not really.”

you smile, even though it hurts a little. “you too. the flannel’s still doing the heavy lifting though.”

he laughs, finally, and it breaks something between you. for a second, you let it be easy again. he tilts his head, eyes soft. “can i—are you okay?” you hesitate. then nod. “i don’t know what this is,” he says. “i don’t know if i have the right to even be talking to you right now. but i’m really glad i saw you.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. “me too.”

he takes a breath like he might say more, but the diner door swings open then, and yunjin leans out. “hey—are you—”

she sees him, and freezes. then looks at you. then back at him. her mouth opens like she wants to say something but she wisely doesn’t. “i’ll give you a minute,” she says, disappearing back inside without another word. you and jay both laugh under your breath at the same time. and just like that, it’s quiet again. he takes one more step forward, close enough now that you can see the curve of his lashes, the slight stubble on his jaw, his birth mark on the side of his neck. the way his hand twitches like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“can i give you a hug?” he asks, voice soft. unsure.

you nod. barely, but it’s enough. he moves toward you and wraps his arms around you, carefully at first, then tighter, like something in him breaks open when you don’t pull away. and you sink into it. not because you want to, but because your body does before your mind can think twice. his arms are strong, warmer than you remember. he smells like the kind of cologne you’d smell on someone walking by backstage, faint smoke and something sharp underneath it, but it’s still him, still familiar. you bury your face against his shoulder, and neither of you says anything for a long time. he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. doesn’t let go.

“i think about you a lot,” he says, voice rough. “still.” you meet his eyes, breath shaky. he continues, “some songs... i write thinking about you. i don’t mean to. it just happens.”

you blink hard, chest tight again. “i liked always,” you say. “it’s a good one.”

he looks down, just a second. his hand still resting on your back. “yeah, i wrote that one,” he says. you stare at him for a beat. he shrugs a little. doesn’t say if he wrote that one thinking about you. but his eyes say more than his mouth ever could. you look away first. try to breathe again.

“how’s jungwon?” he asks suddenly, gently shifting the weight of the conversation.

you smile, genuine. “he’s good. third year. studying architecture. i don’t know where that came from.”

“he always liked building stuff. remember that weird tower he made out of cereal boxes?”

you laugh quietly. “yeah. and glue sticks. and half the living room rug.”

he smiles at that. the kind of smile that aches. “i missed him. i miss home sometimes.”

you nod. “me too.”

he looks at you again. more carefully this time. “what about you? last year, right?”

“yeah. almost done.”

“how’s it been?”

you shrug. “busy. normal. lonely, sometimes. i live alone now.”

he opens his mouth to answer, but the door behind him swings open again. two guys step out, the same ones from the car. one of them grins when he sees jay and calls out, “hey, you coming in or what?”

jay glances at them, then back at you. “i’ll be in soon,” he says. “ran into a long-time... friend.”

the pause in the middle of the sentence hangs there. not heavy. just strange. like both of you noticed it, but neither wants to name it. the other guy raises his eyebrows a little but doesn’t ask anything. they head back inside. the silence creeps back in. the door opens behind you this time. “hey,” yunjin says, stepping out. “we’re heading out. you coming?” yeonjun follows, one hand casually linked with hers. they both look at you, curious but not nosy, like they know enough not to ask. you glance at them, then at jay. then back.

you shake your head. “i think i’ll stay.”

yunjin squeezes your arm, just once, and nods. yeonjun just smiles, like he expected that answer all along. they wave as they walk away, hands still linked, disappearing around the corner. you turn to jay. he doesn’t say anything. just watches you. waiting. and somehow, without a word, you both understand the next step.

and that's when jay thinks about everything that happened in the last three years. he didn’t mean for it to happen the way it did.

at first, he thought he could balance everything — school, the band, writing, you. he really thought he could make it all work. but time moved differently back then. and he was always chasing something. a setlist. a deadline. a bus that left too early or too late. the band got serious quicker than any of them expected. one night they were playing to twenty drunk kids in someone’s garage and the next they were opening for someone bigger, someone with real equipment and real fans. people started showing up. listening. remembering his name. it was addictive but also terrifying. 

college faded into the background. it didn’t make sense anymore. he stopped going to most of his classes. said he’d take a semester off, then another. his parents were furious at first. called it reckless. stupid. said he was wasting potential. but then they came to a show. just one. they saw the way the crowd reacted, the way he moved with his guitar like it was part of him, like the music wasn’t something he made but something he became. after that, they softened. not completely, not all at once, but enough.

he kept going. city after city. song after song. sleeping in vans, missing birthdays, forgetting what day it was. he lost track of holidays. of phone calls. of you.

but he thought about you all the time. 

he thought about you when the van was too quiet and everyone else was asleep. he thought about you when he saw lights flickering in some motel parking lot and it reminded him of that night in the lake. he thought about you when he wrote something too soft, too raw, and didn’t know why it mattered until your name crossed his mind halfway through the chorus. he thought about you every time they played near your state and he almost said something to the manager. almost asked if you’d be there. he thought about you every time he rewound that tape you gave him, the one with your handwriting on the cover and that one song you swore would always make you think of summer.

he started writing that last letter months before he sent it. scratched out versions of it in different notebooks, napkins, corners of lyric sheets. tried to get the words right and never did. everything sounded like a lie, or worse, like a goodbye. and he didn’t want it to be that. but he also didn’t know how to keep pretending it wasn’t over. and when he finally wrote it, he kept it folded in his bag for three days before mailing it. didn’t sleep that night. didn’t tell anyone. he didn’t expect you to write back. but part of him always hoped you would.

he told himself he was doing what he was meant to do. that the trade-off was worth it. that this life — the shows, the travel, the applause — it had to be enough. but then the lights would go down at the end of a set, and someone would ask if he was coming out for drinks, and he’d find himself standing by the door too long, thinking of you. of your voice. of how you said maybe when he asked you to come see him play. he told himself you were probably happy. probably better off. probably didn’t think about him the same way anymore.

and then, three years later, he walked out of a car in a city he didn’t even realize was yours. and there you were, smoking a cigarette, looking at him like he’d never really left. like he was still someone you knew. and everything inside him just stopped. because it had been three years, and somehow, it still felt like you were the only part of his life that had ever been quiet enough to feel real.

he watches your friends walk away until they’re out of sight. the parking lot quiets down again, humming with the low buzz of neon and leftover conversation.

he turns to you. “do you wanna get out of here?” he asks, like it’s nothing. like it’s not everything.

you look at him for a second. just long enough for it to matter. “yeah,” you say. “i do.”

he nods, like he wasn’t expecting a yes. like part of him already had one foot back inside the diner. you both start walking toward the car, the one he came in, but he hesitates. “this isn’t mine,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “we’re leaving tomorrow morning. early. that’s the drummer’s car.” he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down for a second before glancing at you again. “my car’s at the hotel. about twenty minutes that way.”

“my place is closer. we can walk, if you want.” you don’t know why you say it. not exactly. the words come out easy, but they sit strange in your chest. there’s no plan. no reason. no expectation. just this pull that says don’t let him go yet.

he nods. “okay.”

the walk starts quiet. the streets are mostly empty, the kind of quiet you only get in a small city late at night. the air is cooler now and makes your skin feel too tight. you pull your jacket tighter around you. he notices. he doesn’t say anything. just steps a little closer. your shoulders brush, just slightly. neither of you moves away. you pass under a streetlamp. it hums above you. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye — his jawline in the yellow light, the way his hands are still tucked into the sleeves of his flannel like he’s holding something in.

“i don’t know what to say to you,” you admit quietly. not looking at him.

“me neither,” he says, almost instantly. “it’s weird.”

“yeah.”

“but not bad.”

you glance up at him but he’s already looking at you. you nod. “no. not bad.”

you don’t speak again for a while. the silence between you isn’t empty, though. it’s full of everything you both remember and everything you’re both afraid to ask. every few steps, your arms brush again. sometimes your hands, and it doesn’t feel like an accident. but it doesn’t feel like a decision either.

you turn onto your street, point out the building without saying anything. he follows you up the front steps like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you hear your keys in your hand before you realize you took them out. you stop in front of the door. and that’s when it really settles in — the closeness. the possibility. the strangeness of all of this.

you haven’t seen him in years, you barely know him now, but you used to. you really, really used to. and standing here, in front of your door, you’re not sure which version of him is looking back at you — the boy you kissed in the dark, or the man who sang backup on a stadium stage. maybe both. maybe neither.

you unlock the door with a quiet click, push it open slowly, and step inside first. you don’t turn on the overhead light, just the small lamp by the bookshelf. your place smells like lavender and the faint trace of the incense you burned the night before. you kick off your shoes, he copies you. he steps in carefully, like he’s not sure if he should be there, like he might break something by breathing too loud. his eyes move slowly across the room — the record player near the window, a stack of books with a coffee mug balanced on top, a blanket half-fallen from the couch.

he lets out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “you made it look like you.”

you glance at him, eyebrow raised. “what does that mean?”

he shrugs, walking a little deeper into the room. “i don’t know. it just... feels like you live here. it’s not just a space. it’s yours.”

you smile, small. close the door behind him. “thanks, i think.”

he turns back toward the shelf, fingertips brushing over the spines of the books, the edge of a candle, the side of your old walkman. he pauses. his hand stops at a cassette case, faded, slightly cracked at the corner, label smudged from years of being touched. he pulls it out gently. the handwriting is his.

he looks at you, eyes soft. “you kept this?”

you nod, slow. “yeah.”

he stares at it for a second longer, then sets it back down, careful. when he turns back toward you, his face is quieter than before, like something's settled. “do you... wanna talk?” he asks. his voice isn’t pushing. just curiosity and hope. “like—about everything. put things in order.”

you blink once, then nod. slow. “if you want to,” you say. “if you’re comfortable.” he nods too, eyes still on you. you motion to the couch, then the kettle. “you can sit, or make tea, whatever makes it feel easier. make yourself at home.” he lets out a little breath at that, the corner of his mouth tugging into a barely-there smile. he sits on the couch and watches as you move through the space. you light the kettle on the stove. he watches your hands. “so,” you say eventually, turning back to face him, leaning against the counter. “how did you end up playing with bon jovi?”

he huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly. “honestly? i still don’t totally know.”

you raise an eyebrow and he shrugs. “you auditioned?”

he nods. “twice. the second time, i played a song i wrote. didn’t say it was mine. they figured it out later. he liked that too.” he pauses. “it happened fast. i didn’t expect it.”

you tilt your head. “but you wanted it.”

“yeah,” he says, looking down at his hands. “i think i did. i mean, of course i did. we were opening for a few mid-sized acts. nothing huge. a guy who did lighting for their crew saw us in a club, told someone higher up that our guitarist was ‘some kid with way too much emotion in his fingers.’” he rolls his eyes at that. “i guess jon liked that.” you walk over slowly, curling your legs under you as you sit across from him. he shifts just slightly to face you. “so,” he says, matching your tone. “what about you? how were the last three years?”

you hesitate. not because you don’t have answers — but because none of them feel simple. you shrug. “good in pieces.” he watches you for a second. not pushing, but not letting the question disappear completely either. you offer a half-smile. “i don’t think i figured anything out, if that’s what you’re asking.”

he nods. “i wasn’t.”

a quiet settles in again. and then he says suddenly: “i missed you.” with no hesitation. like the words had been sitting too long and couldn’t stay still anymore.

you really look at him. “i missed you too.”

his eyes soften again. he leans forward just slightly, elbows on his knees. “sometimes i used to wonder if i made it all up. that summer. the way we were. if i just remembered it better than it really was.”

you shake your head, sure. “you didn’t.”

“you were always in the back of my mind,” he says. “even when i didn’t want to admit it. especially then.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “i thought about you a lot. more than i wanted to.”

you both sit in it for a moment — the weight of three years, of silence, of almosts that never got their ending. the kettle starts to hiss, soft and steady in the background, but neither of you moves. he leans back a little, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch, his hand only inches from your shoulder now. “i thought maybe we’d bump into each other again. and i hated that. the idea that it’d take chance, not effort.”

“but you’re here,” you say, quiet.

“yeah.” he breathes out. “and i don’t want to leave this time without doing it right.”

you glance at him. “i don’t know what doing it right means,” you admit.

he smiles, eyes tired and full. “me neither. but we could try.”

you look down at your hands, then at his fingers brushing slightly against the fabric of the couch. your heart’s louder now. you nod, barely. “we could try.”

you don’t know when it happens exactly, the shift. maybe it’s the quiet. maybe it’s the way the room’s only lit by the soft glow of the lamp. maybe it’s the weight of his words still floating between you. but suddenly, you’re looking at him, really looking at him, and he’s already looking at you. his gaze doesn’t move — not to your hands, not to the floor like it used to when he got nervous. it’s steady now, like he’s memorizing something. like he doesn’t want to miss a single detail. your heart stumbles a little. and neither of you looks away, and the moment stretches. his knee is brushing yours. his hand still resting on the couch cushion. your whole body feels too aware of itself — your fingers, your lips, your throat. 

the kettle screams.

you both flinch, not much, just enough to break the spell, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“right,” you say, standing up quickly. “tea.”

he stays on the couch, watching you move across the room. you flick off the stove, pour the water into the mugs you grabbed earlier. you add honey to yours, then add some to his, too. you bring the mugs back, hand him his. he smiles when he takes it. that same crooked, tired smile you remember.

you sit again, curled into your side of the couch, feet tucked under you. “so,” you say, gently blowing over the rim of your cup. “rockstar life, huh?”

he really laughs, for the first time tonight. “i mean, it’s not exactly groupies and private jets,” he says. “sometimes it’s tuna sandwiches at truck stops and sharing hotel rooms with people who snore like they’re dying.”

you snort. “glamorous.”

“deeply.”

“do you like it?”

he thinks for a moment. “i do. most days. some days it’s exhausting. some days i feel like i’m just chasing noise.”

you nod, sip your tea. “do you ever get lonely?” you ask, quiet.

he looks at you. “yeah,” he says. “a lot more than i thought i would.”

you both finish your tea slowly, the conversation drifting here and there. small questions, quiet answers, tiny pieces of each other being carefully returned. it’s not like before. but it’s not not like before either. 

you place your mug down gently on the coffee table. he does the same. your hands brush. just barely. you start to move yours away out of instinct, but then you feel his fingers wrap gently around your wrist. you look up. he’s already looking at you again. his thumb brushes the inside of your wrist, where your pulse is loud. louder than you want it to be.

he leans in, not quite closing the space, but almost. “you still do that thing,” he says, voice low. “twist the sleeve of your sweater when you’re nervous.”

you glance down at your hand. he’s right. you look back up at him. his face is so close now you can see the faint scar near his eyebrow, the one from when jungwon pushed him off his bike in eighth grade. you could reach for him. you could close the distance. you could kiss him. 

you don’t move, not at first. you just sit there, watching him, feeling his hand warm against your wrist, his thumb brushing once against your skin like he’s asking something without saying it. the distance between you is nothing now, and he’s close enough that you can see the way his lashes fan downward, the faint crease between his brows, the softness in his expression that wasn’t there when he first stepped out of that car. his hand moves slowly, from your wrist to your jaw, fingertips grazing up the side of your neck. his touch is careful, your breath catches, and he feels it, you know he does, but he doesn’t stop. his palm settles against your cheek, his thumb resting just below your eye.

he tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking down to your mouth, and then he leans in. his lips meet yours in a kiss that feels like an exhale, full of everything that’s gone unsaid. he kisses you like he’s afraid to startle you, like he’s still checking if you’ll let him stay. and you do, you kiss him back without hesitation, your hand moving to his chest like you need something to hold onto. his breath hitches and he shifts closer, legs brushing yours, the heat of his body pulling you in. his other hand moves to your waist, anchoring. you tilt your head, your lips parting under his, and that’s when the kiss deepens.

you feel him everywhere — in the way his thumb strokes your cheek, in the press of his chest against yours, in the gentle sound he makes when you pull him in a little closer. the world narrows. the couch disappears. the years fall away. there’s only him, only this, only the you falling into together like no time has passed at all.

when he finally pulls back, just enough to breathe, he doesn’t go far. his forehead rests against yours. your noses brush. his hand stays on your cheek. your eyes stay closed.

“i’ve wanted to do that since i saw you standing outside the diner,” he says, voice low, breath warm against your skin. “actually, since before that.”

you smile, overwhelmed, a little breathless. “i know.”

you open your eyes to find his already on you. wide, tender, shining. “i didn’t think i’d ever get the chance again,” he adds.

you reach up, fingers finding the side of his neck. “you have it now.”

and he kisses you again, no pause this time. his mouth finds yours with more confidence now, more feeling. the way you mold into him is instinctive, your hand slides up into his hair, his fingers spread across your back. the kiss is soft, but it’s not shy. every press of his lips says i missed you, every shift of your body says i’m still here.

his lips don’t leave yours for long. there’s no rush, but there’s urgency, not of time, but of want. of having waited too long and not knowing how to say it any other way. his hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. he shifts closer, his body pressing into yours with a kind of hesitation that disappears as soon as you don’t stop him. your knees bump. your hands move without thinking, gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. you feel the weight of him then — not just the physical, but everything he’s holding. 

he leans into you, and you lean back, and the cushions give under your weight as he gently guides you down, your back meeting the couch, his body following. he hovers over you for just a moment, eyes meeting yours like he’s asking again, silently, if this is okay. and you answer the only way you can: you pull him in.

his mouth finds yours with more fire this time. it’s still careful, still steady, but there's a heat now that wasn't there before, something that builds in the way he presses you into the couch, the way his hand finds your waist, the way he exhales against your lips. you feel the weight of his body above you, his knee slipping between yours, the warmth of him sinking into your skin. your hands explore him like you’re tracing something familiar and new at the same time — the slope of his shoulder, the nape of his neck, the muscles shifting under your palms.

he pulls back just slightly, mouth still close, breath catching as he looks down at you, and then he says it, voice low and rough and full of awe, “god, you’re so beautiful.” you inhale sharply, eyes locking with his. he kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. “always were,” he murmurs between kisses. his lips trail lower, grazing your neck, making your whole body tighten. “you don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispers.

your breath hitches. your fingers tighten around his back. he kisses you again, deeper this time, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. every shift of his body against yours makes your skin burn in the best way. there’s something new here, a closeness that’s never been touched before, but was always waiting. you find it overwhelming, but it’s not scary.  his hands move to your hips, grounding you, holding you like he doesn’t want to let go — like he couldn’t, even if he tried. his fingers dig in just slightly, and it sends a shiver through your body. you exhale, a soft, breathy sound you didn’t mean to let out, and he hears it.

he kisses you harder. his mouth pressing into yours like he’s starving for it now. you feel his tongue slide against yours and you moan softly into his mouth, and that’s when you feel his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, skin against skin, warm and steady and reverent. he groans when he touches you. low, like it’s involuntary, like just feeling you beneath his hands undoes something in him. you reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently, messing it up in a way that makes him hiss under his breath. he leans into it, hips pressing forward, his body sinking further into yours, like he needs to feel you everywhere at once. his knee shifts between your thighs, pressing in. you don’t know if he means to do it or if it’s just instinct, but it sends a wave of heat through your core that makes your back arch slightly into him. you let out a breathless moan and your hips twitch without meaning to, and he feels it. his breath stutters, his hands holding tighter.

“fuck,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “you make the prettiest sounds.”

you let out another soft, shaky moan when his thigh presses in again, more deliberate this time, like he’s testing something, like he’s trying to see how far he can take you with just this. your head spins. his hands slide further up under your shirt, fingers spreading across your waist, his palms dragging up the bare skin of your stomach. you gasp softly when the cool air of the room hits the warmth of your skin, and he leans back just enough to look at you. his lips are parted. his eyes heavy and full of something dark and warm and wanting.

“can i take this off?” he asks, voice low, almost careful. “just your shirt.”

you nod, but it’s not enough — you’re already whispering, “yeah. yes. it’s okay.”

he lifts it slowly, his fingers brushing your ribs, the fabric sliding up over your head and landing somewhere behind the couch. his eyes drop to you, his gaze moving over your chest, your stomach, the way your skin is flushed and rising with every breath.

“jesus,” he breathes out, more to himself than to you. “you’re... fuck.”

you can’t look away from him. the way he’s looking at you, like he’s not sure if he should touch you or fall to his knees, makes your whole body ache. he leans in again, this time slower. he kisses your collarbone. the center of your chest. his hands still holding your waist, guiding you gently as his mouth maps a path down the center of you. your hips move again, and his thigh finds its place between yours, pressing up, grinding just enough to pull another sound from you, one that surprises even you.

“that’s it,” he whispers against your skin, one hand sliding up to cup your ribcage. “just like that. let me hear you.”

you feel it all. his body above yours, your legs tangled under him. the weight of his thigh against your center, the warmth of his mouth, the hands that can’t seem to stop touching you. you don’t know where this is going yet — not fully — but right now, it’s everything. right now, it’s his breath on your skin, your hands in his hair, your lips swollen from kissing him over and over again. it’s the years that fell away the second he touched you. it’s the way he’s looking at you now, like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.

his hands never stop moving, dragging along your sides, your stomach, and he leans back just slightly, just enough to take you in again, his eyes dark and full of something that makes your skin heat under the weight of it. his fingers slide up one strap of your bra and down your arm, until the thin band slips from your shoulder. he presses his mouth there immediately — warm kisses, one after the other, his lips brushing over the new skin, then he bites gently, just enough to make you gasp, and he groans at the sound.

you moan softly, helplessly, when his mouth gets close to your breast, and that’s when he stops. just for a second. he lifts his head and looks down at you, breathing heavy, his hands still firm on your waist.

“do you really want this?” he asks, voice low and serious.

you nod right away, then say it out loud, because you want him to hear it. “i’ve been waiting for this for a really long time, actually.”

his eyes flash, jaw tightening, like the words hit deeper than they should. he groans, low in his throat, and then he’s on you again, kissing your neck, your collarbone, and you feel his breath, warm and fast, as he speaks between kisses. “yeah?” he murmurs, voice rough. “what exactly have you been waiting for?”

you let out a breathy laugh, your fingers digging into his back without thinking, and whisper, “i was waiting for you to make me yours.”

he curses under his breath, something sharp and guttural, and you barely have time to react before he’s reaching behind you, tugging your bra down with a kind of desperation that makes your head spin. “fuck,” he mutters, eyes locked on yours. “i’m gonna make you mine, then.”

his touch changes — still gentle, but firmer now, more certain. he cups your breast like he’s wanted to for years, his thumb brushing your nipple before he leans in and takes it into his mouth. your back arches without meaning to, a moan slipping out of your lips as your hand flies to his hair again, pulling slightly, needing something to hold onto. he groans into your skin, the vibration making you shiver. his other hand slides under your back, supporting you, keeping you close. your hips roll instinctively beneath him, your legs parting more, needing more of him everywhere. your nails drag across his back, not too hard, but enough to make him breathe harder, to make him growl softly against your chest.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “can’t believe you’re really here. can’t believe i get to touch you like this.”

his voice is raw now, every word soaked in years of longing and frustration and heat. and you’re melting under him, body buzzing, mind gone, skin on fire. his mouth is still on your breast, warm and wet, his tongue circling your nipple in slow, maddening strokes before he sucks it into his mouth again. and while he’s doing it, you feel him shift his hips down into you, slow and deliberate, grinding his hardness right where you need him most.

your whole body jerks in response, hips tilting up into him, a sharp, breathless moan leaving your lips before you can stop it. his thigh is still between your legs, but now his cock is pressing right against your core, even through the layers of clothing — and it’s too much, not enough, exactly what you’ve been aching for. he keeps moving his hips, slow, hard, dragging himself against you like he knows exactly how close you are to falling apart.

you whimper again, high and needy, your hands clutching at his shoulders, at his back, at anything you can reach. “jay,” you breathe, voice thin and shaky, “please.”

he pauses, not pulling away, just lifting his head slightly from your chest to look at you. his eyes are dark, pupils blown, lips parted and wet. “please what, love?” he asks, his voice low and rough and teasing. he knows. of course he knows. but he wants to hear it.

you stare up at him, completely undone and open. “i want you,” you whisper. “i want you so bad it hurts.”

his breath leaves him in a rough exhale, and before you can say anything else, his hands are on your waist, lifting you and pulling you up onto his lap, your thighs straddling him, your chest still bare against his flannel. you can feel how hard he is now, pressed right between your legs, and the friction makes your head spin.

he kisses you hard, deep and messy, all teeth and tongue and want, and then he pulls back just enough to murmur, “tell me where.”

you blink, dazed. “bedroom. down the hall. second door.”

he stands with you still wrapped around him like it’s nothing, like he was meant to carry you. you hold onto him, arms around his neck, mouth brushing his jaw as he moves fast, focused, straight down the hall. he kicks the door open gently with his foot and walks you inside, setting you down carefully on the bed like you’re something he doesn’t want to drop, like he’s still trying to be careful even when he’s about to lose control.

“fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you as he stands over the edge of the bed. “look at you.”

he crawls over you slowly, hands braced on either side of your head, and starts pressing kisses to your skin again — your jawline, your cheek, the soft space behind your ear, down your throat. every kiss is hot, open-mouthed, a little desperate. he whispers between them, voice hoarse.

“so perfect.”

“been dreaming of this.”

“can’t believe i get to have you like this.”

his hands roam over your ribs, your sides, your thighs. his body never leaves yours. every part of him is pressed to you, and you’re burning, pulsing, so far gone you can barely form thoughts. your fingers dig into his back, his arms, his hair, anywhere you can pull him closer. you moan again when he kisses the space between your breasts, grinding into you through his jeans, and he growls softly at the sound, kissing lower, biting gently at your hipbone.

“gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers against your skin. “gonna take my time with you. finally.”

you arch into him, legs falling open wider, and he groans, pulling back just enough to look at you — all flushed and panting beneath him, your eyes glassy, lips kiss-swollen.

“you’re mine tonight,” he says, voice wrecked. “every inch of you.”

you nod, breathless, your whole body trembling. “i’m yours,” you whisper.

and that’s all he needs. he pulls back just enough to sit on his knees between your legs, breathing hard, his hands moving to the buttons of his flannel. his eyes don’t leave yours as he pulls it off slowly, letting the fabric fall to the floor beside the bed. underneath, there’s just a worn black t-shirt and you watch, wide-eyed and barely breathing, as he lifts the hem and peels it off too.

he’s lean, all muscle and sharp lines, but not in a showy way. more like someone who’s lived in his body, worked in it, played night after night with a guitar strapped across his chest. his stomach is tight, his arms strong, his collarbones prominent in the low light. and god, he’s beautiful. you swallow, your fingers twitching against the sheets, and he sees the way you react to him, the way your eyes move over every inch of his chest like you can’t help it. like you’ve been thinking about this too long not to stare now that he’s finally in front of you like this.

he smirks, just a little. not cocky. just knowing. “you okay, love?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

you nod quickly, your lips parting around a soft gasp when he leans down again, mouth ghosting over your collarbone. “you’re even better than i imagined,” you whisper, like it slips out before you can stop it.

he groans at that, something low and deep, and kisses you again, slow and hot and full of tongue, before he starts moving lower. his hands find your waist again, fingers sliding under the hem of your pants. he kisses your stomach once, just above the waistband, then looks up at you through his lashes.

“can i?” he asks, voice a little rough now, like he’s holding back.

you nod, and your voice is small but certain. “yeah. please.”

he hums like the answer physically affects him, and starts pulling your pants down slowly, dragging the fabric over your hips, your thighs, down your calves, until they’re gone. you’re left in just your underwear, legs spread for him, chest rising and falling fast, and he sits back for a second just to take it in. he lets out a sharp, helpless sound when he sees you.

“fuck, baby,” he says, eyes roaming. “look at you.”

his hands come to your thighs, thumbs brushing the inside where your skin is already hot and shaking. he leans in, kisses one side gently, then the other — slow, open-mouthed kisses to the softest parts of you, places no one’s ever touched the way he does now. his lips find the crease of your thigh, right where it meets your center, and you gasp, your hips jumping slightly. he chuckles against your skin, breath hot.

he kisses you through your underwear next, a soft press of his mouth right where you need him most, and it makes your entire body jolt. you whine, your hand flying to his hair, tugging lightly. he moans at the contact, at the scent of you, his nose pressing lightly against the fabric. and then he breathes you in, slow and deep.

“jesus,” he mutters against you. “you smell so fucking good.” his hands tighten on your thighs. he presses another kiss through the damp fabric, then another, dragging it out, letting you feel every bit of the tease. your hips roll again, trying to get more, chasing the heat of his mouth, and he just smiles. “fuck, baby, you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he says softly, almost like he’s in awe. 

you can’t respond, not with real words, just a soft, shaky moan and your fingers digging deeper into his hair as he keeps kissing between your legs, building the pressure, praising you under his breath like it’s a prayer. your legs are trembling now, thighs twitching with every breath. he groans into you, deep and low, like he’s losing his mind just from being this close. then his hands slide up your thighs, slow and firm, curling around your hips as he pulls his mouth back just enough to look at you.

“can i take these off?” he asks, voice dark and tender at the same time, like he’s already halfway gone.

you nod fast, desperate, breathless. “please.”

he hums at the way you say it, like you’re giving him everything he’s ever wanted. and then, slowly, he hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear, and pulls. he watches as he drags them down your legs, never breaking eye contact for too long. he tosses the fabric aside without care, like nothing matters but you now, here, like this. his eyes drop to your core, and he groans, deep in his chest. “fuck,” he breathes. “you’re so wet already.”

your cheeks burn, but you don’t hide. you can’t, not when he looks at you like that, like you’re sacred. 

he kisses your thighs again, then lower. kisses your mound. kisses the soft skin right beside where you need him most. teasing, worshipping. and then finally he leans in and licks a slow, flat stripe from your entrance up to your clit. your whole body arches. your hand flies to his hair again and you let out a sound that’s not even a moan — just a desperate breath, cut short by how hard it hits.

he groans into you. “that’s it,” he murmurs, licking again, slower this time. “that’s what i wanted.”

his hands slide under your thighs and hold you open, steady, as he buries his face between your legs. his tongue moves like he knows you already, like he’s been dreaming about this for years — licking, sucking, teasing. he focuses on your clit in soft, steady circles, then moves down, tongue fucking you, groaning every time you moan for him. you can’t stop moving. your hips grind against his mouth, your thighs tense, your stomach pulling tight. and he just holds you there, letting you fall apart in his hands.

“you taste so good, baby,” he whispers between strokes. “so sweet. fuck.”

you whimper, fingers tangled in his hair, the pressure building so fast you don’t know what to do with it. he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t even slow down. his mouth stays on you, perfect and hot and overwhelming, his hands holding your thighs open as he works you open with his tongue. when you moan his name again, sharp and breathless, “jay—,” he groans like it physically affects him, like it’s the only thing he ever wants to hear again.

“that’s it,” he says. “say my name again. let me hear you.”

every movement feels intentional — like he’s learning what makes you whimper, what makes your legs shake, what makes you cling tighter to his hair and moan his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known how to say. his mouth is relentless, warm and wet and perfect. his hands hold you firm like you might slip away if he lets go. the coil inside you is tightening fast now, heat building between your hips, up your spine, down your thighs. your whole body arches into him, and he groans at the way you move against his mouth.

“you’re doing so good for me, baby. come on. let go,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. you gasp, your fingers fisting the sheets now, eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding. and then his mouth sucks your clit just right and your whole body shatters. the orgasm hits hard.

your back arches off the bed, a cry ripping from your throat as the pleasure rolls through you in waves. your legs tremble, toes curling, thighs squeezing around his head, and he just keeps licking you through it, gentler now, helping you ride it out, coaxing every last bit of it from your body with his mouth. “fuck,” you breathe, over and over, your voice shaking.

he finally pulls back when you’re twitching, your body too sensitive, your breath caught somewhere between a moan and a laugh. he kisses your thighs again, affectionate, almost reverent, and then he sits up. his face is flushed, lips swollen, chin wet with you. he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. and then, slowly, he reaches down and undoes his jeans. you watch, still trembling, chest rising and falling too fast. your eyes follow his hands as he pushes the denim down his hips, revealing the outline of his cock through his boxers — hard, straining, undeniable. he kicks the jeans off, and then he just stands there for a second, breathless, staring down at you with something between hunger and awe.

he leans over you again, one hand braced beside your head, the other still at the waistband of his boxers, pausing for a moment as his eyes roam over your face, your body, your chest rising and falling from the high he just gave you. you meet his gaze, and there’s something new in it now — something softer than before. not lust, not quite. something closer to reverence.

“i’ve thought about this,” he says, voice low, breath shaky. “so many times. more than i ever should’ve.”

you reach up, your hand cupping his cheek, fingers brushing along his jaw, grounding him. “me too.”

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second. then he kisses you again like he’s trying to tell you everything he can’t quite say out loud yet. you taste yourself on his tongue and you moan into his mouth. he pulls back just enough to whisper, “i missed you so fucking much—” his hips grind against yours through the thin fabric still between you, “you. all of you.”

“i missed you too,” you whisper, and it comes out raw and honest.

he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck. then he finally pushes his boxers down, and you feel the heat of him against your thigh, thick, hard and heavy. you look down and your mouth goes dry. it’s overwhelming, in the best way — not just the size of him, but what it means. that he’s here. with you, like this.

he moves between your legs, settling into the space that always felt like his, and pauses. “you sure?” he asks again, his voice quieter now. steadier.

“yes,” you say, without hesitation. “please.”

he groans, and reaches down, running the head of his cock through your slick, coating himself in you. the pressure makes you gasp again, your hips twitching toward him, desperate to feel him where you’ve needed him most. he lines himself up, eyes never leaving yours, and then he pushes in slowly and carefully, letting you feel every inch as he stretches you open. your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your back arching, hands flying to his shoulders. he curses low under his breath, jaw tight, eyes squeezed shut for a second.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you feel like heaven. you feel... fuck, baby.” your fingers dig into him as he bottoms out, buried completely inside you, and he stays there for a moment — not moving — just breathing with you, forehead resting against yours. “you okay?” he murmurs.

you nod. “perfect.”

​​he starts to move, slow at first, with deep, steady thrusts that make your breath stutter with every roll of his hips. the friction is perfect, the heat between you unbearable. every sound he makes — every grunt, every whisper of your name — pushes you closer to the edge again. his hands roam constantly, like he can’t choose where to touch because he wants all of you at once. he kisses you between thrusts, muttering things into your mouth like so fucking good, and i missed you, and you were always mine.

you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper, tighter, and he groans like he’s breaking apart. his rhythm builds, his hips slamming into yours with more force, more urgency. it’s not rough, not careless, but it’s just that he needs this. needs you, every part of you, and you need him too. the sounds of skin and breath and moans fill the room, tangled with his name on your lips over and over again. “jay—fuck—”

he kisses you hard, messy and open-mouthed, his tongue sliding against yours as he pounds into you, the headboard knocking gently behind you, his hands everywhere. one grips your thigh, the other pressing into the mattress by your head. and then his hand moves up, fingers brushing your jaw, your lips, and you part them instinctively, letting him slide his thumb inside your mouth. he watches you as you suck on it, his eyes dark, mouth falling open. “jesus christ,” he breathes. “you’re... fuck.” 

you swirl your tongue around the pad of his thumb, moaning around it, and his hips stutter. he growls low, pulls it out, and brings that hand down to grip your waist as he fucks you harder and deeper, every thrust dragging against the sweetest spot inside you. “you feel so good,” he mutters, voice wrecked, barely coherent. “so fucking good. like you were made for me.” you cry out again, hips rocking to meet him, your nails raking down his back. your whole body tightens, thighs trembling, your second orgasm crashing close like a wave.

and then he says it, broken, breathless, true. “i loved you. all this time,” he gasps, pressing his forehead to yours, thrusts getting sloppy, more frantic. “i still fucking love you.”

you come undone with a cry — loud, raw, desperate. your whole body arches into him, clenching around his cock, dragging him down with you. you tremble under him, pleasure blinding, his name falling from your lips like prayer. he groans, deep and guttural, and pulls out at the last second, fisting his cock once, twice, before he comes with a growl, hot and thick across your stomach. he jerks in his own hand, breathing ragged, eyes locked on you as he spills everything onto your skin.

his forehead drops to your shoulder. his body trembles above you, he lets out a shaky breath, his lips brushing your neck. “mine,” he whispers. “you’re mine. you always were.”

you hold him close, heart pounding, your legs still wrapped around his waist. and for the first time in years, everything feels like it’s exactly where it’s meant to be. you stay like that for a moment, his body heavy over yours, your arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, your breath slowly returning to something close to normal. your skin is damp with sweat, your chest still rising and falling too fast, and you can feel his heartbeat against your ribs, loud and unsteady.

he doesn’t move right away. just presses his lips once, soft, against your neck, then your collarbone, then rests his forehead there like he can’t bear to let go of the closeness just yet. you slide your fingers up into his hair, brushing it gently back from his forehead, and whisper, “we’re a mess.”

he laughs, low and breathless, and lifts his head enough to look down at you. his gaze moves to your stomach, the evidence of him still there, and he hums, a little sheepish. “let me clean you up,” he murmurs. you nod, and he leans over the side of the bed, pulling a crumpled t-shirt from your laundry basket nearby — one of his, you realize, from years ago, soft and faded. he uses it carefully, wiping your stomach, being gentle like you’re fragile now, like he’s still not done taking care of you.

you watch him the whole time. the way his jaw clenches in focus, the way his hands move. the way he keeps stealing glances at your face, like he needs to check if you’re still with him. and when he’s done, he tosses the shirt aside and settles beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. you turn toward him instinctively, tucking yourself against his side, your leg draping over his hip, your hand resting flat on his chest. he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer. skin to skin, warmth to warmth.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, almost afraid of the quiet that’s settled around you both.

you nod, pressing a small kiss to his shoulder. “more than okay.”

there’s a pause, and he shifts a little, like he’s trying to find the right words. his fingers trace slow circles on your back, his breath even now, steady against your temple. “i meant what i said,” he murmurs eventually. you blink, and tilt your head to look at him. “about loving you,” he says. his voice doesn’t shake, but it’s quiet. like he’s scared to say it too loud, scared it’ll disappear if he does. “i didn’t know how to carry it back then,” he continues. “but i still love you, even after all this time.” you don’t interrupt, you let him speak.  “it never stopped,” he says. “not really. i loved you when i was writing songs in hotel rooms. i loved you when i saw your name on old letters and had to stop myself from riding to your city. i loved you when i stepped out of that car and saw you again for the first time.”

he turns fully toward you now, brushing your hair behind your ear. “and i love you right now,” he says. “more than i know how to explain.” your throat tightens and your eyes burn. you reach up, touch his face, and trace the line of his cheek with your thumb.

“i love you too,” you whisper. “always did.”

he leans in then, kisses you slow and soft. nothing rushed, nothing hungry, just love.

just all the things you both kept to yourselves for years, finally allowed to be spoken in the quiet of your room, under soft sheets and the faint hum of the city outside. you rest your head against his chest again, and he holds you tighter. 

“can we stay like this for a while?” you ask.

he kisses the top of your head. “as long as you want.”

and for the first time in a long time, there’s no distance. no almosts, no waiting.

and he sleeps over that night. not because you asked, not because he asked. just because neither of you ever considered the alternative.

you fall asleep tangled in each other, your leg over his, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, his breath steady against your neck. his skin is warm, even under the cool sheets, and at some point in the night, he murmurs something — too soft to catch — but it makes you smile in your sleep. when you wake up, the sun’s filtering through the blinds in thin lines, and he’s already awake.

he’s propped up on one elbow, watching you, hair messy, smile soft. “good morning,” he says, voice low, raspy from sleep.

you blink slowly, stretch a little, and smile back. “hi.”

he kisses your shoulder, then your cheek, then pulls you closer like he doesn’t want to leave the bed — like he could stay like this forever. but he can’t, and you both know that.

“i should get back to the hotel,” he says eventually, eyes apologetic. “they’re probably losing their minds trying to find me.”

you sigh, nestle into his chest for one more second. “what time’s the last show?”

“tonight,” he says. “city next over. it’s the end of the leg, then we get a few weeks off.”

you nod slowly. “you can use the phone,” you say, sitting up, brushing your hair back. “i don’t think it’s been used in days.”

he grins. “i missed landlines.” he pulls on his pants and shirt from the night before, pads barefoot to the phone in the corner of your living room, dialing a number from memory. you hear him talk to someone — probably the security guy — laughing a little, apologizing, promising he’ll be down in twenty. when he hangs up, he walks back toward you, hands in his pockets, eyes lingering on the edges of your apartment like he wants to remember it exactly as it is. “they’ll be here soon,” he says, voice lower now. “i should go.”

you nod. try to smile, but it’s small. he watches you for a second. then steps closer. his hands land on your waist. his forehead rests against yours.

“come with me,” he says.

your heart stutters. “what?”

“just for the night. the last show. it’s nothing big. we’ll be back by morning. or—” he laughs softly, eyes still on yours. “we won’t. we’ll figure it out.”

you blink. “jay…”

“i know it’s sudden,” he says. “i know we haven’t figured out what this is. but i don’t care. i just want you there.” you hesitate. not because you don’t want to go — but because it feels big. because everything between you always has. he leans in closer, kisses the corner of your mouth. “come with me,” he says again. softer this time. “please.”

he looks at you, you look at him. and then you’re moving.

you spin around, nearly tripping over your own feet as you head to your bedroom, pulling open drawers, grabbing whatever you can — a pair of jeans, a toothbrush, your tape player. he laughs from the hallway, breathless, half in disbelief. “i’ll take that as a yes,” he calls out.

you yell back, “shut up and help me find my shoes.” he grins, already heading into your closet like he’s lived here forever. and just like that, you’re going.

before you leave, you scribble a note on the back of an envelope you found near the phone, the ink shaky from how fast you’re writing. you fold it in half and slide it under the mat by your door. 

yunjin, if you pass by here — went on tour with jay. just one night. back tomorrow. probably. maybe.

you don’t sign it. you don’t need to. she’ll know, and then you go. the drive to the next city is quiet at first. the windows rolled halfway down, your bag in the backseat, jay’s hand resting on your thigh the entire time. there’s music playing low on the radio — tom petty, bryan adams, someone you don’t catch — and the sky is the kind of gray that doesn’t mean rain, just distance. he looks over at you every few minutes like he still can’t believe you’re there. like he’s afraid to blink and find the passenger seat empty.

you get to the venue around three. the crew’s already setting up, cables and amps everywhere, the soundcheck halfway through. someone hands jay a setlist. someone else tells him where catering is. he keeps looking back at you like he’s trying not to lose you in the noise. you don’t get lost.

you follow him backstage, watch him tune his guitar, watch him run through scales absentmindedly with his eyes half on you. you sit on a speaker case and talk with one of the backup singers for half an hour about lip balm and tour food and how long the drives get between cities. you see the way the rest of the band looks at jay when he plays — the quiet respect, the ease, the way he’s earned his space up there. you don’t say anything. you don’t need to. and when the show starts, you watch it from the side of the stage. 

the lights are blinding. the bass shakes the floor. the crowd screams in waves, louder with every song. and he plays like he’s alive in a way you’ve never seen before, like every note is another word he doesn’t have to say out loud. you watch his fingers move across the strings, his head tilted back, sweat dripping down his temple. and all you can think is i’m so fucking proud of him. he looks at you once during a quiet moment between songs. you smile, he does too.

after the show, the band’s buzzing. half-dressed, towel-draped, beer-in-hand kind of buzzing. someone hands you both a drink. someone else tries to convince you to stay for another leg of the tour. you laugh it off. or maybe you don’t.

you end up in a hotel room around two in the morning. his guitar still in the corner, your makeup smudged, your voice a little hoarse from singing along. he presses his forehead to yours before you fall asleep, whispers, “you were my favorite part of today.” you don’t answer. you just kiss him.

the next morning, the world feels slower. the windows are fogged. the coffee tastes stronger. he sits on the edge of the bed, shirtless, one sock on, and glances at you like he’s thinking too hard. “you know,” he says, not looking up, “this could be a thing. you and me. doing this.”

you pull the sheet up over your chest, lean on your elbow. “you mean… shows? cities?”

he nods. finally meets your gaze. “yeah. if you wanted.”

you don’t answer right away. because maybe this was supposed to be one night. maybe you were supposed to go home in the morning. but maybe you won’t. you think about the noise, the lights, the music. about his hand on your thigh in the car. about his mouth on your skin the night before. about his voice saying “my favorite part of today.” so you look at him — hair messy, guitar pick still in his pocket, smile soft, and you think: maybe i could get used to this.

and your life changed a little after that day. not in the kind of way that people notice from the outside, not right away, but something shifted. you came back home feeling different. lighter, like someone who finally let herself say yes, like someone who wasn’t afraid of living anymore.

you graduated two months later. your cap didn’t sit right on your head and your gown was wrinkled from the car ride, but none of that mattered. not when you saw him in the crowd, leaning against the back railing, sunglasses on, biting back a grin when you caught his eye. he didn’t bring flowers. he brought his car. you hadn’t packed a bag. he didn’t ask if you wanted to go, and you didn’t ask where.

you watched a concert in a city you never thought you’d see, slept in a motel with pink walls and a broken ice machine, woke up to him humming something under his breath while brushing his teeth, one hand tangled in your hair like he couldn’t believe you were real. sometimes you went alone. just you and him. sometimes you brought a friend — yunjin once, who danced side stage like she’d been doing it her whole life, who whispered he’s so gone for you, you know that, right? into your ear after the show, and kissed your cheek before disappearing into the crowd.

sometimes you both passed through home. once, you and jay picked up jungwon for a weekend. no plan, just his overnight bag and your mixtape in the stereo. you ended up at the coast. jay let jungwon drive for part of the way, and you both screamed when he almost missed the exit. you slept three across in one bed, your feet tangled, your ribs hurting from laughing. jay played guitar on the porch of the tiny rental, barefoot and happy, and jungwon fell asleep with popcorn in his lap. 

no one talked about what it meant, but everyone felt it anyway.

you started carrying a small bag in the back of your closet, just in case. a toothbrush. a sweater. a cassette or two. he’d show up sometimes without warning, always leaning against the doorframe like he’d never left. “thought we could drive,” he’d say. and you’d go, you always went. you weren’t following him, you weren’t chasing anything. you were just there together making it up as you went along. saying yes to the kind of life that didn’t always fit in lines or schedules or plans. but fit him, and it fit you.

fit this version of love that moved, and stretched, and stayed. the summer blurred like that. with half-packed bags and gas station snacks, and hotel keys that never worked the first time. with sweat on your skin and his songs in your ears. with soft hands and sleepy grins and “come here” whispered into your neck in the backseat of his car at rest stops. with your feet up on the dashboard, and his fingers tracing your knee at red lights. it wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

you got used to the rhythm. not just of the music, but of the life. sleeping in unfamiliar beds. brushing your teeth in gas station bathrooms. ordering breakfast in diners that smelled like the seventies and played the same four songs on repeat. you stopped asking where you were. stopped keeping track of state lines. stopped needing to define what you were doing. but you weren’t trying to escape anything, you just didn’t need to stand still anymore.

some mornings, you woke up to the sound of his guitar in the other room, already strumming something into shape. other mornings, he was still asleep, one hand wrapped around your waist, his face pressed into your shoulder like you were the softest thing he’d ever touched. there were fights, too. about timing, about exhaustion, about space. sometimes he shut down. sometimes you disappeared into the crowd before the encore. but every time, you found your way back. not with apologies, always — but with hands reaching in the dark. with quiet dinners. with the word stay whispered into your hair.

you made friends with the crew. with the other musicians. you had your own backstage pass, but mostly you stayed out of the way. you read books in the greenroom and  you painted your nails on the tour bus floor. you stole his hoodies, of course. you took pictures you never printed. and in every city, he kissed you like it was the first time. you never asked what would happen after the tour ended, and he never offered a version of forever. but something in you both knew that this, whatever this was, had already become part of your bones.

one night, after a show in a city that felt too loud even in the fading hours, you and jay found yourselves driving back to your hometown. not just a quick visit, but the kind of week where time stretches slow and familiar. you needed a break from the tour, from the noise. the car hummed softly down the old roads you both knew by heart. the tour bus felt miles behind you, like a distant memory. the car was small, just enough space for both of you and a couple of guitars resting in the backseat. you didn’t say much, but the silence was easy and comfortable. jay hummed a melody low enough that it was more felt than heard, his fingers tapping softly on the steering wheel like it was another instrument. you reached over and squeezed his hand without thinking, and he glanced at you, a soft smile playing on his lips, like he’d been waiting for that all night.

when you arrived at your parents’ house, your mom opened the door, and the second she saw you, her eyes welled up with tears, of course. your dad, teased as always, “didn’t think you’d grow at all while you were gone.” and even though it was the same old line, you could tell he meant every word, his voice warm with relief. jay stood beside you, shifting awkwardly at first, but your parents welcomed him like he’d been part of the family forever — not just jungwon’s best friend, but the one who made their daughter smile in a way they hadn’t seen before.

the days that followed were a patchwork of memories and new moments stitched together. you went back to the park where you and jay had found each other again after you left for college, trying to make sense of everything that had changed. the diner where you’d shared late-night fries and whispered secrets during winter break, the neon sign buzzing softly overhead, still humming the soundtrack of your youth. you stood by the lake where the sky had caught fire the night of your first kiss, the water reflecting the soft glow of twilight. and then there was his childhood bedroom, tucked away in the basement of his parents’ house, walls still lined with posters, a guitar resting against the bed, and a window that looked out onto the quiet street. you remember the night he played “just like heaven” on his guitar there, fingers trembling with a mix of nerves and hope. it was before he left for college, before the silence stretched long between you. that song, that moment, stayed in your chest like a promise, one you both carried through the years.

that week, wrapped in the comfort of old places and quiet laughter, felt like a pause in the endless moving. a chance to remember where you came from, and to hold on to the pieces that made you whole.

and sometime in late october, you were at a city on the coast, windy, a little gray. the venue was old and charming. he was quiet that day, but not distant, just thoughtful. kept checking his setlist and tapping his pick against his thigh. didn’t talk much in soundcheck, and you knew better than to push. you watched from the wings, your arms crossed over your chest, the laminate pass hanging loose around your neck. and when they got to the second half of the show, the part where they sometimes rotated songs in or out, someone leaned over and told you he was going to do something different. you didn’t know what that meant, not until he stepped forward, a little closer to the mic, and looked out at the crowd like he was looking for something in it.

“we’ve been on the road for a while now,” he said, voice steady. “and this next one’s not ours. but it’s always been… mine. in a way.”

you felt it before he played the first chord. your breath caught in your throat. he glanced sideways, just once, just for a second, and then he started playing.

“show me, show me, show me how you do that trick…”

and your heart cracked wide open. because just like heaven wasn’t just a song, it was your song. from the very beginning, from that spring you thought you’d lost him, from mixtapes on train rides, from letters tucked into jacket pockets. from him playing it for you in his childhood bedroom, dreaming of what it’d feel like to be wanted the way those lyrics wanted someone.

you left the venue late that night, your hand in his, your cheeks still warm, your chest still aching in the best way. and no one said “the end” because no one needed to. some stories don’t end when the lights go down. they end quietly, in moments like that: in a guitar string still vibrating, in a look across the stage, in the memory of a song you never stopped hearing.

and in the way you still felt like heaven to him. always.

author's note: first of all… i’m so sorry for taking forever to update this 😭 life got busy, motivation disappeared, my brain shut down for like days, you know how it is. but we’re BACK and i’m so, so happy i finally got to share this part of the story with you

writing this second half felt like coming home in a nostalgic and painful and soft way. i always knew i wanted this fic to feel like growing up, and getting older, and realizing that love doesn’t always disappear just because time does, it just shifts. and maybe, if you’re lucky, it comes back <3

thank you for reading, screaming, crying, waiting, messaging, and just being here. this fic means the world to me. if you made it this far ilyyyyy!!!! you are the moment <3

taglist: @iyoonjh @jakesimfromstatefarm @blushingkoo @povjin @7789995323567322 @wtfisgoingright @dearestdreamies @fateismoonstruck @skzaurora @mora134340 @wonuziex @htrhng

[readwritealldayallnight]

Annoyed by their antics, Ghost is rolling his eyes faster than the sergeants can open their mouths to continue poking their fun at him

Of course you’d call him now, just as the two younger men are in the midst of teasing him incessantly, trying in vain to get the LT to admit to the relationship they’ve become certain he’s having with you in secret

And of course, they’d be absolutely correct in their assumptions

But Ghost certainly isn’t about to tell them as much, let them in on the fun the two of you have been having for months now behind closed doors

“Ach, I’d bet tha’s the lass right there, innit LT?” Soap goads, digging a playful elbow into Gaz’s side as he juts his chin towards the vibrating cell phone sat on the common room table, the men lounging around the otherwise vacant room late one night, everyone else long gone to sleep

“An’ if it was?” The masked man asks, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, raising a single brow hidden beneath the balaclava

“Well if it’s jus’ professional between you two, like ye say,” Gaz begins, exchanging mischievous glances with Soap beside him. “Then ye’d be able to answer with us here? On speaker?”

Never one to forfeit first, especially in the face of such cheeky expressions he can imagine their mums spent years smacking off of them, he for some reason chooses to indulge the men for once, imagining that whatever reason you’re calling him at this late hour couldn’t possibly be all that bad to share

“S’fine.” Ghost replies, swiping the phone off the table and swiping to answer, before pressing the speaker phone button

“Alrigh’?” He speaks into the receiver, ignoring the grinning faces leaning closer towards him

“Oh thank fuck, I need you! Simon please come to my room right now!” Your pleas come through the phone, surprising the men

“No fuckin’ way…” Gaz whispers, everyone’s eyes gone wide

“What’d you mean? Are you hurt?” Ghost asks instantly, shooting up onto his feet

“No no! But I neeeeeeed you Simon, I’m serious!”

“Eh, maybe I could come help ye out, bonnie.” Soap chuckles, evidently uncaring to keep his and Gaz’s presence a secret from you

“Is that Soap? Ew no way, I need Simon! No one else is as big as you are Si, please I need you!”

“Be right there.” Ghost answers simply before hanging up, already intent on making his way towards you

“Was na’ actually expectin’ her to say somethin’ like tha’! Was only half kiddin’ ‘bout it all but shite LT, good on ye!” Soap exclaims, reaching over to slap a hand across his teammates back

Ghost himself can’t deny his own surprise at the call, nor can he ignore the blood suddenly threatening to run south in his body as he wonders what had gotten into you, what has you feeling so desperately needy for him

He doesn’t bother to bid either one of them goodbye, listening to their snickering grow quieter and he marches towards your room in the barracks, having walked this path enough times he imagines he could do so in his sleep

He’s resisting the urge to adjust himself through his pants as he lands a palm on your door handle, imagination running wild with a thousand and one scenarios of what he’ll find when he opens it, what position you may be waiting for him in

Though of all the possibilities he imagined, this certainly wasn’t one of them

“Oh Simon thank god!” You exclaim once he’s stepped foot through the door, finding you stood atop your desk with a shoe in hand. “I’ve been trying to get this spider all night, I think you’re the only one big enough to reach!”

The sergeants think they’re real cheeky, stopping by your room a few minutes later with a box of condoms to toss at you and the LT, enjoying teasing the large man all too much and maybe they’re hoping to catch a glimpse of something they likely shouldn’t see but would kill for -

Though the men are stopped in their tracks when instead, they catch sight of their lieutenant emerging from your room with his large hands carefully clasped around something, followed by your form reminding him to “Be careful with it! Don’t squish the lil’ guy.” as you both head outside

Exchanging knowing looks, neither Gaz nor Soap need to say it aloud to know they’re both thinking the same thing

You’ve got Ghost entirely wrapped around your finger

[iamthatonefangirl]

kk picture this:

bucky finally being able to use a phone and one day he goes on his camera roll bc he remembered he took a pic of some file or something he need to take a look at again…

and suddenly seeing a pic of you, that he knows he didnt take himself…he also knows you didnt send him that pic…meaning you took it with his phone yourself…

its you on you knees on the bed, your fav pillow between your thighs, tits out- one of your hands around your neck holding it like he usually does, dog tags visible around your neck as well, and you r looking so sweet but sooo horny- directly into the camera…lips all glossy too…

he wonders how long this has been in his camera roll, how long he has been oblivious to this masterpiece on his phone, how long he has been neglecting you like that, how long you waited for him to find it…you wanted him so see it…ofc you did…so now he hast to to do smth about it…

alright ily chao chao

- 💋

oh I am OBSESSED with this idea wait a damn minute

once he sees it, all the thoughts start coming to his head

how long has he not known about this image? (the answer: two months.) how many missions had he been on since you took it that could he could have used it to get off to? (the answer: 7.)

the second he sees it he's already pulling his cock out oh my god you look so gorgeous to him. and maybe he gets a glimpse of the pillow between your thighs and it's got a fucking wet spot on it. dear god. he wants to replace that pillow with his fucking thigh or his hand, anyway to feel you

maybe you're at work. maybe he knows he's about to pull something.

"what's up, baby? I'm at work," you whisper to him when you pick up the phone. "is everything okay?"

"oh, yeah, all good," he says into the phone, and you hear his clipped little breaths between his words

"are you-"

"oh, yeah." he affirms, entirely shamelessly. "I found your little gift for me in my photos."

it's been so goddamn long since you took it that it takes you a beat to think about it, and then it comes to you. you smirk to yourself, putting your head down at your desk and speaking lowly.

"finally found that, huh?" you taunt

"yeah, baby, and I'm so hard just thinking about it... got you on speaker, gotta look at how sexy you look, fuck..."

"you enjoy yourself. I gotta go."

"no, just... stay on the phone. don't even gotta say anything, fuck, just let me..." he says, moaning as he takes in a new part of the picture every time

you quietly slip your airpods in and listen as he talks your ear off while fucking his fist, all while you're in the office pretending to work.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Virgin!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A training mission puts you and the lieutenant Simon Riley in close quarters. That wouldn't be too bad except there might be some desires shared between you, lingering in the background, and after getting pinned beneath him in a pivotal moment, maybe those desires comes flooding to the surface in a big way. Too bad you have a secret that needs to be revealed.

Word Count: 5.4 k

Warnings:

From the ask HERE (forever ago now someone asked about a virgin!reader with Simon and I finally finished it!)

The old, abandoned factory creaks and groans as the amber light of the late afternoon fills the space. Captain Price waits for the last of the straggling members of his task force to make their way over from the transport vehicles and line up before him. The delay makes you impatient and you look around you to see who it is holding everything up, but that is immediately abandoned as the person your eyes end up making contact with are those of the skull-masked lieutenant who is standing only a few feet behind you. 

Suddenly you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Why is he standing so close? 

Not that you’re trying to read patterns that aren’t there, but you swear that that hulking military officer has been in your bubble more and more lately. Could this just be an intimidation tactic… or possibly something m… No, you aren’t even going to allow yourself to entertain such a ridiculous idea. Sure, there might have been a time where it almost seemed like there was something there between the pair of you, but that time had long since passed after you decided that someone as seasoned as the lieutenant couldn’t possibly want to get involved with someone as inexperienced as you.

Quickly you break eye contact and turn your body back around, but it doesn’t feel fast enough and that fills you with anxiety; you don’t need him thinking your look means something more than it does. His presence is just a surprise, that’s all… at least that’s what you keep trying to convince yourself of, repeating the phrase in your head until your heart rate slows. 

Behind you, Lt. Riley watches you fidget with your hands while you keep your head plastered unnaturally straight ahead. He’s grateful for his choice in attire as his balaclava perfectly hides the smirk that is now on his lips as he silently chuckles to himself. You were quick, but not quick enough that he wasn’t able to catch the heat that had risen in your cheeks as you hurriedly turned away from his sight.  

Those coffee-colored eyes linger on the back of your head as he recalls all the times in the past couple of weeks the same thing has happened, when he’s caught you off-guard by being nearer than you expected. It had started by accident, just being at the right place at the right time, but once he saw the flush in your cheeks as that nervous smile filled out your mouth he found himself interested in making it happen again and again. Now it’s become a game and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he likes how flustered you get just being under his silent gaze. 

Just a bit of innocent fun, that’s all, he thinks to himself, not letting himself even entertain that it might not be so innocent at this point.

You just make it so easy for him to mess with; it’s not like he has to have some ulterior motive behind his actions, right? He had already made his decision to not allow to get involved with a bastard like him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy making you nervous with barely any effort.  

The loud sound of a throat being cleared brings the lieutenant’s attention back into the present. The last of the members have finally gathered around and the captain moves back to the front of the group ready to speak. Lt. Riley makes one last move and takes a few steps closer towards your back to watch you tense to his presence which causes certain intrusive thoughts to suddenly creep up to the surface of his mind, making it harder to pay attention to what the captain is talking about.

“Rules are simple,” Captain Price says in his usual firm, authoritative voice as he hands a stack of blue velcro patches to the closest member, beckoning him to pass them around. “Each of ya take a patch. You must wear it on your shoulder and it must be visible at all times. Once the word is given, the timer starts. You have ten minutes to prepare your initial hiding point before being let loose.”

The stack of patches gets handed to you and you take yours before passing them back to the lieutenant with a slight tremble in your hand as your gloved fingers brush past one another. You curse yourself at how pathetic you’re being about this; you want to prove yourself with this training and there is only one person that you worry about: the lieutenant. If you can’t pull yourself together, you may be out of this before it even begins.

“After that, a gunshot will signal that the game has begun,” Price continues after a brief pause. “You’ll have till 2100 hours ta gather as many of your fellow team members patches as you can however ya see fit. Don’t make me regret this by injuring each other. Keep it safe, but do what ya must ta get your marks.”

There is heat near the side of your face, but you don’t turn to face it. Instead, you catch yourself holding your breath to stand as still as possible as the lieutenant’s gruff voice is now in your ear. “Good luck, little mouse,” he says before moving back.

You struggle to regain your composure again as Price’s voice cuts back in. “Your ten minutes starts…now.” 

And just like that everyone takes off in different directions, plotting as they move, concocting strategies that they hope will get them a win. You clamber your way to the outside of the building at first, but once you catch sight of a few others that also seem to have had the same idea, you suddenly feel too exposed to stay and cautiously make your way back inside.

The sun sits lower towards the horizon as you make it to the top floor of the building, up a back stairwell. You risk diverting your eye line on your surroundings to check the watch on your wrist; it’s been a good hour and a half since you’ve seen another soul, but you don’t feel safe in the slightest. Just because you don’t have visuals on any movement, doesn’t mean that there’s no one there. Years of experience and training have taught you to stay on constant high alert no matter the circumstances. Even though you are apparently all alone, you try to slow down your movements to reduce any unnecessary noise and yet even with how carefully you advance through the area, even the sound of your heartbeat seems to echo off the walls. 

The thrill of being on high alert makes your limbs tingle, but you can’t afford to slack, not when every person on this team is at the top of their game and if you want to come out on top you’re going to have to push yourself harder.

You come to yet another corner and you pause to listen before slowly peeking around it. There’s nothing but empty space waiting for you in the next room and you take a couple steps out into it, ready to clear the area more thoroughly, when everything comes crashing down as you are grabbed, pulled around the wall, and slammed into it. Your eyes focus on the person pushing into you and your breath catches in your throat as you realize who is staring back at you– it is none other than the masked lieutenant himself.

The decaying wall behind you gives slightly under the pressure as Lt. Riley pins you against it by your shoulders, using his wide forearm to bear down on your sternum to keep you contained while also keeping one of his hands free to use. “Well, well, well, seems I caught a little mouse creepin’ ‘bout,” he mocks and you can hear the cocky, self-satisfaction brewing in his tone. “Gotta be more fuckin’ careful than that, luv. You’re not as quiet nor as stealthy as ya think ya are. Been tailin’ ya for a while, just waitin’ for the perfect moment ta move in.”

You struggle against his arm, but it does little good. There’s too much of him and not enough of you. 

“How did you even hear me?” you ask. “I barely breathed.” 

He chuckles in that deep, bassy voice. “Ya should fuckin’ know nothin’ gets past me.”

Those dark eyes from within his skull mask look down to find the bright blue patch at the top of your arm as you continue to struggle to unsuccessfully wriggle from his grasp. His hand reaches to the patch on your bicep to rip it off and claim his prize, but before he can grab it you react by kicking at his shin with the heel of your boot which makes him stumble back just enough that you are able to wriggle your way from under the pressure of his arm. 

You take a quick step to pivot so you can run off and you almost get away, but his recovery is too quick. Striking out his foot he trips you so that you tumble to the ground; now he can keep you better subdued. 

Quickly you try to roll to your side so you can get yourself back up, but he is already on top of you, pushing you back down so that you lay supine as he swings a thick thigh over your lap. You’re pinned under him and with the bulk of that 6’4” military man on top of you there is no chance you’ll get lucky enough to escape again.

It’s over for you.

That dark gaze stares back down with you as he works to regain his composure, his chest heaving up and down laboriously with each strained breath that he intakes to recover from the sudden rush of adrenaline through his veins.

"Not fuckin’ quick enough, little mouse," he pants. “Did ya fuckin' think ya could get away from me?”

Once more his hand reaches for the patch on your arm, this time without any worry that he won’t get it. “Best hold still,” he says, that gravelly tone lower after the noisiness of the tussle as to not draw any unwanted company before he can get himself up and out of the area. 

Lt. Riley still has more hunting to do and being detected already isn’t going to help. 

Even as the velcro starts to pry apart, you still decide to give your last bit of effort and squirm in his gasp, not ready to admit defeat even in the face of the inevitable. “You’re not gettin’ away, luv,” he says as the distinct sound of velcro ripping away from itself echoes across the bare walls that conceal you both.

“If you think I’m gonna give up without a fight, you’re dead fucking wrong, lieutenant,” you say through gritted teeth as you twist your shoulders, but to no avail.

“Feisty thing,” he picks, slapping your patch just below his on his vest. “Lotta good it did ya.”

Secured on his person, he looks back down. “Now, what am I gonna do with ya?” he questions with a chuckle. 

You scowl up at him as you lay there panting through your own rush of adrenaline. Is it all from the struggle, though? As you continue to look up at him from your position on your back, you aren’t so sure anymore. You can feel something changing in the atmosphere between you both, the charging of the atoms around your bodies as you stare back up into the intimidating masked face of your lieutenant as he towers over top of you, his wide thighs resting against the sides of your waist.

Catching his eyes, you notice something wash over his gaze: instead of that determined, steady gaze, he peers down at you with a look that makes your heart skip a beat. 

And for good reason. There is only one thought going through Lt. Riley’s head now: Fuck, you look good on your back. 

You flush hot all over, drawn into the intensity in his eyes. It’s intoxicating to be under that coffee-colored gaze, being the only person who has his full attention. Lost in that revelry it takes you a minute, but that's when you feel it: the outline of something hard poking you through the crotch of his pants. 

Is that what you think it is? Oh fuck, he’s getting hard. You should stop, right? But you don’t want to and for some reason he isn’t stopping you. At least he wasn’t, but now your gloved hand is in his as he brings up off of him and towards his mouth. 

And yet… 

You watch on wide eyed as he pulls up the lip of his mask up and situates it to rest over the bridge of his nose, exposing the lower half of his face. Grabbing the cuff of your glove between his teeth he rips the fabric up to expose the delicate skin of your palm. He spits the fabric from his mouth, tossing it aside before bringing your hand back down and placing it over the bulge growing near the zipper of his pants. 

"Ya feel that, little mouse? How hard I am?" he asks as he presses your hand into the stiff peak. "That's what you fuckin' do ta me." 

Your breath catches in your chest as your heartbeat thuds violently against your ribs. The feel of a distinct pulse now rhythmically thumps against your palm, making the heat in your face rise until your cheeks feel swollen and on fire and your mind goes static.

What do you do? What do you want to do? 

Suddenly, as if piloted by instinct alone, you begin to move your hand up and down over the swell and he can't help the deep groan that escapes through his lips. The bassy sound causes a throbbing between your closed thighs, an ache that suddenly gathers in the pit of your stomach. You continue to slowly rub along the mound, enjoying the way his cock leaps at your touch as it grows even more stiff.

Silence fills the space around you as the lieutenant reciprocates your action by rolling his hips into your hand, grinding against the warm surface of your palm in a motion that fills your head with a need to see him actually take you. Desperately you squirm beneath him to clench your thighs together tighter to relieve the building pressure and he senses your movement. 

"Is it achin'?" he questions quietly, his voice husky with his need. “Do ya need somethin’ ta take the edge off?” 

It takes you a few seconds for your brain to comprehend the question, but when you do you can only nod your head in response as your mouth suddenly feels too dry to create sounds. 

The lieutenant sits still for a moment, head cocked to one side and then the other. It looks as if he is listening for something, but other than the sound of the beat in your ears and his panted breaths there is nothing. You are both all alone, secluded in this remote section of the large building, as the shadows grow ever longer with the incoming night. The last he had seen the rest of the team they were nowhere near this area.

There’s no one to interrupt what is rapidly unfolding between you, but he knows that could change in an instant. He needs to be fast. 

Turning his attention fully back to you, he pauses. This is a terrible fucking idea, but the way you look pinned beneath him, your hand stroking over his hard cock, that doe eyed, begging look that you keep giving him, it's too much to handle. Simon Riley is a man of restraint, but at this moment all the training he has endured to reach this point in his career fails him.

All that suppressed desire comes bubbling to the surface like a tidal wave. Lost in the heat of the moment he cannot deny his attraction anymore than he can deny the air trying desperately to enter his lungs to calm him, but failing. 

“Fuckin’ hell, ya don’t know how bad I need ya,” he says in a groan that nearly stops your heart. 

A haze clouds your mind that you drunkenly watch through as your superior leans down into you, the bulk of his weight compressing your chest as his hungry lips immediately steal your mouth with such deadly force that it feels as if the pair of yours are magnetized and he can’t keep them from being violently drawn together. The feeling is unfamiliar and overwhelmingly intense, knocking the wind from your lungs while filling you full of his contagious desire.

Pinned beneath him into the broken flooring and at his mercy, you are falling apart as your head swirls with an ecstasy you have never felt before. It is true that your lips had caressed others before his, but not like this, never like this, and it awakens something in you… something instinctual.

In that moment, you give yourself over to that feral side of yourself, the one that had always been hiding under the surface, but never allowed to come into the light. Everywhere he touches comes alive and the further he goes up under your clothes, pulling up layers to glide his hands along your curves, the more your body desperately craves.

Your movements are hesitant, but exploratory, greedily digging up under his tactical vest covering his torso to get to the burning, sweat-slick flesh lying beneath. A patch of short, soft hair meets your fingertips as you get up through the bottom of his shirt and make contact with his lower abdomen. His skin feels like it’s on fire under your palms and you moan into his mouth as your hands study the contours of his hips and stomach through touch alone. 

Fuck, he can’t wait; this needs to happen now before someone comes to ruin this.

“Gotta make it quick,” he pants as he hastily reaches between your bodies and rips down the zipper on his pants. “Are ya wet?” 

The sound hits your ears and suddenly it all becomes too real. This is really happening. And though you don’t want him to stop, there is a secret that is burning a hole in your chest that you can’t hide away anymore.

Lt. Riley can feel you suddenly go rigid under him and pauses his movements to prop himself up by his arms so that he can look into your face. He stares into your eyes, panting through his need. “Ya alright?” he asks.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to nervously pick at the skin with your teeth as you hesitate to respond. Anxiety has its grip in you at the thought of what you are about to admit, but you know that you are going to have to speak up because you are out of your element now and he is going to know it soon enough.  

“I- I’m…I mean, I- I haven’t ever…done something like this,” you stammer out the confession,  admitting the embarrassing information while you suddenly avoid his gaze. 

His brow furrows under the pulled up mask. “Ya mean where ya can get caught?” he asks to clarify as he doesn’t understand. “We’ll be quick.”

You shake your head. It’s worse than that, you think to yourself. “I…” you take a breath and your stomach drops, “I’m still a virgin.”

The realization of your words washes over the lieutenant like cold water. It never would have occurred to him that you had no experience in that area, but even so he isn’t judging. You probably have your reasons and that is fine, all he cares about is what he does right now. This isn’t the time or place to give you an experience that intense that you’ve never had before. He wants to be able to take his time and make it a memory you won’t ever forget and that isn’t going to happen on the dirty floor of this derelict building.

He begins to move back. “Please…don’t stop…” you beg as you reach out for him, but Lt. Riley is already sitting himself upright and zipping himself back up. 

Those big brown eyes look down at you and he shakes his head. “Not like this,” he says. “This ain’t how your first time’s gonna be.”

Throwing his leg over your body, he moves off from on top of you and kneels besides your legs. Your hands instantly move up to your face and you frustratedly cover your eyes in a vain attempt to calm the storm of hormones raging inside, thinking that all of this buildup is going nowhere all because you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut. 

You keep your face concealed while waiting to hear the fading crunch from the soles of his boots as he leaves, but the sound never comes. From the blackness behind your palms you feel something tugging at the clothing near your belly button and quickly you remove your hands and open your eyes to see your lieutenant leaning over top of you, his tactical vest removed and set on the floor as he hurriedly begins undoing the belt on your pants.. 

“We ain’t got much time left, but I can’t leave ya fuckin’ empty handed,” he grunts with a smirk as he finally frees the buckle from itself. “Won’t take your virginity ‘ere, never said I wouldn’t make ya come. Gotta finish what I started. Ya want that, little mouse?”

You don’t say a word, just stare while he works, but that won’t do. Lt. Riley isn’t going to take anything that isn’t explicitly given to him and unless he can hear you say it out loud that you want him to give you a parting gift, he isn’t going to continue.

“ ‘less ya want me ta stop,” he says as he removes his hands from your waist.

Immediately you sit up just enough to grab at his wrists and secure his hands back onto you right at the fastener on your pants. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you breathe the words in an angered huff. “I want it, please.”

Lt. Riley smirks. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises.

Those long fingers draw the waistband of your pants together to unhook the button, quickly ripping down the tab of the zipper before he is sliding the dense clothing off your hips and down the length of your legs. “Need these fuckin’ things outta my way then,” he says as he bunches the pants legs up at the top of your boots. 

Time is of the essence and he has to choose his actions carefully, wasting time taking off everything is too risky; just the essentials will have to do. As soon as he gets your pants low enough, he crosses his arms over his torso and quickly rips up his shirt off his body and throws it on top of his vest.

“Can’t risk gettin’ anything on me, don’t need them fuckin’ nosey bastards gettin’ curious,” he answers the curiosity in your cocked brow from the question that you haven’t asked. “This’ll be our secret, yeah?”

You can’t complain, as soon as that shirt is up over his head you get an eyeful of absolute perfection in the form of bulky muscles that line his thick torso covered in a mouthwatering bit of hair that leads down into the top of his pants. From the way his clothes always hugged his body, you knew that man was big, but fuck seeing it in person is a whole other story. And now you desperately need to feel that girthy torso spreading your thighs wide as the throbbing that was just poking against you fills you full. 

Not wasting another second he slips your legs over his head to wear them draped around his shoulders like a necklace as he slides his body in on his hands and knees so that his face is close to the panties still covering your pussy; one last impediment to his goal. Hooking his fingers into the crotch of the small swath of fabric cloaking your cunt, he pulls it out of his way and his breath hitches at the sight. 

It’s better than he could have imagined. Immediately he meets those soft, pillowy lips with his as he places a few tender kisses to them and already the contact has you squirming over his features. 

Goddamn, you have a pussy he could lose himself in.

Pulling his hand in, he spreads your lips with his fingers to find your clit through them. "Let's see how good ya taste, little mouse," he groans before he locks his lips around you and his tongue slithers its way from between his lips to find its mark. 

The moment the tip of his tongue makes contact with your clit you see stars and your back arches off the ground. Touching yourself was one thing, you know your own body, but having the control given to someone else with the experience to know just how to do it, makes you instantly weak.

With a hand gripped into your hip he takes you like he owns you and you've never felt more desired before. Over and over his tongue laps between the lips of your pussy, rolling over that sensitive nub with skill and precision. This is what he has craved all this time, to make you come undone, and several times his eyes dart up to catch a glimpse of your face as you lose yourself in the sensation of it all.

Your honey fills his mouth and dances along his taste buds as he buries his face into you even further, not caring about the cloth still sitting on his face. If your scent melts into the fibers then it will only serve as a reminder of what happened here. Everything outside of your thighs gets forgotten as his lips lock around that nub and he sucks it into his mouth and you buck wildly over his features, the heels of your boots digging into his back that only makes him moan at the delicious sting. 

Is this what it’s like to be craved by another? Fuck, you could get addicted to this. All that desire being unleashed in the way he devours mixed with the excitement from being taken by the lieutenant and the risk of being so exposed like this has your orgasm rapidly approaching faster than you thought possible.

“Ahh, getting… close,” you murmur out, struggling to keep your voice low. 

"Tha's it," he grunts as he surfaces for a quick inhale of air from between your lips, "come for me. Cum on my fuckin’ tongue, little mouse." 

His large hand spreads out across your pelvis to push it down as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your clit so that his tongue can strike up inside that dripping hole. Your juices mix with his saliva and dribble down his chin and out from the corners of his mouth to pool on the ground beneath you both, but he doesn't slow. 

He keeps the pace of his movements steady, making sure that nothing breaks his focus so that he can keep up the tempo. You’re gonna come for him, it’s the only thing he wants now; he desperately needs his head to be crushed between these beautiful thighs. 

Suffocate me, sweetheart, he demands silently.

You whimper behind closed lips in an attempt to keep the noise down, but it is getting harder and harder to hold it in. The warmth in your belly is gathering quicker now to match the pulsing down between your legs. Just a little more and the wave of heat will flood your limbs violently. Reaching down, your fingertips dig into the muscles in his shoulders and he groans deliciously into your pussy.

You’re so close. 

Then you feel the tensing and all at once you fall silent as that tightness snaps with an explosion that makes your body go rigid with a severe arch in your spine. You dig the back of your head into the concrete with your eyes shut as your thighs forcefully clamp together and you moan deep in your throat. Waves of hot pleasure course through you until your limbs tingle and yet that agile tongue of your superior continues to stroke you through it all as you squeeze his head like a vice.

Lt. Riley can’t see, he can’t hear, all he has is the throbbing of your cunt to keep him going. And fuck is that enough. 

Time is forgotten as you ride out your pleasure to the very end and just when you think you can’t take anymore of that overwhelming sensation, the feeling begins to die down and you can relax and release your captive.

A coated and messy lieutenant emerges from between your legs with a smile plastered to his mouth that still wears you around it. “Ya did so fuckin’ good for me,” he praises as he uses the back of his hand to wipe away the cum and saliva from around his lips. 

Your legs are carefully moved from his shoulders and lowered to the ground and without a word, those strong hands are pulling them back up. “Lift your hips for me, tha’s it,” he says as he finishes bringing them back and up and rebuckles them even though you hadn’t asked.

Only once you’re situated does he redress himself and then offers you his hand to help you back up to your unsteady feet. “C’mere,” he grunts as he pulls you tight to him and leans down to kiss your lips and you can taste yourself off his.

Still in a daze you rub your hand absentmindedly over your stolen patch stuck to the front of his and the lieutenant laughs into your mouth, thinking you are trying to take back what he got fair and square. “Oh no, I’m still keepin’ this, luv,” he says. “We’ll call it a consolation prize for what I just gave ya.” The lieutenant kisses you one last time. 

“And ya know, the offer stands if ya still want me ta fix that other thing,” he says. “I’ll make sure ta do it right.”

With that he leaves you to finish composing yourself so you can walk back to the meeting point to wait for the rest of the team to finish the exercise. Your mind is still reeling a couple hours later with thoughts as you try to process everything even as the team loads into the transport vehicles to make the way back to base. Your sight continues to dart over to Lt. Riley’s form sitting down at the end opposite you, wondering what you’re going to do.

Do you take him up on his offer or do you let this be a one time thing?

At the other end, the lieutenant watches you from the corner of his vision as your eyes keep jumping back to him. Your scent is woven into the fibers of his mask even as it still lingers on his lips and the stubble around his chin and every time he breathes his heart races a little more. Will you decide to let him have you again and even go further? He won’t let his need get the better of him yet, but as the short journey ends and everyone begins to file out of the vehicles, he heads back to his room hoping that you’ll take him up on his offer.

The night is getting on fast when out of the silence there it is. Knock, knock, knock. Quick, soft, timid right on the lieutenant’s door. He gets up from his bed, heart beginning to pound as he reaches for the lock. 

More silence follows until the lock clicks and the door opens to reveal you standing there. The lieutenant meets your gaze, but soon your attention is drawn to the pair of old sweats that cling low on his hips and the lack of shirt that leaves his chest bare. He looks you up and down and chuckles as if he’s been expecting this.

“It’s late, little mouse,” he greets you before moving to the side, a gesture clearly meant for you to come in. 

The door quietly shut behind you before being locked. No sense in leaving it undone, you won’t be leaving before the sun rises. 

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: a Reddit post on r/whatsthatbook by u/clownthrowawayhelp, titled "help solve a fight with my girlfriend - book with monster clown that can turn into fears but NOT king's IT???" The post is tagged "solved", and says:

i say it's not king's IT she says it is. we've been disagreeing about this on and off for a year because she keeps bringing up scenes and going on about how good they were in the book but i've read IT and those scenes aren't in it. she says i read IT too long ago to remember. fair. it was a while. but she read it over five years ago too!

scenes she remembers that i don't remember in the og book: it was set at a school camp during the kid bits and there were adult scenes too 20-something years later but she doesn't remember them because they "weren't as good". the kids are different ages ranging from 5 to 20. there's a demon clown thing hunting them and it keeps turning into the things they're scared of to try eat them.

she remembers a scene where there was a rabid bear and one of the teenagers set it on fire using hairspray. at the end the clown is a female and there's eggs, and every kid in the camp ends up ganging up to try beat the clown to death with rocks. there's also a bit with some weird rapey werewolves but she's less certain about that.

she remembers some scenes that are definitely from IT too like the fridge and bill's bike and the bullies lost in the sewers so im pretty sure she's mixing up IT and some other book. i need to find the other book or we're both going to die mad about this. we need closure

sorry if this isn't the right place i don't use reddit but i'm desperate to solve this i need to be validated

she asked me to add this edit of things she also remembers even though she said she wants nothing to do with my search since she knows shes right - these are all quotes:

"the little guys died first and it was dreadful"

"there were so many horrible scenes in the camp bathroom king (she says)/the author as of yet unknown (i say) must have something against public bathrooms and by the time i was done reading i did too"

"someone died so enthusiastically they painted the wall with their insides"

"at least one person maybe more was described as 'unzipped' by the time the clown was done"

"there were at least two horny scenes" <-- look how can she say this and still think its king the man is like 80% horny scenes 70% scary scenes and theyre usually overlapping]

[Screenshots of the comments of the post.

There is a comment thread which says

u/Deejaymil: Hey OP, does your gf read fanfiction by any chance?

u/clownthrowawayhelp: she says no but she didn't say no fast if you get what i mean, very suspicious stuff. and now she's giving me guilty looks. if she's been telling me how good some random fanfiction is for the last 12 months while thinking it was the og i'm taking my pajamas and going home

u/Deejaymil: Haha hey this is awkward

Hate to break it to you both but I think she's mixing up IT with a couple of fanfics. I can't link them because they're locked behind a privacy wall but one is an IT/Criminal Minds crossover (most of what you've described, though the details aren't quite right), and the werewolf thing is a different Criminal Minds fic from the same author. Ask her if the camp they were at was called Camp Moribund, if you need evidence for your validation.

u/clownthrowawayhelp: i cant believe gabby has done this to me

she left the room when i told her it's a fanfiction and then she came back to ask how you could possibly know that and now she's left again. i think you got it. she wouldn't be so mad otherwise

u/Deejaymil: I know because I wrote them Imao]

[u/clownthrowawayhelp: you are the best thing to ever happen to my relationship god bless your socks i will die telling this story to my children's children. i'm so happy i could cry

sorry if my post sounded like it was dragging your horny scenes i'm sure they're tasteful horny

thank you for devastating my girl's emotional wellbeing she needed this]

[u/Deejaymil: I feel like I've walked into a crowded room and everyone has stopped talking and turned to stare at me, this is the worst whatsthatbook solve I've managed yet haha. Usually I just saunter into the obscure animal book threads because I was cat-obsessed as a child...]

[u/Deejaymil: I'm never going to emotionally recover from this.]

[u/Deejaymil: Haha well, in honour of OP's poor girlfriend here's the IT one. I turned off the privacy setting so it should be accessible without a log-in. She faced her demons today so I can face mine.

u/clownthrowawayhelp: she says "thanks this is exactly it. if i can't have my dignity, at least i have something to read"

cheers. guess ill have to read it too now just to find out why she loves the bear versus hairspray scene so much

u/justmyrealname: "If I can't have my dignity, at least I have something to read" is such a good line]

help

[aingeal98]

If I think about David Cain too long I feel sick. Cass was eight when she ran away. How young was she when he began shooting her? Four? Six? A tiny little child, shot and brutalised over and over again until she was desensitised so badly she didn't even flinch. Flinching means another bullet after all. She should have been playing with other kids and laughing and learning how to talk and instead she was getting chunks of skin and blood blown off by bullets her father shot at her. Sure she learned to enjoy the games later on, it was the only life she knew. But how distressing was the original learning curve. How many times did this child scream and wail in pain as he shot her until she realised there was nothing she could do to make him stop. Not until years later, when she's 17 and finally has the word he deprived her of.

[simblrcc-site]

Dead Site Repository News! (Pt.1)

A lot has happened over the past few weeks for the dead site repository, and primarily thanks to @sweetdevil-sims, @bioniczombie, @kevinvoncrastenburg and of course anyone else whose contributed an item here and there for their contribution!

As always, if you have any stuff to add, feel free to! The more, the better! Read more about it here .

Oh boy do we have a lot of items for the sims 3, this time lol. So trust me, this list is long!

Kurasoberina

While Kurasoberina's tumblr is still around, she has been inactive for a long while and seemingly a lot of her CC has gone missing.

While Kurasoberina's Primer skin is technically still up for download, because of that reliability, we decided it might be best to back it up too, just in case!

Thanks to @sweetdevil-sims and @virtual-hugs, we now have Kurasoberina's Kristen stewart CC, Aaliyah Dana Haughton and Jessica Jones up for grabs again!

Lilisims

While her sims 3 content isn't as impressive as her sims 2 CC over the years, Lilisims made some cool stuff that still to this day is worth grabbing!

Lilisims's accessories library and Lilisims bath towels, being a must-have for storytellers, are my absolute favourite, thanks to @sweetdevil-sims for putting them all together!

While technically not under the right tag, I did go ahead and reupload all of Lilisims' Sims 2 CC as well! So if you play the sims 2 and are missing some of her stuff, totally get them! (like the slippers! :D)

Bloombase

While this repository has been around for a long while, it initially only had Bloombase's sexy feet in it.

Of course, while it was Bloombase's most popular download, they made some other cool stuff that we can finally re-experience again!

Buhudain

I must admit, I had no idea Buhudain had these super cool droplet/water drop replacement for the sims 3! Either way, thanks to @kevinvoncrastenburg this repository is looking a bit more complete than it initially did! 😉

Gelina

I'm so happy to see Gelina's repository got a bit of love! Gelina's modular planter boxes were my to-go CC when Gelina's tumblr was still around.

Thanks to @sweetdevil-sims they're back and able for download again! As well as some other goodies! 😉

Modish Kitten

Modish Kitten had a lot of super cool, revolutionary CC pieces from back in the days. While a lot of it is very 2013-core (if that's even a thing lol), a lot of her stuff is still totally relevant to this day :)

Thanks again to Sweet-devil, we not got a lot of Modish Kitten's head scarfs and Hairs back! Also my personal favourite: Moddish Kitten's socks collection

Tifa

I mean, who didn't have any of her CC back in the days??! Thanks to @sweetdevil-sims we easily recovered 90% of all their TS3 content!

She even went through the trouble of disabling stuff for random!

Tifa had, without a doubt, a lot of storytelling content, such as Tears and Scars. Wrinkles Eyebags Pimples... Honestly anything really you can think of!

Not only that, but anything you need makeup-wise was also Tifa's expertise and definitely worth a check!

SimSimi

Thanks to @sideshow-snob, simsimi's repository finally got some love it deserves! Back then, I can't remember a moment I wouldn't see their stuff used on sims! Without a doubt Simsimi made a huge mark on the CC 'market' (for a lack of a better word lol)

Simsimi made some super cool modeling poses, but Simsimi also did a lot of makeup, clothing and hairs

[demie90s]

Your Mine

Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You don’t just want her—you need her. Paige calls it a game, claims it’s harmless, but you know better.

Genre: Toxic romance · Smut · Psychological obsession

Warnings: Possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, smut, obsession, jealousy, toxic dynamics

Word Count~ 4.1k

She’s the first person I look for in every room. Always has been.

There’s something about the way Paige moves—like the world pauses for her, and she doesn’t even notice. People trip over themselves just to be near her. They laugh too hard at her jokes, ask questions they already know the answers to, call her “Bueckers” like it makes them part of something. And she entertains it. Smiles. Plays along. Sweet little Paige.

But when the lights go down and the crowd fades—she comes home to me. She always comes back.

I think that’s what makes it beautiful. The fact that she chooses me, over and over. They don’t know what her voice sounds like when it breaks. They don’t see her fall apart, shaking, gasping, holding onto my wrist like she’ll drown if I let go. That version of her only I get to see.

And I do. I see all of her. I keep all of her.

She’s curled up next to me now, head resting on my thigh, scrolling on her phone while I rub lazy circles on the inside of her knee. Her hair’s still damp from her post-practice shower. The smell of her skin—warm lotion and cheap hotel soap—makes my mouth water.

“You tired?” I ask, my voice calm. She nods without looking up. “Mmhm. Long day.”

I hum and lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. So soft. So good for me. So mine.

“Want me to rub your back?” I ask sweetly. Gentle.

She smiles. “Please.”

And I do. Of course I do. I take care of her. I always take care of her. Even when she forgets how lucky she is.

Even when she flirts too much after games. Even when her eyes linger too long on someone else’s shoes, someone else’s smile. Even when she gets too comfortable thinking I won’t notice.

But I do. I notice everything.

I let it slide because she doesn’t mean it. That’s the thing about Paige—she’s soft. She needs to feel wanted. So I let her feel it, just enough to keep her sweet, before I take her home and remind her what real love looks like. What devotion feels like when it sinks into your ribs and never lets go.

I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, slow and careful. She shivers under my touch.

“I missed you today,” she says quietly.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Did you?”

She looks up. “Of course.”

My hand tightens just slightly around her hip. She doesn’t notice.

“Who were you with after practice?” I ask lightly, like it’s nothing.

Her brows pinch. “Nobody—just the team. Why?”

“Just wondering.” I kiss her forehead. She believes me. She always believes me.

That’s the funny part. She calls me chill. Says I’m laid-back, “different from the others.” But if she knew the things I’d done just to keep her close? If she saw the burner account I use to check who she follows, the screenshots I keep for insurance? If she heard how I talk about her when she’s asleep in my bed, mouth parted, legs tangled in mine like a promise she doesn’t know she’s making—

She’d run. Maybe. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe some part of her likes it. The way I watch her. The way I touch her. The way I claim her without ever needing to ask.

Her phone buzzes and I glance at the screen before she can turn it over. It’s some girl from a podcast, heart emoji in the notification.

“Don’t answer that,” I say, soft but firm.

She pauses. Looks at me. “…Why?”

“Because you’re with me,” I murmur, sliding my hand under her sweatshirt. “And I’m not in the mood to share.”

She laughs—thinks I’m joking. She’s so cute when she doesn’t get it. She’ll learn.

I don’t get jealous. Not really. It’s not jealousy if you know someone’s already yours. It’s not insecurity if you’re just aware. If you’re paying attention. And I always pay attention.

So when I saw her talking to that girl after the game—some tall, pretty thing with gloss on her lips and dumb, eager eyes—I didn’t get mad. I just watched. I watched the way Paige laughed a little too long, stood a little too close. I counted the seconds, measured the space between them. Noticed the way she kept tucking her hair behind her ear like she wanted to be looked at.

She was being careless. And that’s fine. She’s allowed to make mistakes. But she’s not allowed to lie to me.

We didn’t talk in the car. Not on the ride back, not walking through the hallway, not while I got undressed and left my hoodie on the floor like I wanted her to see it. She followed, of course. She always follows.

And when the door shut behind us, I finally turned.

“What was that?” I asked. Voice low. Calm.

Paige blinked. “What was what?”

“So you’re gonna act dumb now?” I smiled. Tilted my head.

“I talked to a girl. That’s not a crime.”

“No,” I said, nodding. “It’s not a crime. It’s just disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful?” she repeated, already defensive. “You’re not my mom, y/n.”

That switch in my chest flipped and everything went cold. I turned my back to her and walked toward the bed, quiet. Calm. Lifted the blanket, fluffed the pillow. Not even mad. Just distant.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “Then go ahead.”

“Go ahead what?”She hesitated.

“Go ahead and text her. Go be with her. I’m sure she’d love the attention. Maybe she’ll actually be grateful to be seen with you.”

Paige scoffed behind me. “Oh, come on—”

“No, really. Go. You clearly want someone new. Someone soft. Someone who doesn’t ask questions. You wanna be admired, not watched, right?”

I didn’t look at her, but I could hear it—the breath caught in her throat, the quiet shift of her weight.

“Y/n…”

I exhaled, sharp. “You think I need you? I don’t. I like having you. That’s different.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know.”

She was crying now. She didn’t want me to see, but I could hear it in her voice.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said, softer. “I didn’t even ask for her number.”

I didn’t say anything. I just sat at the edge of the bed, my legs spread, hands resting on my thighs. Letting it hang in the air like I was done. Like she’d have to crawl back and beg. And she did.

She stood in front of me, blinking through tears, arms folded over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.

“I’m sorry, okay?” she whispered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

I looked up, finally. Met her eyes. And something in her broke.

I didn’t say a word. Just reached up, hooked my fingers in the waistband of her sweats, and pulled her forward.

She gasped when I kissed her—deep, hard, unforgiving. My hands slid over her ass, her hips, and I pushed her back onto the mattress without another word.

“I hate when you cry,” I murmured, kissing down her stomach. “But I love making it better.” She didn’t resist. She never does.

I pulled her sweats down slow, then her underwear—wet already, even through the shame. She always gets like this when she thinks I’m slipping away. Desperate. Needy. Like she’s scared of what I’ll do without her.

And I use it. Of course I do.

I start slow. Kisses to her thighs, soft licks that barely brush where she wants me. My breath hot and steady. My hands gripping her hips like she might float away if I let go.

“You’re mine,” I murmur, dragging my tongue up once. A slow, cruel stroke. “No one else gets to taste you like this.” She moans—quiet, cracked, like she doesn’t know if she should cry or bite her lip.

“Mm,” I hum against her, smiling against slick skin. “So ungrateful. Cryin’ like I didn’t just forgive you.” I look up, licking my lips slow. Her eyes meet mine and flicker like they’re begging for mercy I’m not about to give.

“This what you wanted that girl to do, huh?” I whisper, soft and venom-sweet, tongue dragging over her again. “Wanna flirt, then come back to me all dumb and sorry?”

Her hips twitch. A broken sound falls out of her mouth.

“You don’t even deserve this,” I say, licking her again—slower this time, deeper. I suck gently on her clit, just once, then stop. Pull back. Let the air touch her. Let her miss me.

She whines.

“Aww,” I coo, tilting my head, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still. “Look at you. So pathetic. So messy. You gone cry again, baby?” She nods. A single, sharp motion.

“Yeah?” I lick her again, and this time I stay. I flatten my tongue and move in slow circles, letting the pressure build—then suck. Relentless. She gasps, back arching, hands tangled in the sheets.

But I don’t let up. I don’t let her run. My arms hold her down. My mouth drags moans out of her one after the next like confessions.

“Don’t you ever forget who owns this,” I growl, mouth still buried, voice dark and sticky like honey gone bad. “You need me. Say it.”

“I need you,” she sobs, wrecked and trembling.

“Louder.”

“I need you.”

And then I hum into her again, tongue ruthless, lips slick, chin soaked. She’s shaking now—can’t stop, can’t think, can’t breathe without it. And I just keep going.

I don’t stop ‘til she’s gone—mind blank, eyes wet, body limp, thighs twitching like she don’t know how to come down.

I kiss her softly once more, right on the clit like a goodbye. Like I’m sealing something shut. Then I crawl up slow, wipe my mouth, and lay over her chest, smug. Calm. Loving.

“I forgive you,” I whisper. “But don’t ever test me again.”

And when she curls into me, eyes closed, still crying a little—I let her.

Because she’s mine. And I take care of what’s mine.

She’s spiraling, and I can see it from a mile away. Not in some dramatic, meltdown kind of way—no. It’s subtle. Quiet. The kind of unraveling that only someone like me would notice. She’s off her rhythm. Missed two free throws last game. Hesitated on a fast break she normally eats alive. Dropped her bag walking into film like her body and mind weren’t in sync. That’s not like her.

And I know exactly why. It’s because I stopped loving her. Or at least, I told her I did.

I didn’t scream it. Didn’t cry. Just leaned back against her locker and said it like it meant nothing: “I don’t want you like that anymore.”

She didn’t believe me, not really. But the damage stuck. I watched it land in her chest, like a nail driven slow. And now she’s been trying everything to pull it out.

She’s in full-blown damage control. Buying my favorite smoothie from a place two cities over. Leaving notes in my hoodie pockets—dumb little things, sweet even, if I cared enough to smile. Always signed the same: Forever yours, even when you’re cruel.

And I am cruel. Cruel in the way I let her try. Cruel in the way I let her love me so obviously, so desperately, while I pretend not to care. She shows up with gifts. Pays for dinners. Touches me in public like we’re still us.

And I let her.

That’s the worst part—I let her. I let her plan a night out like it’ll fix anything. I show up in her passenger seat, let her open the door for me, let her order for me. And when she’s looking at me like I hung the moon and sky just for her, I glance at my phone and ask if she’s finished talking.

It breaks her every time. You can see it in her face. That slow wilt, the way her fingers start to twitch or her jaw sets like she’s swallowing a scream.

Then, like clockwork, she whispers, “I can make it up to you.”

Back at mine, she gets on her knees before the door’s even shut. She eats me out like her life depends on it. Like her tongue can undo the distance between us. She moans into me like it hurts, like it’s holy. I don’t stop her. I don’t say a word.

She keeps going until I finish, and then she looks up at me like she’s begging. Not for permission—but for something. A smile. A touch. Some sliver of softness.

I kiss her forehead. That’s all she gets. And she leans into it like it’s enough.

She doesn’t know that I already made my decision. Doesn’t know that I’m not here because I love her—I’m here because I own her. And the second I let her think she’s winning, it’s over.

So I don’t give her that. I let her crumble in the silence. Let her fall asleep on my chest, warm and wrecked, thinking she’s safe.

Because that’s the thing—she is safe. With me, she always is. But I’m not trying to be her safe place. I’m trying to be the reason she never stops running. And she doesn’t even realize she’s already lost the race.

She’s been trying so hard lately. Showing up early to practice, staying late like it’ll impress me. Posting thirst traps with captions that practically scream my name without saying it. She brings me coffee now. Gifts. Flowers. New hoodies she knows I’ll wear once just so she can smell them after.

It’s sad. Really. She’s trying to win me back like she ever had me. I let her chase. That’s what she’s good for.

She came over tonight after practice—soaking wet from rain, no umbrella, no jacket. Just Paige. Soaked and shaking, looking at me like a fucking puppy someone left on the curb.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls.”

“You still talking?”I just raise a brow from the couch.

Her mouth drops open, but she doesn’t argue. Not anymore. Not since the last time I left her crying on her knees. Tonight. She drops to them willingly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she whispers, tugging at my sweats, hands trembling like I’m the last goddamn miracle on earth. “Please. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

I yawn. “You sound obsessed.”

“I am,” she breathes.

At least she’s honest.

She pulls my sweats down slow, kissing every inch of skin like it’s sacred, like her mouth was made to worship me. And when her lips hit my clit, I don’t flinch. I don’t praise her. I just stare down, blank-eyed, hand resting lazily on her head like I’m bored.

“Do it better.”

She whimpers. “I—I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

So she does. Licks deeper. Sucks slow. Uses her fingers like I taught her. It’s pathetic how much she remembers, how perfect she’s gotten at ruining me—because all she wants is my attention. Not love. Not approval. Just a sound. A sigh. A twitch of my fingers in her hair that says, “good girl.”

But I don’t give it to her. I don’t make a sound.

“You like this, right?” she whispers, lips wet, chin messy. “You taste so good… please, let me make you come. Let me do something right.”

I laugh. Low. Cruel. “You think you earned that?”

She moans like I slapped her. Digs her tongue in like she can fuck the hate out of me.

“Pathetic,” I whisper. “Look at you. So eager. This what you wanted that bitch to do? You smile in her face and come home to beg for scraps?”

“I didn’t—” she gasps.

I grab her hair and grind against her face. “You did. And now you’re gone prove how sorry you are.”

She takes it. All of it. Never stops licking. Never stops moaning. She’s crying by the time I come—loud and drawn out, head tossed back while she whimpers into my cunt like it’s salvation.

I pull away after, breathing steady. Look down at her flushed, ruined face. And I still don’t kiss her. Don’t hold her.

I just say, cool and easy, “You’re getting better. Still not enough.”

She nods, wiping her face. “I’ll keep trying.” I smirk.

“Yeah. You will.” Because this isn’t about love. It’s about power. I’ve got her begging for every drop.

She pissed me off. That’s all it takes, really. One wrong look. One slick comment. One second of her acting like she’s not mine. So I fucked somebody else. Simple.

Didn’t even try to hide it. Left the door unlocked. Made sure she’d walk in on it if she really cared. And when she did? I didn’t stop. Just looked at her while this girl—this nobody—was moaning in my ear like she’d never had it that good.

Paige froze.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just stood there, clutching the bag she brought me—dumb little apology gift she probably spent all day thinking about.

I tilted my head and said it. Calm.

“She’s so wet for me. You never used to drip like this.” And that broke her. Right there in the doorway.

“You’re joking,” she whispered, voice shaking. I raised a brow, still inside the girl, still grinding slow like I had all the time in the world. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

She dropped the bag. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

I leaned down, kissed the girl’s shoulder, murmured loud enough for Paige to hear, “You feel so fucking good, baby. You want me to come inside you?”

The girl nodded, moaning, drunk off me. And Paige? She stepped back like she’d been shot. Like I hadn’t warned her. Like this wasn’t always going to happen if she kept testing me.

“Don’t look so surprised,” I said, lazily running my tongue across my bottom lip. “You knew what it was. I told you not to piss me off.”

“Is this because of—what I said?”

“No. This is because I can.”

She didn’t say anything after that. Just stood there, lips trembling, hands curled into fists like she was trying not to beg. Trying not to cry.

But baby, it was too late for that. I grabbed the girl’s hair, gave her one more thrust, then groaned, loud, on purpose. Paige flinched. When I finally pulled out, I stared her down—eyes cold, voice even colder.

“She was better,” I said. “But she ain’t you.” Then I smiled.

“Still… she didn’t waste my time.”

She turned and walked out. And I let her.

She came back shaking. Quiet. Eyes red but dry, like she already cried all the way from the car to the door and just didn’t have it in her anymore. She stood in the doorway like she was waiting for me to say something. Apologize. Flinch. Even blink wrong. Something that might mean I regretted it.

I didn’t.

I stayed right where I was—on the couch, blanket around my waist, phone in hand. Still smelled like the girl who left an hour ago. Vanilla and sweat. Paige could smell it too, I know she could. I wanted her to.

She dropped her bag by the door. “You’re not gonna say sorry?”

I looked up like I had to think about it. “For what, baby?”

And that’s when it started. The spiral. Her face twisted, all that held-in emotion collapsing into disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

I didn’t answer. Just shifted on the couch, stretched a little. My legs were sore—in a good way. “Why would I be sorry for something you caused?”

Her mouth opened, then closed again like her brain short-circuited. I stood, slow. Walked right past her like she was invisible. “You shouldn’t have pushed me.”

“I didn’t—” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t do anything but ask why you were ignoring me.”

“And now you know,” I cut in, turning toward her with that half-smile that always shut her down. “You were boring me. Constantly checking in, trying to impress me. Baby, I don’t want a fan. I want a girlfriend.”

She flinched like I hit her. I might as well have.

“You slept with someone else,” she whispered.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Slept with? No. I fucked her.” I let that hang. Let the words dig their way into her ribs. “Bent her over the sink. She came twice.”

She covered her mouth like the truth physically hurt. Tears started to fall now, fast and silent. And I didn’t care. I just tilted my head. “What? You thought crying was gonna stop me from being honest?”

“You used to love me,” she croaked.

I blinked. “Maybe. But that was before you started acting like I couldn’t breathe without you. You forgot who I am.”

She picked up her bag. Threw it onto the bed like she couldn’t get out fast enough. Hands shaking, shoving shit into the duffel—her sweatshirt, her charger, the perfume I bought her last Christmas.

The whole time she kept glancing back at me like I’d change. Like I’d stop her. I didn’t.

“Keep packing, Paige. You’re cute when you’re heartbroken.”

She froze. “…I hate you.”

I walked over, slow and steady, then leaned in, brushing her cheek with my fingers like I was still sweet. “I’m sure you do.”

She shoved my hand away and kept packing. No more words. Just pain. And that’s the thing—she thought this was a breakup. It wasn’t.

This was me reminding her she was never in control.

It’d been months since I touched her.

Not that she stopped trying—texts left on read, late-night calls I let ring just to hear her voice on voicemail. Her name would light up, soft and blue, and I’d just watch it fade. Never blocked. Never ignored. Just… unbothered.

Her stats were dropping. She was quiet at practice. Snapping at teammates who used to feel like sisters. And I knew why. Of course I knew. But I let it ride.

I’d see her sometimes. Across the court, or during walk-ins. She’d always look at me like she was starving. Like she hadn’t eaten in weeks and I was the last thing that ever tasted like home.

So when the knock came—slow, shaky, familiar—I didn’t even check the peephole. I just opened it, leaned on the frame, and raised a brow.

Paige was standing there with wet lashes, lips bitten pink, and a duffle slung over one shoulder. Like she didn’t know whether to beg or just fall into me.

“Can I come in?” she asked, voice thin. I didn’t move. I let her stand there in it. That regret. That ache.

“I shouldn’t’ve done what I did,” she added, a little more breathless. “I wasn’t right. But I miss you. And I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “You say that every time.”

Her eyes dropped. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag like it might hold her together.

“I know. I just… I thought maybe—”

“Thought maybe I’d fall back into your arms ‘cause you cried a little?” I stepped aside anyway, slow. “Go head.”

She didn’t hesitate. Dropped her bag, walked past like she belonged, and stood in the middle of my living room like she was waiting for a verdict.

“Tell me what you want,” I said, voice quiet. Dangerous.

Her lip trembled. “You. Just you.”

“For how long?” I tilted my head. “Until the next pretty girl makes you feel powerful again? Or until I stop fucking you like you deserve it?”

Her face twisted like it hurt. Good. It should.

“Baby…” she whispered, walking closer. “I haven’t even looked at anyone. I’ve been trying. I’ve been showing up. I’ve been—”

“Failing,” I cut in. “You’ve been failing, Paige. That’s what you’ve been doing.” Tears hit her cheeks. She took a breath like it hurt to even stand.

And still—I let her reach for me. Let her wrap her arms around my waist, press her face to my chest like she needed the heartbeat to survive.

“I’ll do better,” she promised. “Whatever it takes.”

I brushed a hand through her hair, soft. Gentle. Almost tender.

“Shh,” I murmured. “It’s okay.”

She relaxed for the first time in weeks. I kissed her temple. Then her cheek. Then her lips. And when she sighed against me, I whispered, “You’re mine.”

She nodded like it was gospel. And I let her think that was the end of it. But she should’ve known better. I don’t do forgiveness. I do ownership. And she’s not done paying yet.

—————-

She cried herself quiet. Didn’t scream. Didn’t yell. Just let the tears fall while I sat there, still and cold, like her pain didn’t sting me too. But it did.

God, it did.

She was curled up on my bed now, facing the wall like she was trying to disappear into it, fingers curled into her own shirt like maybe if she held tight enough she wouldn’t shatter all the way.

And still—I didn’t say sorry. I never said sorry.

Instead, I slid in behind her. Pressed my chest to her back. Wrapped one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, tugging her against me like I could fuse us back together by force alone.

“You breathing?” I asked softly, lips brushing the shell of her ear. She nodded. Barely.

I kissed her shoulder, slow. Then again. And again. Until she shivered.

“You hate me?” I whispered.

“No,” she breathed. “I just don’t know how to stop loving you.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t want her to.

“You’re okay,” I murmured, my hand rubbing slow circles over her belly, gentle and sweet like I hadn’t just ripped her heart open an hour ago.

“You’re mine, remember?”

She whimpered. Not from pain—just from being held. Like even after all that… this was the part she craved most. And I gave it to her. I always give her what she needs.

Even if I’m the one who broke her to begin with.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

"Do you even like women? Or do you think that any qualities that make her stand out from the rest (even when these are EXCEEDINGLY common Girl Things) are inherently unattractive because then you have to think about her as though she's more than just a pussy and a pair of boobs"

This bit here. Because it describes a lot of men I've knew, men I thought wanted to genuinely be my friend, until they found out any potential romantic or sexual stuff was off the table permanently. It kind of also fits a certain man person from my friend group.

(Y'all know that friend that low-key nobody really likes anymore, but you still feel emotionally obligated to bc you've known them so fucking long? So y'all are too guilty to cut them out; or maybe you're not, but nobody wants to be the bad guy? This is that guy.)

I'm gonna add some input here as someone who is (basically) a cis woman that most people assume is straight, bc those heteronormative blinders people be wearing.

For context; I'm an aroace demi-woman who doesn't personally vibe with the concept of gender but has been treated like a woman enough to feel at least partially like one. It's bc when i was younger and thinner I had that whole hourglass figure thing going on. I was always curvy but when I wasn't fat it was...I wore a lot of baggy clothes to hide my great rack and booty. Bc I developed early and fast and men were creepy af and did NOT care that I was only 11-14 when they started to hit on me. And baby me was oblivious af, but she could sense the bad vibes. (I'd prefer to be physically non-indicative of any gender in a way that baffles people, but if wishes were fishes I'd actually eat seafood)

Anyway, back on point. I've known men who go for exactly these types of girls. The dyed hair, piercings, cat ears, and other fun quirky, cute stuff. And it's not bc they view them as full people, or as equals, or anything like that. It's just a spicier version of the pussy and pair of boobs. Because usually these girls have some of the same nerdy interests as them, so they can drag their girlfriend along to those kind of hangouts and events with friends. Where they get to show off that they~have a girlfriend~and even better, that she's cool bc she likes x-thing or wears cat ears. (bc the cat ears things is a kink or fetish for some people, but this is the internet, y'all know that) They get to give her a one-dimensional personality based on usually pure fabrication. Or worse, try to make her some manic-pixie-dream-girl type amalgamation, who is supposed to come in and with the power of her love (and vagina) save him from his inner demons. (Instead of you know, therapy.)

And that's basically the same shit with a different twist. Certain men except women to do emotional labor for them, to indulge in some poor "woe is me" narrative they've created in their heads. Like, capitalism fucks us all, and mental health issues need to be addressed. But it's not a woman's job to the dumping ground for a man's problems. Nor is it to serve as his primary source of escape from them when he's not giving that same energy back to her.

Sorry for getting rambly y'all. I couldn't be succinct to save my motherfucking life.

The longer I exist as a loudly proudly gay man the more I think that cishet men aren't actually attracted to women.

[zarilolll]

Father!Mark Grayson Headcanons

AN: woo! first post on tumblr, feeling kind of nervous…but i want to contribute something to the invincible fandom on here ^^ i apologize in advance if this is choppy.

WARNINGS:AFAB!Reader(but no use of pronouns), brief mentions of sex, pregnancy, fluff, not proofread, honesty can’t think of anymore on the top of my head

You and Mark had always practiced having safe sex. You both were young, but it took one time.

It’s been long, too long since he had his hands on you. Being in space without your warmth made his desire for you increase with each passing day. So the moment he flew through your bedroom window, he clung to you desperately. His soft whimpers filled the room as he kissed you, his tongue brushing against yours. You could sense his need for you. He didn’t need to speak, the way he ground his hips against your thighs told you everything you needed to know.

He reluctantly pulled back to catch his breath.

“Mmm…need you…need you so much, baby- please.”

And, whew! That was enough to make you toss your panties/boxers to the floor😮‍💨

Being caught up in the moment, the thought of using protection was long forgotten. Mark was too consumed by his desire, and you were too busy getting your brains fucked out to care. It wasn’t until those two red lines popped up that things began to settle in. You were pregnant, pregnant with his child.

Was absolutely nervous when he first found out about your pregnancy, but supportive. It wasn’t the fact that you both created life that startled him, no — it was the future. Being Invincible came with more downsides than ups. Part of him feared that your child would become a target for his enemies, that the GDA would find a way to get to them when they’re older and exploit them.

So I imagine him becoming more protective than usual.

Took fatherhood seriously. Like I mean really seriously…Way before the baby was born, he signed you both up for parenting classes. Which he tried his hardest to attend whenever Cecil wasn’t yapping in his ear piece.

“Yeah, yeah…another flaxan invasion. Let’s make this quick.”

Whenever Mark did need to leave for missions, he left you with Debbie. (who was more than happy to spend time with her in law) He didn’t want to leave you alone for too long. And who wouldn’t want to spend time with his mother? That woman has a kind soul🥹 She often gave you tips and tricks to make your pregnancy easier. And you got see Oliver too!

His whole world turned upside down when the baby was born. You gave birth to a beautiful girl! (sorry Mark is a girl dad in every universe — I didn’t make the rules/j)

She had his brown eyes and your nose — his heart melted when she reached out for him. He fell in love immediately.

Calls her: “sweetheart”, “gorgeous”, “princess” (treats her like one too)

Insisted on covering the night shifts. You just brought her into the world, so you deserve to rest.

He could be getting home late from work and he’d still do it. Mark spends most of his nights in the nursery, sitting on a rocking chair with your daughter cradled close to his chest. He’d tell the baby about his day, about the monsters he had to fight. She may be too young to understand what he’s saying, but he didn’t care. Just having her close and hearing her coo in her sleep was enough for him.

…And he’d tell her what an amazing person you are.

“You’ve got one of the best parents around. Don’t give them too much trouble, alright?”

“Your Mama/Papa is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

“Look at how cute you are! Looking just like them…”

“…Where would I be without you both?”

“How did I get so lucky?”

Will often read his comics to her. Mark’s dead set on making her a Seance Dog fan like him.

One morning, you walked in and saw them sleeping on the rocking chair. Your precious girl was still on his chest, her drool staining his t-shirt, and his book long forgotten on the floor.

Keeps every milestone documented. His photo library is full of pictures and videos. (that he proudly flexes to his coworkers)

If he misses anything, he’ll be distraught. She tried taking her first steps when he wasn’t around and he sobbed 😭

Will learn how to do hair just for her. He ended up giving her uneven little pigtails that look like antennas 💀 Don’t laugh…he’s trying.

Doesn’t play about quality time. Mainly because he wants them to have a relationship better than his and Nolan’s. She wants to play with dolls? Mark is joining and using his “girl” voice. (he ends up getting really into the dramatic plot they made)

“And I saw her with Tyler last week!”

“*GASP* Girl, no you didn’t!”

Tea party? He’ll act all sophisticated and try to squeeze into whatever tight polyester dress she gave him. She wants to do his makeup? He’ll suck up his pride and let her coat his lips with bright red lipstick.

Every drawing is hung up on the fridge.

She got her hands on one of his collectibles and broke it. Though Mark reassured her that it was okay, you saw that a part of him broke on the inside.

Since then, he spoils her with toys. Got to put that paycheck to good use somehow…and to keep her grubby hands off of his things.

Cannot discipline her, that lil girl has him wrapped around her finger😭 If he sees that she’s about to cry, he’ll fold. How can he be mad when she gives him those puppy dog eyes? You did get on him about this, though.

Has you both as his wallpaper. He likes to stare at it, it reminds him of what he’s fighting for.

Does that stupid hand thing on road trips💀 She could be minding her business, munching away on some trail mix and he’s reaching back for some

(LIKE OUUU GET YOUR OWN SNACKS)

She makes a face before sharing…because I know I would. His greed sickens me.

Whenever she has a nightmare, Mark takes her out flying to get her mind off of things. He’ll hold her close, pointing out different buildings and the stars.

Would protect her from anything, and I mean anything. Villains, Viltrumites, and even the imaginary monsters that hid in her closet — he’s fending them off. Made it clear to Cecil that he doesn’t want him anywhere near her. Her head doesn’t need to be filled with government bullshit.

At the end of the day, Mark just wants her to have a better childhood than he did. She deserved to enjoy her youth before the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

AHHHH FIRST POST DONE! i hope you all enjoyed it^^ i honestly had fun writing this out. thoughts and questions are welcome.

[sugarwarachan]

honestly this is just pure filth, pls enjoy. mdni - if I see a blank, ageless blog your ass is getting blocked

pervyroommate!suna who knows all about the videos you upload because he knows the contents of your panty drawer like the back of his hand and recognizes, instantly, the hug of teal lace around your nipples. you've got a small channel, and the videos could honestly be improved—he totally doesn't spend hours thinking about how much better they would be if he helped you film, if he directed your hands and told you what you could touch and how—but there's something in your inexperience that turns him hard as iron.

pervyroommate!suna who doesn't take long to sneak out of his room after you're done filming so he can start huffing up the smell of your wet panties.

pervyroommate!suna who messages you every time you post. he doesn't bother starting out tame or some shit; he wants you to know that your pretty little virgin cunt is keeping him up at night.

and he isn't subtle, either, about the fact that he knows it's you.

but you always respond all the same, all shy and cute in a way that makes his eyes bug out of his head.

pervyroommate!suna who starts dropping hints around the apartment that he knows all about your extracurricular activities just so he can see you flush and stammer. he wants to cut off your rambling with a hand to your throat—let it rest on the column of your neck while your heartbeat thrums wildly under it.

pervyroommate!suna who hears you whimpering through the too-thin walls of your shared walls one night and can't ignore how much he wants to pin you down and make you squeal and cum so hard you wet the bed.

when he opens your door and sees you, flushed and panting and gorgeous, he actively has to stop himself from jumping you. he settles into a chair and gestures.

"you usually make videos of this," he says.

you just bite your lip and nod.

"you make videos 'cause you like to be watched, right?" the smirk on his face turns feral when you nod again. "well, i'm here now, baby. i'll watch you."

pervyroommate!suna who, buried balls-deep in you an hour later, has no idea you've been playing the long game

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3 If you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know!

general taglist <3 @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @iluvikeu, @bach-ira

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part xvi

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader; past carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers, tbd

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

series: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v, part vi, part vii. part viii, part ix, part x, part xi, part xii, part xiii, part xiv, part xv, tbd.

bonus: one, two, three, four, five

a/n: sorry everyone, i got sick again!

July 11-12, 2025

[Excerpt: BBC Sport Commentary]

“And now, it’s Y/N L/N serving for the championship. Only three women have ever managed to win a Season Slam, and Y/N is well on her way to do so if she can hang on to her serve here. It's - oh, in the net. Her second serve hasn't been great on grass, but it's gotten her this far [...]

Oh and there it is! What a historic moment! Her first ever Wimbledon title, and what a beautiful way to win it. A great passing forehand that Sabalenka could've never reached in time. And what a terrible end for the Belarusian who's been so strong all year, who had an opportunity to win this match at the start. But it's L/N who fought her way back, and turned the momentum around.

Just look at the disbelief and joy on L/N's face, as she makes her way to her coaching team and family. Her parents, who are always incredibly nice, by the way. Who sometimes don't come because the nerves get too much, but who find the prospect of no family support 'way worse'. Her coach Kim Clijsters, whose best result here was a semi-final. Oh, and there's a long hug for her friends, including Lando Norris, Formula One Driver and currently leader of the World Championship as well himself. Now, she makes her way back down to the court -- oh and there's a cheeky wave at none other than Sebastian Stan -- where she will receive her trophy momentarily."

July 13 - 15, 2025

[Excerpt: Post-Win Interview with Y/N L/N]

"What an amazing turn-around! How did you manage to stay so focused?"

I didn't, ha! I think it's very clear that I lost my cool for a little at the start. But it was also a way for me to get those frustrations out and clear my head. You know, Roger Federer said that you are lucky to win 54% of the points you play. So I tried to tell myself - okay, it's just a point. It's just one point. That's always been my philosophy, but it's hard sometimes to stick to it. I'm lucky I found a way to do so when it mattered most.

"Grass has been historically a difficult surface for you, but this time you challenged yourself to also play doubles. How will you make sure that you're well rested to go for the hard-court season?"

Grass is definitely more challenging for me. It's more physical, more demanding. But I also kind of love that about it? It's why this was extra meaningful. And add to that the home crowd, it's magical. I gave it my all, but that also means I'm going to need to take some time to relax and switch off for a bit. Not super long, I'll be playing Cincinnati and I'm excited for that! But definitely will book a holiday before then.

"You haven't booked anything yet?"

Well, my sister's getting married first, and that's a location wedding already. But then I wasn't sure of course how I'd do at Wimbledon either - so I wanted to wait and see. It's going to be a last-minute decision, I fear."

"Maybe Romania? It'd be a great excuse to ask Sebastian Stan for some tips."

I think I'm happy to keep my celebrity crush just that - a celebrity crush.

[Excerpt: Transcription of YouTube Video "Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri Create a Summer Playlist"]

"Okay, so we're just about to head into our summer break, and we thought it'd be nice to leave you with some of our favourite tunes."

"Well, mostly mine, since Oscar has questionable taste."

"Just - it's niche," Oscar argues. Lando rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

"Sure. Start us off then, why don't you?"

"How about Life is a Highway by the Rascal Flatts? A little bit of country. A little bit of Cars, perfect for a summer roadtrip."

"Solid choice, let's add Running Around by Ely Oaks."

Oscar nods, then frowns as he tries to think of what should come next. "Alright, maybe - you like Lizzy McAlpine right? Do we need some slow songs?"

"I do like it, but maybe it's not very summery? Let me have a look at my own Spotify," Lando says as he whips out his phone, frowning in concentration.

"See, I might have niche tastes, but he's the real snob here," Oscar mutters. "He makes these elaborate playlists for his friends, then refuses to take their input."

"Oi, I heard that. See if I gift you another carefuly curated selection of hits," Lando chides, before turning back to the camera. "Okay, I recently listened to Talk by benny blanco and Selena Gomez."

"Never heard it, but I trust you. Maybe some Bad Bunny? That's good for summer right," Oscar asks with a shrug. Lando nods, smiling.

"Yeah, Osc. Straight from my playlist to yours. I'll also say All I Know by Rudimental and Khalid."

"Let's finish it off with Tate McRae's Just Keep Watching, a little Formula One film special," Oscar closes with a cheeky wink.

A/N: Roland Garros was a fucking fever dream this weekend. What a match between Coco and Aryna, and then again on Sunday between Jannik and Carlos!! Chef's kiss tennis. I know Carlos Alcaraz is a questionable character in this fic but please know that I actually adore him.

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites @blushmimi @colmathgames2 @esw1012 @sadiemack9 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @awritingtree @its-elias-world @sarah-thatstings-ann @jessicanotta @fairyjinn @destinyg237 @verogonewild @annimausi @taetae-armyyyyy @jkoooooooookie @coral7161

[nogodsinfoxholes]

Nicotine is insidious because the bad effects of it take a long time to build up. It seems fine and even all your health tests come back normal (or normal for you) for years. It could be ten years, twenty, thirty, then it hits. There’s no hangover and no significant feeling of “coming down”, there’s no crash, and the withdrawal is not *anywhere near* as horrible as withdrawal from other addictive drugs, and all it costs is 5-15 bucks to solve.

And it’s not like withdrawal makes addicts quit anyway (I know that well, I was a drug addict for nearly ten years). I didn’t start feeling any side effects — such as nausea — until a decade after smoking. It took my lungs and heart about that long too, and I already had asthma (personal gripe but when people say “I’ll never smoke because I have asthma/some illness” it’s 🙄 because it can depend how tolerable it is and you’d be surprised not only how easy it is to get addicted but what you’re willing to put up with once you are)

And, menthol is not addictive in itself but even the CDC declared smokers of menthol have a significantly harder time quitting and it causes more adverse health effects. Problem is you don’t really notice this either — the addition of the menthol is basically a “cover up” so you don’t feel any discomfort in your lungs or throat. It tastes better and is easier to smoke, making it more enjoyable and in turn, more addictive.

Many queer people smoke menthols, and companies even directly targeted ads of menthols to this group, along with black people and the mentally ill (Nicotine doesn’t help your anxiety and never will, at most it’s treating the anxiety of your nicotine levels dropping, or the actual action of smoking and just being able to take a smoke break can be calming).

Cigarettes and vaping are addictions of habit. Nicotine, as a stand alone substance, is not nearly as addictive, or destructive. But there aren’t really other ways to consume nicotine except for products to help you quit.

If you already use nicotine, an app I’d like to recommend is this one:

Smoke Free, an app that’s been peer reviewed. IDK how good the sub with sessions is because I never paid for it, but there’s a counter, there’s motivation, (like you can see how much money you’ve saved and if you smoke just a pack daily it’ll blow your mind), there’s lots of advice, a diary, etc.

To note, this app does approve of using vaping to help you quit initially (you don’t just trade tobacco for a vape and call it a day). It’s a topic of debate in these circles though. While vaping does remove a ton of harmful things in cigarettes, it has other risks, and you should never think it’s “safe” and never EVER start vaping if you don’t smoke.

Here’s a good link from Harvard and information about EVALI (e-vaping associated lung injury) but it does run down all the risks of vaping in general as well:

(Next is for those in the US, check your own country for this!)

If you’re very addicted and can’t seem to quit cold turkey or with patches/gum no matter how hard you try, and other meds are ineffective or you can’t take them (Chantix is one my doctor would not give to me due to my history of suicide attempts) then good news because there are two prescription nicotine products you can ask your doctor for!

I got the nasal spray myself:

A lot of insurances DO cover these now — although it took my doctor nearly a month to get coverage under my Medicare, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the same is the case for Medicaid, which many people are on!

I quit by vaping disposable vapes then using the nasal spray, and I’m still not out of the woods yet. My recommendation is during this time, before you drop it for good, is to start changing your habits and behavior slowly.

Like having a cigarette after sex or eating? Don’t.

Smoke in your car while driving? Stop doing that.

Have a smoke break at your job? Skip it.

Always need to pause during a movie to go smoke or can’t go the entire movie without one? Keep trying.

Roll tobacco into your joint? Stop!

(‘smoke’ here refers to vaping or any nicotine product. You get the idea! Try lots of distraction at first, or break a craving down in 15 minute segments. Or less. When I quit drugs I was literally going “I just need to make it through this minute…” Push yourself through to your set interval again and again instead of thinking of it in terms of quitting for good and it will help ease your anxiety some. Movement, especially repetitive movement like chores or playing a game were great distractions for me when it came to cigarettes.)

“Identifying your triggers” can feel pointless or even overwhelming at first (‘what DOESN’T make me want to use? lol’ but it’s important for this very reason — it’s hard as hell to simply avoid many of them). And never reward yourself for not vaping/smoking by… smoking or vaping. That doesn’t work. I’ve seen that advice before and uh, no.

I always see these posts and that’s great! But hopefully here’s some more information about the risks and reality of nicotine and smoking/vaping products + some help and advice for people currently using them.

Also, please do NOT use ADHD meds you’re not prescribed or more than prescribed to try to stop smoking. Or to avoid smoking! That may be setting you up for another life-destroying addiction (and — I’ll be blunt — stims made me want to smoke more so that method could end with you just using both, and drugs are what made me try cigarettes in the first place. It intensified the euphoria to me, and it’s pretty common to see drug addicts who use nicotine). But if you think you might have ADHD and some Addy (or similar) would help you day in and day out, then look into it! Hopefully the latter was what ^ meant.

if you’re a baby trans and you haven’t started smoking cigarettes or vaping yet don’t. it’s actually not that hot or interesting. It will just cause you ungodly frustrations and suffering and cost you a bunch of money and be next to impossible to quit

[kkochigomi]

skz reacting to a member walking in on you guys

hyung line + HH | maknae line

(this is an F U to that anon, I'm doing yet another thing other than what I started)

warnings/tags; dubcon, gn!reader, sub!reader dom!member, voyeurism & exhibitionism, penetration, jerking to your fancam, riding, missionary, doggy, ass eating, masturbation, prone bone, usage of 'hyung', this was longer than intended, some members have longer portions which just happened to happen

hard hours are officially open until further notice!

It started with you being a backup dancer for one comeback, then goofing around with the members while rehearsing, to you hanging out with them regularly. There are a lot of people in and out of there, all of the friends they've garnered over the years. You're also friends with other idols, so it never occurred to you. You know, you with them.

For the guys, it was an unspoken rule to not fuck their best friends. At least, not in a heat of the moment kind of way. Just in general, not doing impulsive shit will fare better for anyone in the long run.

However, sometimes shit happens. That shit happens to be your most recent backup dancing gig. Let's go through what happens when a certain member caves first.

⦊ bang chan ⦉

When it comes to members you were close to considering doing, Chan was at the top. But not on purpose. It's your fucking friends. His friends too. Lord knows Jake cannot help calling Chan daddy and pretend he's a horned up suitor to piss him off. The image of being fucked by Chan has been practically forced into your mind. Not that it was impossible to imagine that. You and everyone recognized him as a very manly and dependable man which is popular among people attracted to masculine people. Daddy indeed.

being walked in on

I imagine it was heat of the moment between you two. There is no doubt in my mind that he was the most dedicated to upholding the status quo of the friend group. But after seeing you in that outfit doing those dance moves... well Chan didn't even know you could move like that. That your face was capable of those expressions. And what you were doing with your tongue-

No. Chan shouldn't be thinking this way. And he definitely shouldn't be masturbating to the video. Thanks to you being popular like no:ze, there was a cheeky little fancam to make Chan's bad habits a little easier to achieve. After that, he was too far gone. You got playfully flirty one night and sat in his lap while he was at his computer. When you felt it, you couldn't lie. You liked what you felt. The minute you push your ass back to start grinding he wraps his arms around your waist. He holds you there, stilling you as his heart started to beat faster.

"Are you sure about this?"

One yes later and you were bouncing on his cock in his computer chair, Chan trying desperately to keep it from rolling away with his feet firmly planted to the ground. He takes a moment to stop his roaming hands and turn the chair so the back was against the desk. Now you grinding forward on his cock has the chair repeatedly thudding against the desk.

Loudly.

"Hyung, what the hell is that?" Jeongin's voice is momentarily muffled until he pushes the door open. The realization is instant. And so is Chan's anger.

"What the f- close the door!" he shouts, clutching you close with one arm and pointing angrily with the others. Jeongin lags for a second, before he snaps out of it and slams the door shut. Both of you feel like your adrenaline is through the roof, so it takes you a second to realize that not only is he still hard, but he's bucking into you.

walking in

Jeongin abruptly cranked up the TV thirty minutes ago and it's starting to agitate Chan. He's not normally like this. He's a very mindful roommate, and usually Chan worries the TV isn't even loud enough for Jeongin himself to hear. So Chan isn't immediately angry with him and assumes the best.

The worst in this case would be Jeongin going through a rebellious phase in his mid-twenties. Not seeing clothes strewn about the living room, and not seeing Jeongin on the couch with his bare ass clenching as he thrusted into... you?

Since Jeongin caved first in this scenario, Chan is still in the pathetic perv phase. So seeing your face drenched in ecstasy just like you simulated on stage went right to his cock. You're the first to notice, jumping up and knocking your forehead against Jeongin's. Chan apologizes profusely for intruding (even though you both chose the living room) and for the boner he's not even sure either of you noticed.

⦊ Lee Minho ⦉

Messing around with Minho never actually occurred to you. He's like a cat in all the weird ways. When he comes in your room you're more focused on what he's gonna fucking knock over. But there are glimpses, it just took a while for you to store them in your mind correctly. Recently you've been compartmentalizing each moment where Minho was surprisingly sexy. Every smirk, lidded gaze, bite of his lip. It's starting to build up.

being walked in on

With you two, it was a slow burn. Minho didn't know just how similar both your thought processes were. He also slowly noticed things about you, long before the sexy choreo. He was playful with the idea. It didn't guilt him too much and he had fun teasing you and even more fun when you started teasing him back. It went from daring one to kiss the other to jokes about sleeping with each other to playful groping that the rest of the friend group found weird.

That all culminated in you calling Minho a pussy for ignoring yet another one of your infamous dares. At one point you were actually joking. Then it turned into you not minding if he did go through with it. And now it was an actual challenge. He accepts it.

He grabs your ass and pulls you into him. He takes in your dark eyes as he leans against the kitchen island.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asks with a cocked brow.

"I dare you." you whisper, a breath away from his lips.

"Ohoho... getting real slutty now. Show me how much of a slut you are. Do that thing you did with your tongue during Crave."

His hand creeps up your body as you obey his command. You watch in real time as his pupils dilate. After a soft peck you challenge him again and he wraps the hand creeping up your body around your throat. It was curtains after that.

He had you by the back of your neck, bent over the counter as he pounded into you. Slow, languid blows you felt in your gut. It was probably the squeaks pounded out of you that drew a curious Jisung to the kitchen.

"Oh- Hooooly shit!" Jisung drops his phone in shock, hands flying to his head. You and Minho are frantically yanking your bottoms up and Minho is quick to anger.

"Why are you just standing there?!" it was unreasonable, but Minho was embarrassed. He was no longer hard and no longer in the mood to your disappointment. Jisung had long since skittered away while you watch, slightly amused, as Minho paces with bright red cheeks.

walking in

Minho was already rattling off about how he was about to order some food and reminding Jisung to include the tax when he sent the money when he heard it. A wet noise he would soon realize was Jisung lapping at your asshole. You were settled into a deep arch, blissed out atop Jisung's bed while he did the thing you always told Minho to do when he pissed you off.

"Someone finally ate your ass," Minho projects, not even getting the second word out before Jisung is flopping to the floor and looking up at him in shock as his angry red cock peeks out of his zipper. You scramble to cover yourself, sporting a similar "deer-in-the-headlights" look until it hits you. That annoyance Minho is always happy to provide.

"Carry on!" he encourages with an impish laugh, offering a gesture with his phone to each of you before leaving you to it.

⦊ Seo Changbin ⦉

You and Changbin always joked about finding each other attractive. Well, you finding him attractive. You see, the bit is that Changbin would say something braggadocious and then flex dramatically and you would squeal like a fangirl. Sometimes you would squeeze his biceps and think to yourself holy shit. He and Chan had great physiques, but something about him made you want him to... I don't know...

being walked in on

Put you in a chokehold. You asked him one day, a segue from being genuinely impressed by his arms. It's something you always ask fellow dancers or any of your friends with muscular physiques. It's a joke, but when Changbin does it, there's something else at play.

There was an unbearably submissive quality to the way you danced in that performance that made Changbin want to mount you. He hates the thought, so he buries it. Having you squirm, helpless under the conditions you subjected yourself to, his desires become unearthed.

You let out a moan unintentionally and what happens next is completely in the heat of the moment.

You're getting rug burn on your knees from the two of you frantically bumping uglies on the couch and somehow making it onto the floor. You're prone on the carpet while Changbin straddles you from behind. He has his hands around your throat, his balls grazing against the tops of your thighs.

Incoherent pleas and grunts fill the room as he rolls his hips into you. Changbin is too focused to realize Hyunjin has not only peeked his head out of his room, but fully walked out to marvel the pile of desperation on the carpet. Not until a small, inquisitive 'huh' leaves Hyunjin's mouth.

Thankfully Changbin's head is out of the way when you pop yours up in surprise.

"H-Hyunjin," you yelp, unable to move much with Changbin still on top of you. Yeah, Changbin is surprised, but he's just as intrigued as Hyunjin seems to be. His presence didn't bother him much. Oh, and he has no intention of stopping.

"Are you gonna get out or watch or what?"

walking in

Changbin could just send this tiktok to Hyunjin via DMs... or he could just walk across the hall and show him. Plus, he wants to see his reaction and make sure he's actually watching.

"I can't trust you to watch this on your own-"

Changbin stops when moans grace his ears. Then he looks way from his phone to see all the motion happening on the bed. Hyunjin's face is buried in your neck and he has red hickies all over his shoulders. His hand is cupping your hip while he thrusts into you slowly.

Oh shit, Changbin thinks. But when your eyes snap open and Hyunjin raises up to his knees, he realizes he said it out loud. He just hopes neither of you saw his cock twitch.

⦊ Hwang Hyunjin ⦉

Just like Chan, Hyunjin's looks were very popular, so it was obvious you flirted with the idea of something more. It didn't help that Hyunjin had this inherently romantic aura to him. Especially with the long hair, a paint brush held in his mouth with smears of blue and yellow making a haphazard rendition of The Starry Night on his arms and clothes. Even with the buzz cut, there's something that screams a meet cute is destined to happen. And those eyes. He's not flirty or dangerous like Minho, he's attentive and soft. The way he looks at you when you speak makes you feel like the most special person in the world.

being walked in on

Hyunjin was very intentional. He set up what could be considered dates but also weren't too explicit in their connotation. Just two friends watching a movie while sipping on wine. And one of the friends peering over at the other with the intention of locking eyes. The little wine dates were dangerous. Wine made you flirty, everyone knew this. Even if it was just a little bit.

So when Hyunjin gazing at you with his elbow propped on the back of the couch, fully ignoring the movie, you decide 'fuck it'. You lean in as well, awaiting the culmination of all this YA fiction BS. So it happens naturally, the kiss, but it doesn't escalate. So Hyunjin is always the first to "cave" technically, but you haven't had sex with him, and the choreo hadn't come out yet. As of right now, you two have a hint of a pre-established romance.

You both felt comfortable not putting a label on it or being exclusive. Just little flirty kisses and fun somewhat dates. It was fun like that... it really was... but god were you sexy in that video. Cute pecks turn into longing kisses to groping to even dry humping on the couch. Hopefully the movies you two watch suck because you never watch them. You soon ditch the movies for kissing on his bed. The slow escalation is familiar to you by now, so you're not surprised when his hand slips under your shirt. What does surprise you is how hard he's getting, but it's a pleasant surprise. He strips all your clothes off and you do the same to him, taking turns peppering kisses all over each other's body.

Even the way Hyunjin fucks is romantic. It's not 'fucking' at all. He holds you like you're precious porcelain as he pushes into you, cupping your hip. You're so entranced by him, more than you've ever been. The moment he dips lower and start kissing up your neck, you throw your head back and drown in ecstasy.

You're so focused on how his hot skin presses into you with every thrust that you don't notice Changbin. It's only when you hear an 'oh shit' that your eyes fly open.

There stood Changbin, phone in hand, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. As Hyunjin leans back, his dick pulls out of you. It is definitely still hard... and you swear you see it twitch. He looks at Changbin, very much dazed from lust and unaffected by Changbin's presence.

walking in

Hyunjin has a propensity to find art in anything. Stopping to take a picture of a duck with it's baby posed perfectly in front of it, pointing out pleasing color schemes, and seeing certain positions people are placed in as a spark of inspiration. And he finds some scenes a lot more intriguing than others. Hyunjin first hears grunts and random words from his room as soon as he pops his earphones off. He's pretty damn sure of what he's hearing, but who the hell is Changbin having sex with?

Hyunjin pops his head out and sure enough, Changbin is fucking someone from behind on the floor. When he sees you lift your head, he feels something bubble inside him. It isn't anger or jealousy. He doesn't pinpoint it until he feels heat brewing downstairs.

He walks closer, noticing little details like how your skin tone looks against Changbin's, the dynamics of the position, other artsy stuff that Hyunjin understands but I don't, and he enjoys the sight.

Huh, Hyunjin thinks, wanting to sit and watch the art unfolding on the living room carpet. Except he doesn't think it. He realizes this after your head shoots up and almost knocks Changbin's teeth out.

"H-Hyunjin!"

You're shocked, but only briefly. You're now focused on the look of utter captivation on Hyunjin's face.

"Are you gonna get out or watch or what?" Changbin asks through a laugh. Hyunjin shifts his weight to one leg as he thinks for a moment.

"If it's okay with you guys, I think I'll watch."

if you send an ask, I might even do a follow up blurb about a threesome including one of these pairings... I can't guarantee that a follow up will be gn because I suck at descriptions already and if I can't describe genitalia it'll be like cutting a limb off.

[nutmegtales]

Fucking Clowns - Part 3

The joker waltzed his way down the corridor of the maximum security area of Arkham. Another pair of bodies the punchline to this Joke of an asylum. These half rate places can only ever keep him in so long before he gets too bored and has to go find Batman for some fun. But first! He's heard he's got a real fan here in the locker. Some kid that's got his name stuck on his tongue. Joker knew there was someone fun round here when they started shifting round his schedule. No doubt to keep em seperate. Tut tut tut well they couldn't have that now could they. Ha HA now wheres the fun in that!

No before he goes out to batman for his main act he's gotta get a warm up in first. Ohhhh this was going to be Good!

Danny was laying in his bed, the bottle of water on the table nearly empty again. He was always so thirsty. It was all the crying he'd been doing according to the doctor, gotta keep his fluids up. Gotta... Gotta keep going. There were still so many stories left to hear. So many ghosts who hadn't been heard, waiting their turn, patient as the dead.

At least, Danny told himself, at least they'd stopped screaming. This way there was enough space to hear just one of the ghosts at a time... But, well, this way he could really hear the whole story.

There was no escaping the endless recount of senseless violence. No activity that could distract from the gory details of that sick bastards humour. What choice did he really have? He could leave, phase right out of here and starve to death on the streets listening to these horror stories. He could try not to listen and be admitted right back here when the screaming would inevitably start back up. He could stay and listen to the seemingly endless stories, kept alive by kind but ultimately clueless nurses.

Or

Or he could kill the Joker.

Danny is pretty sure at this point there really is no life ahead of him now. This is all there is. The endless horror of bloody murders until he puts them to rest, and then, and then maybe he can just.... Not anymore. Not think. Not hear. Not live. Just... Not.

The ghosts had gone unusually quiet. It was the only warning he had that anything was out of the ordinary before his door opened, and there grinning from the entryway to his room was the source of all this pain. The Joker.

Right there. He was right there, it would be so simple he could just reach out and... And...

Danny knew about his ghostly wail. Had used it a few times now and knew it was a skill he needed to be mindful of. It was a powerful and traumatic weapon to use. He knew what his wail felt like.

What built in his chest felt different, colder. Like knives of ice slicing through his body and tearing to get out. As the joker stepped fully into the room, sick grin plastered on his face and some twisted greeting ready on his lips, Danny released his mournful wail.

The ghosts that gathered round him joined in, crying, sobbing, cackling along as wave after wave of mourning flooded the joker. Every horror he had caused that Danny listened too, every disgusting terror the remaining ghosts had yet to retell, every hurt and grief the joker had caused he now experienced in excruciating detail.

It went on and on and on until there was nothing left in Danny to give. Until every last vengeful ghost had poured all their obsession into the wail. Finally it ended and Danny collapsed.

The joker stood paralysed, forced to experience and live through every horror he had inflicted. Trapped in his own twisted world of terror.

Danny lay on the floor of his room. Finally relieved of his charge, finally able to just... Rest. Blissfully he stared at the crisp white wall of the crisp white room bereft of ghosts, and heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing.

Finally Danny was at rest.

-----

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