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pucksandpower · 1 month

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I’m Gonna Wife You Up

Max Verstappen x best friend!Reader

Summary: in which your best friend wins his first World Drivers’ Championship, proposes through text, and confesses his feelings for you … in that order

It’s just after 2 am when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You groan and roll over, squinting at the bright screen. A new text from Max. You can’t help but smile as you open it.

Ik im drunk but listen

Im gonna wife you up one day

Thats all

Good night

You laugh out loud at the drunken confession, shaking your head fondly. Leave it to Max to make even his most romantic statements sound completely ridiculous.

The two of you have been inseparable since you were kids racing in karts together. As his career skyrocketed into Formula 1 and global fame, you were always there by his side as his best friend and perpetual voice of reason.

Well, most of the time anyway.

As you type out a teasing response, another text comes through.

Wait no

Im coming over

You barely have time to process it before your phone starts ringing, Max’s goofy grinning face flashing on the screen. You accept the FaceTime call and he immediately starts rambling.

“Y/N! Y/N listen. I just won the fucking World Championship! Can you believe it?”

“Yes, I can actually,” you chuckle. “I was there, remember? Sitting right in the garage.”

“Of course you were! You’re always there,” he slurs, words running together. “My biggest supporter. My good luck charm.”

“I think you might be overestimating my involvement a tad there, buddy.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No way. I couldn’t do any of this without you, y’know? All those years of you kicking my ass in the karts, pushing me to be better ...”

You scoff. “Oh please, you were always the better driver. I just got a head start.”

“That has nothing to do with it! You’re just crazy talented. Why d’you think I’ve kept you around all these years?”

“Gee, thanks.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. Drunken banter with Max is one of your favorite pastimes.

Suddenly, there’s a loud banging on your door. You jump, staring at it in confusion.

“Y/N? Y/N you home?” Max’s muffled voice calls from the other side.

You glance back at your phone to see he’s now wandering down the hallway, FaceTiming you from outside your hotel room. Of course the idiot wouldn’t think to simply text you a heads up.

“Max! I’ll be right there, just stay put for once in your life.”

You hurry to the door and swing it open. There he is, leaning against the wall in a rumpled dress shirt and loosened tie, phone raised as he grins at you proudly. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your own face at the sight of your best friend, for once totally carefree after years of endless pressure and scrutiny.

“Hey champ,” you tease, stepping aside so he can stumble into your living room. “Need me to give you a hand there?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” He waves you off, somehow managing to trip over his own feet and crash onto your couch. You wince as he lets out a groan.

“Yeah, you seem totally fine.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles petulantly, making you laugh.

You move to stand over him, arms crossed as you drink in the sight. His dress shirt is untucked and half unbuttoned, tie completely askew. His carefully styled hair is now a tousled mess, a few stray strands falling over his bright eyes. Despite his drunken state, an almost giddy smile plays at his lips.

“What?” He asks, catching your fond gaze.

You shake your head. “Nothing, I’m just … I’m really proud of you, Max.”

His grin widens and he grabs your hand, tugging you down to sit beside him on the couch. “I did it, didn’t I? I actually fucking did it!”

“You did.” You squeeze his hand, hardly believing it yourself. “World Champion at just 24 years old. You deserve this so much.”

He sobers a bit, blue eyes shining intensely as he holds your gaze. “I couldn’t have done it without you though. You’ve been there every step of the way. Through all the good times and the bad ...”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off.

“No, shhh. Let me say this.” He takes a deep breath, seeming to struggle to find the right words. “You … you always believed in me. No matter what. Even when I didn’t believe in myself, even when everyone was writing me off and calling me arrogant or reckless … you were always there to pick me up and set me straight.”

His gaze drops briefly before locking with yours again. “You don’t know what that means to me, Y/N. To have someone like that, someone who’s always got your back no matter what. Who calls you on your bullshit but also hypes you up more than anyone. I honestly don’t know if I’d be here without you.”

Your throat feels tight as you blink back unexpected tears. You’ve never seen Max be this open and vulnerable before. You reach up impulsively to brush that stray lock of hair from his forehead, making him catch his breath.

In a burst of uncharacteristic boldness, you decide to be just as honest with him. “Max … you have to know how I feel about you after all these years. How much you mean to me.”

He swallows hard, eyes flickering down to your lips for a moment. “Then show me.”

You search his gaze, trying to gauge if this is really what he wants, if he’ll regret this in the morning when he’s sober. But beneath the alcohol-induced haze, you see only sincerity and a longing you’ve secretly shared for so long.

So you lean in slowly, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palm as your lips finally meet his in a kiss you’ve dreamed about for years. It starts soft and tentative, exploring each other in this new territory. But it doesn’t take long for the heat to rise between you, years of built up tension boiling over.

His hands come up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he angles his head for deeper access. You let out a soft whimper against his lips, reveling in the feeling of finally having Max like this, all yours. He inhales sharply at the sound, like he can’t quite believe this is real either.

You pour everything into that kiss — your friendship, your inside jokes, and countless shared memories. All the pride and protectiveness, the unspoken words you’ve held back for so long.

And Max gives it all right back to you tenfold, kissing you with an undeniable hunger and passion reflective of the fierce determination that’s shaped him into a World Champion.

When you finally have to break apart for air, you’re both panting softly, chests heaving. Max rests his forehead against yours, eyes shining with an unmistakable tenderness.

“I meant what I said, y’know?” His voice is low and gravelly. “I really am gonna wife you up one day.”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling deliriously happy and overwhelmed all at once. Only Max could make a drunken proclamation like that somehow sound so sweet and natural.

“Is that a promise?” You murmur against his lips.

He captures them in another searing kiss, sending tingles down your spine.

“It’s a goddamn certainty, schatje.”

Max wastes no time in deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping past your parted lips to explore your mouth hungrily. A low groan rumbles in his chest as your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer.

“Max ...” you breathe out between heated kisses. “We should … move this … to the bedroom.”

He answers by nipping at your bottom lip teasingly before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline.

“Bed … good idea ...” he mumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you shiver.

Before you can protest further, Max is clumsily maneuvering to straddle your lap on the couch, never breaking the fevered kiss. You can’t help but giggle at his drunken lack of coordination as he nearly topples the both of you to the floor.

“Smooth moves there, champ,” you quip breathlessly.

He leans back with a devilish smirk, blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “You know me, schatje. I’m a regular Casanova.”

You snort at that. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

His grin widening, Max suddenly lurches forward to blow a raspberry right on your neck, making you squeal with laughter.

“Max! You’re too drunk for this, you idiot.”

“Never too drunk for you,” he husks in that low, rumbly tone that sends tingles down your spine.

Before you can formulate a response, his nimble fingers are stumbling through undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric aside to bare his toned chest to your roaming gaze. You can’t resist reaching out to run your palms over the skin, relishing in the firm muscle and light sprinkling of hair.

Max’s eyes slip closed, head falling back slightly as he savors your touch. “That’s it … been waiting for your hands on me for years.”

You swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how real this is, how you’re both finally crossing that line after harboring secret feelings for one another for so long. Before you can overthink it, Max is tugging insistently at the hem of your t-shirt.

Meeting his heated gaze, you raise your arms obediently to allow him to undress you. His hooded eyes darken further as more of your skin is slowly revealed to him, lingering reverently on your body in a way that makes your cheeks flush. You’ve never felt so wanted, so desired.

Once your shirt is tossed carelessly aside, Max leans in to capture your lips in another smoldering kiss, hands roaming across the newly exposed skin of your lower back and sides. You sigh into his mouth, arching shamelessly into his touch like you’ve been craving for ages.

In one fluid motion, Max hooks his arms beneath your thighs and stands from the couch, your legs instinctively winding around his waist as he hauls you up against his chest. You can’t help the startled laugh that escapes you, breaking the kiss.

“Max! What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed, of course,” he rumbles, already stumbling in the direction of your bedroom. “Can’t very well have my way with you on that tiny couch, can I?”

You shake your head at his forwardness, kissing along the sharp line of his jaw. “Is that so? And just what did you have in mind for this bed of mine, Mr. Verstappen?”

He shivers at your teasing tone, finally reaching the edge of your mattress and unceremoniously tumbling you both down onto the plush comforter. You let out a rather undignified squeak as Max lands half on top of you, quickly rolling to pin you beneath him.

Any snarky remarks you may have prepared immediately die on your lips when you take in his appearance — shirtless and slightly disheveled, those incredible eyes dark with undisguised want, pink lips parted enticingly. He’s never looked more gorgeous.

“You really wanna know what I have in mind?” Max’s voice is low and husky, making something deep within you tighten with anticipation. He leans down to trail scorching kisses along the sensitive column of your throat. “I’m gonna take my time exploring every single inch of you, liefje. Mapping out all those gorgeous curves of yours ...”

He punctuates the words by rolling his hips firmly against yours, allowing you to feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your core. You can’t stop the whimpery moan that falls from your lips at the delicious friction.

Max grins wickedly against your neck. “That’s it, make more of those pretty sounds for me ...”

You tangle your fingers in his tousled hair to tug his mouth back to yours, unable to resist tasting him again. The kiss quickly turns heated and desperate, all tongue and teeth, both of you pouring out years of built up longing. Your hands roam feverishly across the broad expanse of Max’s back, committing every ridge and plane of muscle to memory.

Growing impatient, you begin tugging impatiently at Max’s belt buckle and zipper, making him break away with a breathy chuckle.

“Fuck, you’re eager tonight, aren’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back cheekily, finally popping open the button and shoving his jeans down over his narrow hips. “Pretty sure you proposed to me, like, thirty seconds after our first kiss.”

He sobers somewhat at that, eyes shining with sincerity as he holds your gaze. “I meant that. I really do want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest at his words, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. “Max ...”

He cuts you off by capturing your lips in another bruising kiss, effectively robbing you of coherent thought. When he rocks his hips again, you realize with a start that the last shred of his clothing has disappeared at some point during your heated exchange.

You break away with a shaky gasp, drinking in the sight of his fully naked form above you. Despite having seen him undressed countless times in a purely platonic context — in his driver’s rooms before races, passing showers when staying over at his apartment, that one incredibly awkward encounter in the Red Bull cold tub after the Singapore Grand Prix earlier this year — you’ve never truly taken the time to appreciate Max like this, to openly admire his body and all its lean lines and toned muscle definition.

“See something you like?” His teasing lilt snaps you out of your dazed reverie.

Cheeks flushing hotly, you lick your lips unconsciously before nodding slowly. “Very much so.”

His gravelly chuckle makes something low in your belly stir. “Then let’s get you out of these.”

Max tugs at the waistband of your leggings, helping to shimmy them down your legs and tossing them carelessly aside. You instinctively move to cover yourself with your arms, suddenly feeling very exposed. But Max just shakes his head slowly, emerald eyes raking over your body with naked reverence.

“Don’t,” he murmurs huskily, gently pulling your arms away. “You’re fucking stunning, every last inch of you.”

His worshipful tone makes you feel beautiful and powerful in a way you never have before. You keep your eyes locked on his, feeling utterly weightless as Max leans down to trail hot, open mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts. He takes his time exploring and tasting every inch of newly uncovered skin, relishing in the breathy whimpers and moans he draws from you freely.

But as his mouth moves lower, lavishing attention on the soft curves of your belly and hips, you begin to notice a subtle change. His movements are growing slower, more sluggish, those previously sharp nips and licks turning sloppier.

And when you tangle your fingers in his tousled hair to provide some gentle guidance, Max lets out a long, low grumble of contentment … followed swiftly by a rumbling snore.

You blink down at him in surprise, hardly able to believe it. This absolute idiot, this drunken oaf of a World Champion … has fallen straight to sleep on top of you, fully nude and still nestled between your parted thighs.

A burst of laughter bubbles up from your chest, loud and borderline hysterical. You shake your head slowly at the ridiculousness of it all, hardly caring that the moment has been completely ruined.

Because somehow, of course this would happen to you. Only Max could seduce you to within an inch of your life before passing out entirely mid-foreplay.

Typical.

Still, you can’t quite smother your fond smile as you gaze down at his slack, boyishly handsome features, completely relaxed in peaceful slumber. Even sloshed and wasted, he looks almost unbearably sweet like this — finally free of the perpetual weight of stress and pressure he usually carries on those strong shoulders.

“Oh Max ...” you murmur affectionately, smoothing back the tousled chestnut strands from his forehead. “Only you could make me go this disgustingly gooey, even when you’re being a drunken mess.”

With a rueful shake of your head, you began the arduous task of gently maneuvering Max to roll off of you and onto his back beside you on the bed. He lets out a disgruntled grumble at the movement, snuffling adorably into the pillows as you tug the comforter up over his naked form.

Once he seems as settled and comfortable as he’s likely to get, you study his slumbering features for another lingering moment. God, he really is beautiful, inside and out. And he’s all yours now, in a way you’ve only dreamed of for years.

Smiling to yourself, you scoot closer until you’re nestled against his side, head pillowed on his muscular chest. You revel in the feeling of Max’s strong arms instinctively wrapping around you, holding you close even in sleep.

With a contented sigh, you let your eyes drift closed, safe in the knowledge that you’ll be able to wake up like this tomorrow — and hopefully every day after that for the rest of your lives.

Just before slipping into peaceful dreams yourself, you can’t resist pressing one last featherlight kiss to the hollow of Max’s throat.

“I love you, my World Champion,” you whisper against his skin.

Max just smiles that brilliant sunny grin in his sleep, pulling you tighter against him. And really, that’s all the answer you’ll ever need.

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bbydoll18xx · 3 months

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She's Such a Good Girl

You move in across the hall from Paige Bueckers. It doesn’t take long before she tries to shatter your innocent persona. And you just let her.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Themes: reader is a shy lil baby, a few inappropriate thoughts, paige being a huge flirt

Masterlist

A/N: hiii cuties! So I had a few ideas I've been toying around with, so I merged them together and came up with this. Also the third part of 'I Can Do It With a Broken Heart' will hopefully be out soon but I'm still trying to figure out the direction I want to take it in. Enjoy!

Your breaths are ragged as you lug your final suitcase through the front door of your new apartment. It was your senior year at UCONN, and you and your roommates had been assigned a new apartment, which you were ecstatic about. Long gone were the days of being squished into an old dorm room. And you were very excited about the lack of noise, which had kept you from your much needed 10 hours of sleep the past few years.

The August heat was stifling, but you welcomed the cool air coming through the vents, as you began organizing your new bedroom to perfection. Eagerness bubbled in your chest as you thought about your upcoming year before graduation. You’d finally be free.

College was supposed to be the time to find yourself before being inevitably dragged into the cruel pits of the real world. It was the time to go wild, get drunk often, and maybe even meet the love of your life. But you had spent your weekends studying and fine tuning the ‘good girl’ persona that you had adopted when you were a child.

You were the eldest daughter with a raging people pleasing complex, and it was starting to feel like your downfall. Your two roommates had found adoring boyfriends, and they often found themselves drunk as hell on the weekends, reveling in being young and carefree. You were growing to hate your crippling shyness.

You’d be lying if you said your lack of experience hadn’t started to weigh on you. You really wanted to learn how to put yourself out there. But you were dreadfully shy, and the idea of dating or hooking up was terrifying. Your innocence was fucking embarrassing. How would you explain to someone that you were a virgin? And what if they thought you were too timid to be good in bed?

So you just continued on as you had been throughout college; you studied, and you buried yourself in your imagination, and you prayed and hoped that someone would be willing to overlook all of your own insecurities.

Your thoughts of pity are interrupted by your two roommates calling your name. You walk out of your bedroom into the living room where the two girls are sharing shiteating grins, and you send them a questioning look.

“You’ll never guess who is across the hall from us,” Sarah says slyly, causing a pang of worry to shoot through your chest. The smirk on her face grew as you asked who it was.

“Paige Bueckers,” your other roommate, Taylor, shrieks as your face turns bright red.

Fuck.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” You whisper, eyes automatically flitting towards your door.

“Nope! I saw her and Aubrey Griffin walk out of the apartment literally five minutes ago,” Taylor announces, laughing as you fall backwards onto the couch.

“This is not good,” you whine dramatically, hands covering your face.

“Now you can see her pretty face every day,” Sarah all but sings, taking great pleasure in how uncomfortable you felt.

You scoff in indignation. “I can see her pretty face every day from the safety and comfort of my phone. It’s not like I’m actually ever going to talk to her.”

Your roommates pout at your sheer stubbornness. They had been trying to get you out of your shell from the last few years, much to your displeasure.

“C’mon, you’re so hot. You could totally catch Paige’s eye. You gotta have more confidence, girl,” Taylor all but whines exasperatedly.

“Yeah, sure,” you snort derisively. “Maybe while I’m at it, I can rizz up Harry Styles.” You roll your eyes at their ridiculousness.

They sigh in unison, stopping their pleading.

“We’ll just have to see what happens,” Taylor says with a dramatic wink, causing you to stick out your tongue childishly.

“I have spent the last three years avoiding Paige Bueckers’ beauty. I can do it one more year.”

Little did you know, though, that it would become quite hard to avoid the tall blonde.

Friday evening rolls around quickly, and because it was the last weekend before classes started, the students were eager to party it up. You had hoped the apartment building would be quiet, empty from the throngs of students out partying elsewhere. But the girls of the basketball team had other ideas.

The last few days, you had seen multiple girls coming and going from Paige’s apartment. The noise had been loud, but nothing too crazy. It was well known that the girls often went live on tiktok or instagram, and you had heard their laughter across the hall last night. So far, though, the volume levels had maintained a respectable level.

You had obviously jinxed yourself by thinking that, as the laughter and music pounded through your own walls. The cacophonous sound sent you spiraling. If you wanted them to be quieter, you would have to go ask them to turn it down, and you hated confrontation.

But you were alone tonight, and if you wanted to go to sleep at a decent hour, that was your only option.

You move in front of the mirror in your bathroom, subconsciously fixing your hair and muttering words of encouragement to yourself. You could do this. Paige is just a regular person. Sure, she was ridiculously attractive, but she was just a girl.

You walk out of the apartment into the hallway, your heart pounding dangerously as you near the door. The volume was insane, and you felt momentarily sad that you were wasting your Friday night alone at home, while everyone was having the time of their lives.

You shake your head, internally chastising yourself for the brutal thoughts, and with all the courage you could muster up, you knock loudly on the door, hoping the basketball team could hear it through the noise.

A few moments pass, and you momentarily think you’re about to pass out before the door opens and you are met with the glorious face of Paige fucking Bueckers.

You gulp, immediately grabbing a lock of hair to play with, desperately attempting to mask your anxiety. You bite your lip and look up at her.

“H-hi,” you stutter, feeling the blush bloom in your cheeks. “I’m so sorry to bother you guys, but the music is a little loud.”

Paige's face morphs into a look of surprise. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I told KK to turn it down, but no one listens to me around here,” she jokes. “You live across the hall, right? I’m Paige!”

Her friendliness doesn’t necessarily shock you; she was well known for being a genuinely kind person around campus, but the fact that she knew who you were does shock you.

“Uh, yeah I do.” You introduce yourself with a shy smile, growing warmer under her gaze.

“Why don’t you come hang with us?” She prods, gesturing towards the living room with a large grin on her beautiful fucking face.

Your carefully crafted plan to forget about Paige this year was crumbling around you. And before you could even begin to thinking about stopping yourself, you shyly accept her invitation.

There was no going back now.

Paige ushers you in, leading you into the chaos, where most of the basketball team were enthralled in making tiktoks.

As you walk in and stand next to Paige, you look around, all but staring at the tall girls. The whole basketball team was ridiculously attractive, and it made your shyness increase tenfold. Paige gets their attention, and their eyes turn to you as Paige introduces you.

“She just moved in across the hall. And I told you the music was too loud, KK,” Paige adds, sending a sharp look towards the younger girl.

She grins mischievously, walking up to you with the swagger you could only dream of having.

“Sorry, girly pop, we’ll keep it down next time,” KK says, sending you a wink. You giggle in response, feeling more at ease already.

Paige introduces you to the rest of the team. They’re all so friendly, and your nervous demeanor slowly melts away as you acclimate to their boisterousness. They take turns talking to you, but Paige stays beside you, never being more than an arms length away.

You weren’t going to read into it. But the little voice in your head was screaming in both apprehension and glee. In the same way, you did not want to leave her side. In an insanely short amount of time, her presence had become a comfort to you, and you weren’t quite ready to give that up yet. So despite it being well past your respectable bedtime, you powered through, Paige’s aura energizing you.

As you mused over your thoughts, Paige was stuck in her own head. She had seen you around campus before; your pretty face was a difficult one to forget, and she was secretly delighted when she had opened her door to reveal your timid face.

She was determined to break you out of your shell. Little did she know how much she would.

You look down at your phone a while later, and you’re shocked to see that it was just past midnight. You could not remember the last time you were out that late, and a yawn threatens to escape from the depths of your throat. You subtly rub at your eyes, and Paige doesn’t miss it.

She nudges you, and you look up to gaze at her bright blue eyes.

God, she was so pretty.

“You sleepy?” She asks teasingly, and you nod, a blush creeping up your neck again.

“I’m not used to staying up this late. I should probably head back home,” you say, regret lacing your words.

Paige nods, standing up to walk you out to the door. You don’t miss how her hand grazes your waist as she guides you.

You wave goodbye to the girls who still remained, and they enthusiastically bid you a goodnight, making you promise to join them again soon.

“Thanks for letting me crash,” you profess, heart still pounding dangerously from the subtle touches, tingles on your waist left in her wake.

“Course,” she shrugs, a smirk on her face. She hands you her phone. “Let me know if we’re too loud again,” she whispers, leaning down to your ear.

Her closeness has you flustered, and you quickly enter your contact information, avoiding the heat of her gaze.

As you hand her cell phone back, her fingers brush across yours, and you subconsciously bite your lip to hold back a shaky breath from the view of her long fingers and her big, veiny hands.

Fuck.

The smirk doesn’t fade from Paige’s face as she notices you staring, and your face erupts in a vicious blush once more. .

With a bashful wave and a smile, you leave, all but running back into your apartment. Your heart was pounding, and there was a slight ache down in your most intimate area that had you squirming in desire.

Your little crush on Paige had been unrelenting the last few years, but it was still just casual. Things had changed, though, and now your feelings were undeniable. Long gone were the days of ignoring your sexuality.

Paige was so hot. And you were so screwed.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Please, please, please let me know what you think and if you want another part (or more)! Again, thanks for all the love and support!

xoxo katy

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x you #paige x reader #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb

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heartlilith · 3 months

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Astrology Observations

PART 6

Mercury/Gemini/Virgo/Chart Ruler in the 6th house natives have a telepathic connection to their pets

Water mercuries/water signs in the 3rd house have the perfect ASMR voices, so soothing

Saturn shows where you'll experience your karma, both good and bad. It also shows where others will experience their karma if they wrong you, for example. 1st house = your perception of the world, your looks. 2nd house = your finances, self worth. 5th house = your ability to have fun/date, your creativity, your kids. 7th house = your business partners, your lovers. 10th house = your career, public image.

The house your Pluto is in shows the themes that will be forever changing throughout your life.

Aries Mercury/Mars in the 3rd house always cuts people off when their talking (lol same) they're so impatient in communicating and hate when people beat around the bush

Your ASC sign + ASC persona chart ASC can tell you a lot more about how people see you. For me, I have natal Capricorn rising and my ASC PC has Aries rising = hardworking, moves fast, impatient, wants to finish projects in one sitting, bitchy, can be very harsh

^Example = Natal Libra Rising with ASC PC Scorpio rising, could make the Libra rising more secretive, creative, more attractive and alluring, can make a native more manipulative, "pretty privilege"

^Example = Natal Taurus Rising, ASC PC Sagittarius Rising - Can have a voluptuous body, more carefree, loves to travel and try new things, probably cooks great food from different cultures, extremely chill and laid back

5th house ruler in the 8th house loves to do taboo things on their free time (astrology, learning psychology, reading self help books, watching true crime docs)

5th house ruler in the 2nd house loves to go shopping and experiment with their style on their free time, loves design and probably rearranges their space a lot lol

5th house ruler in the 3rd house loves to read and write on their free time and talk to their friends on the phone. Loves to go for drives and try new spots that have opened up in their town

Fire signs in the 12th house dream a lot. They're more inclined to have "action" dreams.

4th house sign can give insight on the best way to emotionally nurture yourself, since it rules the mother. Fire signs = exercise, moving around, exploring, trying a physical hobby (rollerskating, a sport, yoga). Water signs = taking a shower, swimming, going to the beach, allowing your emotions to flow, art. Earth signs = spending time in nature obviously, walking around the yard barefoot, gardening, getting in touch with nature somehow. Air signs = talking to friends about stress, journaling, collaging, reading books, therapy

Check out my July Reading Specials

#astrology observations #astrology #natal chart #birth chart #astrology chart notes #astro #astro community #astrology community #astro observations #rising signs

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mysteria157 · 4 months

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Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary:

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

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The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe.

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs.

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.”

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.”

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself.

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas.

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice.

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance.

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely.

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you.

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed.

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself.

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you.

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon.

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress.

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you.

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call.

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need.

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder.

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone.

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself.

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants.

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's.

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed.

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness.

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely.

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass.

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him.

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours.

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take.

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier.

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck.

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

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brooooswriting · 7 months

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Hiii, can I request a Leighton one where R usually wears baggy clothes and things that don't really show figure and is very shy (mind you R and Leight didn't have any type of ✨ intimacy ✨ yet here), so one day something happens and R has to change in front of Leighton and she finds out they're like, really strong and tattoed. You can add smut or them just making out if you want, but it doesn't really matter

You’re like… hot

Everybody was confused when they saw you and Leighton together for the first time. You were the biggest opposites you could find on campus. Leighton was this known extroverted hot rich girl while you were a nerdy introverted unknown girl that wore baggy clothes and barely talked to anyone. It wasn’t that you were unfriendly or ugly you just kept away from any drama.

At least until you met Leighton, everybody was watching her. Frats, Sororities, professors, students, literally everybody which meant that they now were also watching you. It started off lightly when you just walked around campus together but when you were first seen kissing? Hell broke loose. Everybody was watching you all of the time but you’d take it as long as you could be with Leighton.

But since then, you decided to go on dates outside of the campus and if possible even further away so you two could be carefree. Just like today, you had reserved a table at a very fancy restaurant an hour away. You knew that Leighton wanted to visit this place for a while now so it was a great opportunity. “Y/n? Where are you? I’m in front of your dorm?” The blonde asked as you finally picked up the phone, if you had to make such a long drive you had to go on time.

“I’m on my way, when I was nearly done getting ready I realized that I forgot to give my Econ homework to the prof. So I just need to change, I’ll be there in a minute” you promise as you nearly ran through the hallways to arrive quicker. “I’m here” you called out as you went to open the door.

“Calm down, we still have a bit of time” she said as she closed the door behind her before sitting on your bed while you searched through your closet. “What are you gonna wear?” She then asked as you still searched for something, most of your closet was filled with baggy oversized clothes. Even your sleeping wear was oversized. Not that Leighton didn’t like it, the style looked really good on you.

“Uhm, the trouser over there and I have a button up in like an emerald green, matches my earrings and your jacket” you explained with your whole body in the closet by now. “Ah there. Got it” you happily exclaimed, throwing the shirt over the door so you could pull off your oversized hoodie. Leightons jaw dropped when she saw your back that was now only covered in a bra , your muscles were flexed as you reached up to grab the shirt. She used the short time she had to examine the tattoos on your back. Once you pulled the shirt on you turned around to grab your pants just to find the blonde still starring at you. This time her gaze fell onto your abs. You guys haven’t been intimate yet which meant that this was the first time she saw you without clothes.

“Everything ok?” You asked, trying to hide that you were insecure about your body. Trying to avoid her gaze, you busied yourself with opening your pants as you still had to change them.

“Ok? Damn, why’d you never told me how hot you are under all those baggy clothes” she grinned, standing up to walk over to you. You jumped a bit when she was suddenly in front of you, her eyes still watching you closely.

“Leigh, I still gotta change my trousers” you nervously laughed until a small point appeared on her lips and one of her hands came to the back of your neck. Your hand automatically went to her hip.

“You’re extremely hot baby” she said, she knew you were insecure and shy and she wanted to hype you up. Your personality and your body needed a whole lot more confidence. “You should wear shirts like that more often” she added as she squeezed on of your arms, impressed by how strong they were.

“Thank you” you mumbled, looking at your shoes to hide your blush but it was no use. “I should really change so we can be there on time” you tried to pull away but Leighton wouldn’t let you, instead pulling you in for a kiss. One of her hands was flat against your toned stomach while the other one played with the hair on the back of your neck. Yours immediately went back to her hips to pull her closer. You kissed softly for a bit before she swiped her tongue over your lower lip causing a groan to leave you as you deepened the kiss. You carefully pushed her back until you could pick her up to sit her on your desk causing her to moan quietly. A ring from your phone made you pull away a bit so you could look onto the screen to see the reminder for the reservation. “Babe, I gotta change or we will lose our table” you spoke against her lips, rubbing her outer thigh up and down.

“Fuck that, let’s just stay here” she was quick to pull you back between her legs, this time her legs wrapping around you to prevent you from pulling away. The way her hands squeezed your arms or ran over your stomach gave you a whole new boost of confidence. Leighton in general made you feel a lot of new things. You never understood how people could talk about other people as if they hung the stars in the sky but now that you had the blonde in your arms? It felt like she didn’t just hung them but she also made them and the stars in her eyes were your favorite thing ever.

“This is great but you really wanted to visit this place and we can continue this later my love” you told her as you pulled away again. She sighed but gave you a nod and pulled away to let you change her eyes never leaving you. Leighton couldn’t believe her luck as she really pulled the jackpot with you. You were nice, smart, kind, funny and sweet. You had a personality to die for and now she knew your body was too. Which made the whole thing better if that was even possible.

As soon as you were done changing you grabbed your phone, wallet and keys before taking Leightons hand in yours to walk her to your car. “Will we even arrive on time?” She questioned as she looked on your phone to see that you were making our way longer than she thought.

“Yeah, we’ll only be like 8 minutes late” you speed walked over campus to your car, every bodies eyes following you making Leighton smirk. She sat in the passenger seat after you opened the door and waited for you to get in before she shared her new knowledge.

“We are the hottest couple on campus. By far” she smirked at you as you blushed and put the car in reverse.

“Whatever you say babe” you smiled as you drove to the restaurant.

Let’s just say that both of you didn’t sleep much that night.

#reader insert #brooooswriting #leighton murray x reader #renee rapp x reader #tslocg x reader

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suashii · 3 months

Text

— 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 3.8k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ a few suggestive bits ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ pet names ( darlin’ ) ﾉ brief mentions of food

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ the end!

we have come to the of of little miss city girl, the farmhand boothill series :') thank u so much for the support u have shown on these fics! i could not have ever imagined one of my silly little thoughts entertaining so many people. while this is wraps up the plot, i will continue to write little extras of fh!boothill, just in ways that aren't linear to the main series ❤︎

your room looks like a hurricane ripped through it—all the clothes from your closet scattered messily over your bed, makeup products and hair appliances strewn across your vanity, and at the center of it all is you. your fingers are tangled in the roots of your hair and a groan that sounds like it came from another person penetrates the air. unlike a hurricane, there’s no calm in the eye of this storm. you thought your stress was supposed to be subsided by now—the hard part has passed, so what the hell is this?

the date hasn’t even started and everything seems to be going wrong. you have no idea what to wear and boothill has been absolutely no help on that front, not budging even an inch when you asked for a hint as to where he was taking you. the answer you got was, “patience, darlin’,'' accompanied by his signature smirk and wink before he left you to continue with work for the day.

just as you consider tracking the farmhand down to ask him again and force him to give you something a little helpful, your phone dings. you ignore it for a second and then another before you remember that you recruited help from meg a little while ago. you practically dive for the device, quickly unlocking it so that you can read over her long-awaited advice.

go with the white babydoll dress!!!

the one she’s referring to and a few other options lay atop the mound of clothes that you’ll have to put back later. it caught your eye earlier but you had wondered if it would be too dressy for the occasion. there’s only so much to do in town and half of those things involve getting dirty but if you and meg both have your eyes on it, then the dress must be the one.

thank you, love you!

with one less thing to worry about, you hop in the shower a little more carefree than you have been since waking up this morning. the nerves that have had you on edge for most of the day are slowly but surely turning into ones that are itching for time to move quicker.

the rest of your preparation is considerably less taxing with meg’s input and your gradual decline of overthinking. you’re able to style your hair and paint on some makeup without any trouble, your foot mindlessly bouncing up and down as you hum the melody to the last song you listened to. soon, the only sign that you had experienced any turmoil at all is the state of your room. you’ll deal with that later.

you’re packing your bag with the essentials—chapstick, mints, hair ties—when there’s a knock at your door. the sound makes you jump and suddenly the nerves come rushing back. you can’t let boothill see your room like this. luckily for you, he’s content talking through the door.

“i’ll be waiting for you outside, darlin’. no rush.” his voice is a little muffled but despite the obstruction, you can still hear the smile in his tone. you can see it in your head—soft pink lips curling up at the corners, a little higher on the left, and sharp, pearly white canines of display. the sight once ignited annoyance in you but that feeling has all but died down, replaced with something closer to fondness.

“okay!” you yell back.

he assured you that it was no rush but you find yourself hastily gathering the rest of your things. before you tuck your phone away in the bag, you shoot meg a text that you’re about to head out. the device buzzes with a notification before you’re able to put it away and you quickly read over meg’s reply.

have fun and be safe! update me as soon as you get home… or not ;)

your lips part in surprise at her thinly veiled implication. the thought alone of anything even remotely intimate like she’s suggesting is enough to make your cheeks burn and the tips of your ears heat up. you put the screen of your phone to sleep and shove it into your bag, hoping the thought will disappear with it.

you make your way down the stairs and stop at the doorway to slip on your boots before you pull the door open to meet boothill at his truck. the vehicle is pulled up right in front of the porch. he leisurely leans against the passenger door, legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over his chest. he looks like a still taken from a romance movie and the corners of your lips turn up as you wonder if that was his intention.

he’s never struck you as the type to watch those kinds of movies but as you look at him, you realize that there’s a lot you still don’t know about boothill. you bite back a smile at the thought that a little part of you is looking forward to learning more.

“well,” boothill starts, standing up straight and stuffing his hands away in his pockets. irises like stormy clouds look you over from head to toe before finally stopping at their destination—your eyes. “you look mighty pretty—as usual.”

“thanks.” you suck in your cheeks to stop yourself from puckering your lips in embarrassment. it’s nothing you haven’t heard before but the compliment feels different when you’ve put in the effort to look nice, and for him, at that. you clear your throat and gesture to his figure, moreso the outfit he’s dressed in. “you clean up nice.”

his outfit is simple, a plain white t-shirt paired with jeans and the pair of boots he reserves for occasions outside of work at the ranch. there’s a red bandana tied around his neck and one of his favorite hats, a brown beige, sits atop his hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail. it’s nothing out of the norm for him, though, the dirt and sweat that typically stain his attire is absent. he’s clearly put in a bit of effort for the experience.

boothill grins at the courtesy. he could get used to receiving a little bit of praise from you. even such a simple statement makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. all his patience seems to have paid off. “i hoped you’d think so.”

a strange sense of ease overwhelms you knowing that the farmhand also had you in mind while he was getting ready, was compelled to try and impress you. though, you’re sure his room didn’t end up looking anything like yours in his pursuit of the goal.

thankfully, boothill doesn’t allow much time for your mind to wander and for you to get self-conscious all over again. he’s moving before you, spinning on his heel to open the passenger’s door of his truck. he turns to face you once more.

“your chariot, m’lady,” he swings his arm out in a gesture full of flourish that makes you hide a laugh behind your hand. your suspicion that boothill may have taken some inspiration from a film only grows stronger with the motion but you play along, not minding feeling like the main character of a romantic story as you walk down the couple of steps from the porch to meet boothill.

you catch a whiff of him as you slide past to take your seat, clean with soap and the subtle scent of earthy sandalwood. it’s a heady smell that drifts away too soon as he cautiously closes your door and rounds the vehicle to join you on the driver's side.

your head is practically swimming with the pleasant scent of him when boothill takes his spot beside you and even more so when he turns on the air conditioning. your thoughts are bound to roam if you continue to focus on it so you close your eyes and shake your head before turning to boothill. “so, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”

“nope,” he tells you as he pulls out of the driveway and onto the main road. the man spares you a quick glance with his next words. “you’ll find out when we get there.”

you force out a dramatic sigh that earns a chuckle from boothill. despite your theatrics, you don’t push the issue. he seems hellbent on keeping it a secret and maybe the surprise will have been worth it not being spoiled by your curiosity.

so, while boothill drives, you settle for fiddling with the knob of his radio, switching between stations until you land on one that’s playing a song you like. boothill playfully ridicules you for skipping past so many decent songs but you stand your ground, arguing that the radio is the one thing you have control over since he insists on being so secretive.

he can only smile and agree.

one full song plays before boothill pulls off to the side of the road. a crease forms between your eyebrows, confusion written on your face. other than a house a little farther down the road, there’s not a building in sight. what around here is worth stopping for? “what are we doing here?”

“quick pit stop,” he tells you, unbuckling his seat belt and pushing the door open. cluelessness must be evident in your expression because boothill tips his head down to laugh. he explains once he lifts his head. “stay here, i won’t take long—promise.”

you don’t question him, you just let your eyes follow his figure as he sets out to the field beside the road. you have no idea what business he has in the grass but you don’t question it, choosing instead to change the song playing over the speakers. warm air from outside the truck flows into the vehicle through the door boothill left open and while it’s not hot enough to make you sweat, you lean closer toward the vent. with your attention focused on a multitude of other things, you barely notice boothill’s return, not taking note of his presence at the open door until he clears his throat.

your head whips in his direction and you find him bent over the seat, his feet planted outside the truck and his arms resting on the seat. it takes you a moment to register that there’s a bunch of something colorful in his hands—flowers. they’re wildflowers, a pretty blend of orange and yellow, not nearly as neat as a professional bouquet but just as thoughtful.

“for you.” he holds the homemade bouquet out to you. it reminds you of a time a little while ago when he said those exact same words. he was handing you flowers from miss alma then but the more you thought about it after the fact, the less sense it made that the lady didn’t give you the flowers herself—you were right there, after all. the thought had nagged at you—the possibility that they may have really been from boothill—but you paid it little mind, choosing not to read too deeply into the gesture for your own peace of mind.

unlike then, you don’t hesitate to take them. the bunch is held together with a hair tie and it’s only then that you realize boothill’s ponytail has been freed from its confines, hair flowing freely over his shoulders and down his back. “from you this time?”

“of course.” he smiles. if he picks up on the fact that you’re onto him, he doesn’t show it, simply boosting himself back into the truck and closing the door behind him. you gently run the pads of your fingers over the soft petals as boothill makes his way back onto the road. a soft smile pulls at your lips, one the boothill catches out of the corner of his eye. he doesn’t mention it, just cherishes the short glimpse of the sight he’s beginning to think he’d move mountains for.

several minutes pass before the environment shifts, the tires of boothill’s truck going from riding smoothly on the pavement to roughly over uneven dirt. it makes for a bumpy ride. that paired with the fact that you’re unsure where the two of you could be heading is enough for you to speak up. “are we allowed to drive down here?”

boothill shrugs, keeping his eyes ahead. “what’s a broken rule here and there?”

you frown at that. it’s doubtful that anyone will see you out here—it’s secluded enough—but you can’t help but wonder if you’ll end up getting in any trouble. sure, it would make for a memorable first date but you’d rather the occasion go off without a hitch. “you didn’t say we’d be partaking in illegal activities.”

“it’s not illegal,” he tells you with a laugh, one that he tries to conceal under his breath but is loud enough for you to hear. “just frowned upon, maybe.”

you click your tongue in response.

“wow, a city girl and goody two shoes. i’ve got my work cut out for me with you.”

“oh, shut it.” you slap his shoulder which earns an entertained chuckle from the farmhand. your annoyance at yet another nickname is short-lived as you look out your window. boothill is driving down what you imagine is meant to be a hiking path, far too narrow to have been intended for anything larger than a park ranger’s utility vehicle. the only thing you’re passing by is trees, and plenty of them. “what the hell could possibly be out here?”

boothill grins—partly at you swearing but mostly because his goal of surprising you can now be considered a success. “you’re looking at it, sweetheart.”

you send him a questioning look but he only points ahead in answer. following the direction of his finger, you peer straight ahead through the windshield. underneath the sun’s glowing rays, the soft waves of a creek glisten. the densely wooded area has thinned out to make way for a clearing, one of dusty dirt and tiny pebbles that crunch beneath the tires as boothill maneuvers the truck so that the rear faces the body of water.

he turns the key in the ignition, the engine dying with the motion. gray eyes flit to his right to catch your gaze. “meet me in the back?”

you nod, unbuckling your seatbelt, opening the door, and hopping down to the ground. the slam of the door alerts two birds and sends them flying. you watch their wings flap as they flee while you make your way to the back.

boothill is busy opening the trunk when you arrive, pulling down the horizontal door and peeling back the topper that covers the bed. once it’s open, he rounds the back and effortlessly climbs onto the open space. he looks down at you and offers his hand. his fingers wiggle in invitation before you take hold of him. with his support and the step on the bumper, you’re able to join him in the bed.

at the new height, you see that the bed looks different than it did when you last saw it. instead of being lined with the protective mat and filled with groceries, a blanket covers the surface. there are pillows propped against each other, a wicker basket filled to the brim with an assortment of snacks and boothill’s guitar is even laid out amongst the things he brought.

“didn’t wanna overwhelm you with anything fancy or nothin’,” boothill explains upon taking note of your silence.

you think about how awkward it would have been to share a meal with boothill alone. though, the thought of boothill dressing up in something more formal than his typical attire and hating every second of it is a humorous one. despite missing out on the opportunity to see a whole new side of the man, you’re grateful he had your comfort in mind when it came to planning this. “no, no, this is nice. this is great.”

you take a seat on the cushioned bed, not-so-subtly eyeing the spot next to you in a silent gesture for boothill to do the same. he follows your lead and sits down with his legs crossed. your shoulders bump in his attempt to get comfortable and the accidental movement reminds you that there’s no center console separating the two of you now. without the air conditioning, your closeness makes it much easier to feel the heat radiating from boothill. it’s not unpleasant but, just like his scent, it makes you a bit lightheaded.

“so,” you start, tilting your head toward him so you can get a better look at the farmhand from the corner of your eye, “what are we doing besides taking in the scenery with snacks and music?”

“talkin’.”

you turn your head fully so you’re facing him, waiting patiently for the rest of his sentence. the subject never comes. “about what?”

“well, you haven't really jumped at the opportunity to tell me about yourself.”

you can’t argue with that—you’ve been fairly private in terms of your life when it comes to boothill. other than the little bits your grandpa has let slip and the few things he’s picked up during your interactions together, there’s a lot boothill doesn’t know about you. first dates are all about getting well acquainted with each other, right? “okay… what do you want to know?”

he smiles a soft smile at your willingness to share. “whatever you wanna tell me.”

it’s a broad ask—lets you keep certain things to yourself and expand freely on others. so you do. you tell him about your summers on the farm—how you’d pester your parents to drive you down practically the second school let out for summer break. you tell him about the tree climbing, the horse rides, the fruit picking—everything you got up to during those warm months off. you tell him about your summers at the ranch coming to an end, traded in for internships and job interviews. you tell him about how all the stress you tried to ignore over those years caught up to you, how you finally bit the bullet and came back to find some solace.

boothill listens intently, nodding along to your stories, smiling at the parts where you find yourself speaking through giggles, hanging off your every word. he says it's a bummer that something so crummy led you back here but that he’s glad it did—otherwise, he wouldn’t have met you.

that part makes you bite your cheek in a failed attempt to hold back a smile. being the sole subject of his stare is intimidating. it feels as though he’s seeing you—really seeing you, beyond the walls you put up that he’s actively tearing down brick by brick. it feels almost selfish that the spotlight has been shining on you all night. you take the break in conversation as an opportunity to turn the focus on boothill, to ask him what he asked of you; to talk.

he tells you about his days in high school—how he used to help his dad out at his auto repair shop and how he took up guitar at his mother’s insistence. he plays a song his mom used to like—the first one he learned—for you before opening the floor for requests. you ask for “a crazy little thing called love” by queen. the implication of the song’s title doesn’t hit you until boothill’s eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise. your mouth opens to explain but he cuts you off with a little ah-ah-ah, fingers finding their place on the strings and beginning to strum.

you lose track of how many songs he plays, how many pieces of popcorn you’re able to toss into his mouth, how much time has passed in this peaceful little bubble boothill created just for the two of you. by the time you question any of it, the sun has bid you goodnight and left you with its glowing white counterpart. bright stars speckle the sky and crickets chirp amongst blades of grass when boothill finally checks the watch on his wrist.

“gettin’ pretty late,” he informs you, wiping the palms of his hands on his thighs. he turns to you with what looks like a sleepy grin—he must have woken up for the day a while ago. “about time i get you home. if that’s alright with you, of course.”

you nod. as nice as these few hours have been, it wouldn’t be fair of you to keep him out here because you’re not ready for the night to end.

he stands up with a grunt, offering you a hand to help you do the same. you accept it and let him pull you to your feet. the warmth of his hand disappears as he lets go to hop down from the bed. he beckons you forward with two fingers, holding his arm out to help you down.

such a gentleman, you think, smiling and shaking your head as you take a couple of steps toward the edge. before you make it, the toe of your boot catches on the blanket. the mishap sends you forward with a shocked squeal but your shins don’t scrape the bed and you don’t hit the ground with an ungraceful thud.

you’re safe in boothill’s hold, his arms wrapped around your thighs, your chests pressed closely together. it’s a compromising position, though, despite the frantic beating of your heart, you don’t bother telling him to put you down or fighting your way out of his grasp. you simply look down at him and swallow the nervous lump in your throat.

he smirks. “you alright?”

“fine,” you tell him. the reassurance comes out a bit breathy.

“good.” he doesn’t put you down. “did you have a nice time?”

“yes.” you nod. “i did.”

bathed in the dim moonlight, you gaze into boothill’s eyes. he stares back into yours. neither of you make any effort to move. it’s like you’re frozen in time, or maybe it’s moving slower, you’re not sure, but there’s only one thought circling in your mind at the moment.

you have no idea where it came from but you act on it before you can think any better of it, leaning down, your nose bumping his. you’d barely consider it a kiss—more like your lips gently brushing against his, but the shockwave that courses through your body at the contact hits all the same.

boothill’s lips stretch into a smile underneath yours but he chooses to keep them sealed, not teasing, not escalating.

you don’t go back for another, nothing deeper, nothing more passionate, nothing more raw. you’ll have plenty of time for that after tonight. instead, you bring your hand up to run your thumb over his lower lip. your next words come out as a whisper. “how about i plan the next one?”

you can feel his chuckle against your finger. “i expect you’ll show me a good time, little miss city girl.”

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #boothill drabbles #hsr drabbles #honkai star rail drabbles

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jmdbjk · 1 month

Text

This is our show.

SPOILERS...

I am in a feverish covid haze... my first time... its yucky. But I think I'm on the backside of it now.

I needed to throw out my two cents on today's Are You Sure? Episode 4 before I go take another nap (seventh since yesterday)

First: Naked. Jimin strutted out to the pool, got in and was promptly warned by JK to cool it, the pool has a window where everyone can see and they both glance at the staff who are off camera... I'm not making this up.

NAKED. NAKED. NAKED.

Staff who bought those swim trunks probably short-circuited when they thought we'd be seeing wayyyyyy more of Jimin-ssi than intended.

MORE NAKED...

My mild ataxophobia was triggered when I saw the entrance of the cafe that's been famous since last Chuseok. I know it has its "charms" and the space probably serves several purposes as I see a sewing machine back there, its possible the owner lives there too. But the clutter made my brain glitch:

More naked...also for you pit hair enthusiasts:

A minor dramatic subplot for this episode: RIP Drone Camera:

Jungkook recording more of the memories that will carry them through this time of military service:

And Jimin right there with him while he does it...

And this laughing, giggling... so carefree... it will put smiles on their faces whenever they look at these pics and videos on their phones.

We unlocked a new subunit name:

Other thoughts: this episode returned to a more laid-back vibe. Laid back for them. Not for us. The naked has all of us ogling, pausing, rewinding, comparing what mother nature gave them, nipple size, basically going crazy. Oh? That's just me? Okay. Never mind.

Jimin was feeling good and fully engaged and it showed.

It picks up with them leaving the wall climbing/kart racing place and they drive to an omakase restaurant. It is a style of Japanese restaurant where the chef chooses what you will eat.

Tae understood that his presence really wasn't part of the concept of what Jimin and Jungkook were doing with this project and he did seem to respect that a little bit more as time went on.

Jimin can definitely handle Tae, he set him straight a few times in this episode, just like he did in the last one.

Jimin and Jungkook really do sleep together. There was no reason for them to share a bed for as long as they did in this episode, there was another completely fine empty bed in the room. They made jokes about hitting each other in their sleep, which correlates with their banter during JK's naked-in-bed live after the Connecticut trip.

Anyway, its time for another nap for me. Carry on. Try not to break the pause/rewind buttons on your keyboard...

#jimin #jungkook #jikook #kookmin #jimkook #jungji #minkook #are you sure?#we are sure!#JK can put away some food

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sweetcherryharry · 2 months

Text

good luck, babe!

based on the song 'good luck, babe!' by chappell roan.

pairing: harry styles x reader

i can't get this song off my head and i decided to write a little something about it <3

(masterlist)

It's fine, it's cool You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth And guess I'm the fool With her arms out like an angel through the car sunroof

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as her eyes landed on the Instagram post. An unexpected wave of nausea washed over her. An update account, one she'd accidentally stumbled upon while scrolling, had posted a candid photo of him. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

There he was, her can't-quite-define-it almost-boyfriend, his famous face alight with laughter. The picture had been taken of him from a distance, in his yellow 1972 Ferrari Dino, along with a woman Y/N didn't recognize, her arms outstretched through the car sunroof, a carefree laugh painted on her face. A pang of jealousy shot through Y/N's chest. She couldn't deny the sting of betrayal.

Even though Harry and her hadn’t talked in a few weeks, it was enough to send Y/N's mind spiraling. The familiar taste of bile rose in her throat.

It was fine, it was cool, that's what they'd agreed on. They were nothing, just two people caught in a whirlwind of stolen moments and unspoken desires. But this… this felt like a violation of their unspoken agreement.

Her phone buzzed with a text from her best friend, a string of question marks followed by an image, probably a screenshot from the same post. Y/N knew what she was asking. Everyone in her life knew about Harry, about their dance of intimacy and distance that had been going on for almost a year.

It was the juiciest kind of gossip, the kind that kept the tabloids buzzing. But Y/N had always kept it private, a secret shared only with her closest confidants.

Now, this picture felt like a violation, a public declaration that their carefully constructed facade was crumbling. Y/N's fingers trembled as she dialed Harry's number, her heart pounding in her chest. It was the middle of the night, but she couldn't wait. She needed answers, she needed reassurance, she needed… something.

"Hello?" Harry's voice was thick with sleep, a hint of confusion lacing his words. He was in Italy, from what she could tell from the post and the caption she just saw. Even though it was only late afternoon for her, it was late night for him.

"It's me," Y/N said, her voice barely a whisper.

A pause, then a soft "Y/N?" His voice, usually warm and inviting, now felt distant and guarded.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. "I saw the picture." Her voice quivered slightly, betraying her composure.

Silence stretched between them, the only sound the quiet hum of the phone line. Y/N imagined Harry running a hand through his tousled hair, the gesture she knew so well, the one he made when he was trying to piece together the fragments of their complicated relationship.

"Which picture?" he asked finally, his voice guarded.

"The one with... with the girl," Y/N choked out, the words catching in her throat.

Another pause, longer this time. Then, Harry's sigh, heavy with resignation. "It's not what it looks like."

Y/N scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp. "Oh really? Because it looks a lot like you with another woman."

"We were hanging out at the beach with more friends," Harry said, his voice defensive now. "She's a friend."

"A friend with benefits?" Y/N retorted, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

"No," Harry said, his tone firm. "Just a friend."

"You can say that we are nothing," Y/N's voice cracked, the words barely audible over the growing lump in her throat, "but you know the truth." Hot tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

A heavy silence descended on the line, the unspoken truth hanging between them like a thick fog.

"Y/N," Harry started, his voice gentle, pleading. "It's not what you think."

But Y/N couldn't listen to his excuses anymore. "Then what is it, Harry?" she asked, her voice rising with each word. "What are we?"

"We're… complicated," Harry sighed, the word falling flat in the vast emptiness of the night.

"Complicated," Y/N echoed, the taste of the word bitter on her tongue. "That's your way of saying we're nothing, isn't it?"

"No," Harry protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"It's fine, it's cool," Y/N recited the words they'd both used to mask their feelings, the words that had become a shield against vulnerability. "That's what we tell everyone. But guess I'm the fool, right?” Tears streamed down her face now, the salt stinging her skin.

A sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

"Don't," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper.

But Y/N was done pretending. She was done with the half-truths, the stolen moments, the endless cycle of hope and disappointment.

"This isn't working, Harry," she said, her voice firm despite the tears. "I can't do this anymore."

"Y/N, wait-"

But Y/N had already hung up, the sharp click of the disconnect echoing the finality of her decision. The silence of her bedroom pressed in on her, suffocating her with the weight of her own emotions.

I don't wanna call it off But you don't wanna call it love You only wanna be the one that I call "baby"

The bass pulsed through the crowded room, a rhythmic vibration that matched the erratic beat of Y/N's heart. She laughed, a practiced sound that did little to mask the hollow ache within.

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since that phone call, three weeks of deliberately ignoring his texts and calls, willing herself to move on.

Yet, on a Saturday night at a party, the sight of him across the room sent a jolt of electricity through her, reawakening emotions she'd tried so hard to suppress.

A hand brushed against her arm, a familiar touch that sent a shiver down her spine. She turned, her eyes widening as they met Harry's gaze. His hair, usually a wild mess, was slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, always a vibrant green, seemed to hold a new depth, a hint of vulnerability she hadn't seen before.

Despite everything, seeing him again ignited a spark of longing within her. But the memory of that photo, of his carefree laugh with another woman, quickly doused the flame. She hardened her resolve. She wouldn't let him back in so easily.

"Ignoring me, love?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent a warmth spreading through her veins.

Y/N tilted her chin up, a defiant spark in her eyes. "Should I be paying attention, Harry?"

He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne a familiar comfort. "You know you want to."

She took a step back, putting some distance between them. "I don't know what I want anymore," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry's eyes darkened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face. "You looked pretty happy a minute ago, surrounded by all those guys."

A bitter laugh escaped Y/N's lips. "Are you jealous, Harry?"

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice raspy. "Maybe I don't like seeing what's mine being admired by everyone else."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "Yours?" she scoffed. "I don't remember us ever being anything."

"Don't do this, Y/N," he pleaded, reaching out to touch her arm, but she pulled away.

"Don't do what?" she challenged, her voice rising above the music. "Don't pretend that we're something we're not? Don't pretend that you care?"

"I do care," he insisted, his voice laced with desperation. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "I don't wanna call it off. I just..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I don't know how to do this."

Y/N met his gaze, her heart aching for him, but her resolve unwavering. "You don't wanna call it love," she said, quoting their favorite song, the words heavy with unspoken emotions. "You only wanna be the one that I call 'baby'."

Harry winced, as if her words were a physical blow. "That's not fair," he protested.

"Isn't it?" Y/N challenged, her voice laced with bitterness. "That's all you've ever been, Harry. A voice on the phone, stolen kisses and touches, a fleeting moment. But never mine."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Harry standing alone in the crowd. He watched her go, a wave of regret washing over him. He knew he had to change, to prove to her that he was more than just stolen moments and empty promises.

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling You can say it's just the way you are Make a new excuse, another stupid reason

A week had passed since that tense encounter at the party. A week of radio silence from Harry, a week of Y/N trying to convince herself she was better off without the heartache he brought. She'd thrown herself into this girls' trip to a beach, determined to have fun, to forget about the man who couldn't give her what she needed.

Tonight, under the glow of the beachside bar's twinkling lights, she was flirting with a tall, dark-haired stranger. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he listened to her stories, his laughter a deep rumble that sent shivers down her spine. Tequila shots flowed freely, loosening her inhibitions and blurring the edges of her pain.

"You're quite the storyteller," the stranger said, his voice thick with a charming accent. "What brings a girl like you to the island?"

Y/N twirled a lock of hair around her finger, feigning nonchalance. "Just looking for a good time, a little escape from reality."

"Sounds like my kind of night," he grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Care to dance?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded, letting him lead her to the dance floor. The music pulsed around them, the beat of the drums echoing the frantic rhythm of her heart. She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her, trying to lose herself in the moment.

But even as the stranger's hands roamed her body, even as his lips brushed against her neck, her mind drifted back to Harry. She saw his face in the crowd, his eyes filled with a longing she couldn't quite decipher. She heard his voice, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, promising a love he couldn't deliver.

"You okay?" the stranger asked, pulling her back to the present.

Y/N plastered a smile on her face, hoping to mask the turmoil within. "Just a little lost in the music," she lied.

He chuckled, pulling her closer. "Let me help you find your way."

Y/N let him lead her back to the bar, another shot of tequila quickly appearing in her hand. She downed it in one gulp, the fiery liquid burning a path down her throat. "You can kiss a hundred boys in bars," she thought to herself. "Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling."

But the feeling wouldn't go away. No matter how many drinks she consumed, no matter how many strangers she flirted with, Harry's ghost lingered in the shadows of her mind.

"You seem distracted," the stranger observed, his voice laced with concern.

Y/N shrugged, forcing another smile. "It's just the way I am," she said, echoing the lyrics of the song. "Don't worry about it."

But deep down, she knew she was lying. She wasn't just distracted, she was broken. And no amount of tequila or fleeting flirtations could fix the shattered pieces of her heart.

I'm cliché, who cares? It's a sexually explicit kind of love affair And I cry, it's not fair I just need a little lovin', I just need a little air

The tan had faded from her skin, leaving Y/N with a lingering warmth that did little to thaw the chill in her heart. Back in the monotony of her everyday life, the memory of that night at the bar - the tequila shots, the handsome stranger, the fleeting escape, the image of Harry in her head through it all - felt like a distant dream.

But the ache for Harry remained, a constant throb beneath the surface of her carefully constructed composure.

She'd tried to distract herself, filling her days with work and her nights with friends. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, heard his voice, felt the ghost of his touch on her skin. She told herself it was just a physical attraction, a hormonal craving for the familiar comfort of his embrace. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

It was the middle of the night when she found herself standing outside his apartment, her hand hovering over the doorbell. She hesitated, a wave of self-loathing washing over her. You're pathetic, she thought. You're falling for his trap again.

But the memory of his eyes, filled with longing and regret, pushed her forward. She pressed the button, the shrill sound echoing in the silent hallway. The door opened a crack, revealing Harry's disheveled figure. His eyes widened in surprise, then softened with a tenderness that melted her resolve.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and a hint of disbelief.

She didn't say a word, just stepped into his apartment, the familiar scent of sandalwood and musk wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. He closed the door behind her, his eyes searching hers for answers.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that made her knees weak. "I've been thinking about you too," he admitted, his voice raspy.

Without another word, he pulled her close, his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. It was a familiar dance, a well-worn path of passion and unspoken desires. Y/N knew she was falling for his trap again, but at that moment, she didn't care.

She knew how cliché she was, yet she didn’t care as his hands roamed her body, igniting a fire within her. It was a sexually explicit kind of love affair.

As they tumbled onto his bed, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs and whispered promises, Y/N knew she was making a mistake. But the pleasure was too intense, the need too overwhelming. She cried out his name, her voice echoing the unspoken truth of their love.

In the aftermath, as she lay in his arms, a single tear slid down her cheek. "It's not fair," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. But she just needed a little love from him.

Harry kissed her forehead, his touch a silent apology. "I know," he murmured.

Y/N clung to him, knowing that this fleeting moment of happiness was just another illusion, another step in their endless cycle of heartbreak. But for now, she allowed herself to bask in the warmth of his embrace, knowing that tomorrow, she would have to face the consequences of her actions.

But for now, she allowed herself to bask in the warmth of his embrace, knowing that tomorrow, she would have to face the consequences of her actions. And knowing, deep down, that this wouldn't be the last time.

Think I'm gonna call it off Even if you call it love I just wanna love someone who calls me "baby"

For a blissful few weeks, it seemed as though they'd found a rhythm, a harmony that defied their tumultuous past. Every stolen glance, every whispered secret, every shared touch felt like a promise fulfilled. They spent their days tangled in each other's arms, their nights lost in a haze of passion and laughter. Harry's apartment became their sanctuary, a haven where they could shed the masks they wore for the world and simply be themselves.

But as the initial euphoria faded, the cracks in their foundation began to show. Harry's calls became less frequent, his texts more sporadic. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a distant coolness that Y/N knew all too well. It was the familiar dance of intimacy and withdrawal, a pattern that had defined their relationship from the start.

One night, as they lay intertwined in his bed, the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken truths. Y/N traced the outline of Harry's chest, her fingers lingering on the tattoos that adorned his skin.

"Harry?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the dimly lit room.

He hummed in response, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady.

"Do you love me?" The question hung in the air, a fragile bubble waiting to burst.

Harry's eyes flickered open, a flicker of unease passing over his face. "You know I care about you," he said, his voice evasive.

Y/N's heart sank. Care wasn't enough. "But do you love me?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

He sighed, turning away from her. "Why do you always have to complicate things?"

Y/N felt a cold dread settle in the pit of her stomach. This was it. The beginning of the end, yet again. She knew this dance, this familiar pattern of closeness followed by distance. She knew that no matter how many times she fell for his charm, no matter how many times she gave him her heart, he would never be able to fully reciprocate her love.

"I think I'm going to call it off," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Harry's head snapped back, his eyes wide with surprise. "What?"

"Think I'm gonna call it off, for good this time." she repeated, her voice gaining strength with each word. "Even if you called it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me 'baby'. I can’t continue with this never ending cycle."

He reached out for her, his fingers brushing against her cheek. "Y/N, don't..."

But she pulled away, her resolve hardening with each passing second. "I'm done, Harry," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm done with this endless cycle of hope and heartbreak. I deserve more than stolen moments and half-truths."

Good luck, babe (well, good luck), well, good luck, babe (well, good luck) You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

She rose from the bed, her movements deliberate and purposeful. As she took her things, she walked towards the door. She paused, turning back to look at him one last time. “Good luck, babe.”

Then, she was gone, leaving Harry alone in the silence of his apartment, the echoes of her words ringing in his ears.

And when you think about me, all of those years ago You're standing face to face with "I told you so" You know I hate to say, "I told you so" You know I hate to say, but, I told you so

Years had passed since that fateful night, years filled with sold-out stadiums, countless faces, and fleeting romances. Harry had achieved a level of fame he had once only dreamed of, yet a void remained in his heart, a space carved out by a woman named Y/N.

The memory of her leaving, her final words echoing in the silent apartment, haunted him in the quiet moments between shows, in the lonely hours before dawn. He could still see the hurt in her eyes, the determination in her voice as she said, "Good luck, babe." It was a well-wish, a parting shot, a final goodbye. A dismissal that held a universe of pain and disappointment.

He'd tried to move on, to fill the void with other women, with meaningless flings and short-lived affairs. But none of them compared to Y/N. None of them possessed her wit, her passion, her fire. None of them challenged him, pushed him, ignited him the way she did.

One night, as he sat alone in his sprawling LA mansion, a glass of whiskey warming his hand, the memory of her came flooding back. He still remembered her perfectly; her standing in his doorway, her eyes filled with longing and regret, her lips forming the words he’ll never forget.

He remembered the taste of her tears on his skin, the way her body fit perfectly against his, the sound of her laughter echoing through his past apartment. One that he sold a few years back, since it only brought him memories of her.

He knew since then, with a sickening clarity, that he had made a mistake. He had let the love of his life slip through his fingers, blinded by his own insecurities and fear of commitment. And now, as he looked back on those lost years, he couldn't help but hear her voice echoing in his head, a haunting reminder of his own shortcomings.

Good luck, babe.

The words repeated in his mind like a mantra, a curse he couldn't shake. She had wished him luck, but it was her who he needed. He had lost the one woman who had ever truly seen him, the one woman who had loved him unconditionally. And now, all that was left was the bitter taste of regret, the haunting realization that he had let go of something precious, something irreplaceable.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harrystyles #harry imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles series #famous!harry

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kiesbrainjuice · 3 months

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— FRIENDZONE ! atsumu miya

syn : how are u gonna go out of the friendzone ?

wc : 2.7k

tw : none ! friends to lovers

You and Atsumu have been inseparable since middle school, your bond so strong that outsiders often mistake you for a couple. However, you've always maintained that you're just close friends, pushing down the flutter in your heart whenever he's near. Atsumu, seemingly oblivious to your hidden feelings, treats you with the same easy familiarity he always has.

On this particular day, you're enjoying your lunch in the school courtyard, savoring the warmth of the spring sun on your skin. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, their delicate petals drifting on the breeze. You're lost in thought, remembering all the years you've spent by Atsumu's side, when he suddenly drops onto the bench beside you with a heavy sigh.

You turn to look at him, concern etching your features. Atsumu's usually perfectly styled blonde hair is disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it in frustration. His brow is furrowed, and there's a tightness around his eyes that you've come to recognize as a sign of his inner turmoil.

"Tsk, I'm confused why it's so hard to find a suitable lover for me???" he groans, ruffling his hair even further.

Your heart clenches at his words, a mix of sympathy and secret longing washing over you. You've loved Atsumu for years, your feelings deepening with each shared laugh, each volleyb all practice, each late-night study session. But you've never found the courage to confess, fear of ruining your friendship holding you back.

"What happened this time?" you ask softly, fighting to keep your voice steady.

Atsumu leans back, his shoulder brushing against yours. The casual contact sends a shiver down your spine, one you hope he doesn't notice.

"I asked Anako-san out," he admits, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "She turned me down flat. Said she's not interested in dating anyone right now."

You nod sympathetically, even as a small, selfish part of you rejoices. "I'm sorry, Tsumu. That must have been tough."

He shrugs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I guess I should be used to it by now, huh? But sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Am I not good enough?"

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. You want nothing more than to take his face in your hands and tell him how amazing he is, how any girl would be lucky to have him. How you've been in love with him for years.

Instead, you bump his shoulder gently with yours. "Don't be ridiculous. You're an amazing person, Atsumu. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

He looks at you then, his warm brown eyes softening. "Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you, you know? You always know how to make me feel better."

You smile, ignoring the bittersweet ache in your chest. "That's what best friends are for, right?"

Atsumu nods, then suddenly grins. "Hey, maybe I should just date you instead! We already act like a couple half the time anyway."

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you consider telling him the truth. But then he laughs, the sound light and carefree, and you know he's just joking. You force a laugh of your own, pushing down the words you long to say.

"As if you could handle me, Miya," you tease, falling back into your familiar banter.

As you sit there with Atsumu, an idea suddenly strikes you. It's painful, but you convince yourself it's for the best. "Hey, Tsumu," you say, trying to keep your voice light, "I think I might know someone who'd be perfect for you. Want me to set you up?"

Atsumu looks at you, surprise evident in his features. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

You nod, ignoring the twinge in your chest. "Of course. That's what friends are for, right?"

Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you pull out your phone and call your friend, Yui. She's pretty, kind, and has mentioned finding Atsumu attractive before. You arrange for her to meet you both at the courtyard.

A few minutes later, Yui arrives. Her long dark hair is swaying in the breeze, and she's wearing a cute sundress. As soon as she spots Atsumu, her eyes light up.

"Hi, Yui!" you call out, waving her over. But to your surprise, she barely glances at you. Her gaze is fixed solely on Atsumu, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"Hello, Atsumu-kun," she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Atsumu straightens up, his earlier dejection forgotten. "Hi, Yui-chan. It's nice to see you."

You watch as they start talking, feeling increasingly out of place. The conversation flows easily between them, and you can see the interest sparking in Atsumu's eyes. It's exactly what you wanted, you tell yourself, even as your heart feels like it's breaking.

After a few minutes of awkward silence on your part, you decide you can't take it anymore. "Well," you say, forcing a bright smile onto your face, "I just remembered I have some studying to do. Why don't you two stay and chat?"

Yui nods absently, still focused on Atsumu. But Atsumu turns to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly. You know he's always been able to read you better than anyone else, and you can see the concern in his eyes as he studies your face.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty. "You don't have to go."

You wave him off, your fake smile still firmly in place. "No, no, it's fine. You two have fun!"

As you turn to leave, you feel Atsumu's eyes on you. You know he can tell something's off – he's always been able to see through your fake smiles. But you can't bring yourself to look back. You're afraid that if you do, he'll see the truth in your eyes, the pain you're trying so hard to hide.

You walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last. Part of you hopes that Atsumu will call out, will stop you from leaving. But he doesn't, and you're not sure if that makes it better or worse.

As you round the corner, out of sight from the courtyard, you finally let your smile drop. You lean against the wall, taking a deep, shaky breath. You tell yourself that this is what's best for Atsumu, that you're being a good friend by helping him find someone. But it doesn't stop the ache in your chest or the tears that threaten to fall.

You stay there for a moment, gathering yourself. Then, with one last deep breath, you straighten up and walk away, leaving your heart behind in that sun-dappled courtyard with the boy you love and the girl who might make him happy.

—

The next morning, you drag yourself to school, your heart heavy with the events of yesterday. The spring air feels colder somehow, the cherry blossoms less vibrant. You're lost in thought, replaying yesterday's scene in your mind, when a familiar voice calls out to you.

"Hey! Wait up!"

You turn to see Yui running towards you, her long hair streaming behind her. Your stomach twists uncomfortably, but you force a smile onto your face.

"Good morning, Yui," you manage to say as she reaches you, slightly out of breath.

"Morning!" she chirps, her eyes bright with excitement. "I'm so glad I caught you. Do you know where Atsumu is?"

Your heart sinks even further. Of course, she's looking for Atsumu. "I... I'm not sure," you stammer. "We don't always walk to school together."

Yui's face falls slightly, but her enthusiasm doesn't wane. "Oh, that's okay. I just wanted to thank him for yesterday. We had such a great time talking after you left!"

You nod mechanically, trying to keep your expression neutral. "That's... that's great, Yui. I'm glad you two hit it off."

"We really did!" she gushes, falling into step beside you as you continue walking. "He's so funny and charming. And those eyes! I could get lost in them forever."

Each word feels like a dagger to your heart, but you keep nodding, keep smiling. This is what you wanted, isn't it? For Atsumu to find someone who appreciates him?

"Oh!" Yui exclaims suddenly. "There he is! Atsumu-kun!"

Your head snaps up, and sure enough, there's Atsumu walking through the school gates. He turns at the sound of Yui's voice, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on you. For a moment, something flickers in his gaze - concern? confusion? - but before you can decipher it, Yui is already bounding towards him.

You watch as she reaches him, talking animatedly. Atsumu smiles at her, but his eyes keep darting back to you. You want to look away, but you can't seem to tear your gaze from him.

Suddenly, Atsumu says something to Yui and starts walking towards you. Your heart rate speeds up, and you consider turning and fleeing. But before you can decide, he's there, standing in front of you.

"Hey," he says softly. "You okay? You left pretty quickly yesterday."

You open your mouth to reassure him, to lie and say everything's fine. But as you look into his warm brown eyes, the words stick in your throat. For a moment, you're both silent, the bustling noise of the schoolyard fading away.

Then the bell rings, shattering the moment. You blink, coming back to reality.

"We should get to class," you mumble, ducking your head to avoid his gaze.

Atsumu reaches out, his hand hovering near your arm as if he wants to stop you. But he lets it fall back to his side. "Yeah," he says, his voice tinged with something you can't quite identify. "Yeah, we should."

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on your back. You want to turn around, to run back and tell him everything. But you keep walking, one foot in front of the other, towards your classroom and away from the boy you love.

The day stretches ahead of you, full of classes and conversations and moments where you'll have to pretend everything is normal.

—

As lunchtime arrives, Atsumu finds himself rushing towards your classroom, a strange urgency driving his steps. He's been feeling off-kilter since yesterday, a nagging sensation he can't quite place. But as he rounds the corner, he stops dead in his tracks.

There you are, but you're not alone. You're laughing with a guy he doesn't recognize, your head thrown back in genuine mirth. Something hot and unfamiliar surges through Atsumu's chest. Before he can process what he's doing, he's striding towards you two.

"Back off," he growls at the guy, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You whirl around, shock evident on your face. "Atsumu? What are you-"

But you don't finish your sentence. Instead, you grab Atsumu's wrist and drag him away, muttering a quick apology to your bewildered classmate. You pull Atsumu into the nearest empty space - the janitor's closet - and shut the door behind you.

The small space is dim and cramped, filled with the scent of cleaning supplies. You're standing so close to Atsumu that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, but you push that thought aside as anger bubbles up inside you.

The janitor's closet door slams shut behind you, the small space amplifying the tension crackling between you and Atsumu.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you seethe, your voice low but filled with fury.

Atsumu's eyes flash dangerously. "Me? What about you? Who was that guy you were all cozy with?"

"That's none of your business!" you snap back. "You don't get to act all jealous when you're out there chasing every girl in school!"

"I'm not chasing every girl!" Atsumu retorts, his voice rising. "And even if I was, why do you care?"

"Because it's pathetic!" you shoot back, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "You're so desperate for a girlfriend that you can't even see what's right in front of you!"

Atsumu's face contorts with anger. "What's that supposed to mean? You're the one who set me up with Yui yesterday!"

"Because that's what you wanted, isn't it?" you yell, your carefully constructed walls crumbling. "To find a 'suitable lover'? Well, congratulations! Looks like you've found one!"

"You don't know what I want!" Atsumu shouts, taking a step closer to you.

"Oh, don't I?" you laugh bitterly. "I've been watching you flirt and get rejected for years, Atsumu. I think I have a pretty good idea!"

"You don't know anything!" he growls, frustration evident in every line of his body. "If you did, you wouldn't be laughing it up with some random guy!"

"He's not random, he's my friend!" you defend hotly. "And what does it matter to you anyway? You're too busy with your own love life to care about mine!"

"That's not true and you know it!" Atsumu's voice echoes in the small space. "I've always cared about you!"

"Oh, really?" you scoff, even as your heart races at his words. "Is that why you're always complaining to me about not having a girlfriend? Is that why you let me set you up with Yui without a second thought?"

"I didn't ask you to do that!" Atsumu shouts back. "You're the one who suggested it!"

"Because I thought that's what you wanted!" Your voice cracks with emotion. "I thought… I thought I was being a good friend."

"A good friend?" Atsumu repeats incredulously. "A good friend wouldn't push me towards other girls if they…"

He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air between you.

"If they what, Atsumu?" you press, your heart pounding so hard you're sure he must be able to hear it.

"If they had feelings for me themselves," he finishes quietly.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stare at each other, both breathing heavily from the argument.

"Is that what this is about?" you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think I have feelings for you?"

Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "I don't know! Do you? Because sometimes I think… but then you do things like set me up with other girls, and I just don't understand!"

"You don't understand?" you repeat, your own frustration bubbling over. "How do you think I feel, watching you chase after every girl but me? Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

Atsumu's eyes widen. "What are you saying?"

You take a deep breath, realizing there's no going back now. "I'm saying that I love you, you idiot! I've been in love with you for years, but I was too scared to say anything because I didn't want to ruin our friendship!"

Atsumu stares at you in shock for a long moment before a smile slowly spreads across his face. "You love me?"

You nod, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Yeah, I do. But if you don't feel the same way, I understand. We can just forget this whole thing and-"

You're cut off as Atsumu closes the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands. "I love you too," he says softly. "I've been in love with you for so long, I can't even remember when it started."

"But… all those other girls?" you ask, confusion replacing your anger.

Atsumu shakes his head. "I was trying to get over you. I thought you only saw me as a friend. I never dreamed you might feel the same way."

You laugh incredulously, tears pricking at your eyes. "We've both been such idiots, haven't we?"

"The biggest," Atsumu agrees, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that's escaped down your cheek. "But maybe we can start being smart now?"

You nod, your heart feeling like it might burst with happiness. Atsumu leans in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, sweet kiss that feels like coming home.

When you finally break apart, you're both grinning like idiots. "So," you say, trying to catch your breath, "what do we do now?"

Atsumu takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "Now," he says, his eyes sparkling with joy and mischief, "we go have lunch. And maybe I can properly introduce myself to that guy as your boyfriend?"

You laugh, squeezing his hand. "I'd like that," you say softly.

tag : @haechansbbg

#⋆⋰☄︎ kie’s writes #haikyuu fic #haikyuu angst #hq fluff #haikyu smut #haikyu fluff #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq atsumu #miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x reader #msby atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu smut

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sashi-ya · 10 months

Text

東京 NIGHTS mini event

𝑨 𝑫𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑲, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑶 ㅤㅤ 𓂃 ࣪˖ trafalgar law x f! reader

⤹˚ synopsis. would you invite your work colleague Law for ramen after some drinks at the bar?

requested by: @leftladyluminary ➡ May I request Law + A drink after work in a little bar of Shinjuku Golden Gai with a fem reader maybe a little nsfw (or completely lol) tw: MNDI. alcohol usage. nami x vivi heavily implied. abusive coworkers. law saving the night. smut with a "lot" of "plot". mutual pinning that both realized about it just now. oral. nipple play. vag sex. unprotected sex. creampie implied. did they eat the ramen? who knows. The bar does exist! it's the Bar Coo at Shinjuku Golden Gai! same as the train station (Yamanote Line, from Shibuya to Ueno) wc: 4.7k (sowwy) masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI need sleep. I need sleep. I need sleep “(Name), come with us to the izakaya! Let’s have some beers!” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI just want to go home… “Law is coming too, it’s a miracle!” ㅤLaw? Law? I think I can afford yet another night of barely three hours sleep…

ㅤ“I’ll be there in a minute, let me turn off my computer and grab my coat!”

It’s not new information that your jobs are overexploiting you, working for such big company as the Don Quijote chain requires a lot. It is also not new information that once in a while -almost every time- you need to go have some drinks with your colleagues and bosses… because if you don’t, you aren’t engaging enough in that “work family” nobody likes, but everyone pretends to love.

There was a certain colleague, however, who always finds ways to sneak and never get to the bar with you… and that man, precisely, is the man of your dreams. He doesn’t know, and you are sure you shouldn’t tell him, as him is no other than the boss’ nephew.

Trafalgar Law, a tall man with an unfriendly façade but definitely handsome features. Or more than that, you could say. His eyes sometimes shine golden like the earrings he wear, and sometimes silver like the winter lights in Roppongi. He is covered in tattoos, a pretty unique characteristic for being an employee but a lot more logical if you think a little further about his Uncle. Nobody can say it out loud, but all of you know… they are most probably part of the Yakuza.

Despite that, you couldn’t care a less… Law has been your crush since the day you watch him walk into the office so carefree.

It’s a cold night, winter is coming faster than expected. It always does. November ends up quickly, and the first snows begin to tint everything in pristine white. Your long coat covers your body up to your ankles, as well as Law’s black one. You watch him walk, in silence. Most of your coworkers always try to rip words from his mouth, but he is not really interested in engaging in any conversations.

You watch his tattooed fingers scrolling through his phone, as all of you walk the streets of Shinjuku. The Golden Gai awaits for you in their little old Izakayas, all packed within a narrow passage of warm lights, and flickering signs.

“You are staring way too much, (Name)” Nami, one of your coworkers whispers.

You widen your eyes… “Is it that noticeable?”

“It is, but don’t worry… we all think the same, he is hot but also out of reach. I mean, maybe not for you, that is. You are more than beautiful but remember where he is coming from… be careful” she says, being pure honesty with you. She is only trying to protect you. And Nami is completely right, you should be careful with Law.

You smile at her, and both cuddle in each other’s arm grabbing until one of your colleagues chimes and ask the rest if it would be ok to try for nothing a certain bar that looks a little… secret -suspicious, too-.

“Coo bar? It looks weird… but the painting on the door makes it look pretty interesting” you think, waiting for them to knock on that painted wooden door that reminds you somehow to Van Gogh’s style.

A little window slides open, and a pair of black slanted eyes scan you all. They close the little gate and immediately after the door opens welcoming all of you inside.

Law allows everyone to walk pass first, while his eyes scan the surroundings. You, of course, are not the exception.

“Please, girls” he says, paying special attention to your burning cheeks. Nami, who is not really interested in men, simply smile, and walks inside the bar. You, remain a little bit more lost in his golden eyes, but ultimately walk inside too.

You were mostly sure he wouldn’t even put a foot inside, and rather walk away once all of you were unaware. But tonight, it was different, he stayed.

The inside of the tiny bar looks more like an old Japanese living room transformed into a restaurant. The walls are made of wood, and there are many random things hanging from them. Old maps, old posters, photographs, even a big hamster plush that looks as old as you.

The scent of yakiniku fills the ambience, and your stomachs growl with the simple thought of tasting that salty and sweet meat grilled right in front of you.

All of you get into the biggest table you could find, but the tight will be fit nonetheless. You, who always chose to sit last, this time had to move a little to the side. The man of long legs, and tattooed hands decided to sit right next to you.

“Are you comfortable, Law-san?” you ask, trying to make enough room for him to be sitting comfortably.

“Yes, thank you (Name)-ya” he says, kindly than you have ever listened him spoke.

You smile, softly, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

Soon enough a friendly waitress comes ready to take your order. Of course not before putting the so awaited portable grill in the middle of the table.

The more meat, the better. All of you ask for it, and a beer each… that you are sure it will turn in more than three.

The conversation bases in gossiping about the office, nothing really deep and most of the topics all end up in laughter. Law, however, doesn’t really laugh and you are sure he is not even listening… he is just pretending to.

You take swift looks at him, glancing with the side of your eye at the tattoos of his hands; at how his phone screen shines constantly with more and more notifications. He must be a very required man, and most probably has a lover already if not more than one.

Of course, you are not an unpopular woman either. And most of your male coworkers always try their -non efficient, and pretty cringey- seductive tricks with you the moment a drop of alcohol reaches the tip of their tongues.

“(Name)! here, I grilled this one for you!” one of them say, using the clamps to pass you a piece of meat.

“Oh, thank you…” you murmur, receiving the food in your plate. A thing you shouldn’t have done as that -simple smelly monkey- man, thinks you want everything from him for just accepting a piece of tiny meat. -as tiny as his dick, probably-

Most of them also offer you to serve you more alcohol, as ordering for a glass turned into “bring us the bottle, it’s faster and cheaper”. They were right, it was cheaper. But annoying.

Nami, whose blood began turning into bubbly alcohol, throws to Vivi’s arms. Yet another sweet coworker, who is married, but her eyes-only shine for the redhaired coworker that’s always by your side. The moment they indulge in alcohol, their inhibitions are set free, and what’s meant to be… it’s meant to be.

And that means a sudden trip to the women bathroom, where you were not clearly invited -unless you were into it, in which case they were more than pleased to welcome you in-. But that also means you are sitting all by yourself now. Surrounded by idiots who, as well as the ladies, wanted to end up their night on a love hotel or maybe just the bathroom of the bar with you.

Law seems unfazed, and keeps eating, drinking, and reading something on his phone. Why is he there, after all, you have no idea.

As soon as Nami and Vivi’s spot are free, the guy who offered meat slides right next to you. Thinking he is sleek, only to hit the table and make most of the drinks to spill on top of it. Yet, he is not even worried about it; he is just interested in one thing, you.

“More?” he asks, coming closer and closer, forcing you to consequently graze Law’s arm with yours.

“Uh.. I’m full thanks” you lie. You aren’t even half full, but you don’t want shit from him.

“I meant in your glass, let me serve you…” he whispers, grimacing. The bottle lets its liquids pour into your tiny glass, with the strong intention of getting you as wasted as possible.

You swallow, you won’t drink that up. Not all of it. But he keeps coming closer, and by now, your leg also touches Law’s. And then your back, until it is too noticeable for the tattooed pal to stand up in a violent, quick motion.

“How much are you going to insist on her? She is practically sitting on my lap from how much you are bending over her” Law says, looking at him with eyes on fire and disgust on his voice.

“Traf- Trafalgar-san, I-“ he stutters, he is not worried about you but about his job continuation after this.

“Get the fuck away from here, I don’t want to see you anymore” Law spits, he is not interested in fighting. He has had enough. You are not sure if it was because your body touched him, or because he was trying to defend you… but in any case, you are grateful he did.

You look to the ground, knowing your position wasn’t safe either. This will have consequences, and misogyny always finds the way to win.

Law sits back down, as the rest move away from the long wooden seat to let the bastard go away. But right before he stood up, he whispered at you disgusting words you were already waiting to hear…

“You are a little whore, and you know that. You are probably sucking his dick, aren’t you… slut. Be very careful when you walk home alone tonight”

You chose to keep quiet, as everybody else did. Because nobody would stood up for a woman, not in a men’s world.

You watch him go, drinking almost all the glass in one chug. You needed something to drown the fear and disgust you were feeling right now.

“Are you ok, (Name)-ya? Don’t worry, he has his days counted” Law suddenly says, grabbing his phone again.

“I am… thank you so much, Law-san” you shily and respectfully appreciate his help. “I am sorry for ruining the night…” you whisper, finally.

“It wasn’t your fault, at all. Men like that don’t belong in our organiz- company”

You swallow… and soon you realize what he meant when he mentioned the man had his “days counted”. You try to think of any words to spare the life of the abuser, but soon you chose to stay silent. You didn’t force him to do anything, after all.

Nami and Vivi leave the bar, without saying much. You didn’t want to tell them about the “situation”; you didn’t want to ruin their -lustful- end of the night.

As for the rest of your coworkers, most stood up to smoke outside, while others already took their leaves. Law, remained on his seat until one of the guys invited him to go smoke with them.

There is no point in staying; that drunk bastard won’t probably fulfil his threats against you as he is most probably passed out somewhere else due to the alcohol. Therefore, you pay your share, take your coat, and get outside the bar.

You try to leave without alerting anyone, but it is impossible to do so as one of your coworkers wave goodbye at you.

“Oi, (Name)? are you leaving already?! See you on Monday!” he screams; a scream that catches everyone’s attention, including Law’s.

You wave at them and begin to walk away with your keys in your hands and praying to reach for Shibuya as fast as possible to take the JR towards home… hopefully safe and sound by the end of the night.

A sudden pull in your wrist scares you and wasn’t for his fast reaction one of the keys would have ended carved somewhere on Law’s body.

“Oi, calm down. It’s me. I heard what he said on the bar, let me accompany you” Law says, putting down your hand slowly so he doesn’t get hurt by your keys.

You sigh, relived. Law is still a stranger, but if you had to die you would prefer doing it by the hand of a hot killer…

“Thank you, Law-san. But do you think is it ok? What are they gonna think? Plus, I live in Ueno” you ask, worried for future -unfortunately fake- rumours.

Law lifts his shoulders. “I personally don’t give a single fuck about that. I do, however, care for your safety”

You scoff sweetly, he doesn’t seem like one… but he is, indeed, a gentleman. A real man.

“If you don’t mind, then let’s go. I will repay the favour with some delicious ramen if you allow me. Right in front of my apartment we have the best convenience store of all Tokyo” you chime, happily. Perhaps you mistaken this by a date, but at least for some seconds you indulge on the happy thought of it.

Law nods. “The best one? What makes it so special?”

“It’s special because I spent many nights studying there late at night having the best instant ramen” you inform, proud of it.

He scoffs, and a little smirk appears on his lips. “Good, I wanna try the ramen there. As long as it doesn’t contain bread, I’m good”

You notice he can be a lot more interesting than what you thought; despite keeping the mysterious aura, he is a very talkative guy when he feels comfortable. And, apparently, he does with you.

Most of the conversation turns into a nerdy talk about his favourite comic series, that it is surprisingly the same as yours. And you couldn’t be happier, at least a dreadful night ended up better than expected.

Getting to Shibuya was easy; but the last train was about to part. Therefore, both of you, a little dizzy from the drinks -specially you- found the running a lot more challenging than expected. Yet ultimately, grabbed by Law’s hand, you were able to reach the train just in time before doors closed.

“I am so relieved we made it in time!” you sigh, sitting on one of the empty seats. “Same… I mean you could have taken a taxi but…” Law murmured, stopping his words midway. He realized that sending you home in a taxi would be the end of the time together… and he didn’t want that.

Law then proceeds to sit right next to you, crossing his long legs in such way it makes you bite your lower lip. He is a tease by total nature, he doesn’t even try. And he probably knows that too well. As the girls right in front of him gossip and giggle while looking at him.

The train ride is a little long, and the exhaustion suddenly hits you. You remember the fact that sleeping had been rather scarce the last few days of the week, plus the alcohol in your system…

The next station is Ueno. Doors will open on the right

“(Name)-ya… I think this is our station… wake up” Law’s soft voice whisper in your dreams, and your comfortable pillow suddenly takes the form of what it really was; his shoulder.

“Oh my, sorry! I didn’t mean…” you apologize, quickly brushing off the sleepiness. You notice he is not mad at you, but his façade has relaxed a lot more since the beginning of the night.

“It’s ok, you’ve been working a lot more than the rest lately. You are always the last one to leave the office” he says, helping you stand up and walking to the doors of the train.

You rub your eyes… he knows? That means he’s been watching you… but for how long, and why?

Ueno is as pretty as Shinjuku. The trees that will turn pink in the spring, now hold flowers made of silver flickering lights. There is a considerably less amount of people compared to the big city, though.

The cold air that hits your cheeks wake you up almost instantly, and you are back at having enough energy to eat that instant ramen that you promise Law.

“So, are you still up for the ramen?” you ask, shy and still ashamed for falling asleep on his shoulder. You wonder if snore or even worse… drool on him.

Law nods with a smile on his face and his eyes closed. He is also tired, but he doesn’t want to leave, and you can tell.

You guide him, and after walking a few blocks, the convenience store appears in the corner of a calm neighbourhood’s street.

“Come on, follow me” you chime, pulling from his hand inside the store.

Law follows, and for the first time both grab each other’s hands tightly. Despite gasping, you keep squeezing it… it feels like a dream…

perhaps it is, and I’m still sleeping on the train?

The cashier greets you both, and immediately after recognizing you she informs that the water boiler won’t be working until Monday in case you were there for ramen.

“We can have it in your place if you are ok with it” Law suggests, and your stomach gets full of butterflies… is this like the korean “would you like to come home for ramen?”, is this your “Netflix and chill”?

You nod. After all he did for you, there is no point in letting him go back to Tokyo with at least nothing warm to eat.

Soon he buys two packets of ramen, two sticks of cheese and two cans of sakura edition Monster. And without much conversation you two cross the street to finally reach for your apartment.

The ride on the elevator was as silent as the very beginning, apparently none of you had something further to say… both were absorbed into your own thoughts; what type were the ones inside his head, you begin to wonder.

“Here we are, my room might be in shambles. But the rest I think looks fine” you joke, opening the door and turning on the light.

You were to lie if you said you weren’t lucky; your department is tiny but still has beautiful looks towards the city. Nothing fancy, but decent and exquisitely decorated.

Law smiles, pleased. He enjoys spaces like yours.

“I like you…r place…” he whispers, right behind your back while you walk towards the open kitchen.

“Thanks…” you whisper back, biting your lower lip; sensing the high tension in the air like little zaps of energy, like counter shocks.

You receive the bag with the food from his hands and put a pot of water on the stove. It is necessary for a good instant ramen to boil the water before putting the noodles in. Or so that’s what you always thought. In any case, you needed your mind to be anywhere else but the idea of pleading him to fuck you against the counter.

“(Name)-ya, are you single?” he suddenly asks, after the last crumble of noodles fall from your hands into the bubbly water.

You turn around, slowly. Your ponder whether you should lie to him, or not. Perhaps a taken woman would be a lot more interesting to chase than looking like a lonely girl.

“Because I haven’t seen any man around you…” he continues, sitting on one of the stools and letting his elbows on the counter.

Busted. You can’t lie.

“I am single, yes. What about you, Law-san?” you ask, it is proper -and necessary for you to know-.

Law bends forward, his chin rests on his hand and his golden eyes fix in yours. You realize there has to be a hint of eyeliner on his waterline, and the dark circles intensify under the low light of your kitchen.

“Would you prefer to listen I am?” he asks, straightforwardly and so sexily.

You swallow; what…. the fuck?

“It depends, honestly. I wouldn’t like to be the other woman if you weren’t single” your words sound bigger than yourself, your eyes widen because you don’t even know who is talking right now… but it is definitely not your normal you; this is most likely, your horny you… the “you” that can’t keep hiding how much you are into your boss’ nephew.

Law stands up, walks around the breakfast bar and dominantly -yet, very, very slow- takes his fingers to your chin. You move slightly to the side, allowing your butt to hit the counter behind.

Your fingers clutch to the cold stone surface, your hips feels like magnets being pulled, attracted against the other’s.

“Is that so, (Name)-ya? Well… I am single, indeed” Law whispers, coming closer, so dangerously closer to your lips. His thumb, inked with the letter D, grazes your lower lip ever so softly. And you pout, just enough for him to be able to play with it.

Your sloppy eyelids, your separated lips, your head barely tilted to the side… like feverish, in need of medicine... Law’s lips medicine.

“I’m glad you are…” you moan, opening your mouth just enough to trap with your front teeth his thumb right after. The tip of your tongue follows, wetting his finger. And then, so that there are no more doubts, you suck on it so deliciously lustful.

Law takes a big breath, and sighs right after. He is smirking, so dark. Like you never seen him before. Like you always wish you did.

He lifts you up, helping you sit on top of the counter. Your legs, spread, allow him to come closer.

“You are glad I am gonna fuck you tonight, too?” he asks, leaving you breathless… continuing with the lack of oxygen, as his lips crash on yours.

His tongue, disrespectfully sexual, violates your mouth in pure impetuous need. With gasping and moaning in between, with heavy breathing, with desire for your flesh that seems to be unleashed after being trapped like a beast for so long.

The more he kisses you, the more he wants more. And you do, too.

His playful hands, lift the blouse that seemed to be so enticing to his eyes all through out the night. His delicate fingers crawl from your belly to your chest, squeezing your breasts with no modesty, with no decency.

When he lets your lips free, you feel them swollen, aching for more. You open your eyes, meeting his and a shiver runs through your back. The most handsome man in the earth is right in front of you, wanting to devour you… so desperately.

“So, are you glad… (Name)-ya?” he asks, again. This time with his hand on your neck, squeezing on the right spot to make you dizzy and horny.

“Mhj… yes… please, fuck me” you beg, so weak for his touch.

“Heh” he smirks, ripping your blouse, making the buttons pop and fly away. He doesn’t mind, he doesn’t care… “This damn blouse… you always wear it on Fridays, don’t you? it was making me so hard to see the way your nipples barely peeking through them with the air conditioner… heh…” he moans, with his lips pressed on the commissure of your lips.

For how long have you been watching me in silence, Law? …

Law kisses you one more time before going down to your neck and breasts. The nipples he mentioned were once and for all right before his eyes, hard because of him and not because of the a/c.

Desperately, he cups your right breast, trapping your hard sensitive button with his front teeth. Sucking, twisting, licking. Your body quivering, spasming. Your nails pulling from his messy onyx hair in response to pleasure.

A few more minutes, where you barely reached for the stove to turn it off, are enough for him to want more and more of your body.

“And then, this damn black tight skirt… were you doing it on purpose? Letting your paperwork to fall to the floor, for me to see right when you bent to pick them up, your panties through your pantyhose…? Mh? (Name)-ya?” he asks, kneeling in between your legs, sliding your skirt up, grazing the nylon tights with his teeth.

Why lie? If he was completely right? You did. You did so many times. And yet, never once you thought he could see, he could notice… you remain silent, because silence speaks louder than words…

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” he scoffs, carving with his middle finger a hole on your thighs, ripping violently down to expose your core. The view is pure art to him… to see your dripping wet panties, and the flesh of your thighs protruding from the indentations and ripped places of your panty hose...

He kisses those patches of free skin, and then bites them too. He enjoys the way the nylon material gets wet around with his own saliva; you quiver to the sensation, the cutting sharp edges, the kisses, his teeth grazing, the wetness increasing.

And those kisses, that keep going up and up, reach your core for the first time. “How much I wanted to taste your sex… you got me wanting to do it so bad” he grunts with his lips on your wet panty. The warmth of his breath against your sex, makes you flinch… a sting on your clit that felt like a bullet.

A kiss, a lick. Fine fabric getting drenched. Eyes turning white, his nose buried, inhaling your scent. Curious fingertips, moving lace away. The moment his tongue reached for your folds; your heels carved in between his shoulder blades.

Eating you out, you throw back your head, moaning loud, loudly. But you want even more… And almost like if he could read your mind, he stands up. Law uses his inked, veiny hand to clean -or rather spread- the mess you’ve made on his mouth and chin.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you… you are insatiable, I’ve always knew it” he growls, perhaps ignorant to the fact you are insatiable but only for him.

“I want you” you simply babble, ripping his yellow shirt off to discover his inked chest. The heart on his pecs that goes down until his belly button, pointing to his hardness fighting against his jeans… “I want you so bad…” you whine again.

“Then let me fuck you the way you deserve, (Name)-ya” he moans, biting your lower lip. You help him to get free from his clothes, desperately. You want it now; he wants it more than you.

Soon, his hardness blesses you with his imponent presence in between his fingers. Drippy, slightly veiny, pinkish tip that turns redder the second it passes. He pumps just enough to spread the precum all over, perhaps in an attempt to lubricate… as if it was really needed… you are sure your juices have dripped to your kitchen floor.

With not much, but only pure passion, he lifts one of your legs up until your whole sole is touching the counter. Well spread, enough for him to fit perfectly in, he pulls you closer to the edge.

“I am dying to try your walls clenching around my dick, (Name)-ya” he huffs, with his forehead pressed against yours.

“I want you inside of me, please…” you beg, taking your hips closer to his drippy gland.

Law kisses you brutally, to impale you equally after. He drinks your moans; you breathe off his grunts. His hands land on the small of your back, moving in an out of you with strong pace. While your nails carve on his shoulders, leaving marks of love.

The sound of skin slapping skin flood the kitchen, mixed with the pleasure song of your throats.

Law carries you to the table, and your body lies there until he can bend completely over you to keep fucking you while kissing and biting everything he has in front. You do the same, pulling from his lip, biting his neck, his shoulders… trapping him against you, with no way out, with your legs snaked tightly around his waist.

Nothing matters the most, than him never leaving your insides. Nothing matters the most that being bound to the other, mixed in one and only.

Filled with his release, he keeps on going. Reaching for one, two, three times the maximum climax… more, more and more…

“We can eat the ramen tomorrow… right?” “Y-yes…”

725 notes · View notes

isa-loves-you · 1 year

Text

Touching | The Group Chat Headcanons |

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Isaac:

Isaac isn't big on touching, but he doesn't push away from it when you offer it

Most of the time when he shows physical affection its little things.

Whenever he sits next you on the couch hell pull your legs over his lap, or whenever you guys are in a crowded place in public he will hold your wrist or keep a hand on your shoulder so you guys don't get separated

Sometimes when isaac drinks he gets playful, which means be expected to be picked up and body slammed on your guys bed

Nothing too hard though, he once tried to pick you up bridal style and spin you around but once he started to spin your hand hit a nearby wall and he felt so bad. He thought you were going to die

This man is a horrible sleeper. its either he sleeps sprawled all over the bed and almost kicking you out of the bed.

or he's clinging on to you for dear life.

Nick:

Nick loves physical contact. He can't get enough.

Whenever he has an excuse to touch you he does

When you guys are in public he interlocks your guys arms because he doesn't like how sweaty his hands get from holding hands.

If you ever see those couples that act too touchy while waiting in a line. That's you and him.

He melts whenever you hug him and also scratch his back a little bit

Since nick wears a lot of hats, and also wears headphones majority of the day he will do anything you want if you rub or scratch his head

Nick likes cuddling when you two are watching a movie or just laying on the bed but not when he's going to sleep

You guys usually fall asleep facing each other and having your legs intertwined together

Yumi

Hes doesnt like being touched by a lot of people and it's gotten worse when he moved into the group house

He pretends that he doesn't like it when you touch him but you both know he secretly loves it

In public he will put his arm across your shoulders so you guys can walk at the same pace

If he doesn't do this you will be left behind. He walks too fast

He does like it when you put some form of weight on him, he feels more grounded

Usually it when he's laying in bed scrolling on his phone and your laying on top of him also watching his phone

But you can't lie facing him when you do this. He freaks out if he feels you breathing on him

Since he's a big man he likes it when he's the big spoon

if you wrap your arm around him and hike your leg onto his hip he's asleep in not time

Tanner:

Tanner is like nick, he loves affection

He's a very giddy person so whenever you hug him or touch him in anyway he's happy

He likes holding your hand, but he thinks its funny when he finds new and weird ways to be close to you in person

God this man is built like one of those buff teddybears, i will die a fulfilled solder being suffocated by his boobs🫡

Whenever you two are relaxing on his bead or watching a movie he will find his way to put his head in your lap and you scratch his head or eyebrows

He usually falls asleep like that so he makes sure your not moving

Tanner likes falling asleep on his stomach so that means your his mattress

Larry:

Larry is very carefree about touching he neither likes it or dislikes it.

He likes holding hands the most of all, nothing can beat a classic

Even if you think that physical affection is the most a couple can do to show love, your wrong Larry finds other ways.

He thinks doing activities or just hanging out with you is the most loving thing people can do.

However, Larry does like it when he sits on the floor in between your legs and style his hair in different ways.

Since Larry has a hard time falling asleep at night that means you are up a lot of nights too

Most of the time you fall asleep before Larry does, but you always wake up with him laying right next to you.

You spend a good portion of your morning taking .5 pictures of him asleep.

#isaacwhy #larry croft #softwilly x reader #tgc #the group chat #the group chat podcast #tooyumi #yumi tgc #yumi #yumi x reader #bigt x reader #big t #bigt

463 notes · View notes

sommerbueckers · 2 months

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬⁵

𝐇𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐘𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

___________________________________________________________

AS THE PEOPLE OF New York City walked carefree with their heads high and smiles bright, Myla realized that she was the only one feeling uncomfortably bothered. She was taking her usual route to the Starlight Lounge, the route that had once felt so familiar to her now felt dark and cold. Had it always been this way? Perhaps it had and she had been too in love to notice.

After what felt like hours, she finally reappeared on the main street. The first thing she spotted were the bright red lights of the very nightclub she was heading to, and it was only then that she could physically feel the anxiety coursing through her body. It had been years since Myla last set foot in the Starlight Lounge. While her avoidance was largely intentional, a deeper part of her seemed to impose an unspoken limit, preventing her from approaching within thirty feet of the establishment.

She had never anticipated returning, let alone for the very reason that had driven her away initially. As she found herself at the end of the line, she wiped her hands on her jeans for what felt like the tenth time that night, making a concerted effort to maintain her composure. The line progressed swiftly, and it wasn't long before Myla reached the front.

The Starlight Lounge was as packed and vibrant as always; servers walked around in their provocative uniforms, young women pranced around with old rich men at their sides, and Myla found herself sitting at the bar as she waited for one specific bartender to come up to her. Though this time, she was dreading the conversation they'd have.

Two nights prior, everything had been perfect. Myla had been nestled with Roxie on the bed, chatting with Paige, their smiles unwavering. However, the following morning, Myla awoke to a message from the last person she had anticipated hearing from—the last person she wanted to hear from. A surge of dread enveloped her as she read the message, and she spent the entire day contemplating it before mustering the courage to respond.

The curly-haired woman reread the messages repeatedly, her brow furrowing as she struggled to comprehend their meaning. The task proved futile; only one person could quell the tumult of thoughts racing through her mind, and that person happened to be setting a drink down in front of her.

Her short, dark waves were styled in a half-up, half-down arrangement. The double slits in both of her eyebrows appeared newly done, as did the array of unfamiliar tattoos adorning her arms. She placed the White Russian on a small napkin and lightly patted the counter, pressing her lips into a thin line to offer Myla the most genuine smile she could muster.

"I go on break in five, we can talk then."

For those five minutes, Myla sat in uneasy silence. Her drink remained untouched on the counter, slowly dampening the napkin beneath it. She declined all offers of food and sidestepped attempts at conversation, unable to focus her thoughts. The urge to cry seemed to intensify as the night progressed. Just before she buried her face in her hands, she heard the faint buzz of her phone on the counter.

Paige: Everything ok?

She had been ignoring Paige all day, not because she wanted to, but because texting Paige and her...Ghost at the same time felt wrong. She would respond to Paige eventually, but she had to take care of business first. When the uncomfortably familiar face reappeared before her, it was her signal to rise and follow her through the back. She had frequented this area countless times for far more pleasurable reasons than the one that brought her here now. Yet, as circumstances shift, some things remain unchanged.

Ghost pushed open the back door and the two were met with a small parking lot and a few dumpsters. They stood in silence for the first few moments, the taller girl scrutinizing Myla as she shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze. She hugged her sweater tightly against herself, the night was chilly but she did it for comfort.

"You really haven't seen it?" the dark haired girl asked, her brows heavenward as she looked down at her.

"Seen what?" Myla's voice dripped with irritation. The entire time they had been texting, Ghost kept talking about some video that Myla had to see. Not failing to express how shocked she was that the model hadn't already seen it.

"The fucking video Myla," her muffled voice said through her hands.

"What fucking video Ghost?!"

The other woman began to respond, but was interrupted by a sudden, new question that arose in her mind.

"What'd you just call me?" she asked, her natural frown deepening.

Myla's lips parted in utter shock at her own words, her face reflecting her surprise. She had never before referred to the woman as 'Ghost'; it had always been Natalie. She shrugged nonchalantly, as if the slip were an everyday occurrence.

"Ghost," she repeated quietly, "why?"

Natalie shook her head briefly, as if trying to clear her own thoughts which were racing just as fast as the girl's in front of her.

"You just...you've never called me that before, you told me you didn't like it," she explained.

"Yeah well..." Myla's voice trailed off and she looked toward the sea of cars as if the remainder of her answer lied there, "a lot can change in two years."

She nodded her head in response, crossing her...big, tatted arms over her chest as she sighed. "Look Myla, there's something you need to see..."

"What is it?"

With visible reluctance, Natalie reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone. After tapping away silently for a few moments, her expression twisted in distaste before she extended her arm to hand the phone to Myla.

As the video played, her anxiety mounted with every passing second. Her heart raced, each frame revealing more of herself than she was prepared to confront. The familiar pangs of self-doubt and discomfort surged as she scrutinized her own image, magnifying every perceived flaw and imperfection. Her palms grew clammy, and she found it difficult to breathe, overwhelmed by a visceral sense of vulnerability. The reality of her appearance and actions, laid bare before her, felt like an invasive intrusion into her private world, leaving her with a profound sense of unease that she struggled to shake off.

Myla shut the phone off, a waterfall of tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"What the fuck is this?" she tried to remain collected, but the unsteadiness of her voice betrayed her.

"Myla-"

"What the fuck Natalie!" she yelled, roughly tossing the phone at the other girl not caring if she caught it or not. She did, just before it could fall to the ground. "What did you do?!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"So then what the fuck is this?! Are you fucking insane?! Do you know what this shit could do to me?!"

Natalie was now fuming, acting as a mirror as the two seething girls stared at each other.

"You think I did this?! When I promised you it wouldn't get out I fuckin' meant it!"

"Bullshit!"

"Fuck you, Myla! This is just as bad for me as it is for you," the older woman pointed out.

"Except it isn't! You're famous in a world full of criminals who do illegal shit to get out of other illegal shit! I'm a model, Natalie, a fucking model, and my image is my career. If this shit gets out..." Myla took a step back and shook her head, "it's gonna ruin me."

The totality of Myla’s career was at stake. Everything she had built, everything she had been working toward, had it all been for nothing? For some obscene video of her that she had allowed someone, against her better judgement, to take? Someone she loved, someone she trusted, Natalie.

As expected, the other woman stood silently. She knew Myla was right, this was significantly worse for her. She watched as Myla pulled out a crate from the corner and sat on it, running her hands through her tangled hair.

“Where is the video now?” she questioned.

“It hasn’t been released to the public yet, but I know who has it,” Natalie sighed.

“Other than you, you mean?” Myla spat nastily. When she was met with nothing but silence and the obnoxious honking from the cars on the street, Myla continued with a sigh. "Who?"

"Listen Myla, I can take care of this shit...but i'm gonna need your help," Natalie explained quietly. "The chick i'm supposed to fight next, she goes by the name King Ruby, and she's got the video." Myla listened carefully. "She's threatening to release it to the public if I don't back down from the fight with her."

In Myla's eyes, the answer was quite simple.

"So back down from the fight then," she threw her arms up.

"I can't Myla..."

"Why the hell not?"

"This was the last win I needed to get out, and I was gonna win. I've been prepping to fight her for weeks now, and then this shit comes up and fucking ruins everything," she gently rubbed her temples. "And money is tight right now, I can't afford to not fight."

Tears pricked Myla's eyes and she shook her head with a whine, "Natalie...fuck!" abruptly she stood up, "Fuck this is all your fault."

She paced back and forth.

"I can't afford to not fight unless you help me," the short haired girl finished.

"Help you how?"

Natalie stood cautiously, knowing how risky the question was but also knowing that the both of them were desperate for solutions. Natalie stared at her with a mix of anxiety and hesitation. She knew she had to ask Myla for money, but the thought made her uneasy. Myla had always been willing to help her, but Natalie couldn't shake the feeling that this time might be different.

"If you give me some money -- just to get by for the next few weeks -- then I can back out of the fight."

Myla stared at her, a familiar knot forming in her stomach. If she didn't help, Natalie would finally be able to get herself out of anything that had to do with underground fighting, the only downside was that her entire career would go up in flames and there wouldn't be anything she could do to stop it. But if she did help, perhaps it could buy the two some time to figure out how to get rid of that fucking video.

She couldn't help but think about Paige and what the video would do to them. She was a completely different person now than she was when she and Paige had been in school together, and she had made enough mistakes in her life to never make another again. The two had already been out in public together, and while they hadn't been caught on any cameras, it was bound to happen eventually.

What would people think about her if this video was released? What would Paige think of her? Surely whatever little relationship they had established would burn, it would ruin Paige's image to be seen with someone who had allowed a sex tape of themself to be filmed. Myla would be judged by everyone in every corner of her life. She would lose money, friends, and respect within the industry.

The answer was painfully obvious, she had to give Natalie the money.

"How much do you need?" she muttered.

"Well I need rent, food, and maybe a little for emergencies," Natalie shrugged shamefully.

Myla threw her head back and looked to the sky, the stars looked beautiful as they surrounded the moon.

'I wonder if Paige is looking at these same stars right now...'

"Tell King Ruby you're backing out, text me your address and i'll drop a check off sometime this week..."

"Fuck Myla!" Natalie breathed out as she stood up, "You're fucking amazing."

"Well I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Natalie's shoulders slumped slightly, and she tilted her head as she looked down at the woman she once loved.

"We're gonna get through this...I promise."

___________________________________________________________

had no idea where this chapter was goin at first and then the brilliant sex tape idea popped into my mind so hope u enjoyed

love ya!

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wlw post #paige bueckers x reader #gay as fuck #sommer bueckers #love beyond the likes #paige buckets #series #lesbian

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manicpixiefelix · 8 months

Note

Whatever you do, don't envision Reader and Felix driving a vintage convertible through the Tuscan countryside. Top down, wind in their hair, the scent of lemon groves, music playing from the radio.

Perhaps they're on their way to a private party or they're ditching one 🤭

Felix and Reader are holding hands or he's got a hand on their thigh, loving the way they look so carefree.

(stumbling out of my inbox covered in fluff: i don't know where this came from)

There's no prying eyes in moments like these, no-one to perform for, no performers masquerading as his friends or friends of the family trying to steal his attention. Its all on you, and you've never performed for Felix the way the rest of the world has.

He loves you for it.

He loves you for many reasons, of course, but this is one of his favourites.

The sun has just set, the sky painted a burning orange before it fades to sweet lilac and then night, stars beginning to brighten in the sky, and you haven't stopped smiling since he'd pulled out of the parking lot of that god awful party. His darling parents were being progressive with none too subtle purpose, and while both you and he loved their ongoing support, sometimes it was a bit much. More than a bit much. It was suffocating.

But he has no phone service out here, only you beside him with the map he keeps under the seat, pointing out a quaint town an hour away with some kind of hotel situation, and his hand on your thigh. The radio is loud and bright, though you still complain about the CD player in his car -

"I spent good money on a tape deck that works, bought actual, brand new tapes -"

"Where the hell did you get those?" He laughed, but was endeared by your efforts, even as you talked over him, pointedly ignoring him.

"- made you a whole mixtape, and you went and replaced the take deck in your card with a bloody CD player!" You threw your hands in the air in mock dismay.

"I had the CD player put in when dad gave me the car," Felix half smiles, glancing at you for just a moment out of the corner of his eye, "years ago," he reminds you. Seeing the way you're trying so hard to keep up your show off being miffed, despite the sheepish smile curling at the edge of your lips, he gives your thigh a squeeze and looks back at the road.

Slowly, you uncross your arms, sitting back in your seat with a faint, playful pout. When you rest your hand on his, it's warm.

"Made a whole proper cover for it and everything, to put in that plastic cover-thingy they all come in."

"I know," Felix agrees, "I like how you styled the track list on the back," he can't help but smile, picturing it in his mind, "and it's a good set of songs."

He loves the goofy smile he knows you're wearing without even having to turn and look at you. Something about how genuinely you've always reacted to his praise has always warmed his heart; you'd always had a knack for telling his performative, placating praise from his sincerity. He's known you too long and too well by now to offer anything but sincerity when you both know it's rightfully deserved.

"I'll buy you a car with a tape deck just so we can listen to my road trip mix," you say it so casually that he's not quite sure if you're joking. But then you pet his hand, laughter ringing out from you, into the perfect Summer night, "kidding, Fi; I made it for you, listen to it wherever or whenever you want," he catches your easygoing shrug out of the corner of his eye, "or never. No skin off my nose." For a few moments, you distract yourself, tapping out inconsistent beats along his fingers, the back of his hand -

"Unless you want a car with a tape deck," this time he's sure it's not a joke. Its as casual as if you'd offered to simply buy him a beer, no real larger thoughts behind the offer. No part of you is performing the way anyone else would; not trying to bribe, or buy, or placate, or charm, or flaunt your wealth;

"You've just now reminded me why my parents are so adamantly pro-Gay Marriage," Felix couldn't help his laughter, and you sat back, watching the road ahead with a wry smile.

"Your parents are so adamantly pro-Gay Marriage because they desperately want me to pick if I'm to be legally recognised as one or the other, so they can marry me off right now to either you or your sister, but are too deep in their support of me to feel comfortable asking that," you turn to look at him with something forlorn in your eyes despite the smile on your lips, and Felix, despite how much he loved his parents, also knew you were absolutely right.

"No matter where in the world I am," Felix grins, as the lights of the town ahead begin to glow in the distance, "the minute -the absolute moment- mum finds out the two of us can legally get married, I bet you I get a call telling me to come home so she and dad can give me the family ring," and beside him, you're cackling with laughter just picturing it, "at three in the morning, I'll be in Australia or some place, high as fuck in the bush or something, and I'll have to deal with mum acting like she hasn't been plotting this arranged marriage shit for years!"

And the two of you laugh, because you're barely twenty, and the idea of a future beyond your youthful hedonism is overwhelming if you don't laugh about it. Politics, and real world issues, and the future neither of you want to think about, are all absurd, and laughable, and easy to push to the back of your minds. Like the cassette mixtape Felix keeps in his glove box even without a tape deck, because he knows he'll never lose it there.

You take Felix's hand from your thigh as you lace your fingers with his.

And you laugh.

And neither of you knows if it's because the idea of getting married feels preposterous, or maybe a little inevitable.

#felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer #it shouts back

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shelbystales · 2 months

Text

Best Aid - Part Nine

Modern Tommy Shelby x Reader - Masterlist

Previous parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

Summary: you are a young doctor in Birmingham. After a crazy incident, Thomas Shelby shows up at your hospital. You don’t know much about the man everyone seems to fear, but you definitely will.

Warning: swearing

A/N: Comment and interact, tell me what you think! it means a looot. Hi guyss!!!! long time no see hahaha, sorry for the hiatus, needed some time. Can't promise i'll be back 100% posting every week but i'll try for sure! Gotta say i missed writing :)

English is my second language so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

A week has passed since your last conversation with Thomas. In that time, you had only seen each other once when he came to pick up John Doe, now also known as Johnny Dogs. This time apart helped you sort out your feelings about everything you had been through in the past few weeks.

Surprisingly, the week went by like any other. You kept up with your shifts, visited your mom and brother over the weekend, and caught up on your TV series episodes. It felt like everything had returned to how it was before the man with the incredibly blue eyes walked into your emergency room, and you saved him.

Back to your normal and safe routine.

As soon as your shift ended, you joined Jeremy and his fiancé, Alan, for a pizza night at their place. You spent the evening eating, drinking wine, and gossiping about everything, from the most unrealistic romances at the hospital to Alan’s latest work presentation.

The evening turned out better than you imagined. Being in Jeremy's company is always great; he's a clown, constantly making everyone laugh, even if not intended.

Alan, on the other hand, has a geekier style and is a bit more reserved, resembling those cute librarians the main character falls for in a classic romantic movie. They were a perfect match.

After dinner, your stomach ached from laughter and overeating. The fact that you spent the past few hours laughing and getting drunk made you feel like things were back on track again.

You left their place feeling happy and carefree.

The lobby of your hotel was nearly deserted, with only a few employees and scattered guests, which was odd because the hotel restaurant was usually packed at this hour every day.

As you waited for the elevator, the quiet murmur of the lobby was interrupted by two passing employees whispering about the kitchen being closed for maintenance. “An intern messed something up,” the woman said, her voice loud enough for you to catch.

When the elevator doors opened, Thomas stood there, looking effortlessly handsome. Your heart skipped a beat, and your stomach fluttered nervously. When his eyes met yours he gave a small smile.

You smiled back, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray your nerves. "Heading up?" He nodded, and you stepped into the elevator. The space suddenly felt much smaller. His presence, his warmth, and that cologne mingling with the faint buzz from the wine, made your pulse quicken. "I didn't even know there was a floor below us" you chuckled, trying to ease your nerves. “Well, obviously, there are several negative buttons here," you pointed to the panel awkwardly. “Funny… I never noticed it before.”

"Just a few parking levels," he said in his smooth Birmingham accent, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "How are you? You seem happy."

"Well, I am," you smiled, butterflies dancing in your stomach. "And also in urgent need of a shower. But I'm good." You leaned against the elevator wall, the weight of your shift and your growing desire for him pressing down on you.

"Had a good night, eh?" he asked, glancing briefly at the notification on his phone.

"Yeah, trying to enjoy myself before next week," you said, "I have 36 consecutive hours on call."

"That's a lot of hours," he said, his eyes flicking back to the screen as new notifications appeared.

"Yeah, but I'm used to it," you smiled. "Is everything ok?” you wondered what was all the fuzz on his phone.

“Yeah, just having a kitchen mess today” he put his phone back on his back pocket

“I overheard someone mentiion that it’s closed. A result of some sort of an intern’s lack of care?” you said and watched confused as he frowned

“Sure. That's what happened” he let out almost as a whisper "you should know that things will start to calm down," he replied, and your smile grew wider. His words gave you a glimmer of hope.

"Good to hear that! What happened?" you asked almost as an impulse.

“I'm not sure you want me answering that Y/n…” he chuckled as he got a cigarette out of his pockets. Will he light it in here? you wondered, but he simply put it to rest between his lips.

“Right…” You hesitated, your heart pounding, desperate to talk about something else, too afraid to let that subject be the center of your conversation once again. “So, uh, do you have any plans for tonight?” The question slipped out before you could stop yourself, and you immediately regretted it.

Thomas looked at you with a raised eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze was penetrating, almost as if he could read your thoughts. "Plans?" he echoed, his tone light but curious.

You quickly clarified, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that! I was just wondering what you're up to this late at night." You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, trying to appear nonchalant. Begging for the elevator to stop making random stops at almost every floor and finally get to yours, now hating the fact that he gave you one of the top rooms.

Thomas smiled faintly at your question, his eyes studying you for a moment longer than usual. "Polly is traveling, so I'm checking on things for her and the kitching needs some cleaning up. I'm heading to her room to get the master key"

You nod, trying to hide your slight disappointment at his answer. "Oh, that sounds nice of you," you reply, mentally chiding yourself for asking in the first place. It wasn't like you were inviting him or expecting him to join you, right?. The elevator dinged softly as it reached your floor. “Well, I won't keep you. Have a good night, Thomas."

"You too," he said, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer before you turned and walked down the hallway.

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Why did you ask that? You mentally scolded yourself again as you walked down the hall to your room as you replayed the encounter in your mind.

Thomas's presence had a way of unnerving you, yet you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement his proximity brought. As you walked you were already mentally planning your night: a hot shower, maybe some Netflix, and straight to bed. That's all you need right now.

As you settled into your room, the encounter with Thomas replayed in your mind again, like a vivid movie scene. His smile was etched into your memory, and the way he looked at you sparked a warmth deep within.

Your phone buzzed with a notification, breaking your train of thought. It was a message from Jeremy, asking if you got home okay. You quickly replied, assuring him you were fine and thanking him for the fun evening.

Setting your phone aside, you found yourself unable to shake the lingering thoughts of Thomas. The way his presence seemed to fill the elevator, the scent of his cologne that still lingered in your mind - it all stirred something unfamiliar yet exhilarating.

Suddenly your mind started to play games with you as it imagined his hands on your skin as he kissed you desperately on the elevator. His lips gently caressing your cheek, making his way to the warmth between your legs…His body pressing yours against the cold elevator wall.. fuck!

You sat on the edge of your bed, a sudden heat spreading through you. You needed a cold shower to cool down and clear your head.

After a refreshing shower that did little to dampen the heat of your thoughts, you settled into the living room, deciding to distract yourself with a Netflix series. The soft glow of the screen and the familiar characters helped ease your mind, at least temporarily. Ozzy nestled at your feet enjoying your presence but trying not to show it, as all cats do.

The characters on the screen moved and spoke, but your mind kept drifting back to Thomas.The more you thought about him, the harder it was to focus on the TV.

Your mind replayed all the moments you had shared, trying to convince your horny mind that it would be a bad bad idea. But you couldn't deny the pull you felt towards him, a magnetic attraction that left you both excited and unnerved.

You sighed and shifted on the couch, trying to shake off the thoughts. But they kept coming, flooding.Remembering the first time you kissed, how you just felt like ripping his clothes apart.

And just like that, loneliness settled over you like a heavy blanket. The silence was too loud, and the emptiness too vast. You looked around, seeking something to occupy your time, but nothing seemed appealing. The wine you had with Jeremy and Alan had left you with a pleasant buzz, a feeling of warmth and courage that now pushed you towards a decision.

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the loneliness, but suddenly, you found yourself standing up, driven by an impulse you couldn't quite explain. The thought of Thomas dealing with the kitchen mess alone nagged at you. You had nothing better to do, and the idea of being around him again was too tempting to resist.

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you grabbed the bottle of whisky you opened a few nights ago and headed to the door. The walk to the elevator felt surreal, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You pressed the button and waited.

As the elevator doors opened, you took a deep breath and stepped inside. The ride down felt both too quick and agonizingly slow, your thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation. You almost gave up the idea and went back to your room a few times. When the doors opened to the lobby, you made your way towards the kitchen, each step filled with a strange sense of purpose.

You knew it was a bit crazy, but the wine had given you the courage to step out of your comfort zone and yes you needed to fuck, and why the fuck not him?

You reached the kitchen door and paused, taking a moment to steady your breathing and gather the courage to push open the door.

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gucciwins · 2 years

Text

worth the risk

Y/N attends the Golden Globes and has lots of questions to answer

word count: 2738

a/n: hola amores!!!!! this series has been so much fun to write! happy reading. let me know what you want to see next :D

part one // part two

“You know what to say when they ask,” Bee reminds you as you sit in your makeup chair, letting the glam team do their job. You’re going for an elegant but simple look that the cameras will be able to capture. You loved wearing bold red lipstick, but for tonight you were doing a pink shade, a touch darker than your natural lip color, to allow the jewelry you are wearing tonight to speak for you on the carpet.

“Yup,” you frown at the mirror where you can see Bee taping away on her iPhone. “I will tell them I let him take me to his house and have his way with me.”

“Y/N!” Bee hisses. “Be serious.”

You’re fed up with all this information for one meeting with Harry. It started as a date, but you doubt anything more will come of it now due to all this unnecessary drama. There hasn’t been a chance for you or Harry to talk about what you’re both looking for in a relationship or if you were interested in seeing each other again.

“Yes, I know.” You take a sip of your chamomile tea, trying to relax. “I’ll say we had coffee, and he’s even nicer in person.”

Bee sets her phone down, able to pick up on your bitterness. “If you had let me know you were going to meet him, we could have prevented this.”

You don’t regret meeting Harry because you got to spend a carefree afternoon with him. It did lead to unprecedented changes in your plans. You think back to sitting in an office instead of Harry’s house for dinner like you had planned.

The office was cold, and the tension in the room was high. Harry sat to your left, and Bee and Jeff, your managers in front of you, stern looks on both their faces. It reminded you of when your parents sat you down and gave you an hour lecture about sneaking out. The talk was so boring you never snuck out again.

“There are pap pics of you everywhere,” Jeff informs you.

It is evident to you where this conversation is headed.

You feel yourself shrink into your chair. This is not something you had planned. Neither did Harry. After your “date,” you planned to meet the following day at five pm, where Harry would have food waiting, and you’d arrive with store-bought wine. You were driving to his house when you got the call. Harry was quick to inform you he had an urgent meeting to attend, and you shared that you did as well. The dots clicked much faster than you liked.

Bee explained that there was no way to stop the photos from going out. This was simply a warning to them to prepare statements if necessary.

“We’ll cut Y/N’s trip short, get her back to America,” Bee tells Jeff as if you weren’t even there able to make a choice for yourself.

“Hey, I’m supposed to visit my sister and my nephew,” you argue.

Bee sighs, knowing you’re right. You haven’t been able to visit them, and it’s all you talked about on your flight. “Call her and ask her to see you tomorrow. You’re coming back in February.”

Bee dismissed your concerns, but you were thankful for the extra day. Jeff pulled out a tablet to show you the photos. There is nothing scandalous. It’s you and Harry facing each other with similar smiles. The last photo is the one that you know is the one that caused all this ruckus. Harry is photographed kissing your cheek. It’s friendly. Nothing to signify more happened or that it was a date. It was simply two friends getting coffee.

“Are you putting out a statement?” Harry asks.

“No, Harry. What for?” Jeff deadpans.

You see Harry frown, but he doesn’t fight his manager because this is Harry’s MO, ignore and move on. You’re not used to this. Sure, you’ve had articles written about you, but you have always been the sole focus, not you being linked to Harry Styles.

“Does Harry have anything to announce? Take away the focus from the photos when they drop.” Bee is always ten steps ahead, and here is another time.

“We have yet to announce his LA opening act,” Jeff offers. He looks towards Harry, who sits there pensive. Harry looks like he would rather be anywhere else than here.

“Wet Leg would be a good distraction,” Harry tells Jeff shrugging as if he’s used to all this fuss.

Distraction.

You were taking this too personally. Harry didn't owe you anything. He didn’t have to say he was simply having coffee with a friend. You were not allowed to say a word because you were insignificant compared to Harry’s world and fame.

It did not feel nice, and you were ready to return to your hotel.

“Y/N has the Golden Globes press in a few days. We’ll officially blacklist his name.”

You sit there, letting Bee take control of your life. You had forgotten this part of fame. You knew it was too soon for you and Harry to be protecting each other. You went on one date. There was not enough time for feelings to grow, but you did wish things were different because you’re certain after today’s fiascos, you’d no longer be hearing from Harry.

Bee bid her goodbyes as she took a phone call, and you took that as your cue to leave. You wished both men well and hurried into the elevator, eager to get out of the building and hopefully never return.

“Y/N, wait.” A body slips through the elevator doors, and you’re startled to see Harry.

He has a shy look, and you know this is awful for both of you. You had been lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t see how this affected him or how often he must do this with his team to protect his image but mostly his privacy.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. You shake your head to stop him, but he keeps going. “You’re getting the brunt of everything being in interviews and red carpets while I can hide at home.”

He has a point.

“It’ll be fine,” you brush him off, pressing the first floor of the elevator. “Well, I hope,” you joke.

Harry clears his throat, “I was looking forward to this evening.”

You feel your face flush, not having expected to hear him say that. “Really?”

“Mhm…I-I really enjoy your company,’ he whispers in a low voice, careful to keep his focus on you.

You nod, “ditto.”

Harry hears the ding of the elevator, and as he waits for the doors to open, he does something that could get both of them into deeper water, but he doesn’t seem to care. “W-would you still want to come over?”

You turn to look at him, “didn’t we just get told not to see or speak about each other.”

Harry shrugs, “I was never one for following the rules.”

You sigh in disbelief.

“Plus,” he adds on. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them?”

At that moment, you decided that Harry was worth the risk.

Red carpets were overwhelming, and you were looking forward to reaching the end and allowing yourself to have endless drinks of champagne, but before all of that, there were interviews to get through. You were dressed in a glamorous black and white gown by Carolina Herrera with Tiffany & Co. jewels with Christian Louboutin heels. You were going for an old Hollywood look, and your team helped you deliver. Dani, your stylist, knew it would be a stunner on the carpet.

The carpet was full of artists you loved and admired. Your co-stars would stop you for a chat and have you pose for a few photos. It was the most fun complimenting others on their look of the night, but it was mostly amazing to talk about the shows and movies that were being honored tonight.

The first interview went smoothly. It was simple questions of who you were wearing and what was in your bag kind of interview. You knew if the others continued like this, you would be fine.

Maeve, your wonderful assistant, you’d go as far as to call her a close friend now led you to the next interviewer. Reece was someone you immediately felt at ease with for some reason. You had heard about how they began their career on social media and grew it to what it was today, being able to interview on red carpets and work behind the scenes of different productions. He was courteous in greeting you and complimenting your outfit, and you did the same in return.

Reece smiled at the camera before turning his attention back to you. “Alright, I’m going to ask you Globe related questions.”

“Sounds perfect,” you place your hands over your stomach, making sure your shoulders are pushed back and that you’re camera ready even though you know the camera has been recording from the moment you made it to his side.

“Are there any shows or movies from this past year that were your favorites?” Reece asks.

“Besides my two shows,” you tease. “Abbot Elementary and The Bear were my standouts. For movies, it’s clearly Everything Everywhere All At Once and The Fabelmans,” you gush. The answer was one you did not have to think about. You’ve been doing your best to keep up with all the new movies and shows released last year.

“You have amazing taste,” Reece tells you. He continues on to the following questions. “Any world that has been in movies or shows in the past year that you would actually live to live in?”

You laugh, “too easy I would love to be neighbors with Selena Gomez, also known as Mabel in New York. I’d be such a big fan of the podcast.”

“That would be fun, even with all the murders,” he comments.

It’s easy to settle your nerves in front of a camera, but you’re itching to answer the last few questions. “Is there a favorite line reading you've loved?”

This one comes to you quickly. “Ah, it has to be Angela Bassett “I am Queen of the most powerful nation in the world! And my entire family is gone! Have I not given everything?””

Reece places a hand over his heart. “Hits too close to home. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Of course, Reece. Have a nice evening.”

He shakes your hand but holds it for a second. “Sorry, one last question, please.”

You decided to indulge him and gesture for him to go on.

“One last question then, favorite spiderman?”

You fake a gasp. “Stop, how dare you. I love all three of them. All are so special.” You mean honestly. “But Andrew holds a special place in my heart. He’s my best friend. Sorry to Tommy and Tobie.” Andrew is someone you met during a film festival, and you instantly clicked. He’s that older brother you always wanted, and now he’s someone you go to when you need support when the industry can get too much.

“Well, Y/N have a wonderful evening,” Reece bids you goodbye, and off you go.

“You too, Reece.” You mean it genuinely. “It was a pleasure speaking with you.”

Maeve assures you it went well and gestures for you to keep walking. You stop for more photos and are on your way to your next interview when you run into Jennifer Coolidge. She wraps you in a big hug and poses with you for everyone screaming her name. She sends you off with a kiss and a promise to see you inside. Tyler James William is someone you approach because you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t. You stand in the middle of the carpet, gushing over each other, and it isn’t until you’re both being ushered away that he promises to get in touch soon.

Jean Smart, your co-star in Hacks screams as soon as she sees you. Jean is your favorite person, and you’re quick to let her sweep you away. It’s easy to get lost in conversation, forgetting where you are, and she promises to see you inside soon, seeing as you’re seatmates. It’s an honor to be nominated for such a prestigious award, but you already know there is no award going home with you today, and that’s okay because your time will come.

You’re guided to one final interview with the one and only Amelia Dimz.

“Hi, Y/N, how are you?” She greets with a red carpet smile.

“Good, thank you very much.” You take a second to look her over, and you know you have to say something because she looks absolutely smashing. “Can I say you look stunning?”

Amelia laughs, slapping you, lighting with her cards. “Stop, or I’m going to have you take me on a date.”

You shrug, “I would not mind at all.”

“I have invited you to eat some chicken with me,” she tells you accusingly.

“Have received no such news. We’ll be in touch,” you promise, making sure to give Maeve a look to look into the chicken shop date for when you’re in London in February.

“Alright, alright. What’s your dating advice for me?” Amelia asks, patiently waiting for your response.

You think it over for a second, look at the camera, then back to Amelia. “Date me,” you say with a smile.

“Oh,” Amelia blushes, losing her train of thought for a second.

“Back to your question,” you tell her, giving her a minute to compose herself. “Put yourself first. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

She thanked you, her cheeks flushed but continued on. “Do you have any fashion advice?”

You rock on your heels and shrug. “Be comfortable.”

“Right, thank you, Y/N.” She leans in to give you a hug. “One final question,” she whispers. She is giving you the option to say no.

You know what she wants to ask and fuck it, you find yourself nodding yes. Bee has always said she loves a good headline on nights like tonight.

“You were seen out getting coffee recently with a certain English man,” Amelia is careful not to mention his name, but everyone will be able to connect the dots rather quickly. “Do you consider coffee with someone a date, or is that too casual?”

You can answer this one of two ways. There is Bee’s answer where you’re vague, or you can do it your way and create a bit of fun for fans at home and yourself.

“Depends on the company, absolutely.” You share, you’re biting back a grin making sure not to look over at Maeve, who looks ready to drag you away. “If it’s an English man asking you for coffee, it’s absolutely a date.”

Amelia turns to the camera and shakes her head laughing. “Well, there you have it.”

You flash the camera with a big smile and wink. “Bye, Amelia, hope to see you soon.”

You breeze through the last bit of the carpet, waving at the final cameras as you reach the safe space where your every move is no longer being followed. Maeve grumbles how Bee will have both your heads, but you’re having too much fun to care. Maeve hands you your phone, telling you it has been buzzing for a while.

You ignore messages from Bee and your sister and go straight to the newest message from your contact, Harry, with a purple heart. He thought you should give him a fake name, but you’d never because you know your phone's privacy is entirely yours.

Harry 💜

You look gorgeous.

I’m really jealous of everyone seeing you in that dress in person.

I hope you enjoy your night.

I know you must be getting date offers left and right please reject them.

I’ll be in LA in a few weeks.

Dinner and wine at my house when I arrive?

You laugh because Harry is smooth. After dinner at his house, you both decided to take back a bit of control in your life and would continue to see each other behind closed doors. This was just Harry confirming the plans you had set in London.

Y/N

It’s a date.

Not all secrets were bad, especially ones that were as pretty as Harry.

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