#Without knowing how or when or from where | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daddyjackfrost · 3 days ago

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Wanna Be Yours ; B. Barnes

Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought

Pairing: Avengers!Bucky x Avengers!F!Reader

Synopsis: Bucky’s been in love with you for longer than he’ll admit. But when a moment of clarity after a misunderstanding on his part cracks the tension between you wide open, he finally gets to show you just how much.

Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor hurt/comfort, bucky yearns like a mf, brief misunderstandings, insecurities, friends to lovers, ft. the avengers & friends, sam being sam, minor jealousy, pining, SMUT, minor romanogers (not sorry), cursing, Bucky’s sort of shy and awkward (at first), praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, MDNI, pussy pronouns, mutual obsession, kissing, switch energy, soft!dom bucky, begging, gentle possessiveness, religious imagery, oral (f and m rec), riding / WC: 7.7k

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! This was meant to be short…a drabble…but then I started to listen to Hozier and well…yeah. Title inspired by I wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys.

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever met someone like you.

He’s told himself it’s because you’re kind. Because you don’t flinch when he walks into a room, because you laugh at all his dry one-liners, because you bring him coffee without asking and leave notes that say “don’t forget to eat after training” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But, the truth is, he likes the way you exist. The way you fill space with warmth without trying. The way you somehow make him feel like he’s part of this new world, that he can exist here too.

With you.

He doesn’t know when it started—not exactly.

There wasn’t a single moment where the light shifted or the heavens parted. No slow-motion entrance, no dramatic realization.

But somewhere between your half-sleepy smiles over morning coffee and the way you laugh at his dry sarcasm like it’s the best thing you've heard all day—he fell.

Hard.

Somewhere between the early morning training sessions and the late night chamomile tea, his heart grew, both in size and fonder, and it became an innate feeling—the love—the want. It became embedded into his bones, in his DNA. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was always going to happen. Maybe it was inevitable. Because you’re the only one who never looked at him like a ghost of something broken, like he still had to search far and wide for the man he became. You don’t flinch when his fingers twitch or treat him like a ticking time bomb, or a relic, or worse—an object of pity.

You treat him like he’s just…Bucky. Someone who deserves kindness, a friend.

You bring his favourite kind of bagels without asking. You mock his grumpy scowls and tease him into smiling. You sit with him in silence and don’t try to fix the quiet. You seem to enjoy it with him—understand.

You once fell asleep with your head on his shoulder during a movie night, and he thought he might die from how carefully he held his breath, afraid of waking you.

He wants you—so badly it aches.

But he’s never said anything, never dared. Not when being your friend already feels like more than he deserves.

He gets to see you every day and that should be enough—it never is.

Tony announces it during a briefing: an Avengers Gala. Hosted at the Tower. Black tie. Heroes and allies from across the globe. Sponsored by Stark Industries and curated, of course, by Pepper.

Bucky half listens, frowning, until you perk up beside him.

“Oh, fancy,” you murmur, nuding him with your elbow, capturing his attention, though it had always been yours. “You gonna wear a tux, Barnes?”

He smirks faintly, something easy and familiar and yours. “Only if it comes with a hidden holster.”

You snort, hiding part of your face when Pepper’s eyes meet yours. “As if you need a hidden holster to hide a gun. Don’t you have three somewhere on you right now?”

Bucky shrugs, lips lifting into something brighter, simply because you’re right. “Guilty.”

You roll your eyes and blink innocently at Pepper, pretending that your attention isn’t on the man beside you. Bucky’s eyes soften into something stupid and he leans further back in the chair, pressing his arm against yours.

You giggle and lean in close to whisper something snarky about Tony’s need for dramatics, and he feels your breath against his neck—he swallows hard.

You turn back to the front, eyes falling on the screen, none the wiser.

Bucky spends the rest of the meeting barely hearing a thing.

Later that night, after you bid him goodnight, he lingers by the window of the communal lounge, half-lost in thought as city lights blur beyond the glass.

Steve finds him like that—arms folded, jaw tense, quiet in the way only Steve knows means he’s thinking about you—something beautiful yet horrid about himself.

“You should ask her,” Steve says softly.

Bucky exhales, having heard Steve’s light footsteps and seeing his reflection. “It’s not that simple.”

Steve shrugs, stepping up beside him. “Sure it is. You like her. She likes you.”

Bucky exhales louder. “She doesn’t—”

“She does,” Steve interrupts, nuding Bucky with his shoulder. “Trust me.”

Bucky huffs a tired laugh. He would trust Steve with his life—with more, but not with this. Not when his blonde friend couldn’t see Natasha’s feelings for him. “And what? Ruin this? She’s the best thing in my life. If she says no—”

“She won’t.” Steve gives him a look, one Bucky thinks he wore many, many years ago, back when he would Steve in alleys. “You think she touches everyone like that? Laughs like that?”

Steve crosses his arms, raises an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think she looks at anyone else the way she looks at you?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, just shoves Steve back with his shoulder lightly. Part of him wants to believe it, like there’s a world where you like him—love him, the way he loves you. Wants to care for him the way he wants to care for you.

But, the other part of him, the one that often wins, is scared—scared he’ll ruin everything, that he might see the flicker of pity in your eyes. The last thing Bucky wants is for you to think that his feelings for you, his honest adoration for you comes from anything except his care, his heart.

He loves you, but you were his friend first. He’ll always be your friend, even if he aches for more.

Steve lays a hand on his shoulder, something warm and solid. “Even if I’m wrong, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Buck. A few weeks, and it’ll be past you.”

Bucky hums like he agrees, but he’s not sure. He doesn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, or feel like you aren’t safe with him. Because he cares—so much. He’d rather live in silence and the brief touches then make you feel like your friendship isn’t enough for him.

Because, God, it is. It’s everything to him, a root in his heart that’s grown into branches and leaves.

Still, that night, he lies awake for hours, hand resting over his chest, heart thudding too loudly.

I’ll ask her tomorrow, he thinks. I will.

He almost does.

He finds you in the lounge the next evening, curled up with a book and a half-drunk coffee. You’re wearing one of those soft hoodies that always make you look impossibly cozy, socked feet tucked beneath you.

He steels himself, breathes in deeply—thinks back to the lines he said over and over to himself in his bedroom.

Then he hears it.

“I don’t even have a date for this thing,” you’re saying to Sam, voice light and faintly exasperated. There’s something there, something familiar, something he hears in his own voice sometimes when he talks about you but he can’t register it, can’t pinpoint it.

You shut your book with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly? I’m kinda glad. No one to impress, no pressure.”

Sam snorts and swats your feet away, pretending to shuffle back when you inch your toes closer to him. “I’ll take you.”

You raise a brow, legs stretched weirdly. “You?”

Sam grins, lets out a quiet laugh. “No need to look so surprised.” He shrugs, “Come on. Low expectations. No romance. Plus, I look good in a suit.”

You tilt your head, hum thoughtfully. Sam spreads his arm, putting himself on display. “Deal. You’re my date.”

You clink mugs, laughing.

Bucky stops in his tracks, his stomach twists and he can’t breathe.

He doesn’t hear the teasing edge, he hasn’t been good at noticing these things. He doesn’t see the subtle glance Sam casts toward the hallway, like he knows Bucky’s there. Doesn’t realize this is Sam’s own way of pushing him.

No—he just hears the words. You’re my date.

And something in him goes quiet.

It’s quick, the way everything inside him shuts down and he almost sags against the wall. Like the wind has been knocked out of him. He’s breathing hard—but at least he’s breathing. He shuffles back, quietly, hiding in the shadows.

He’s fine—he would have been fine if you had said no to him, if you had told him that someone else had asked—but Sam?

Momentarily, very briefly, something akin to anger—jealousy—flickers in his chest, loud and bright and instantly, it's put out, dies quickly until the ashes spread across his chest. He hears you laugh, soft, carefree, and his heart settles.

He’d do anything for you, for that laugh.

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, the jealousy he’d never admit to and the question on his lips and turns, walks down the hall and tosses the single rose into the trash.

He gets you flowers often, whatever he passes by on his runs that he thinks you would like, might brighten your floor, but he’s never gotten you roses.

It was a line he drew for himself.

He glances at the folded rose and sighs.

The line gets thicker.

The gala is a blur of silk and glass and lights that glitter like champagne bubbles.

Every year, Bucky swears that Pepper has outdone herself. And every year, she proves that she’ll always have more up her sleeve.

Bucky wears a classic black tux. His hairs slicked back, neat, and beard trimmed. He looks sharp, clean, polished. But inside, he feels like he’s unraveling.

Because you walk in and you look—

“Jesus,” he breathes, barely audible.

You’re radiant, glowing and beautiful—perfect. Your dress, a deep purple, hugs you in all the right places, glittering like stardust with every step. He tries to think back to you mentioning the dress at all, but all he can remember is the way you winked at him.

Your smile could bring a man to his knees.

He knows, because he’s halfway there, legs weak. And all he can think is, I was going to ask her.

I could have had this.

He looks away, blinks a few times to remind himself of his place. If he’s caught gawking at you—well, he knows what would happen.

He keeps to the shadows most of the night, nursing a glass of whiskey, tucked into the quiet corners. He mingles briefly, making sure to be polite, to be seen. Tony put a lot of effort into this, made sure that it curated to all of them, the least he could do was make his appreciation shown.

But you? You’re a firecracker on the floor, bright and loud and so fucking radiant. Laughing, twirling, dancing with Clint, with Nat, with whoever grabs your hand. You’re drinking and smiling—magnetic.

But your eyes—they’re fleeting, looking for something, someone.

Bucky can’t look away.

Until you find him.

You corner him outside on the balcony, where the air is cool and quieter and he can breathe.

“There you are,” you say, hand on your hip. “Avoiding me?”

Bucky’s throat goes dry. He’s leaning on the railing and tilts his head towards you, resisting the urge to turn completely. “No. Just needed some air.”

He can’t look at you—not your eyes or your dress or your smile. It’s blinding, too much. He just needs one day—one day and he’ll be fine, one day and his heart will settle, make peace with you and Sam.

You take a step closer, head tilting in that curious way that always makes his heart soften.

His eyes flick up. There it is—that sharp breath he always seems to take when he sees you.

You smile at him softly, lay your hands on the railing next to his. “You gonna ask me to dance”

He blinks. Then, slowly, pushes himself off the railing, turns his whole body to face you properly. The muscles in his face smooth out and his shoulders drop, relaxed.

“I should be the one asking you that,” he murmurs, so softly, delicate.

Your grin tugs wider. “So ask me, then.”

He swallows, eyes flickering between yours before he offers his hand. “May I have this dance?”

You take it.

The music is warm, old jazz bleeding through the speakers as bucky pulls you onto the floor. His hand is strong at your back, the other gentle at your waist. He moves like he was born to this—measured, smooth, leading you without hesitation.

You’re laughing, a bright smile on your lips as your eyes shine. You spin, twirl, your head tilts back as he draws you close.

“You’re good at this,” you breathe.

Bucky leans in, lips near your temple. “Used to be the only way to get a girl to notice me.”

You turn into him, mouth brushing his ear. “Now I know you’re lying. Steve told me you were quite the heartthrob.”

Bucky laughs, low and deep. Your eyes flutter shut and you hold onto him tighter. He’s so warm, so solid under your hands. Your eyes meet his and you notice that the smile on his lips—while small—is the most genuine one you’ve seen on him tonight.

“Not anymore,” Bucky says, quietly, his body guiding yours.

“Debatable,” you answer, giving him an exaggerated glance over. “You clean up nice, Buck.”

He tilts his head towards you, almost bashful. You breathe out a quiet laugh, soft, but it awakens something in him and he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

Blue—electric, so deep and filled with so many unspoken things.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, earnest and soft.

People have been complimenting you all night, but you only really cared about one—his. His words settle something in your chest and you smile, gloss shining under the glittering lights.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

He swallows, steps in line with you. His eyes glance around the room once and he frowns.

“Where’s your date?”

You raise an eyebrow and scrunch up your nose in thought. “Date? What Date—Oh. You mean Sam?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he nods, looks away when your eyes search his. You find what you’re looking for and duck your head to hide your smile, biting your bottom lip.

You lift your head and meet his stormy eyes, a gentle smile on your lips. “He wasn’t really my date. We just came together. He immediately disappeared.”

You look away, search the crowd until your eyes land on Sam’s familiar figure and the beautiful woman he’s flirting with. You laugh quietly, shake your head at his antics.

Bucky’s staring at you like you’ve just stabbed him in the back.

You both sway in time, the world shrinking until it’s only the two of you.

You lean in, pressing close. “I wish you’d asked me to the gala.”

Your words were nothing more than a whisper, quiet, melting into the music and noise, but they were honest. As soon as Tony had introduced the idea, your heart had been set on going with Bucky. He looked at you once during the debrief—like he was trying to imprint you into memory—it gave you hope, something light and soft igniting in your chest.

But then hours passed, a day. It was approaching fast and you had slowly made peace with the idea that he wasn’t going to ask, that he didn’t see you the way you saw him—whole, permanent—a part of your DNA.

So, when Sam asked, you said yes. Simply to have someone there, an arm to hold.

But you had looked for Bucky all night, saved the best dance for him.

It didn’t stop the want, though—it burned behind your fingertips, deep behind your eyes. So you let it slip, the quiet admission. “I was hoping you would.”

His heart stops and he tenses—eyes wide.

Before he can respond, someone whisks you away—Steve, grinning as he twirls you into the next number.

Bucky stands there, stunned. He knows how he looks—gaping, eyes wide, heart stuttering wildly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter look over, concerned. He waves away the concern and walks off the dance floor, finds a seat he knows is taken, and readjusts his tie.

Everything inside him feels tight, like his own fist is closing around his organs. Your words ring in his ears and he has half a mind to pour some water in his ear, just to drown out your voice.

He watches as you dance with Steve, bright smile on both your faces. A drink appears in front of his face and he grabs it, mutters a quick thanks and tips it back, enjoying the burn, if just to get his mind off what he could have had if he had just not been a coward.

Sam finds him a few moments later, sipping something sweet with a mint leaf. He takes the seat next to him, leans back.

“You looked good out there,” he says, nodding toward the dance floor.

Bucky glances down at his empty glass before he places it on the table. “Why’d you ask her?”

Sam shrugs, his smirk softening. “Figured if I make you jealous enough, you’d finally make a move.”

Bucky tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. Of course, he thinks. It was such a Sam idea, so childish and filmy. Suddenly, Peter’s look makes more sense. He huffs, throws him an annoyed look.

“I was going to. I had it all planned out. Then, well…”

Sam slowly nods, smile twisting into understanding.

“She said yes to me.”

“Yeah.” Bucky doesn’t mean to sound so defeated, he just can’t help it. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not even a big deal. He knows—now—that Sam has no romantic interest in you and you didn’t seem to have any for him.

But, like most things of the heart often do, it felt like the end of the world. Like his life would have been so much better if he had walked in with you, his arm supporting you—his cologne surrounding you.

“Why didn’t you ask her sooner, Buck?” Sam’s voice is quiet as he leans in a bit, wanting to hear the answer over the music.

Bucky almost rolls his eyes but catches himself at the last second. Instead, he twists his fingers together. “We only found out about the gala the day before and it took me hours to build up the nerve.”

Bucky swallows and Sam tries to hide his amusement. He loves seeing ex-assassin Bucky Barnes being bashful, almost shy.

“I like her,” Bucky admits, quietly, like it wasn’t written on his heart and on his fucking sleeve. “So much. I didn’t wanna rush and ruin everything.”

Sam goes quiet, smiling softly. “Is that why I saw a rose in the trash?”

Normally, Bucky would have made some stupid comment about Sam going through the trash, but all he could do was sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose.

Sam’s eyes flick up, behind Bucky, and his smile widens into a grin, eyes bright with something akin to pride and amusement.

“Well, seems like you have a lot going on,” Sam offers, quickly. He pushes himself up, grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands them to Bucky. Bucky stares up at him, half confused and half annoyed—a look Sam is quite familiar with.

“Hi, Y/n.” Sam wiggles his fingers at you and briskly walks away, gets lost in the crowd, leaving Bucky with his spine straight.

Before Bucky can turn around, or book it across the dance floor, you walk from behind him to Sam’s chair and take a seat. Bucky’s staring at you like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide. A mixture of warmth and love, soft and heavy, fills your body and your lips curl into something secretive.

You gently take the glass from his hands and stare at him, admiring. You let the silence settle between you both, build into something welcoming before you lightly clink your glasses together.

While you bring it to your lips, Bucky simply sets it beside him, staring at you like you might disappear any second and he rather just take you in.

Eyes on him, you place the glass next to his, heart warm and butterflies in your stomach as you slowly stand. Everything inside you almost melts when he instinctively leans closer, hand hovering in case you need him.

You step forward, lean in close, your breath brushing Bucky’s ear. “Can I have one last dance?”

He doesn’t even think, just nods. He stands up slowly, lets you lead him back onto the floor.

This time, the music is slow, intimate. No twirls, just you, in his arms, your cheek against his chest. The hand on his shoulder now rests at his neck and his fingers curl around your waist, his thumb brushing skin.

He feels your lips near his ear, almost collapsing from the sensation alone.

“Do you like me, Bucky?”

Bucky’s throat bobs and his fingers curl into your skin tighter, almost like he could will the answer out of his body. Over your shoulder, Steve and Sam both gave him a thumb’s up before turning.

Bucky clears his throat and pulls you closer. Your eyes lift to meet his and he slowly nods.

“Yes,” he tells you, quietly. “I do.”

It wasn’t just like—it was love. He knew it was. He hadn’t felt it before but he knew it, like a stranger you saw often enough to recognize. But he didn’t want to scare you, push you away.

Bucky was familiar with your smiles, the way you brighten when you’re happy, but it was nothing compared to now—nothing compares to the way you were glowing as he sways you, the way your eyes shine and your smile—oh, your smile, it was so soft and so loving.

“Me too,” you tell him, just as quiet. “So much.”

His heart slams and a shiver runs up his spine. He blinks at you slowly, lips parting. You lean back, eyes shining, wanting to take this moment in its entirety.

Inside, everything is warm and burning. The way he holds you, like you’re something precious has your mind reeling and all you want is to hold him, for him to touch you and smile at you the way you ache for.

Then—he smiles at you.

It’s beautiful. Heart-breaking.

Utterly devastating as it lights up his face, smooths out all the crevices and worries in his face.

He pulls you flush against him and you giggle, something soft and airy but it lights Bucky up in a way you’ve never seen before. Your fingers brush the hair at his nape, nails scratching his skin.

You lean forward, press your lips to the edge of his jaw. His eyes flutter shut and a deep rumble escapes him. The fire in your belly burns brighter and the need inside you cracks alive and all you see is him.

“Take me home.”

You barely recognize your own voice. The want—something you keep hidden, locked away for months or years—you hardly remember—has been pulled to the surface.

Bucky stares, breathless. He doesn’t even know if the music is still playing because all he can see and hear is you. Everything else fades to the back and his neck is warm but he’s so happy—confused, but all warm inside.

Your smile turns slightly wicked, the slight alcohol and confidence burns through your veins.

“You gonna make me beg, Buck?”

Oh, he’s in for it.

His voice is low, a rasp, barely hanging on. “Ask nicely.”

You laugh, bright and beautiful.

The Bucky you know, quiet, warm, confident, is staring back at you with a small smile, heat and want and love dancing in his eyes.

“Please, Bucky,” you whisper, teasing. “Take me home.”

He takes your hand and leads you out, without looking back.

The elevator doors close with a soft chime.

The silence settles—electric.

You’re still holding his hand—the metal one, cool and solid, familiar.

Bucky stands opposite you—broad, strong, flushed from dancing. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run ten blocks, suit tight across his shoulders. You lean back against the mirrored wall, flushed, breathless, heart still pounding from that last dance.

Your eyes lift to meet his.

He’s on you in a second, hands gripping your waist, mouth slanting over yours with desperate, open-mouthed hunger. It’s not gentle, or soft. It’s heat and need and years of unspoken want bursting at the seams.

He kisses like a man who’s been starving for you, like he’s trying to memorize your mouth with his tongue. You moan into him. His tongue slides against yours, and he groans like he’s tasting something forbidden.

He kisses with desperation. With reverence. With a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat as your hips slot against his.

You break the kiss with a gasp. “Bucky—”

He dips to your throat, tongue licking into the space just below your jaw.

“Christ,” he breathes. “You’re killin’ me.”

“Good,” you pant, fingers curling into his jacket. “You deserve it. For making me wait this long.”

Your hands fist in the lapels of his tux, pulling him closer, closer, like there still isn’t enough of him touching you. He groans into your mouth when you bite his lips, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

“Fuck—” he breathes. “You taste so good.”

You gasp as his metal hand slides beneath your dress, gripping your thigh and hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around his waist, dress riding high, and thank God for the slit.

“Been wantin’ to do this for so fucking long,” he rasps against your throat, kissing, biting, sucking bruisses into your skin. “Didn’t think I could—didn’t think you’d want me—”

“I do,” you whisper, dazed, fingers in his hair. “God, Bucky, I want you—”

“And you’ll have me,” he kisses your neck, the skin below your ear. “You said please,” he pants, “and I listen when you ask.”

The elevator dings. The doors slide open.

He doesn’t put you down.

Your back hits the wall just outside the elevator, on his floor. He pins you there with his body, mouths at your neck like he hasn’t enough, like he’s been starving.

You drag your fingers through his hair, tugging, pressing your chest flush against his.

“I wanted you,” you whisper, losing your mind. “All night. I kept looking for you—”

His voice is hoarse, Brooklyn accent thick and strong. “I was tryin’ not to fuckin’ look at you. Drove me insane.”

You arch into him, gasping when his hips grind into yours. You can feel the thick press of him through his slacks, rubbing against the soaked lace between your legs.

“Fuck,” you moan. “Bucky—please—”

“I got you, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone as he moves through the space blindly, holding you tight against him. “You’re mine tonight and forever. All fuckin’ mine.”

He lays you down on the couch gently, like you’re something sacred and precious—and you are.

Then he sinks to his knees in front of you, hands warm and pressing into your thighs as he drags them down your legs, eyes aflame.

You barely have time to blink before he’s pulling your legs over his shoulders and pushing your dress higher, higher, until your thighs are bare and open and trembling.

He stares at your panties—dark with wetness, delicate against your skin. His thumb rubs circles into your skin, like he can’t help but touch you, but remind you that you’re safe—loved.

“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs, thumb stroking the damp lace. You gasp, legs trying to shut. His hands, big and warm, hold you open with little force, like he can command your body by sheer will. “Can I take ‘em off?”

You nod, breathlessly. All your dreams, fantasies you’d had but kept to yourself, were coming true. “Yes, Yes—please—”

Bucky slides them down your legs, kissing your skin as he goes. His heart is about to jump out of his fucking chest and go barraling down the tower. He can hardly believe he’s on his knees—nose almost pressing into your cunt—can barely remember the gala itself.

He spreads your thighs wide and groans—low and deep, almost painful.

Bucky tried to be a gentleman, tried to be the good boy his mama raised, but some nights, when his hand wrapped around his cock, all he could picture was your pussy—how soft and beautiful it must have looked, how he’d make her drip for him.

The real thing didn’t even measure. He can’t believe he thought his imagination could do her any justice.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, eyes wide and shiny. “You’re so wet. Fuckin’ dripping, baby.”

“Only for you,” you whisper.

There’s something warm in your voice that makes him look up, into your hooded eyes. You smile, nothing but love and promise on your face. It’s like you're telling him that you know—know he’s thought about you, that you want him as bad as he wants you, that you want everything he has to offer.

His eyes are blazing, chest heaving.

The curve of his smile presses against your skin as he presses soft, open mouthed kisses to your thighs. You barely notice his trailing hand until it lands on your ass and he squeezes hard. You yelp at the feeling and jerk forward, his other hand steadies you easily. There’s laughter in your breath as you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut.

Bucky licks a harsh stripe of your core, holds you down as you writhe under him. He presses his face closer to your cunt as his tongue licks and suckles, laps up all your juices. The sweetness, the unique taste of you has his eyes rolling back and he knows he’ll never taste anything that would compare.

The sounds of slurping and his lips smacking around your clit make your legs shake as you try to breathe. He tilts his head further, pushes his tongue deeper within you and you moan, broken and obscene.

He curls the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost scream, tears falling down your cheeks at the pleasure.

“Yes, yes,” you chant, words falling from your lips like praise.

Lifting his eyes, Bucky hums at the sight of your pleasure, the way the tears fall prettily down your cheeks. One of his hands slides up your body, just to feel you, but before he could bring it back towards him, you grab it with a tight grip and settle it around your throat.

He groans into your folds and your legs shake. Needing more, you begin moving your hips feverishly against his face, grinding down on him. Bucky moans into cunt as you smear all your slick over his face, his chin dripping with drool and arousal.

“Bucky—oh my god—fuck—”

He grunts, and the sound vibrates through you.

“Could do this forever,” he pants.

“You taste so good—so sweet—gonna make you cum on my fuckin’ tongue—”

Your sweet scent and taste overwhelm his mind and he begins losing it, ruts against the edge of the sofa like a schoolboy, his lips latch onto your clit as he pushes himself closer to your dripping cunt, nose rubbing deliciously against your bud as he slides his tongue in and out of you.

“James,” you cry, eyes barely open as you watch him suck you dry. The hand on your throat slides down to yours and he threads your fingers together and squeezes once, twice, thrice, before your legs pulse erratically and your walls clench around his tongue.

“I’m so close, baby.”

Bucky’s brain short-circuits at your words, at the term, and he spreads you open wider and licks at you harsher, licking long strips as he teases your clit with his nose.

“Cum, sweetheart,” he edges, lulling you closer to your orgasm. He needs this as bad as you do. “Cum all over my face, Y/n.”

His words are enough to break you and your vision blurs as you moan, your stomach coils and recoils as your orgasm washes over you like cold water, soaks him completely.

Bucky continues to push his tongue into your gushing pussy, lips coaxing all your juices down his throat, making you throw your head back as you arch into him. He licks and sucks harshly, even as you mumble incoherently about it being too much.

When he pulls away, face covered in your slick, he smiles. Your whole body trembles and you lift your head just in time to watch him coat his fingers in your juices before he plops his fingers into his mouth and sucks.

He looks so pleased, so completely, irrevocably and ardently in love with you.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, pussy fluttering. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

He grins—messy, flushed, lips shiny with your cum.

“You think I wasn’t dreamin’ about this? Every fuckin’ night?”

He lifts you easily, arms secure beneath your thighs and back. You melt into him, still dazed, as he carries you into his bedroom.

Just before he lays you down, you grip his shoulders.

“Wait,” you murmur, breath hitching. “Let me.” You unwrap your legs from around him but his hold on you stays tight, keeping you close.

You push him until he stumbles back, landing on the bed with a grunt. He stares up at you, dazed.

You climb into his lap, straddling him. Your dress is in bunches, and you remind yourself to apologize to Nat…she probably won’t want it back.

Bucky tries to touch your hips, tries to breathe, but you grab his wrists and pin them to the bed. You’ve been in this position before, but it was in the training room, briefly, before he flipped you over. Now you know why.

His breath catches when you press down on him, your wet cunt dragging across his hard bulge.

“Hands to yourself,” your words are soft, teasing.

He groans, tips his head back. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart—”

You push yourself off him and start to stop. The straps of your dress slide off your shoulders slowly. You shimmy it down your body, piece by piece, letting it fall until you’re completely naked in front of him.

He stares like you’ve knocked the breath from his lungs, like he’d follow you anywhere—take a bite of the apple simply because you looked at him.

He’s been cast from heaven but he doesn’t mind, because Eden stands in front of him, beautiful and soft and looking at him—like he’s worthy of it.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes out, groanign at the sight of you.

Grinning, you twirl for him. There’s scars on your skin, burns and patchy stitching, but you don’t care. You never really have and with the way Bucky’s looking at you, like you’re his salvation, you can’t help but move closer.

“You like?”

It’s a bizarre question, because you can see how much he likes it—how beautiful you are to him. But, still, because he’s always been sweet, he smiles something soft and nods, fingers twitching like he might reach out.

“You’re beautiful. Absolutely stunnin’.”

You giggle and slide onto his lap again, kiss his throat and then move lower, kissing down his chest as you begin undoing his shirt. Bucky’s hands stay at his side, curling into fists because all he wants to do is touch.

You pull off his tie, undo the buttons slowly—torturously—and push the fabric open to reveal his bare chest. You’ve seen him shirtless a few times but every time, it knocks the wind out of you.

Broad, defined, and hard.

You kiss every inch.

His abs flex as you drag your mouth down to his waistband, slowly getting to your knees. You undo his belt and pants slowly, hand grazing his cock through the fabric.

He’s so hard—big—straining, leaking.

You free him and his cock slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy and beautiful. It’s everything you thought it would be and more.

“My God,” you almost whine. “No wonder you’ve got such an ego.”

He laughs—then gasps when you kiss his inner thigh—close, so close.

You kiss and bite his skin, etching your name into his skin so the ghost of your lips can live on. Once you’re satisfied, you lift your eyes and almost gasp at the way his cock was leaking, his tip red and veiny. Mesmerized, you lean forward and shift your eyes to his, finding nothing but darkness staring back at you. His blue eyes, the ones you love so dearly, have been replaced by something predatory, almost possessive.

Still, you could see the softness threaded into the crinkles of his skin, the way he refuses to move, to touch you, until you make it clear that you want him to. You rest your cheek against his inner thigh and smile up at him.

“I like you, Bucky.” Your voice is low, a mere brush of air against his skin, but he hears you. You need him to know—that this is more than lust for you, that it’s for life. “You gonna let me show you how much?”

Not trusting his voice, he simply nods. You blink up at him, unmoving. Swallowing the lust that claws in his throat, Bucky tilts his head forward. “Yes,” he breathes out. “Whatever you want.”

Bucky barely had enough time to cry out your name before you lick a long stripe from his base to his tip, circling your tongue around him once before you repeat the action once more. All his empty words die in his throat as he releases a shaky breath at the feeling of your warm mouth taking him in completely.

Pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, you taste the salty taste of his sweat and precum. It takes over your senses and you shift forward, circling your tongue around his tip. Pooling some spit on your tongue, you let it drip down his length as you wrap your hand around him, pressing soft kisses to his tip.

Bucky groans, breathing heavier as his legs spasm around you. He moans out your name and you look up to the sight of his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back. His chest rises rapidly and he looks so beautiful, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his forehead, hair brushed back and unruly.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, his voice cracking as you push him further down your throat, ignoring the burn because he tastes addictive, sounds sweeter than anything you’ve ever heard.

You hollow your cheeks, spit dripping down your throat as you work him with your mouth, humming when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—baby—” His voice breaks, raspy. “That’s it—that’s so fuckin’ good—” His thighs tremble and his abs clench.

He twitches in your mouth and you push him deeper, practically begging. Before he can cum—

He pulls you off, voice and body wrecked. He pants, cock standing straight and leaking and harder than it’s ever been.

“Wanna cum inside you,” he whimpers, pulling you off the floor and into his arms. “Wanna feel you, Y/n, baby—please.”

You’re nodding, still reeling from the emptiness in your mouth. You straddle him again and he surges forward, captures your lips in a hot, messy kiss. It’s all teeth and lips and his hands are everywhere on you.

As he kisses you senseless, you reach between your legs and guide him to your entrance, hissing into his mouth when his tip drags between your folds.

The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls make you both moan in unison, your body falling limp into his as you sink down completely, the base of his cock hitting your core. The stretch feels amazing, so good, and all you can do is tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob.

His hands grip your hips, jaw slack. He can’t breathe—can barely think with your pussy wrapped around him, warm and tight and so perfect.

“Fuck—you feel so fuckin’ good—so tight—”

He nips at your jaw, tongue dragging across your skin as you roll your hips, bracing your hands on his chest. You feel so full, leaking all over his lap. You press a soft kiss to his neck and his hips jerks upwards, filling you to the brim, his tip reaching parts of you only he could.

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he interrupts you by crashing his lips against yours, swallowing your gasp greedily. His lips move roughly against yours, so perfect, as one of his hands slide down to your ass, gripping tightly as he moves his hips against yours.

He kisses down your body, pressing wet, open mouth kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, tongue brushing against your nipples.

You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pull and scrape his hair and the nape of his neck.

He twitches inside you, against your sensitive walls and you almost cry out. As if sensing your distraught, one of his hands grip your waist protectively and he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head.

You slowly move, sliding him in and out of your pussy. His hold on your waist helps lift you up and down, guiding you to a delicious pace. His hands slide from your waist to your ass, resting there.

Bucky throws his head back when you begin jumping on his cock, his balls slapping against your cunt. You grip his shoulders and he can feel his skin break as you dig your nails into his skin, the creak of his bed loud as the room fills with your mixed moans.

You slow down, press down on his length to catch your breath. Grinding on his laps, his cock brushes against all your sweet spots, stretches your walls with a delicious burn. You wiggle around on his cock and Bucky’s eyes fly open and he stares at you with a heavy gaze.

He sits up straighter, wraps his arms around you and kisses your throat. “Can’t—fuck.” He thrusts his hips up, almost animally. “Gotta have you—”

Holding you close, he flips you onto your back and thrusts.

You gasp as he drives into you, pressing you into the mattress. He grips onto your hips and pulls you towards him, flush against his pelvis as he rocks his hips forward, fucking his cock into you.

Back arched, you moan when his hand travels to your throat and he holds you firmly beneath him, tilting your head backwards as he applies just the right amount of pressure to your jugular veins, making you lightheaded as he slides in and out of you at a bruising pace.

He smiles when you whimper, teeth grazing the side of your throat as he bites down, pressing your hips flush against his pelvis, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix, making you see stars.

His hand cups your jaw and his mouth claims yours, softer, despite the rough and messy pace of his hips. He kisses you slowly, traces his devotion into your gums.

“I love you,” he whispers, like he couldn’t help it. “I love you.”

Your heart stutters and you wrap your arms around his neck—tighter. You kiss his nose, the edge of his lips, before his lips.

“I love you too.”

It was inevitable, you think. You were always going to fall in love with him. There was so much to love.

He groans like he’s about to lose it, like your words have single-handedly freed him from all of his crimes and sins.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps.

“Inside,” you whine, begging. “Cum inside me—please, Buck.”

His hips stutter and he practically growls. “Fuck—my pretty girl. Gonna cum inside you,” he moans. “Fill you up—want it to stay—wanna make you—”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, his cock filling you to the brim.

You clench around him, vision going white as you gush around him and he shudders, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken moan of your name.

He thrusts through it, panting, pressing kisses to your cheek, your neck, your lips.

Once he’s sure he’s emptied himself completely inside you, he slows his pace and presses kisses all over your face, slowly halting the movement of his hips. You fall into a slump underneath him and he wraps his arms around you tightly, body pressing against yours, mumbling quietly to you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered after a moment.

You hum, eyes too tired and droopy to open. He rubs your stomach soothingly, tries to ground you before he moves. “Are you okay, Y/n? Do you need anything?”

Slowly, you shake your head and open your eyes. He’s staring back at you with so much love in his eyes, nothing but softness and concern bright in his eyes. He nudges his nose against yours and you smile, cracking his chest open.

“Just you,” you whisper, finger curling into his dog tags as you pull him in for a kiss.

He laughs into your mouth but kisses you with the same fervor you kiss him with. Gently, Bucky pulls out of your sopping cunt and you both bite back a hiss. He shifts his weight and maneuvers his body until you’re laying in his arms, your chest pressing against his, legs intertwined.

He knows he has to clean you up, get you a glass of water and maybe something to eat, but your eyes flutter shut and your hand rests on his heart so he puts it off, knows you need him more.

He runs his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he’s right here—for good. You snuggle into him, press a kiss to a scar above his heart.

He strokes your spine with trembling fingers, his heart full and warm and content.

“You’re mine now,” he whispers, voice rough and soft and questioning.

You lift your eyes to meet his and kiss his jaw. “Was always yours.”

He smiles—small, awestruck.

“You’re still my best friend,” he says, quietly. Like he needs you to know.

“And you’re mine,” you respond, just as quiet.

He presses his lips to your forehead, holds you tight against him.

It’s all he’s ever wanted—to be yours. In every way.

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spearofheaven · 3 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ BEHIND CLOSED DOORS — office worker! nanami kento

SUM. when your husband’s secretary acts just a little too friendly around him

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 1.1k+ words. x fem reader. semi-public sex. exhibitionism. cunnilingus. fingering. use of pet names.

"you need an appointment to see mr. nanami."

the receptionist spoke in a bored tone, barely looking up from her computer to give you a once-over. all the while she rolled her eyes and obnoxiously smacked her gum, like you were the one wasting her time.

but before you even had the chance to answer, the office door creaked open. "and i thought i mentioned that she could come in without needing one," nanami spoke up, appearing beside her desk.

the receptionist straightened up and busied herself with 'stacking' a couple papers on her desk. fluttering her lashes when she did look up at him, leaning forward just the slightest bit. "sorry, sir. you've just been soo busy and you did mention you didn't want anyone to bother you."

you honestly couldn't blame her, though. not when your husband had walked out of his office without his suit jacket on—the sleeves of his blue button down pushed up and showing off his watch. and well, the most important thing, his wedding ring. which she was blatantly trying to disregard.

"i'm aware. but you should know that doesn't apply to my wife, she's welcome to enter whenever she pleases," you could practically see her jaw clench as soon as he called you his wife, "please don't have me repeat myself. again."

"yes, sir. it won't happen again."

what she'd promised last time.

you stepped foot into the office, ceiling to floor windows decorating the space behind his desk. your heels clacked against the pristine floors, walking over to one of the wooden chairs.

"i brought you some lunch. saw that you forgot your bento at home and i wasn't sure if you brought any money to buy lunch," you spoke up, giving him a soft smile as you offered him the bento.

"thank you," he took the bento from you, setting aside, "but i think i'd like to have something different for lunch," kento cleared the space in front of him, patting on the wooden desk. a silent invitation. the skirt you had on rose up when you took a seat. the perfect offering if you'd ask nanami.

calloused hands ran down your legs, gently spreading them open. taking his time despite the thirty minute time constraint. "i'm sorry about her, by the way," nanami spoke up in a whisper, his lips pressing against your calf. "i don't know how much more obvious i need to be about being happily married."

his lips were reverent as he kissed up your leg, one of his hands holding the other in place. "like i'd ever want anyone but you, my love," he murmured, more so to himself, gently nibbling on your inner thigh. where only he'd be able to see them after. your legs spread apart almost instinctively, giving nanami the perfect view of the lace panties he adored so much.

and as much as he loved seeing you in them, the sight of you without them was much better. kento hooked one finger around the waistband, slowly removing them. sliding them inch by inch down your legs. "you didn't think we should hurry up, mr. nanami?" you questioned teasingly, pushing his hair back to take a look at his face.

"and why would we do that, mrs. nanami? i want to enjoy our time here," he pulled the underwear off, letting it fall to the floor. "well, you know you're sooo busy," you drawled, twirling a hair strand in between your fingers. he let out a small scoff, gently nipping at your leg in retaliation.

"never busy enough for you, you know that," kento’s voice came out muffled, licking a stripe up your cunt. he swirled his tongue around your clit before moving down, running the tip of his tongue down your folds. "never?" you mused, looking down at nanami. he wasn't paying that much attention to you anymore—rather, just your pussy.

"never," he muttered offhandedly, pushing a finger inside of you. your heels dug into his shoulder blades, your back arched when kento curled his fingers to hit your g-spot. and while it'd hurt at first—it was a pain that nanami was more than welcome to receive if it meant getting to lose himself in you.

your nails—paid for by yours truly—tugged on his hair, pulling him closer to your dripping cunt. kento clicked his tongue, looking up at you, "come on, use your words. tell me what you want and i'll give it to you."

"more, please," you responded almost immediately, your grip on his hair loosening up. just a bit. he replaced his tongue with two fingers, slowly getting past that initial resistance before pushing them in and out of you.

even with his glasses fogging up with every heavy breath that he took and your slick covering his mouth and chin, nanami continued to push his fingers inside of you. coaxing out all the pretty little noises you were making. "you can be a little louder, no? just a little bit, sweetheart," nanami curled his fingers, drawing out a whine from your lips.

you dripped onto his digits with each thrust, the golden wedding band on his finger glistening against the office lights. "k-ken, don't stop," your nails dug deeper into his hair, messing up the time he took fixing it this morning. you weren't even sure what was louder anymore—the squelching in between your legs or your moans.

your thighs clamped tightly around his head, holding him in place. "open them, darling. you can take it, you even asked me for more," kento felt the way your legs trembled—the way you were almost hesitant to open your legs again. you were close. "too much, too much," your moan had come out louder this time—loud enough to bleed through the walls.

not that it mattered.

you felt that familiar pressure build up in your lower tummy, your legs threatening to close again all the while your toes curled against the leather heels. too much, you'd said, and you still found yourself needing even more. "cum for me sweetheart, you can take it. take what's yours," his words served as a final push, your orgasm washing over you like a wave.

nanami pulled his dripping fingers out from your cunt and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping them off. effortlessly, he wiped away the spit and slick dribbling down his chin before carelessly tossing the handkerchief to the side. like it was nothing more than just a bother.

your chest heaved as you leaned back against the desk, watching your husband stand up from his spot. a wet patch adorned the front of his khaki pants, his cock practically twitching against the confines of his boxers. "i think i'll just skip ahead to the main course."

needless to say, you didn't have any more trouble coming into nanami's office after that <3

#⋆˚࿔ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⋆˚࿔#nanami kento #nanami kento smut #kento nanami #kento nanami smut #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #nanami kento drabble #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 days ago

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Dick: What is this?

Delivery man: A flower delivery for a Richard Grayson.

Dick: From who? And why would they send ten orders of a dozen roses to me?

Delivery man: It's an anonymous request though they did include this sealed card. But between you and me, these are some of the most expensive roses in the world, and the person was awfully flustered when ordering them. I think you have a secret admirer.

Dick: Oh well thank you.

Delivery man: Anyway time. Have a good day!

Dick closing the door staring at the roses: A secert admirer? In this day and age? Maybe the card will give me some clues if this is a genuine gesture or not.

Sealed card: Dear Richard Grayson, I am not brave or strong enough to face you head on so I will send these flowers in my place. I'm sure they will be a perfect representation of where you stand in my core.

Dick reading card: Oh! I do have a secret admirer. Thats so romantic! I wonder who they are?

Danny two floor down glaring at Dick's apartment door: How you like those blood blossoms, Haunt Trespasser. Just because you were able to move into my apartment building without triggering my ghost sense doesn't mean I dont know you're a ghost. I saw you jump out of your window dressed in blue spandex! And the fact you don't feel like a ghost or a overshadowed human let's me know I can't beat you head on but I will not just give up my territory without a fight!

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #death defying #from a fic i never wrote #Danny confuses Nightwing for a ghost #And is trying to get him out of his territory #but instead of a growling dog he is coming off like a bird of paradise #Dick is swooning #misunderstandings

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justslightlymental · 24 hours ago

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"All of them goddamn" - Saja Boys x Reader

Yo... This is just pure smut with just slight plot, also shoutout to this person @k45kart for the idea. (sorry if i tagged wrong person) also another person who wanted to be tagged: @eliengoddes

Okay uhh anyways TW or whatever warnings: Smut, gangbang (obviously) 5 demons cmon guys, I MAY HAVE WRITTEN JINUS NAME WRONG SO IM SORRY. Oral sex both receiving, degrading, praising, uhhh p in v, without protection (dont do this if u dont want kids.) Marking, breeding lowkey, demons going out of control. MAYBE SLIGHT DUB CON??? (its very much consensual but my writing style might fart on itself.) I forgot what else. Cringe warning i havent written anything in ages okay - Everything was okay.. Everything was going to be FINE… The fans were happy with our newest song… And the Honmoon was shining brighter than ever, even a tingle of gold flashing across our eyes, we were so close!!! But then Rumi lost her voice, right in the middle of our rehearsal for our live premiere of “Golden”. Before any of us could say anything she asked for 5 minutes and just ran off to god knows where! “Oh my god, what are we gonna do??” Zoey panicked, her arms flailing around. “Calm down Zoey.. It’s going to be fine… just give her some time alright?” Mira placed a hand on her shoulder to calm Zoey down, though I could see through her poker face. “Yeah, like Mira said. Give her some time… surely she will come in time.” I said, a nervous/worried smile across my face. And she never came… The next time we saw her was at our apartment, she looked shaken up. The only thing we could offer in that moment was comfort and that we did. We decided to go out for some dinner. Rumi still didn’t seem like herself, until she finally spoke. “I'm sorry about the show..” “It’s okay.. don’t worry about it!” Zoey smiled, placing a hand on her forearm. “Besides, Bobby will handle it.” I smiled as well, trying to comfort her.

And just like that he called us and once we answered we heard loud voices in the background and an out of breath Bobby yelling about how he can’t handle this, so many disappointed fans and the network losing their minds. Mira quickly shut off the phone. “We can just schedule another live show within days. Don’t worry!” “I don't think that's possible… my voice, it's in trouble..” Rumi said, awkwardly. “In trouble?? Then why did you push up the Golden release then?” Mira continued, confused. “My guess is the Honmoon, isn’t that right?” I smiled softly.

“(Name) is right.. The Honmoon.. it flashed gold, we are so close and it's so important!”

After that dinner we were brainstorming how to fix Rumi’s voice quickly. And Zoey had the “best” idea to go get some magical tonics from this one place she had heard of. And after we finally got the tonics and as we came out of the clinic Zoey was rambling on about after getting her voice back we could finally focus back on the important stuff like fans-

“Fans!” Mira whisper shouted as we saw some shadows turning into the alleyway we were in, our disguises were not the best so we tried our best to quickly become more unrecognizable-

Until we saw THEM..

Our eyes went wide as the guys walked our way, they all looked so… handsome so sexy… Rumi was the only one who didn’t look absolutely down bad until she saw the 5th guy with black hair.

Meanwhile I was looking at each and every one of them, I mean yeah some of them looked a bit sexier than others but I guess that’s because they're more my time than the others.. When they passed us I could honestly feel all of their gaze landing on me for just a moment before they continued on their way. What the fuck just happened.

And that is how we met our WORST enemies for the first time. Turned out they were a fucking demon boyband. DEMONS in a boyband yeah that's right! I don't know what crack Gwi-ma was on when he sent them to our world but IT’S WORKING. Though I do have to admit… I wonder what it would feel like if-

I smacked my head against the wall groaning, BAD (Name) BAD!!! Do not think of such unholy thoughts about your enemy, especially DEMONS.

We got suited up in our battle gear and oh my I must admit we are always so fabulous. We knew the boyband who are now better known as the “Saja Boys” would be at this game show tonight, we stood backstage looking at them gulping huge amounts of hot sauce, uh yikes. That’s gonna burn coming out- AANYWAY! Rumi said we should wait for them to come backstage and then jump down and make quick work of them, the perfect surprise attack!

We giggled a bit in anticipation as we took our spot over the stage, looking down at them. Little did we know the Jinu guy had noticed us and just as he took the mic talking about “special guests” joining us the lights turned to us at the same time he announced our name. We quickly hid our weapons and forced huge smiles on our faces.

“Yeahh! Hello everyone! We just wanted to yknow congratulate the Saja boys for their successful debut!” Rumi said with forced enthusiasm And after that the game show host and saja boys themselves said we should all slide down into the ballpit, the audience got in on it too so of course we had to oblige, though the leather we wore really made it… awkward to say, the noise was horrible too. Once we finally made it into the ballpit everyone still cheered and now it would be the time to end the show, both us and the Saja boys bowed to each other in fake gratitude and respect as the curtains closed. However once we were finally out of the publics eye they ran off within seconds and we almost had no idea where, but we managed to be able to track them down, to a fucking bathhouse. We had no choice but to go in and it was thankfully empty, and there they stood. “You really followed us here? The men's portion? You guys really are thirsty huh.” Jinu chuckled along with his bandmates. Then the demons came out of nowhere from small ruptures, but like there were a lot of them. You couldn’t lose focus for even a second and if you did it might be game over. At one point my eyes landed on Jinu who just smirked “Have fun you four.” He said as he ran off with everyone else. I looked behind me to see Mira, Zoey and Rumi in a deep fight, they seemed to be taking care of everything fine though, so I took off running after Jinu. I jumped into the air ready to slash him but he managed to dodge my blows one after another, until I finally managed to kick him in the stomach. We landed in a secluded room, it seemed to be a small sauna, the heat made both of our bodies sweaty, yuck disgusting. Finally I managed to corner him, my (weapon’s) handle against his throat as he tried to push me off. The adrenaline was flowing through me, maybe that’s why I felt extra strong right now. “Hah.. you’re a bit stronger… But not strong enough for all of us…” Jinu chuckled. That had me confused, until I could sense the presence of four other people behind us. My eyes widened and my throat closed up on itself. I couldn’t move, I don’t know if I was sweating from the heat or from the fact 5 extremely attractive demon guys were currently alone with me. Jinu quickly took advantage of my shock and pushed me away, I landed on my back, gasping for air. It hurt a little bit but nothing could compare to the sight after I opened my eyes groaning. “There you are… Sorry about the push, hopefully you're not too hurt darling.” Jinu smirked, his eyes glowing a little bit. “G-Get away from me!” I struggled, quickly standing up and forming my weapon once again, surrounded by them.

“Still got a fighting spirit huh? We like that… But don’t think we haven’t seen the way you look at us.. And honestly the feelings are mutual.” Jinu smirked, his fingers slightly grazing my cheek. I was speechless, I felt so small surrounded by them. I could feel their eyes roam my body, taking in every curve and shape. My knees were growing weak, I could feel my body reacting in ways I haven’t felt in awhile. I felt embarrassed, my cheeks flushing a deep red as I tried to not look at any of them. I felt a hand on my shoulder making me flinch. “Calm down bunny.. I won’t hurt you.. too bad.” A deep voice whispered into my ear, I turned around quickly seeing the guy named “Abs”. (bit of a silly name tbh…) ANYWAY “D-don’t-” I struggled to form words until a hand covered my mouth, it was Juni. “Yeah, you’re right… No one has to speak…” He smirked, his other hand slowly going down from my shoulder towards my chest. My eyes widened, I should be struggling, I should be fighting them… But for some reason I wanted this, I wanted them all… I felt myself growing more hot and bothered by the second. The 8 pair of eyes watching Jinu’s every movement, and my reaction. It turned me on so bad. And I swear to god I feel like they could sense my need, with the way their eyes seemed to sharpen with lust. “What do you want…” Jinu asked, uncovering my mouth. “I-I want you… I want you all..” My words were quiet, but that didn’t seem to bother them. It was like a trigger, they had my consent and they wouldn’t back away now. Juni fell back towards one of the seats with me landing on his lap. I moaned out as I felt my ass on his crotch, and he was hard. His knees separating mine as I was exposed to the other guys, not completely nude.. yet. I didn’t even care about how fucked out I already looked, all I cared about was getting that sweet release. “Someone’s impatient hm?” Jinu whispered before his lips attacked my neck, his sharp teeth grazing my skin. I whimpered, it felt so good. The other guys had come closer as well, Romance sitting down on my right side and Mystery on my left. Both of their hands found their way to my chest, feeling me up through my suit. Who knew it felt this fucking good to be touched by like 5 guys at the same time. Oh god I feel like a whore, but honestly i'm a proud hoe rn!

Abs crouched down between my legs, Baby standing behind him as he preferred to just watch, knowing he would get his turn soon. “I think this suit needs to come off, right boys?” Abs smirked, his hands caressing my inner thighs. “You’re right, I can’t wait to see what you’re hiding under here…” Romance sighed happily, Mystery just nodding along, not really a man of words I see. Their hands turned into a soft purple hue, their nails growing in size as they made quick work of ripping my suit into shreds. I tried to cover myself up but Jinu was quick to grasp both my arms and lock them behind my back. “Don’t cover yourself darling… You wanted this right? To be taken and used by all of us.. you truly have no shame, do you?” He talked softly while Mystery and Romance both leaned down to take one of my tits into their mouths. All i could do was moan through his little speech, my core was on fire, growing wetter by the second. I don’t know if the heat made everything feel 10x better but I was enjoying this. I enjoyed the feeling of being exposed to their hungry eyes, I loved the way their mouths sucked on my tits, the way their tongues swirled around my nipples. My body arched into Juni’s body, my thighs trying to squeeze together to create some sort of friction. Abs was quick to separate my legs to get full access to my core. I did feel slightly embarrassed with his staring but that quickly dissolved as he just dove in like a starved man. His tongue swirling around my clit, making my hips buckle. His movements were precise, taking slow licks up my slit, before sucking on my clit against, his right hand closing in. Fingers painfully close to my opening. I moaned out loudly, begging for him to touch me, to feel his fingers inside. I guess he felt merciful because that’s exactly what he did. I was wet enough to fit 2 of his fingers with no problem, his long slender fingers curling up inside me. It didn’t take long for abs to find that special spot inside me that made my whole body seize. I could barely let out any noise, so over-stimulated, with Juni’s mouth on my neck, Mystery’s and Romance’s mouths on my buds, their hands cressing my stomach and sides. My eyes opened just slightly, the first thing I saw was Baby standing behind Abs, his hand slightly rubbing over his jeans, his eyes seductive as he stared down at me. I felt even more hot knowing the fact he was still enjoying himself, just staring. But I couldn’t think about him for long with the way Abs fingers thrusted deep into me and his tongue on my clit, it was enough to bring me dangerously close to climax. I yelped loudly, hips shaking. “I-Im so close- Please- Let me-” I gasped out, pushing my hips towards his mouth, needing him as close as I could have. “Greedy this one isn’t she?” Baby spoke up for the first time, enjoying watching how his bandmates brought (Name) to the edge of pleasure. “She is so intoxicating… Her scent… I wonder if she tastes just as good.” Jinu said, eyeing down at Abs, slightly jealous of how he was the first one to taste her. With the last curl of his tongue she came undone, her head thrown back in pleasure. Romance and Mystery separated from her breasts, looking down at the mess Abs created. All of them felt their senses heightened up, pupils dilating after smelling her. Their bodies fight against turning into their demon forms. Juni stood up with (name) still in his arms, turning around and setting her against the seat. She was still struggling with getting air into her lungs, slowly coming around from that intense climax. “I think we are all a bit too clothed for this next part.” Romance said smugly, his clawed hands already working on removing his shirt. “She might pass out after seeing what’s coming for her.” Mystery said quietly, following Romance’s lead. “She’s gonna pass out no matter what after we’re done with her.” Jinu grinned.

(Name) slowly shook her head, coming back to reality, her eyes opening. In Front of her was the shock of her life, she yelled out. All five of them, completely bare, the marks on their bodies glowing ever so often, and oh my god even their dicks had the same marks. Also talking about dicks they were all so different.. Some of them had more girth, others length, already dripping with pre-cum. She felt like she was under some sort of spell as she slowly moved off the seat onto the heated up floor, sitting on her knees, hands traveling up Jinu’s legs and thighs. She looked up at him through her lashes, she looked absolutely ravishing, hair messy, some of it sticking to her forehead, her expression flushed, so full of need. Jinu’s breath hitched as his clawed hand took hold of her hair, bringing her face closer to his cock. “Open wide baby.” He instructed. And she did, her tongue rolled out as the tip landed on it. She could already taste the saltiness of his precum, so delicious. Her mouth closed in on it as her tongue rolled around the sensitive tip. He groaned out while thrusting deeper into her mouth. “Fuck.. Her mouth feels so good- I could get addicted to this.” He moaned out, fangs growing out. “Oh you’re making it sound a little too good. I want some.” Baby chuckled, pushing Jinu out of the way. Taking his place. “Hey! Wait for your turn you fucking moron-” Jinu cussed but decided to let him have his moment, instead just jerking himself off at the sight of her being used by them. (Name) whined at the loss of Jinu’s cock but was soon satisfied again after Baby pushed himself into her warm mouth. His dick was a bit shorter than Jinu’s but the girth was amazing, and like he wasn’t SMALL in any way. Actually none of them were. “Oh shit- You’re right- h-hell.” He whimpered. (Name) looked at the other men who were touching themselves, she didn’t want them feeling left out. She took hold of Abs and Mystery’s dicks, moving her hands up and down. Both of them instinctively reacted and thrusted into her hold. Mystery’s cock was long.. And Abs was just… oh yeah he was the big boy of the group definitely.

“What a good girl…” Romance smiled, looking down at her. “S-shit.. I-I’m close-” Baby gasped out, his thrusts becoming faster, abusing the back of her throat. She was loving the treatment, even if it was harder to breathe. Her cheeks hollowed out completely, feeling every curve of his veins. “Fuck!” He yelled out as his hips stilled, spilling his load down her throat and she drank up every drop. “Look at that! Drank up everything, what a good slut.” Jinu smirked. Abs and Mystery both were moaning messes as their muscles tensed, her hands working magic on them. She didn’t take long to recover as her mouth went closer to Romance’s cock, taking the tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue just like she did with Jinu. This made the poor guy let out broken whimpers, his legs almost giving out from the sudden sensitivity. Jinu had walked behind her, crouching down, his hand traveling down her stomach towards her cunt. Fingers slowly circling her clit, making her eyes roll back into her head. She separated from Mystery’s cock and turned her head towards Abs’s dick, giving him the same treatment with slight difficulty due to the size difference. It didn’t take long for Mystery to cum onto her hand and arm, and the other to separate from her mouth, spilling his cum all over her chest. “You enjoy being marked by all of us huh?” Romance asked, tilting her head up towards him. “Y-yeah… I-I love it, I want more, please.” She begged, out of breath, whimpering due to Jinu still touching her. “Hah.. I wonder what your huntrix friends would say if they saw you like this.” Abs smiled, his finger stroking her chin. “I-I don’t care… I just want you all.. please. Help me.” She moaned out, getting on all fours. “Well look at that- So submissive.. so perfect.” Jinu said, eyes slightly wide not expecting that. But who was he to complain or deny her. His hands landed on her waist, the tip of his cock just against her slit. Moving his hips up and down just teasing her opening. Though even if she wanted to tease her more, his own self control was slowly withering away. So with the help of his hand he finally sank into her pussy. The feeling was euphoric, both of them immediately letting out strained moans. Her walls gripped him like no tomorrow, so wet, so tight. “Oh.. oh my god- S-Shit- I-I can’t-” He choked on his words, losing himself to his desires. While she was getting absolutely fucked from behind Romance took his spot in front of her mouth, getting on his knees, taking hold of her chin. With a quick ‘open up’ His cock was deep in her throat. She had never felt such pleasure before, seeing the men who just came on her already hardened up and ready to each get a turn with her, it was so sexy. Her body was being rocked back and forth, Jinu’s thrusts growing faster, the sounds of skin clapping together loud. His dick kept hitting that sweet spot in her, she had never felt this full before. All of her whimpers and moans just turned into vibrations against Romance’s cock who could feel himself very close to cumming. Both men reached their climaxes at the same time, spilling deep inside her, not caring about pulling out. The feeling of Jinu’s hot cum inside her was enough to push her over the age as well. Their juices mixed together. As he pulled out her hole leaked, making her thighs sticky and warm. “Help her up guys.” Abs smirked, him and Baby lifting her up from the ground. Her legs could not hold her weight, she was completely at their mercy. She was still so high from her recent orgasm she couldn’t form any words. Though she could feel her right leg being lifted over someone's shoulder. Thankfully she was very flexible. She could feel someone's hands squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, making her suck in air.

She then felt someone's cock lined up with her entrance again, it felt huge… She could almost guess that- Before her thoughts could finish she saw pure white. Abs slammed himself in her, her pussy clenching around him like no tomorrow. He grunted loudly, his other hand holding the leg on his shoulder and the other on her waist. She whimpered and moaned with every thrust, his dick easily smacked against her cervix, his pelvis hitting her clit with every thrust. “O-oh- Oh my- Shiiiit-” She shook her head, trying to get away from his harsh treatment, it felt too good. She was too sensitive. “P-Please- Ah- Slower- No-” Her hands were pulled behind her, making her body arch in an awkward angle. His mouth quickly over hers, shutting her up. “Shit man- This pussy is amazing! Ah- I don’t know how long I can hold my form back-” Abs grunted, his marks glowing brighter, same with the others. “Right?! She is so intoxicating, I want to taste her soul… Ahg-” Romance inhaled her scent, his tongue licking her neck. “Do you think she could take two at the same time?” Mystery asked with an evil smile. “She definitely could… go for it… break her for good, that’s what she wants anyway.” Jinu laughed. Mystery went behind her, as the others gave him space. Abs slowed down for just a moment, both of the men looking at each other with a sly smile. Mystery lined up his dick right next to Abs and sunk in. She let out a loud yell, the pain… It was delicious. It was good, she had never been this full, never this turned on. “Oh my god look at that! She took it with no problem!” Baby and Jinu both laughed out loud. Both Abs and Mystery now worked together, creating an odd rhythm but it worked. When one went in the other went out. All of her spots being hit continuously was too much, she felt weird, something she had never felt before. “A- Im cuming- Im cuming-” She repeated before her cunt clenched hard around the two men who also just about got pushed over the edge, painting her walls white. The pressure was too much as she squirted out right onto Abs’s abdomen. Both of them retreated from her warmth, leaving her disappointed, she was obsessed, she needed more.

“You still want more? What a slut you are… oh god-” Jinu said, sweating from holding himself back. “I want more of her.. I need more of her.” Romance said. He was the first one whose self control cracked as his body turned purple, his demon side in full show. He basically snatched her out of Abs and Mystery’s hold, bending her over one of the seats, slamming himself right on into her. She yelled out, legs shaking her body rocking back and forth against the wooden surface. His thrusts didn’t falter, hand pushing down her back, keeping her down. It was inhuman how fast he could move against her, making her unable to understand shit. She was completely fucked out. The other guys were staring at their bandmate losing himself, and the way she was completely bare, completely at their mercy for them to destroy finally seemed to snap any of their self restraint. Baby was the second one who snapped, he jumped towards Romance pulling him out before he could finish his peak, pulling (Name) from the seat, placing her on her back, inserting himself into her. Immediately hitting her sweet spot causing her to cum right then and there. Poor Baby had been edged for so long that when her pussy clenched around him deliciously he just came deep into her, but that didn’t mean his cock didn’t get hard again immediately. “Out of the way, I want this pussy again.” Jinu pulled him off, his form also now changed. “Ah- J-Jinu- SO sensitive- Wait-” Though her pleas fell into deaf ears as some sat in front of her pressing her face into their dick. It was Mystery. She didn’t waste time giving him access, still tasting all of their cum on his cock, tongue swirling around him, savoring the taste. Abs and Romance kissed along her body, occasionally sucking and biting, leaving very visible marks on her. Jinus dick was smacking into her hard and rough, chasing only his own pleasure, he was indeed a selfish man. But even if he wasn’t looking out for her that doesn’t mean his thrusts weren’t painfully pleasurable. Every thrust felt like pure torture, her clit was so sensitive even the slightest touch had her body seizing up. Her eyes watering up from everything happening, make up becoming ruined. Jinu’s clawed hands sank into her waist, drawing the smallest amounts of blood. His grunts loud as he came into her for the second time. Mystery separated from her mouth after feeling himself cumming, ropes of his cum going onto her face, messing up her make up even more. All of them looked down at her on the floor, her poor pussy completely messed up and leaking, her face ruined, hair messy, body full of marks. All of their dicks got even harder, it's like she was their own aphrodisiac.

“How do you feel?” Jinu sighed, his eyes dark with lust. “Mmmh-” She couldn’t say anything else, her legs twitching. “Fuck she looks so delicious like this…” Baby groaned, itching to sink deep into her again. “Can’t we just bring her with us? Our own personal cock sleeve.” Romance sighed dreamingly. She opened her eyes slightly, slowly coming to her senses, everything hurt, but it was so worth it. Her hands roaming through her body feeling the sticky cum and the marks they had given her just a moment ago. “Please…” She whimpered. “Aw you poor thing… We fucked you so good you can’t think about anything else now can you?” Abs smirked next to Jinu. Just as Jinu was about to go in for a kiss he heard distant yells, it sounded like her voice was being yelled out. He stood up looking at his bandmates and nodding at them, they all turned into pink smoke, disappearing from sight. “Sorry to cut this short… and not being able to take care of you more… But your friends are coming, and I don't think you wanna be seen like this…” He chuckled, snapping his fingers as the pink smoke surrounded them both, suddenly her clothes were back in one piece and he was completely dressed up. “I recommend you just tell them you got beat and somehow left alive… you figure it out… But don’t worry, we’ll see you real soon…” He gave her a kiss before disappearing. And right on time too. “Oh my god there you are!! Are you okay? Are you hurt?!” The girls bursted into the room, looking at all the messed up seats that just looked broken and then staring at her messed up hair.

“I-Im fine… Really- Ahg-” She groaned still not being able to stand properly or even realise what the fuck just happened. “We need to get you home!” “Don’t ever run off like that!!” The entire journey home she was scolded but all she could think about was Jinu and his final words. And overall the fucking gangbang she just went through… THE BEST sex she had ever had, honestly. She looked out of her window after finally being left alone by the girls and could feel herself growing wet again, not being able to forget how their touch felt and how their cocks felt inside her. Oh yeah she was definitely waiting for the next time. - thanks guys i did my duty

#saja boys x reader #saja boys #kpop demon hunters #demon hunters #jinu x reader #abs x reader #baby x reader #huntrix #mystery x reader #romance x reader #smut

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allsteddie · 3 days ago

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Steddie where Steve and Eddie are childhood friends because Wayne used to work for the Harringtons and the two boys end up growing up together.

It’s all good and well whilst they are kids. Steve’s parents don’t mind their friendship because they are sure the boys will eventually grow apart as time passes and their different upbringings become more obvious.

The problem is that their friendship just gets stronger with time and, by the time they’re in High School they’re inseparable and Steve’s crush on Eddie is so embarrassingly obvious anyone with eyes can see it.

The Harringtons are not happy when they realize their son is getting way too close to the Munson kid, and things get ugly when Richard Harrington is made aware that most of Hawkins believe Wayne’s nephew is queer.

They send Steve away. Send him to a boarding school in New Jersey, where Richard’s mother lives, and don’t even give him a chance to say goodbye to anyone.

Their efforts are useless, though.

Steve finds a way to keep in touch with Eddie by sneaking out of school to send him letters. The school eventually finds out Steve is sneaking out and contacts his grandmother, his closest family, to let her know what’s happening.

When she asks Steve about it, he tells her everything. He tells her his parents sent him away because they found out he had feelings for another boy and people around town were saying shit behind his back, that his father didn’t let him say goodbye to any of his friends and that he’s lying to everybody that Steve got a scholarship in some fancy school.

“Dear Lord, I knew Richard was a dumbass, but I had no idea how much.”

And that’s how Steve ends up getting his grandmother’s help and they come up with a whole plan so he can keep sending his letters to Eddie without his father knowing.

By the time Steve graduates, he and Eddie are happily dating. They elope as soon as both of them are free from High School, and only Wayne and Steve’s grandmother get the courtesy of knowing their whereabouts.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie headcanon #steve x eddie #my writing

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nephynes · 2 days ago

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Heeseung loves you in the way storms love the shore. Hard, repeating and certain you’ll never change. You’ve tried to break free, but the leash is still there—in your thoughts, in your breath, in your silence when he calls. He never had to trap you because you always stayed.

nsfw warnings: SMUT, dub-con undertones, toxic relationship dynamics, obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, jealousy, manipulation via gift-giving, gaslighting, trauma bonding, stalking, break-in scene, makeup sex, coercion-adjacent power play, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, manhandling, somnophilic implications, non-physical abuse, emotional aftermath, unhealthy coping mechanisms, crying, power imbalance, dark romantic themes, blurred consent, light degradation, isolation from friends, psychological control.

3.7k

It's past midnight when the knock comes. Not a frantic one. Just steady, like Heeseung knows you're awake. Like he knows you're standing on the other side, hand hovering over the doorknob, breath caught in your throat.

You don't move. You tell yourself not to. But then you hear him. "Come on, baby." His voice is low, sweet, and mocking all at once. "Open up. I miss you."

You squeeze your eyes shut when you hear him chuckle. "I can feel you hesitating. Don't make me wait, angel."

And god help you—you open the door. Heeseung stands there like a ghost from your worst mistake. Hoodie on, hood up, eyes glinting like he already knows he's won. "There's my girl," he murmurs, stepping in without invitation. His hand catches your chin as he walks past you, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Took you long enough."

You met Heeseung at the café you worked at, it was nothing glamorous. Just a corner spot near the financial district, where you were usually stuck behind the counter wiping tables or pouring coffee with aching wrists. He walked in one Friday morning in a suit that fit too well and a gaze that settled on you like he already knew he'd ruin you.

He was polite, charming even. Called you pretty the second time he came in. By the fifth visit, he wasn't ordering coffee anymore—just sitting at the back table, watching you with quiet interest, leaving hundred-dollar tips like he was paying for your attention.

You didn't stand a chance.

He asked for your number in that soft, coaxing voice. Took you out that weekend. Took you shopping the one after. Bought you things you never asked for, always with that same sweet grin. "You work so hard," he'd say, sliding a bag across the table. "Let me spoil you a little."

And when the sweetness soured, when the manipulation began, subtle and sharp, you barely even noticed. Not at first, at least.

The first time he made you cry, he showed up the next day with flowers and a new phone.

When he snapped at you for texting someone he didn't like, he replaced your entire wardrobe the following week.

When he went too far, when his jealousy turned cruel, when his anger turned cold, he always begged for forgiveness with expensive perfume and new jewelry. Whispered "I love you" like it was a bandage.

Money became his language of apology. Control wrapped in tissue paper and designer bags.

By the time you realized what he'd done to you, how he'd cut you off from your friends, how you flinched when your phone buzzed, how you stopped smiling when you walked into work, it was already too late.

He had his claws in.

There was one night, months before you finally left, when he accused you of flirting with one of his friends.

Heeseung had taken you to dinner with a few of his friends—casual, nothing special. You barely spoke unless someone addressed you directly, always cautious, always polite. But one of the guys made a joke, lighthearted and harmless. You smiled, maybe even laughed a little.

That was enough for Heeseung.

Later that night, the car ride home was tense. You knew the silence too well by then, you knew it meant something was festering.

The second you stepped inside his apartment, he closed the door too softly. That kind of soft that screams danger louder than a slam.

"You looked real happy talking to him tonight," he said, voice level but hollow.

You froze at the sink. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I didn't see it?" Heeseung stepped closer. "The way you smiled at him. Like I wasn't sitting right there."

Your heart started pounding. "I was being polite, Hee. That's it."

"Polite?" He laughed, humorless. "You really think I don't see what you're doing?"

He raised his hand to run his fingers through his hair. It wasn't even fast but it was in rising anger and you flinched.

It was instinctive, immediate—your whole body recoiling like it had happened before. It hadn't. Not physically. Heeseung had never hit you.

But something about the way he could had already been planted deep inside you. Like you expected it now, like your body was just bracing for impact.

The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. Worse than anything.

You watched his expression collapse in real time—shock first, then guilt, then something fragile and crumbling that almost looked like heartbreak.

"No—fuck, baby, no. I wasn't gonna—" His voice cracked. "You really think I'd hit you?"

You didn't answer. You didn't even know how. Tears welled up in his eyes before yours did. He sank onto his knees with a devastated expression, dragging his hands through his hair.

"I'm not a monster," he whispered. "Jesus. I'd never...I wouldn't even think of that. Baby, do you really think I'm like that?"

You remember kneeling beside him, his arms wrapping around you like a trap made of silk, him repeating I'm sorry over and over until you almost believed him.

The next few days after that, he went overboard. Showed up at your work with a designer bag. The same brand your friend always carried—except this one was a higher tier, newer collection, rarer color.

He handed it to you with a smile and a kiss. "I saw hers the other day and thought—why shouldn't you have the better version of what she's flaunting?"

You didn't even question it. Not then.

He told you she was jealous of you. That she always had been. That she only kept you around because she wanted to compete. That you were prettier. Smarter. That you didn't need friends who secretly wanted to be you.

The bag glimmered in the light, expensive and perfect. Looking almost like a bribe, like an apology that cost too much to question, like something shiny to distract you from everything he was quietly taking away.

And the worst part? It absolutely worked.

The breakup hadn't been loud. It wasn't a screaming match or a shattered wine glass or slammed doors.

It was quiet. You told him you couldn't do it anymore, couldn't keep shrinking just to keep the peace, couldn't keep doubting yourself every time you made eye contact with another man, couldn't keep apologizing for things you never even did.

He hadn't expected it.

He stood there in your doorway, stunned like he didn't understand the language you were speaking. His voice cracked when he asked, "So that's it? After everything I've done for you?"

But you didn't change your mind. Not even when he showed up every day after that. Not even when there were flowers at your door. Expensive gifts you never asked for. Apologies in the form of designer jewelry, handwritten notes, voice messages at 3AM. A slow descent from devotion to desperation.

And when none of that worked, when you didn't answer his texts or let him in, his begging soured into something else.

Frustration. Entitlement. A low simmering anger beneath the surface of every "I miss you" that started sounding more like a threat than a plea.

You thought ignoring him would be enough. It really wasn't.

You woke up one night with the eerie sensation that something was wrong. Your room was still dark, but your body stiffened when you realized you weren't alone in the bed.

Heeseung.

Pressed to your side like he belonged there. Arm slung over your waist. Face buried in your hair like he hadn't let himself in while you were sleeping.

Your heart slammed in your chest. You jerked away with a sharp gasp. "What the fuck—Heeseung?!"

He blinked slowly like he'd just woken up. "Hey," he murmured, voice heavy with sleep. "You left your door open."

You hadn't.

"You can't be here," you choked out, panic rising. "Get out. Get the fuck out."

But he didn't. He reached for you immediately. You tried to push him away, but that only seemed to make him more determined and that's when he kissed you.

Desperate and deep. As though kissing was a language he could use to convince you instead. You'd resisted at first, trembling, trying to pull back, but it was him, it was Heeseung, and your body remembered the way he used to hold you when things were good, the way his voice would crack when he whispered he loved you.

And like always...he knew exactly which pieces of you to press until you broke for him completely.

His hand slid down, thumb dragging between your legs until your whimper betrayed you. Until the betrayal was yours too.

He pushed into you like he never left, groaning in your ear, clinging to your hips like you were being reunited instead of undone.

"You still feel like mine," he whispered against your neck, breath ragged. "You can't tell me you don't miss this."

You didn't answer.

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your throat. "I'll be better. For you," he swore, fucking you harder like the rhythm itself could convince you. "I swear. I'll stop being so jealous. You don't have to be scared of me anymore. Just—just come back to me. Please."

You'd cried under him.

Not just from the overwhelming heat, not just from the way he made your body submit, but from the way you hated yourself for giving in, hated that a part of you still ached for the version of him you fell in love with.

But that version was dead. It'd died long ago. And whatever had crawled into your bed now didn't care.

Because he still finished inside you, still moaned about how perfect you were, how you belonged to him. How this meant you weren't really over him.

He kissed your trembling fingers as you lay there numb, still shaking, still silent. "I know you don't mean it," he whispered. "All that stuff you said. You still love me. Right?"

You still couldn't answer and Heeseung took your silence as a yes.

You deleted every trace of him after that night—photos, texts, blocked his number, even told your friends to stop you if you ever mentioned his name again.

But it didn't matter.

Because Heeseung never truly left.

He still shows up like nothing happened. Still finds his way into your apartment, into your bed, into your head. And every time you tell yourself it's the last time, he tilts your chin up, smirks like he owns you, and says, "Did you miss me, baby?"

The worst part? Your body answers before your mouth can.

He ruined you for anyone else. No one touches you like he does. No one talks to you like he does. He calls you his pretty little toy, pulls your hair when you disobey, whispers filth into your ear until your legs are shaking and your mind goes blank. You cry and beg and tremble for a man you swore you'd never let touch you again.

And now he's standing here in your apartment again calling you his girl.

"I'm not your girl." you try, voice fragile, but he's already stepping inside. You walk away without looking back, already halfway to the bedroom when you ask,

"What do you want, Heeseung?" A stupid question. You already know. The second the lock clicked and he stepped over the threshold, the air shifted. He was always going to follow. You knew it in your bones, in the silence that thickened behind you with each step. You should've kept the door shut. Should've kept your mouth shut. But now he's here, moving through your space the way he always does—uninvited, inevitable.

He kisses you.

And for one blessed second, you don't move. You keep your hands at your sides. You clench your jaw, trying to pretend you don't feel that familiar ache, the one he planted in your bones months ago and never let die.

But he's gentle, almost mocking in the way he presses his lips to yours, dragging it out like a dare. "You miss me?" he breathes against your mouth.

You turn your head. "No."

He hums, tilts your chin with two fingers. "Liar."

Then he kisses you again—deeper this time, thumb stroking your jaw as his tongue slips into your mouth, and that's when you feel your whole body trembling with need. Your knees give first, followed by your resolve.

You grab onto his hoodie like it'll steady you, gasping into him, letting him press you back into the wall.

You should tell him to stop, push him away, tell him you're done for real this time, that this isn't healthy, that you're not the same girl he broke. But your mouth betrays you, just like your body already has.

Because you're already letting him slip your shorts down. Already lifting one leg for him so he can settle between your thighs as he slides down to his knees.

"Fuck," he exhales, almost devout as he stares at your cunt, wet and wanting and all his again. "Look at you. Always so ready for me."

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into his hair as he kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and open-mouthed, breathing hot against your skin.

He looks up at you from between your legs, pupils blown and lips wet, you feel it again—that pathetic ache, that invisible leash he still keeps around your throat.

It should feel like power, like you have the upper hand, spread open above him, his mouth on you, his body lower than yours.

But it doesn't. Not with Heeseung.

Because even here—especially here—he's still in control. The way he touches you, slow and certain, mapping out the places he knows you'll break. Like he's reminding you this is his. The grip he has on your hips, the heat of his mouth, the way he knows exactly how to fuck you open with his tongue until you're gasping and grinding and begging for more.

Your hands fly to his hair and you try to take something back, try to make him yours, but he just lets you. Smirking into you like it's cute that you think you have any power here.

You're dripping down his chin, thighs shaking, spine arched off the wall, shaking by the time he pulls away from you, lips wet, chin glistening. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up at you like he just tasted something sweet and owned it.

"Turn over," he says.

You hesitate. Just long enough for your eyes to meet his—dark, commanding, utterly unbothered—and you're already moving. Already crawling up the bed on shaky limbs, already letting him manhandle you onto your stomach like it was never a question.

Heeseung climbs over you slowly. Methodically. Like a predator getting comfortable in its favorite hunting ground.

His hand slides between your shoulder blades, flattening you against the mattress, his cock heavy and hard grinding against your ass. You whimper, already wrecked and dizzy from his mouth—but he hasn't even started.

And when he finally pushes his cock in, it's like your lungs collapse. You're soaked for him. Way too ready. Too familiar. Your body remembers him, opens up like it never stopped craving this. And he sinks in all the way, one slow, devastating thrust that has you clawing at the sheets.

"Fuck," he breathes, burying himself deep. "Missed this pussy."

You try to protest, you really do. Try to find the breath to tell him this doesn't mean anything, that this isn't you two again.

But then he starts moving. Hard and deep. Almost as if he's punishing you for ever walking away into the first place. Your legs are shaking, moans muffled into the pillow, his name spilling out of your mouth over and over, helpless and needy.

"You know we're back together now, right?" he murmurs in your ear, hips snapping against your ass, cock dragging along your walls and hitting that spot he knows makes you keen. "You letting me fuck you like this? It's done, baby. You're mine again."

You gasp, the words barely registering under the pressure of his thrusts. "We’re back together," he says again, gritting his teeth. "Say it."

You shake your head, a whimper catching in your throat.

"I said say it."

"W—We’re b—back together—!," you breathe, barely audible.

He groans cause you know that's all he needed. That's his reward. He drags you up by the waist, forcing you to arch for him, pounding into you deeper now, every thrust sending you higher, closer, ruined.

"You think I'd let you go just like that?" he growls. "After all the shit we've been through?"

Your head lolls back against his shoulder, and you nod. Not because you believe it—but because you're too far gone to argue, whimpering when he pushes you back into the sheets.

You're shaking, face buried in the sheets, body arching helplessly with each brutal thrust. Heeseung's pace is relentless and sharp, punishing even, as if he's trying to fuck the memory of him back into you.

It's too much.

You reach back blindly, hand fumbling against his hip, fingers curling in a weak attempt to push him away, to slow him down, to just breathe.

But he catches your wrist with one hand and slams into you harder. "Don't," he snaps, voice low and dangerous in your ear. "Don't fucking run now."

He pins your hand to the small of your back, holding you there, twisted beneath him and completely at his mercy. You whimper, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent cry as he drives into you again and again, each thrust deeper, meaner.

"Should've known better," he grits out, "than to think I'd let you go."

Your walls pulse around him, overwhelmed, overstimulated, ruined. And all you can do is take it—take him—while he reminds your body exactly who it belongs to.

His breath is hot against your neck, lips brushing your skin like a taunt.

Your whole body's gone pliant under him, muscles trembling, cries muffled into the sheets. His thrusts keep getting more and more brutal—sharp, full-bodied, relentless—every snap of his hips punching the breath out of you.

He lets out a broken groan, right in your ear. "Shit—Baby—I'm so fucking close."

You panic.

Your hand scrambles back again, weaker this time, just resting over his wrist on your hip. You're already too far gone to stop him—but you try. And your voice is a breathless whimper, high and thin.

"Hee—pull out. I'm not—I'm not on the pill anymore."

He halts his thrusting but only for a second.

And then you feel him smirk against your shoulder, his breath catching in a dark little laugh. He pushes in deeper, slower this time, grinding his cock into you like he owns your womb.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, all faux innocence. "Why, angel? You don't wanna have my baby?"

You whimper again, shaking your head, but he doesn't stop. Heeseung just fucks you harder.

"Thought you were mine," he says, low and taunting. "Letting me fuck you raw, crying all sweet—now you're scared? Hm?"

His hand slides under you and over your stomach, palm flat like he's already claiming what's inside.

"You think I wouldn't put a baby in you just to make sure you never fucking leave again?"

You cry out, overwhelmed, overstimulated, trembling so hard it borders on pain, but it doesn't matter. Not to him.

Because he's so close. And now he's chasing it.

"You gonna take it?" he breathes. "Let me fill you up like you're supposed to?"

You're gasping, moaning, sobbing something that's probably "please"—but even you don't know if it's for it or against it.

And he finishes with a growl, burying himself to the hilt, cock pulsing deep as he spills into you, holding your hips down like he's planting it there, it triggers your own orgasm that hits you harder than a tidal wave. “Oh my god! Heeseung! Please—!”

He continues to fuck you through it, pushing his cum deeper into you, making you whimper from the sharp overstimulation.

Your body goes limp beneath him, skin flushed and slick, the sheets tangled and ruined around your legs. You're still panting, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, the inside of your thighs sticky with his cum.

Heeseung doesn't move right away.

He stays buried in you for a beat longer than necessary, trying to seal something in, his hand splayed over your stomach, claiming it.

And then, slowly—so fucking gently—he pulls out.

You flinch, legs twitching, whimpering from the sudden emptiness.

"Shh," he soothes, brushing your hair back with a tenderness that shouldn't belong to someone like him. "You did so good."

Your throat feels so dry, your limbs are nearly boneless and your mind is fogged over with everything he just took from you.

And then he reaches for something you hadn’t even notice him place on the nightstand. You hear it before you see it—the tiny click of a velvet box opening.

And your blood immediately runs cold.

"Heeseung," you croak, voice thin and hoarse.

But he's already slipping the ring onto your finger.

It's simple, delicate, beautiful even, but so so wrong.

"Looks good on you," he murmurs. Like it's just another part of your body he's claimed. “Don’t you think?”

You try to pull your hand back—too slow, too weak—and he catches it in his. "You'd marry me, right?" he says, not even asking. Just stating it, like it's already done. "You're gonna marry me."

You're shaking your head, tears starting to burn, but he just kisses your knuckles like a man in love.

"Doesn't matter what your friends think. Doesn't matter what you think either," he adds, voice dropping dark and low. "You're mine."

His hand returns to your stomach, palm flat, firm.

"You're probably already pregnant anyway."

You choke on a breath.

"We'll move away," he says, almost dreamily. "Somewhere quiet. You won't need anything but me."

And you know he means it. Every word. Every plan he's made without you. Every delusion he's turning into your very reality.

You're still half-naked. Still wet with him. Still caught in that foggy, ruined daze.

And now you're engaged.

Whether you even said yes or not.

• a/n: i hope this satisfies all the toxic heeseung fic reqs i got (there were a lot) i think one shots are my new thing, also GUYS MY FIC REQS ARE CLOSED

#heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #heeseung fanfic #heeseung angst #heeseung x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enha smut #enhablr #enha fanfic #enha x reader #enha hard hours #heeseung drabbles #heeseung oneshots

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papayainsectorone · 21 hours ago

Text

Is It Casual Now?

summary: i have nothing to summarize other then .... spiraling

content: unrequited feelings, emotional neglect, jealousy, emotional intimacy withdrawal, romantic displacement, passive heartbreak, "i’m fine" when they’re clearly not, The Couch™ as emotional purgatory

word count: 4,3k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

a thought: thank you endlessly for all the love on the last part, your comments truly mean the world to me and i’m so so grateful 🫶

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

The afternoon sun slants across the apartment like it’s trying too hard to be gentle. You’re curled up on the couch, blanket still draped around your shoulders even though you aren’t cold anymore, just… thin. Like your skin’s been worn down by too many hours of pretending.

You don’t remember what’s playing on the TV. You’ve been staring at it hours without really seeing it.

Your stomach is mostly settled now. The sickness has faded, leaving just the ghost of it behind, hovering low and sour. But the ache in your chest—the one that started when her laugh had filtered through your bedroom wall—is louder now in the quiet.

You end up on the ocuch all day, curtains drawn just enough to keep the light soft. You lie on your stomach, scrolling. Meaningless stuff, nothing worth remembering.

And then you type her name into the search bar.

Charlotte.

You don’t even know her last name. But somehow you land on someone who might be her. Blonde. Tall. An unmistakable glint of Lando’s jacket in the background of one photo on her story.

Your stomach clenches, betrayal and shame tangled up like wet wires.

You wonder if he kissed her the same way he kissed you. If he tucked her hair behind her ear the way he used to. If he whispered stupid, soft things to her while his hand was on her waist, if she got the good parts of him too.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

You don’t want him. That was the whole deal. Casual. Friendly. Disposable.

Except maybe you do. And maybe it isn’t.

You let your phone slip from your fingers to the cushions, the weight of it suddenly too much again.

The door clicks open late that afternoon.

You don’t move. Just stare blankly at the paused Netflix screen, the lingering image of a scene you didn’t absorb.

Lando walks into view, dropping his keys in the dish by the door, holding a bag of groceries in one hand. He looks freshly showered again, cheeks flushed from the wind outside.

“Hey,” he says, voice light. “How you feeling?”

You turn your head, smile a little too tightly. “Better.”

“Color’s back in your face,” he offers, walking into the kitchen. “Figured I’d make you something. You kept anything down?”

You nod. Lie. “Some toast.”

He pokes his head out from behind the fridge door. “Okay, toast and… crisps it is.”

You huff out a dry laugh as he tosses you a bag.

He drops onto the couch beside you, a little too close, thigh brushing yours. Your body tenses before you can hide it.

Lando glances over at you, the crease between his brows twitching just slightly. “Still nauseous?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. That’s probably it.”

But it isn’t.

He seems like he knows that too, his eyes linger a second too long, like he’s trying to read between your words. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t say anything. He just nods, barely, and turns his attention back to the muted TV screen.

You don’t curl up against him like you usually do. Don’t toss your legs over his lap or lean into his side the way your body aches to do now. You stay where you are, arms crossed, folded in on yourself like that could protect you from whatever it is you’re not saying out loud.

And Lando… Lando doesn’t push for that either.

That’s what makes it worse, somehow.

He’s being kind. Attentive. Gentle.

And it’s unbearable.

Because now, with all that sudden distance stretched between you, you remember how soft he talked to her in that hallway, how his eyes propably crinkled when she whispered something close to his ear. How his laugh rumbled warm and easy with her body pressed against his. Like it wasn’t just fun. Like she meant something.

He’s being careful with you now. But he was tender with her, too.

And that… that hurts in a way you weren’t ready for.

THREE DAYS LATER

You’re both in the kitchen.

Technically.

In practice, it feels like you’re on separate orbits—same space, different gravity. There’s nothing overtly wrong. No shouting, no slammed doors. Just a stillness that hums under everything. A quiet unfamiliarity in a room that used to be full of rhythm.

Lando’s leaned back against the counter, his phone in one hand, thumb dragging absently across the screen. He’s talking in that fast, half-distracted way he does when he’s running on autopilot. Something about the next race—weather forecasts, new car tweaks, a funny thing one of the engineers texted him.

His voice fills the space, light and easy, like it always does. You smile at the right moments. Nod when he pauses long enough to pretend he’s expecting a response.

You’re at the stove, watching the water in the kettle start to tremble. Your arms are crossed, knotted across your chest like they’re holding something in. The steam curls up in slow spirals. You focus on that. It’s easier than watching him.

This used to be your favorite version of him. Excited, moving from topic to topic without breath, like everything that mattered was right there in his head and he wanted to share it all with you. You used to love how chaotic he got before a trip, how he’d try to pack the morning of and forget half his chargers. You’d steal his hoodie just to slow him down. He’d roll his eyes, pretend to be mad, and then chase you around the living room until you were laughing too hard to breathe.

Now he’s wearing that same hoodie.

The one you used to sleep in.

You think about how you used to wake up in it. How it smelled like him even after the wash. You think, vaguely, that maybe you hate it now.

You pour hot water over a waiting tea bag. Let it steep. But you don’t drink it. Just hold the mug close, letting the heat pool in your palms, like maybe that’s enough to keep you grounded.

Lando’s still talking. You hear the sound of his voice, but not the words. They don’t quite land.

He doesn’t notice you’ve gone quiet.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t ask.

The thing is, you’re not angry. Not really. You just don’t have the energy to reach for something that feels like it’s already slipping away. Something that maybe was never yours to begin with.

He finally checks the time, stretches like he always does before leaving, and grabs his keys from the bowl by the door.

“I’m meeting Charlotte for lunch,” he says casually, like it’s just another item on the to-do list. Like it’s nothing.

You nod. “Have fun.”

He hesitates, just for a beat. Like maybe he senses it, the shift between you. But whatever he might’ve said gets swallowed down. He flashes a brief, familiar smile, and then he’s walking down the hall.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And the quiet rushes in like a wave, swallowing everything whole.

You’re on the couch together.

The room is dim, cast in soft flickers from the TV, some action comedy Lando picked. Something loud and ridiculous. He said it’d be a good distraction. You didn’t argue.

You sit curled into the far corner, legs tucked beneath you, blanket wrapped tight across your lap like it’s shielding you from something neither of you have named. Your side of the couch is colder than it used to be. That space in the middle, the one you used to fill without thinking, now stretches longer than it should.

Lando’s sprawled comfortably on the other end, socked feet propped on the coffee table, fingers resting loosely on a half-finished bottle of water. He laughs—short and easy—at a dumb joke on screen. You try to echo it with a breathy sound. It doesn’t land.

“You’re not even watching,” he says, without looking away from the movie.

You hum. “I am.”

He glances over, catches your profile in the low light. “What’s the main guy’s name then?”

You pause. “Guy McYells?”

Lando snorts. “Okay, maybe you are watching.”

You smile. It's weak, but it's real enough to fool the room.

Then his phone buzzes between you.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He reaches for it without missing a beat, fingers moving fast. The screen lights up and out of the corner of your eye, you catch the name.

Charlotte.

No emojis. No nickname. Just her name. Clean. Definitive.

Still, the smile that breaks across Lando’s face is soft and wide and utterly effortless. It hits like a punch to the chest.

“What’s she saying?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

He doesn’t look up, still typing. “Just something about her trip. She might come up next week.”

You nod slowly. “Cool.”

“Yeah.” He glances at you now, expression unreadable. “You two should hang out. Properly, I mean.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Right, because I’m dying to have girl talk.”

He laughs again, but it’s more of a breath. “Come on, it’s not like that, she´s not like that, I reckon you´d like her just as much as I do”

You turn back to the screen. “Sure.”

A beat.

“Okay, maybe a little less,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost sheepish.

You force a chuckle. “Wow. Big revelation.”

Lando nudges your leg with his foot. “You used to be less mean.”

You glance down at where he touched you, like it matters. “You used to be less predictable.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers hover over the keyboard, then drop.

It hangs in the air—something between you that neither of you dares to name. The familiar rhythm of banter, still there, but thinner. Fragile. Like one wrong word might snap it in half.

He shifts again, settling deeper into the cushions, eyes back on his phone.

The silence between you swells.

“Hey,” Lando says suddenly, voice softer now. “We’re still good, right?”

You look at him. Really look.

His expression is open, brows tilted just enough to show he’s not as sure as he wants to sound. The question hits harder than it should. Not because it’s wrong, but because it’s not even close to the one you’ve been asking yourself.

You nod. “Yeah. We’re good.”

But something in your chest doesn’t believe it. And maybe he doesn’t either, because he just nods back, like that’s enough to close the subject.

And then he’s gone again, into his phone, into whatever Charlotte’s saying, into a world that no longer includes you in quite the same way.

You stare at the television. Still pretending.

THREE WEEKS LATER

You come home later than usual. Not on purpose, but you didn’t rush either.

The apartment’s quiet when you step inside. Not empty, just quiet in that specific way that tells you someone else is already here. Lights are low. A jacket slung over the arm of the couch. A faint scent of perfume you don’t recognize hangs in the air, something floral and expensive, the kind that comes from a department store tester bottle or a date that went well.

Then you see them.

Her shoes.

They sit just inside the door, neatly side by side like she plans to slip them back on any minute, but you know better.

You freeze for half a second, keys still in hand, breath caught mid-inhale. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag before you force yourself to move again, softer now. Calmer. Like if you go still enough, quiet enough, the ache won’t rise up and drown you again.

You don’t go to your room.

You don’t even look down the hallway.

Because you know.

You know her laughter by now, how it sounds too close to his. You know the creak of his bed when someone rolls too far to the edge. You know the muffled shape of a kiss through drywall, even when it’s gentle. Even when it’s real.

You’re not strong enough for that tonight.

You set your keys on the coffee table as quietly as you can, afraid even the sound of metal might crack the illusion you’re building for yourself.

Then you lie down on the couch.

Curled up small, spine pressing into the cushions, one arm wedged between your cheek and the fabric like that might hold your head still. The blanket’s out of reach, but you don’t grab it. Too far. Too much.

You stare at the ceiling.

You close your eyes.

And you pretend.

Pretend sleep comes easy. Pretend you’re just tired. Pretend your chest doesn’t feel like it’s been hollowed out and left to echo with every laugh, every whisper from the next room. Pretend you don’t feel displaced in your own home. Like you’re the ghost now. The quiet in someone else’s love story.

You tell yourself she’ll leave soon.

But her shoes stay by the door.

And you don’t move.

FOUR WEEKS LATER

You didn’t even want to come.

But staying home felt worse. Like admitting something final.

The bar is too loud, too dark, too full of people you used to feel tethered to. Friends you still technically have, but who feel more like polite acquaintances now. You sit at the edge of the booth, shoulders brushing the wall, knees knocking gently into someone else’s under the table, maybe Grace, maybe Will. You haven’t looked up in a while.

Charlotte is across from you. Right beside Lando, close enough that it matters. She’s laughing at something he said, head tilted just enough to show she’s listening. Really listening. Her smile is soft and bright and infuriatingly genuine.

You want to hate her.

God, you want to hate her so badly.

But she’s… nice.

Too nice.

She’s clever and warm and thoughtful in all the right ways. She compliments your necklace. Orders your favorite food before you even finish glancing at the menu when she stays over. Laughs at your jokes, actually laughs, not the strained kind people give when they’re pretending to like someone for someone else’s sake.

She’s the kind of woman you would’ve wanted your best friend to fall for. If it weren’t your best friend.

If it weren’t him.

Now, she’s just another reminder of how things used to be. How easily you’ve been replaced by someone who never even tried to replace you. Charlotte isn’t taking your place maliciously, she’s just stepping into it naturally, without needing to push. Like the door was always half-open.

And maybe it was. Maybe it was never even near to being closed.

Lando is halfway through another story. Something about last weekend, a dinner you weren’t invited to—of course. You already know who was there. He hasn’t said her name, but she’s in every sentence, tucked into the “we,” ghosting through his memories like she belongs there now.

“She thought it was chicken,” he says, his grin lopsided and familiar. “But it was actually—”

You miss the punchline. You sip your drink, too sweet, too sticky, too something. Vodka cranberry. A drink from a different version of you. One who didn’t feel like a bystander in her own story.

You laugh when everyone else does. Not too late, not too soon. You’ve mastered the timing. Enough to pass.

Someone turns to you and says your name.

You blink. “Hm?”

He repeats the question. Travel plans. Work. Something light.

You nod. Offer a thin smile. “Busy, but good.”

That’s your answer for everything lately.

Busy. But good.

You let the conversation move on without you, words passing over your head like wind through a cracked window. You nod when it seems right, smile faintly when someone laughs, all muscle memory. But your eyes keep drifting. Back to him. Back to Lando.

He’s laughing, head thrown back, eyes crinkling in that way that used to make your chest feel full. That laugh used to be yours, a sound you could pull from him like it belonged to you.

Now, he doesn’t look at you once. Not even by accident.

And that, more than anything, is what hurts.

You remember when he used to. All the time. Across rooms. Mid-conversation. Little glances like secrets. The corner of his mouth twitching when you rolled your eyes. That smirk when someone said something dumb and he knew you were thinking it too. The soft look when he caught you looking at him and didn’t look away.

It used to feel like the two of you spoke a language only you knew. A shared, unspoken thread pulled taut between glances.

Now? Now you couldn’t feel further from him if there were an ocean between you.

You press your thumb into the side of your glass, watching the condensation pool around it, gather into droplets that slide down like they’re trying to escape.

There’s a lump rising in your throat, slow and sharp, pressing against your windpipe like it wants out. You swallow hard. Once. Twice. It doesn’t move.

You’re here. In the same room. At the same table. Breathing the same air.

And you’ve never felt more alone. Not even when you were cities apart. Not even when he left you unread. Not even onve in the many years you knew him.

You wonder if he even notices. That you're slipping. That you already have.

And somehow, he still feels miles away.

You smile again when someone cracks another joke. You don’t remember the setup. You don’t care about the punchline.

You're getting really good at pretending.

You excuse yourself with a smile that doesn’t quite stick.

Something about needing another drink. Even though your glass is still half full. Even though no one really noticed you slipping away, not even Lando. Especially not Lando.

You weave through the crowd, past a cluster of people singing along to something too loud, past two girls laughing at the edge of the bar, already flushed with wine. The room is warmer here. Closer. Easier to breathe in, even if only for a moment.

You lean against the bar, shoulder grazing the cold brass rail, and exhale like you’ve been holding your breath all night.

"Long night?"

The voice is low. Familiar. Smooth in that signature way that always seems half on the edge of teasing.

You glance to your right and find Charles.

His hair is messy, button-down half undone, sleeves rolled, drink in hand. He looks... at ease. In a way most people don’t at these kinds of things. In a way you definitely aren’t.

You offer a tired smile. “Something like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Something involving Lando?”

Your expression doesn’t change, but your grip on your glass does. He notices. Of course he does.

“You looked uncomfortable back there,” he says gently. Not pushing, just observing. “Not like you.”

You shrug. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

Charles huffs out a quiet laugh. “Or maybe you're just stuck sitting across from a guy who doesn’t know what he wants.”

That makes you pause.

You glance sideways.

He’s smirking now, the corner of his mouth tugged upward with a quiet kind of mischief. But it’s the look in his eyes that stills you. Calm. Observant. Too knowing for comfort. Like he’s already unraveled everything you’ve tried so carefully to keep wrapped up.

You blink once, sharply, trying to push back the sudden burn behind your eyes.

Charles doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you for a breath, then sips his drink.

“I mean,” he starts, voice casual but not careless, “I didn’t want to assume... but it kind of seems like whatever this is”, he gestures loosely back toward the crowded booth, where laughter rises again, louder now, “has been going on for a while.”

You look at him. Don’t answer. Just meet his gaze, even though it feels like something in your chest is pulling tight.

Charles leans back slightly, resting his elbow on the bar. “And I haven’t seen you at races,” he adds, quieter now. “Not really. Not the way you used to be there.”

Still, you don’t say anything. But you don’t look away either.

He watches you a moment longer, then shrugs lightly and takes another sip. And then, because he’s Charles, he smirks even more, a different kind this time, nudging your shoulder with his.

“I kinda missed your moans from his driver room,” he says, tone full of teasing, mouth curving around it like he knows exactly how to pull you back from the edge of whatever you were about to feel.

It works.

You huff out a laugh. “You’re such an ass.”

He shrugs, still grinning. “Maybe. But I’m right.”

It shouldn’t be comforting. But somehow, it is. That someone knows. That someone sees you, what you were, what you are now, and doesn’t make it more dramatic than it already feels in your chest. He just lets it sit there, in the space between drinks and half-smiles.

You exhale, leaning a little heavier against the bar.

“Can we not talk about him right now?”

Charles tilts his head. “Sure. No Lando talk.”

There’s a pause. The good kind. The easy kind.

Then, like a peace offering, he flags the bartender with two fingers. “Let me get you something better than that sugar-water,” he says, nodding at your half-drunk cranberry vodka. “You always drink that when you’re pretending you’re fine.”

You glance at him, surprised. “God, do I have any secrets left?”

He gives you a look, amused and soft all at once. “Not from me.”

And when the new drink arrives, you take it in your hands and let the sharpness of citrus chase away the ache. Even if just for a moment.

For the first time in what feels like weeks, it’s real. Loose and stupid and full of that fizzy kind of joy that only hits after too many drinks and just enough distraction. The music’s thumping, spilling out over the crowd, all bass and beat and sweat-slicked bodies. And you—pressed up against Charles on the dancefloor—are floating somewhere between tipsy and gone, but it feels good. Easy.

His hands rest light on your hips. You’re not even sure who started the dancing. One second you were at the bar still trading lazy banter, the next—this. Heat. Movement. His smile low and crooked as he leaned in to say something you didn’t quite hear but smiled at anyway.

And that’s when you see him.

Lando. Back at the booth. Standing slightly apart now, Charlotte beside him. His hand wrapped loosely in hers. His eyes, though, locked on you.

You freeze for half a second. Just enough to feel the pulse of something cold run beneath your skin.

He’s staring. Face unreadable, but his jaw tight. Eyebrows drawn the way they get when he’s confused. Or pissed. Or both.

Charles just leans in again, mouth near your ear, breath warm as he says, “Keep dancing.”

And you do.

You move again, slower now, but still with that reckless, weightless ease. You let yourself laugh again. Let Charles spin you slightly, his fingers brushing yours. Lando’s still there. Still watching. But he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you.

So you dance.

And when the music gets too loud, and your head starts to spin in that pleasant, end-of-the-night kind of way, the crowd starts to thin.

The booth, you’re no longer part of it, starts breaking apart. Hugs, handshakes, half-shouted goodbyes.

Charlotte finds you just as you’re tipping your head back to finish what’s left in your glass.

“Hey,” she says, her voice warm. “We’re heading out. You coming?”

Her smile is kind. Sincere. Damn her. She’s funny and beautiful and smart and never once made you feel small. And that’s the worst part. Because you want to blame her. You want it to be her fault. But it’s not. It never was.

You open your mouth. Pause.

You are tired. Your feet ache. The room’s spinning just a little.

But you also know exactly what it would feel like to follow them out of this bar. To walk three steps behind as they hold hands to the car. To sit silently beside them on the ride home, pretending not to notice Lando’s arm thrown across the back of her seat, pretending not to feel like a third wheel in your own friendship.

You hesitate.

And then, like he heard the entire conversation in your head, Charles appears beside you.

“Oh, actually—I think we’re fine,” he says casually, slipping an arm lightly around your waist. Not possessive. Just sure.

You glance up at him.

Then, instinctively, you look at Lando.

He’s right there. Just a few feet away. Still holding Charlotte’s hand, but his brow furrowed, like he hasn’t quite figured out what this feeling in his chest is supposed to be called. Like maybe he doesn’t like it.

Your eyes meet. You wait for him to say something.

He doesn’t.

He just stands there.

Charles turns his head slightly toward you, voice quieter now. “You’re coming home with me, right?”

His eyes are steady. No pressure. Just an offer. A way out.

You glance once more between them—Charled, Charlotte, then Lando the night closing in like a held breath.

Then you nod still looking into his eyes.

“Uhm, yeah. I’m actually good,” you say lightly, tugging your phone out of your pocket, pretending to check something. “Don’t wait for me.”

Charlotte smiles, maybe a little surprised, but not unkind. “Okay. Get home safe, yeah?”

And Lando? He doesn’t say anything at all.

He just watches as you turn away.

As Charles takes your hand.

As the music swells and the night swallows you whole.

SURPRISE Charles revivial hehe

tag list:

@lifesass @mara1999 @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0 @pluviophile142 @itstaliascorner @graceln4 @leclercsluvs @isar8tsyyy @wetrainclouds @seonaw @msimpala--67 @isar8tsyyy @gvcnnnnnnnbvszxv9 @sparklepiastri @sailorinthesie @bell1a @spikershoyo @fer23022003 @vinylphwoar @wherethezoes-at @mbioooo0000 @v3nd3ttal3on @4-ln4

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris smut #lando norris #f1 smut #𓊆papayainone𓊇 #ln4 smut #f1 series

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chaaistained · 2 days ago

Text

loa is your best friend, not your crush

tldr: stop seeking loa’s validation, trust in your friendship and the love you share

so we’re gonna need a bit of backstory for everyone as to how i reached this epiphany which i could only articulate this well thanks to @faeriemarie letting me ramble on discord thnx bby

anyway, backstory :

i have a wonderful best friend from high school and she is someone that i’ve scripted into many realities (she’s one of the members in my kpop girl group dr, i love her sm). but in my cr, as can be expected, life hasn’t been easy and we hadn’t talked for quite a while.

sometimes i’d remember her with so much warmth and fondness and reminisce in the times we’d shared, the love that was so real and so precious to me, the way i’d literally see her five days out of the week and still never feel tired of her presence because at a time where i was struggling (high school) she got me like no one else did

and afterwards, after losing so much time to life and university and careers and new friendships, most of which could never even hope to reach her level, i was pleasantly surprised when she reached out to me.

two text messages later and we’d slipped back into the same energy that we’d always shared, like nothing had changed, because nothing had changed

we very quickly organised a lunch, no fuss no rescheduling, nothing blocking our paths back to each other and right now, as i type this, i’m cuddled under a blanket after a lovely meal with her and a warmth in my soul.

because she single-handedly changed the way i view loa

something about me and her — in my eyes she was always perfection and me being the anxious fool that i am, sometimes i’d spiral and convince myself that i’m not worthy of being her friend

today, at lunch, sitting right across from me, she burned those burdens and alleviated each and every facet of fear i had about it, about us.

she said “you mean so much to me, i value us and our friendship so much. i know that we go a long time without speaking and i really miss you but at the same time, i just know that i can reach out whenever, for anything, and you’ll be there for me. because you’re so genuine and so authentic. this kind of friendship is something i’ll always cherish”.

aside from the fact that i’m getting teary eyed as i remember her words, i have a point with all of this rambling and exposition — as soon as she said this and helped me rid myself of all that stress, it felt like i’d just slipped into my better cr

a reality where i’ve always scripted this kind of energy, this kind of vibe, with her

at that moment, shifting wasn’t on my mind bcs i felt like i’d achieved it ?? i felt like i was there, in my better cr, getting lunch with one of my most cherished friends, just like those scenarios i’ve scripted

and her and i have even planned another meet up pretty soon with our extended group and i cannot explain how refreshing it is to feel zero social anxiety about this plan

usually i’d have inklings of fear and doubt but right now? nothing !! absolutely nothing

i am so at peace and i haven’t felt this way about a friendship in so long ???

having lunch with her and speaking with her affirmed to me that my fears of losing our friendship were unfounded, because how can you lose something so genuine and so real?

i’ve finally learned to trust in our friendship and the love we share and dismiss my irrational fears that are baseless and are a result of my own overthinking

i don’t think you guys understand how incredible this is for me because i am without a doubt one of the most anxious people in existence it is disgustingly debilitating

but i’ve won this battle and there are gonna be more battles that i’m gonna win (anxiety-wise ahdhdhsh)

and i know i’m gonna win those because meeting up with her affirmed me of my own capabilities and my own manifestations

i’ve learned to dismiss unfounded fear and trust in my friendship with this person

why don’t we think the same way about loa???

we need to trust in your friendship with loa, one of the most genuine friendships you can ever have

the universe can throw as much at you as it wants but loa always has your back

we need to stop thinking of loa as this unresponsive crush, always seeking its validation, in need of constant attention and interaction and hoping to “run into them” to “share a moment”

stop. stand up.

loa is not your crush, for fuck’s sake, loa is your life long soulmate friendship

a friend like loa? you don’t need to talk to them 24/7 to know they love you and value you and care about you and will provide for you

that’s what loa should be, a true genuine friend who you can hit up for whatever you want (manifestation) and they’ll follow through (materialisation)

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rotapathetic · 3 days ago

Text

͏͏͏✧྅ ˚ . ᯇ ̎̿͞͞͞͞͞͞͞͞ ིུ͠* grw TWITCH STREAMER!RAFE but he talks about you the entire time ਉl̈́ਉ * :.･ﾟ･ 🎧

❝she’s so sweet❞ : bold text is stream chat! 💬

STREAMER who can never stop talking about you grwm quick stream

RAFE ™ pulled the belt through his loops, titling a brow at his pants. “she showed me a trick for my belt, i forgot it, hold on.” he took a moment to stand there in front of the camera and remember what you told him.

user: oh brother user: we’ll be here for a long time 😓 user: it’s his first day on earth be patient

“baby!” he shouted to you in the other room, walking off camera. you appeared, raising a brow, then giggling when you saw his pants. “my belt,” rafe murmured, angling his lower half towards you.

you fixed the belt, explaining the trick to him again. “don’t panic if you forget again, i’m here to help,” you peered up at him as he pecked your forehead as a thanks.

“what would i do without you?” rafe walked backwards while saying it, moving back towards his monitor. you shrugged, mock pouting. “have falling down pants?” you responded, moving away from the room.

rafe was still sporting a smile when he faced the camera. “okay, got it. i’ll pick out my jewelry next.” he sat in the chair, bringing his jewelry dish closer. then he smiled, picking it up. “she got this for me when she noticed i would just throw my rings anywhere.”

user: wait what’s the name!! user: oh so thoughtful people exist

rafe frowned at the dish, turning it sideways. “i’m not sure what it’s called. y’all mind if i gatekeep? thanks.” he pulled a couple of rings, putting them on, then read a few donations.

user donated 10 subs user donated 15 bits: love the vids pal keep it up user donated $3: here you go, show her to the camera? 🫶

“not showing her, how does being permanently banned sound?” rafe knew his mods would send a warning to whoever asked the question. and his chat asked it frequently ever since his irl stream with you.

user: stop asking that, it’s so annoying user: show the trinkets!!

“the trinkets? okay.” rafe set the dish aside, tilting his mic away from him to reach the new figures he got on his desk. he showed one to the camera, “this is hers, i took it because it looks cool on my desk. don’t tell her.”

user: buddy said don’t tell her like we have the option

he grabbed another, “i think i found this in some random store, it looked interesting so i got it.” he sat it down, pulling his mic forward and running a hand over his head, reading the chat.

user: what fragrances do you use?? user: how do you maintain the buzz i’m thinking of cutting mine user: where are the rings from

“i’ll show you my options in a second. she usually trims my cut, but i just trim it when i notice it getting too long. .” he glanced at his rings. “this one is from a flea, this is from a small business, and this one. . i don’t know. i’ll try to link them.”

he glanced up to see the chat going crazy.

user: what was that user: is that her? user: um we can see someone user: yayy!! reveal

rafe quickly panned his camera closer to him and away from the photo frame behind him that was showing your reflection. he glanced to you, chucking when he saw your startled face. “oh, crap, sorry! i just wanted to show you the shop where you got that ring so you can tell them.”

rafe gestured for you to come closer, glancing to make sure his camera wouldn’t catch too much of you. you did, standing next to his chair and glancing at the screen, only your lower half showing.

user: close enough user: where are those bottoms from?? i love! user: be good guys then he’ll show her upper half

you giggled, looking to rafe who was staring up at you, hands running over your legs. “you can tell them.” it would be your first time talking to his chat, but rafe loved it.

“they’re thrifted, i’m sorry! but i can find something similar and give the link to rafe so he can show you.”

user: www user: she’s so sweet user: thanks so much!!

rafe fiddled with your fingers as he read the chat. “scary games?tomorrow, i’m chilling today. . who just said i just developed a hand fetish?” he pulled a blank face at the camera.

you covered your mouth to let out a little laugh. rafe tried to hold back his own laughter. “time out for you buddy, figure that out.” he directed one of his mods to set the user out of the chat for a few minutes.

rafe turned back to you, “you said you had the name of the shop?” you nodded, showing him your phone. rafe read aloud the name for the viewers, then slowly smirked, muting his mic.

“how’d you know someone asked about my rings? are you watching the stream?” he fully smiled at your embarrassed expression.

“well yeah, i watch sometimes. .” you meekly shrugged. rafe poked at your belly, causing you to swat at his hands. “yeah? you heard me talking all about you?”

user: oh he’s muted user: do not get freaky on live

“m hm. . your chat is really nice.” rafe pulled your hands towards him, bringing them up to rest on his shoulders. “they’re alright. .” rafe was once again too busy staring at you to notice his chat.

but you didn’t want to keep him. “okay, that’s all i wanted. you can keep talking to them, they miss you.” you took a step back. rafe pulled a face, unmuting his mic so they could hear. “i’ll end this stream right now.”

user: ??

#⠞ twitch streamer ㅤᩘ 🎧 rafe ㅤ⁝ㅤ is online ⌕ .. ༝#rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron blurb #rafe blurb #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron

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kenntoria · 2 days ago

Text

it’s the way he watches you.

quietly, from where he’s half-sprawled on the couch, arms tucked behind his head, messy hair sticking up like he’s been dragging his hands through it. his blindfold is off, blue eyes shining in the dim light of the apartment. he’s been watching you for the past ten minutes.

you’re curled in a chair by the window, staring out, eyes not really seeing. your mouth is in a small, thoughtful frown and your hands are limp in your lap. you’re not crying. not talking. just… quiet.

too quiet.

gojo’s been thinking for a while now about what to do. if he should say something. if he should leave you be. it’s not like he’s good at this sort of thing. he’s the strongest, but feelings? emotions? gentle things? that’s a whole other kind of battlefield.

he gets up without saying a word. pads to the kitchen. opens and closes cabinets, a little clumsily, like he’s not used to moving around without swagger.

you don’t look.

so he makes hot chocolate.

with the fancy marshmallows you like. the ones shaped like stars. he burns his finger a little trying to fix it just right, and hisses under his breath, and mutters, “get it together, satoru,” like he’s on a mission from god.

he brings it over to you with both hands and kneels beside your chair.

you blink, surprised, when you notice him there.

“for the prettiest girl i know,” he says, trying for lightness, offering the mug like it’s a peace treaty. “warning: it may or may not be made with love and minor kitchen injuries.”

you take it. you don’t say anything at first. you hold the warm mug and look at it like you don’t know what to do with something kind.

and when you finally speak, your voice is too soft.

“…you noticed.”

“’course i noticed,” he says, and now he’s not joking. “you’ve got the world’s most expressive face. and also i love you. that helps.”

your breath catches.

and then, all at once, the tears come. hot, unexpected, falling down your cheeks faster than you can stop them.

gojo panics.

“hey—hey, no, baby, don’t cry—what’s wrong? is it too hot? did i do something? did i say something dumb again? is this about the marshmallows? i knew i should’ve used the heart ones—”

you shake your head, and now you’re really crying, tears slipping down your cheeks, nose scrunched, hands curled into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“satoru,” you croak out, half a laugh buried in a sob. “i’m crying because you love me.”

he stops. blinks at you. the world stills.

you sniffle. “you were being so stupid. and sweet. and you always know when something’s wrong and you try so hard to fix it, even if you don’t know how. and you just—i’m crying because you love me.”

his breath leaves him in a slow exhale, and something soft and stupid blooms behind his ribs.

“…of course i love you,” he says, voice gone quiet in the aftermath. “you’re my favorite person. of course i do.”you nod, like you already knew, like it still made you cry anyway.

he cups your cheeks gently, wipes at your tears with his thumbs, kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. your eyelids. your chin. every bit of you he can reach, like he’s trying to kiss all the sad away.

“you don’t have to cry,” he whispers, grinning a little even as his eyes go glassy. “unless you want to. but if you do, i’m gonna keep kissing you every time. it’s the law.”

you laugh again—soft and wet and warm—and pull him down into your arms.

he buries his face in your neck, and you breathe in the smell of him, cotton and sugar and something stupidly comforting.

the tv keeps playing in the background. neither of you look at it.it’s a quiet kind of comfort. full of warmth and kisses and love you don’t have to earn.

he stays close, holding you like he never wants to let go.

and outside the window, the city moves on. but in this little corner of it, there is only warmth. you, and him, and the cocoa. and all the love in the world.

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lazysoulwriter · 2 days ago

Text

i’m not leaving. not after this. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: 18+ (smut), pussydrunk!pedro, soft!dom energy, cursing, reader is in her twenties, first time hookup, clingy!pedro, post-nut confessions.

It was supposed to be casual. You both said that.

Dinner had turned into drinks, and drinks into laughter, and that laughter had stretched out until it was past midnight, and you were both stretched out on the only bed in your little hotel room—handsy, flushed, and a little buzzed from the wine and the chemistry.

You had straddled him without thinking twice. Pedro had let you. Of course he had.

And now… he was gone.

Not literally. Physically, he was very much here—his hands gripping your hips like you were something he was scared to lose, his mouth parted in awe beneath you, eyes glazed over as he looked down to where your bodies were connected.

But mentally? He was pussydrunk. And not doing a damn thing to hide it.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, voice barely a rasp, head falling back against the pillow. “Ohhh my fucking god.” You tried not to giggle, biting your lip as you rolled your hips slowly. “You okay there, old man?”

He blinked like he’d just been yanked back to reality. His hands squeezed tighter. “Don’t call me that. Not when you’re…” He groaned, deep in his chest, hips bucking up helplessly. “Jesus. You’re unreal. You’re… you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You leaned down, kissing the sweat-slick skin of his throat. “I’m barely moving.” “I know,” he whined, half-laughing, half-moan. “That’s the problem. I can’t even fucking think.”

And he really couldn’t.

All he could focus on was the way you felt around him. Warm. Wet. Tight. How your skin was glowing in the soft lamp light. How your body moved like you knew what it was doing to him.

He couldn’t stop touching you. Couldn’t stop whispering, “so good, baby… fuck, you feel so good… i didn’t think it’d feel this good.”

You smiled as you leaned down, lips ghosting over his, breath hot. “You thought about it?”

Pedro nodded, forehead pressed to yours, curls damp with sweat. “Every night since I met you.” His voice cracked a little, like he wasn’t even embarrassed. “But this… this is something else.”

Your hips swiveled, and he shook. Brow furrowed, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m gonna come,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I—I can’t last like this. Baby, please, please let me—”

“Pedro.” You cupped his face. “It’s okay. I want you to.”

And he melted. Just like that.

A low, drawn-out groan escaped his lips as his body arched into yours, hands gripping you like he’d fall apart without you. And when he finally stilled, panting, flushed, brain completely fried—he kept holding you.

He didn’t move.

Not even when you gently sat back, still seated on his lap, brushing his curls off his forehead.

“You alive?” He nodded. A lazy, dizzy smile on his lips.

“I’m not leaving,” he said suddenly. You blinked. “Okay…” “No, I mean it. I’m not leaving you.” You blinked again. “That… was just sex, Pedro.”

He tilted his head, eyes soft. “Not to me.” Your chest tightened. “You just came.” “Yeah,” he said, like he was absolutely fine being dramatic, “and now I’m in love. Deal with it.”

You threw your head back laughing.

And he pulled you down into his arms, kissing you again, whispering against your mouth:

“I’m so fucked. So, so fucked.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom @m4yb3-k3tlyn3

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owe-143 · 1 day ago

Note

Hi if you are ok taking requests maybe Saja Boys cuddle headcannons? Just something really fluffy. If not that’s ok thank you! : )

✶Cuddles for

your troubles✶

A/N: Thank you for requesting hun!! I'll try to utmost best :)) tell me way this was kinda a struggle thoo. Sorry if there's mistakes, I'll proof read later haha

Warnings: very slightly suggestive. Like a salt pinch

Fluff☁💫

Saja boys (seperate) x Reader!!

Jinu!

-Awkward asf at first

-Doesn't know how to hold you without feeling like you're uncomfortable

-So just reassure him you're alright from time to time

-Laying on his chest!!

-He'll tighten his arms around you as if you'll disappear really

-if you end up sleeping he'll stare at you forever. Stroking your cheek/playing with your hair/admiring every detail of your face

-Super gentle!!

-Loves being big spoon or little spoon. Whatever you're comfortable with, he'll roll with it

-He's always there to listen if you have anything to rant about

Abs!

-let's get this out of the way. THIS MAN WILL SQUEEZE YOU

-not to the point where you'd suffocate but hell he is clingy

-loves when you sit on his lap

-once again, CLINGY. ONCE YOU'RE THERE, YOU'RE NOT LEAVING

-Secretly loves being the little spoon

-his hands will be everywhere (respectfully ofc!)

-especially your hips

-personal space?? Who's that??

-isn't the craziest affectionate person but for you he'll adjust

Romance!

-Will literally sing to you

-Loves snuggling up into your neck

-play with his hair!!

-always kissing you when ever he gets the chance.

-Turns into literal make out sessions most of the time

-Also a lap guy I think

-flirts with you non stop. Always has something to say and have you squirming

-big spoon. Idc. He'll always end up spooning you

-y'all paint each other's nails and talk shit about everyone

Mystery!

-His arms must be wrapped around you waist or clinging onto your hips

-most likely to cuddle you from behind

-he bites (Y'ALL SAW THAT BARKING SCENE DON'T TELL ME IM CRAZY)

-loves your scent so he's literally always sniffing you

-usually the one who falls asleep during a cuddle session

-also a great listener though he tends to prefer the silence

-hand holding with your fingers intertwined like Yesss>>

-such a big spoon

-if you're on your phone, he'll likely take it and chuck it😭 Damn attention seeker

Baby!

-pretty clingy too

-pokes you or tickles you

-he's really playfully so uhm he'll actually randomly start wrestling you

-maybe too obvious but little spoon guys. PLEASE-

-wrap your arms around him<33 and tell him how much you love him

-Always talking about something

-kiss his face!!!

-also doesn't know what personal space is. So he's cuddling you all the DAMN TIME

-loves laying on top of you and snuggles

#kpop demon hunters #kdh #kpdh #saja boys #saja boys x reader #kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #jinu #baby saja #romance saja #abs saja #mystery saja #jinu x reader #baby saja x reader #romance saja x reader #abs saja x reader #mystery saja x reader

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himasgod · 2 days ago

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can I request the overblot boys (hcs) with a fem reader who has curly hair. but when she went to twst she didn't get any products (Crowley would NOT give us shit) so she didn't do her curls until she got products and got to do her routine again and actually wear her curls for the first time in NRC

(if u don't do multiple ppl then can I js get Vil with this)

OVERBLOTS X READER

Where you have curly hair and you start to do your curls properly

Vil definitely noticed when your curls weren't defined, but he assumed it was a stylistic choice or a wash-and-go day.

When you walk into the hall with your curls fully revived and styled, he slowly raises an eyebrow.

"Oh? Darling, is that your natural curl pattern?"

When you tell him you finally got your products and could do your routine again, he's intrigued, and a little horrified that you had to go without proper haircare.

"Ugh. Typical of that insufferable man. No understanding of maintenance. None."

Vil goes into mentor mode.

"What's your curl type? 3A? 3C? Do you use heat? What's your drying method?"

He's already sketching a custom hair regimen in his mind.

He pulls a few strings and suddenly you have access to top-tier products from Pomefiore’s exclusive inventory.

You try to refuse, but he won't let you settle for “bargain-bin conditioner.”

"You were already beautiful, but now you're radiant. Your curls frame your face like a crown, and I expect you to treat them as such."

He'll teach you how to preserve them overnight, how to pineapple your hair, and even offer to silk-wrap your pillow if you stay over at Pomefiore.

Jamil has sharp eyes—you know he noticed your hair before, but he didn't comment.

He probably assumed the frizz or undefined curls were just how your hair always looked… until one day you walk into Scarabia with your full routine done, curls defined.

"… You did something different. Not that I was watching—I mean, I wasn't—well, I was, but not like—"

sighs internally

He's flustered.

It's cute.

You explain the whole “no products until now” thing and he’s immediately sympathetic.

"That's rough. Honestly, not surprised Crowley wouldn't think to provide that."

He offers to help you track down specific ingredients or oils if you want to DIY your routine—Scarabia’s got access to spices and natural oils you could definitely use.

He won't admit it directly, but your curls? Devastating to him.

He likes the way they bounce when you laugh and how your silhouette changes in the sunlight.

Occasionally brushes your curls out of your face without saying a word.

Kalim bursts in like: “You look AMAZING today!!”

Jamil mutters under his breath: “She looks amazing every day…”

Riddle is baffled the first time he sees you with your curls.

“You look… different today,” he says, trying to maintain composure.

He is staring. He does not mean to stare. But he is staring.

You explain it's your natural hair texture and that you couldn't do your curly hair routine before now because you didn't have the products.

"That is unacceptable. As a dorm leader, I demand that Crowley provide proper grooming necessities for all students. I'll write him an official complaint."

Once he realizes that this is how your hair looks when it's healthy and cared for, he starts complimenting it—awkwardly, but sweetly.

"Your curls suit you… No, I mean they frame your face well. Er, aesthetically pleasing… That's what I meant."

He secretly memorizes what products you tell like and restores them without you.

Leona notices the change immediately.

One afternoon, you walk into the botanical garden with your curls out and his eyes visibly track you from head to toe.

"Damn. That's what your hair actually looks like?"

He is shook.

He asks if he can touch it. Not in a weird way—he's just genuinely fascinated.

He's never seen curls like yours before and he's very tactile, so he'll run his fingers through a curl and let it bounce back, amused.

"You've been hiding this the whole time? Tch. Waste."

When you tell him you couldn't do your curls because you didn't have products, he gets pissed.

"That damn Crowley. Of course he'd dump a herbivore in here without even the bare minimum."

He will absolutely have stuff delivered from Sunset Savanna (or just swipe from someone's shipment).

Compliments your curls like it's no big deal.

"You look hot. Curls work for you. Keep it that way."

Refuses to admit he's been glancing at you more than usual.

Azul pretends he didn't notice the drastic change, but his reaction gives him away.

"Welcome to the Lou—uh, I mean—Yuu. You look… different. Not bad. I mean—good. You look good. Yes. That."

You explain the situation about not having curly hair products and its entire meaning shifts.

"I see. How inconsiderate of the Headmage not to equip you with proper grooming tools."

Azul offers to source imported hair products for you at a discounted rate. (You say no—he tries again.)

When he realizes how important this is to you, he tries a different approach: "For you, I could offer them for free. Consider it… good PR."

Lowkey develops a huge weakness for your curls.

He will deny it if Floyd teases him about it, but he definitely stars longer than he should when you play with them.

Secretly imagines you in a mermaid form with curls flowing in water like seafoam.

He doesn't even realize how romantic that is until later.

Idia is on his tablet as usual when you walk into Ignihyde, bouncing hair, curls finally in their full glory.

He looks up once—and then goes completely red.

His hair flares up in pink flames and he nearly drops his tablet.

"Is that… a new skin of yours?!"

You explain the curl care thing and the lack of products, and he just stares at you, like,

“They let you suffer like, without item drops?? That's current villain behavior.”

He goes into researching curly hair routines and Amazon-equivalents in Twisted Wonderland.

Next thing you know, there's a care package outside your door

Every time you wear your curls out, he turns into a stammering mess who can't look you in the eye.

Worships the curls but cannot verbalize it.

Ortho ends up saying it for him:

"Big Brother says you look great! Especially when your hair spirals like this!"

Malleus is so used to be excluded that when you come with your curls defined and radiant, he thinks it must be some kind of costume he wasn't informed about.

"Child of man… your hair is… glowing today"

You explain it's just your natural curls and that you couldn't do your routine before now because of the lack of products.

"So you had to wait to reveal your true hair form. Hm… I understand. Many dragons shed their scales to grow stronger."

He absolutely romanticizes your curls

“They remind me of the curling mist over Briar Valley’s hills at dawn… Spiraling, elegant~”

He offers to send servants to fetch “whatever oils or enchanted waters” you require.

You try to explain it's just gel and leave-in conditioner, but he insists on going above and beyond.

Touches a curl with curiosity.

“So soft…”

(he says it in awe, not creepily, promise.)

He's not shy about admiring you.

He will walk beside you proudly, staring at your curls as they blow in the wind, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

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dunham-doodles · 2 days ago

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A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

Remmick x fem!reader

2k words | Pure fluff

Summary: (AU - Remmick survived the juke joint.) It’s 1964 and you’re an artist who decides to draw the handsome stranger who keeps turning up at your door every night.

Tags: yearning; soft and sweet; lingering gazes; touching scars; 1960s music; puppy!Remmick; touch starved!Remmick

A/N: I wanted to borrow an idea I’ve seen used with Astarion from Baldur’s Gate 3. I love love love the idea of an artist drawing the face of a vampire who hasn’t seen their reflection in God knows how long.

“Hold still,” you ordered, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“This ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” Remmick said playfully.

“It will if you keep moving,” you shot back, only half joking. “Eyes on that horizon, boy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled out, rolling his eyes lightly. He tilted his chin in the direction of wherever horizon meant. Although his tone was sarcastic, a grin curled at the ends of his lips.

The night air was crisp. It was the beginning transition of spring into summer where the days warmed the skin like an embrace from a loved one but the nights remained cool like a reminder of their absence. The town had eased into sleep around you.

You thought the best thing about living out in the middle of nowhere was that there was no light pollution. Despite the dark, the sky was alight with hues of deep purple and blue like an ocean dotted with pinpricks of multicolored stars. In school, they taught you the names of each and every constellation that rotated with the seasons.

You found him right under Polaris. You had been awake after losing track of time. You were locked into your paintings so intensely, you didn’t see the sky turn. The ashtray was loaded with burnt out cigarettes, remnants of smoke curling in the warm glow of the single lamp glowing on the end table. You kept the window open to air out the smell, the soft trickles of a sad guitar playing through your stereo speakers filtering through the pane.

He stood at the end of the dirt path that served as your driveway, hands in pockets, curious, as if he were contemplating going up and installing himself into your life. You weren’t going to get a say in when or how.

You turned down the record as he got closer.

“There’s no need to do that,” he said, hands stretching out in the open air, “I came up here to ask what you was playin’ is all.” His blue eyes pleaded innocent.

“Lonnie Johnson,” you stated, an edge to your words.

He hummed low in his throat. “She sure knows how to play.”

“He,” you corrected, “Lonnie’s a dude.”

“H-He,” the stranger repeated, “He sure knows how to play.” A beat of silence strung between you awkwardly. He shuffled his feet underneath himself. “You wouldn’t mind if I sat and listened, wouldja?”

You chuckled to yourself. A strange white man asking you if you minded if he sat and listened to your records in the dead of night? Your eyes took a precautionary glance over where the trees met the boarder of your land for any sign of unsavory movement.

“You alone?” you asked finally. He nodded his head. You pursed your lips, weighing your decision in your mind. You turned on your heel, away from the window. You crossed to your record player, moved the needle to the beginning track, and turned the sound up a little louder.

You met the eyes of the stranger’s once more. His features reflected his gratitude. He leaned against the strong post of the porch landing and closed his eyes, taking in the music.

You shook your head. What a weird man.

He kept finding his way to your home every night after sundown.

“Whatcha got spinnin’ tonight?” he’d ask you without fail. You’d tell him anything from Etta James to Freddie King and he’d happily sit his ass down on your porch no matter who poured through those speakers.

Some nights he came with some 45s he thought you would like.

“The guy on guitar has to be one of my favorites from this decade,” he said, pushing the small disc into your hands. To be honest, you thought his music tastes were a little too old. Nothing he gave you was dated past the forties. But still, you admired the gesture. In return, you gave him a more modern musical education, opening his ears to the sounds of the 60s. He was floored the first time he heard Hendrix.

“Find a new favorite guitar player, did ya?” you teased.

It was nice having him to share your nights with. He didn’t make too much of a fuss; didn’t ask for anything to eat or drink, despite your offerings. He was perfectly content listening to your music and asking questions about your art. He praised the paintings, kept saying they belonged in the Louvre rather than hidden in this small town. You shooed away his compliments like water off a duck’s back but you couldn’t stop the blush creeping into your cheeks.

One evening, you decided you were gonna join him out on your porch. Armed with your drawing pad and a tin of charcoal sticks, you rocked yourself gently on your porch swing with your big toe. You had tucked yourself into an oversized crochet blanket, preserving your warmth as you waited for the sky to dim. You had the radio on instead of playing a record to save yourself from having to leave your seat. The tinny voices crackled over the sounds of the crickets singing.

“Evenin’ Remmick,” you called when you saw him crest your driveway. He told you his name some nights ago and you kept it on your tongue whenever he was near. You just liked the way his face lit up like Christmas whenever you said it.

“You waitin’ for me?” he asked, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Sure looks like it,” you replied. He crossed over to your place on the swing but leaned against the post of the porch landing instead. “You ain’t gonna sit by me?”

Remmick jolted like he touched an electric fence. “I didn’t know you were offerin’.”

You scooched over to make room for him and patted the empty space. “I don’t bite,” you winked. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were keeping down a really good joke.

The swing groaned under his weight. Your heart flip-flopped at the proximity of him. His brown hair curled at the base of his neck, grown too shaggy. His face was pocked with unkempt whiskers and a white scar cracked the left side of his cheek. You wanted to trace that scar with the tips of your fingers.

His blue eyes watched you carefully. Watched for any indication that his nearness was offensive somehow. He kept himself small, not daring to brush your skin. He moved as if you were on fire and he was trying very hard not to get burned.

“You’re gonna be my muse,” you declared.

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that,” Remmick smirked, “What do I gotta do?”

You picked up a charcoal stick and told him to face forward, keep his eyes on the dirt path ahead. The charcoal scratched the surface of the paper, debris crumbling onto your lap.

Santana crooned over the speakers on your radio lying on the kitchen counter inside. Remmick shifted under the weight of your presence.

“I think I like your music better,” he mumbled.

You breathed out a small laugh without looking up. “You’re too kind. Your taste isn’t too bad either. You just got an ol’ soul.”

Remmick pursed his lips. “You could say that.”

“Did you grow up here?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “No,” he sighed sadly, “You?”

“Nope. I moved out here a few years ago.”

“How come?”

“Just wanted a change. The city was too loud.” Your eyebrows knit together in concentration. Remmick took this moment to steal a look at you.

Your eyes flicked up at him through your eyelashes. The tips of your ears turned crimson. “Eyes forward, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy?” he tossed the name around his mouth like a shiny token. You bit your lip to keep from saying much else.

You twisted the length of your charcoal stick to match the angle of his nose before copying it onto your page. His shoulders slowly began to relax. His hands brushed down his thighs, right where your knee almost touched him. He curled his fingers as if to check that they were still operational.

“Can I look yet?” he asked tenderly. His pinkie stretch precariously, bridging the gap between you two. You could feel his nail ghosting on your bare skin. Your heart leapt into your throat, the lightest of touches already turning your nerves into an inferno.

“Just gotta work on the shading,” you replied meekly. He nodded, correcting his head. His finger never dropped. He began to soothingly stroke your knee back and forth, keeping time with the new song that played. It tickled you.

It was harder to concentrate now. From the briefest of looks, you noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching, chewing on words he almost felt ready to say. And what would those words be? What could he possibly say to make your heart race any faster?

To ease it along, you pushed your knee further into his touch. Remmick inhaled sharply in response. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt.

“Okay,” you said after a while, “I think I’m done.” You pressed the pad of paper to your chest before revealing it slowly to him. He cradled the pad in his calloused hands like it was a newborn.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, “This is me?” He asked the question like he wasn’t sure what he looked like.

“It’s a rough sketch,” you admitted, “If I gave it more time, I could clean up the lines and be more precise with the shadows.”

“When did I-?” he wondered under his breath. His fingers brushed the hair curled around his ears to the hair on his chin, trailing all the way to the scar that marked him. His brow furrowed as if remembering the fresh wound marring his face and the blood and pain that came with it. He covered it fully with his hand, ashamed to have you look upon it any longer.

“How’d you get that?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes tore reluctantly from his portrait. “I, uh…” he paused, “The war.” He locked back onto the sketch, studying it as if he hadn’t seen his own face in centuries.

“Is… Is everything okay?” you whispered. You gently pressed yourself into his side.

“Yes,” he murmured. He straightened his back and finally met your gaze again. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“Y’know, you can tell me if you hate it,” you chuckled, trying to make it light. “Don’t gotta spare my feelings.”

“No, I love this! I love—,” he started. “You did an amazin’ job.”

“You can keep it,” you said. Your hands met his and you lightly pushed the drawing pad against his chest. You leaned into his space, your touch lingering on his. Your thumb rubbed the side of his hand, returning the gentleness he showed you. Remmick’s lips parted slightly, exhaling a shallow breath.

“Thank you,” he spoke. His voice frayed like he hated that he broke the silence. You smiled softly at him. Your fingers reached and stroked the angry crevasse on his cheek.

He looked so fragile being held. His eyelids fluttered as he bathed in the warmth of your hand. He winced like it hurt but his head leaned into you instinctively. A soft trembling sound slipped past his lips.

“You are a wonderful muse,” you said. You leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on that scar. He dipped his head slipping past your ear before nuzzling in the crook of your neck. You gathered him into your arms, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Your fingers stroked the relaxed curls of his dark hair. His arms lifted with difficulty, still unsure if he was allowed this much, and rested around your waist. When you didn’t fight him, he pulled you in closer. You began to hum along to the song that wept from the radio.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the steady rocking of the porch swing on the light breeze and the feathery trail of kisses tied with promises of everlasting happiness.

#Remmick #remmick fanfic #remmick x reader #fluff fic #sinners 2025 #sinners #sinners fanfiction #jack o'connell #please tell me I’m doing a good job #touch starved

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astrolook · 3 days ago

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❤️‍🔥Synastry Observations - Are They The One or Just Passing Through? 🔗

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home!

If you’re wondering whether someone might be "the one" for you or not, check where their 7th lord and Venus (for a wife), or Jupiter (for a husband), falls in your chart.

The 7th lord shows their relationship mindset and whether long-term commitment with you is likely to work. Check where their 7th lord is falling in your chart, along with its aspects.

Their 1st lord in your chart shows how they naturally behave toward you. This can be learned through where their 1st lord lands in your chart, along with its aspects.

Venus = wife indicator in a man’s chart; Jupiter = husband indicator in a woman’s chart.

Their 5th lord in your chart (and its aspects) shows how they might be as a parent and their potential parenting dynamic with you. These placements reveal how serious they might be, what kind of partner they are, and whether your lives actually align long-term.

Their 7th lord in your chart:

Their 7th lord in ur 1st - You ARE their type. No guessing, no mixed signals. It shows. It’s “I could see a future with you” energy. Even if you're not their usual type, you become their exception. You trigger their desire to settle down or lock something in. If it doesn't work out, they’ll probably compare others to you for a while. They treat you like you matter and you just check most of their boxes. They could put pressure on you to be “ready” even if you’re not. They would woo or chase you. Will keep tabs on you. In public, they act like you’re already theirs. Publicly claim you with touch, eye contact, and presence. Very visible couple energy and people would notice the chemistry.

Their 7th lord in ur 2nd - They see stability in you or at least, they want it from you. You feel like someone they could build a life with. Comfort is the hook. It’s “I want to keep you” energy. You might feel like they expect you to provide something, whether it's emotional, financial, or physical. They might become possessive without realizing it. If it’s one-sided, you’ll feel used either emotionally or materially. They may try to “secure” you before truly connecting. You might feel safe or stuck, depending on your own chart. There's a sense of “I want to have all of you” literally. In public, they treat you like their person through small, steady gestures. Think hand on your back/ shoulder/ hip, picking up the check, always close by.

Their 7th lord in ur 3rd - They feel drawn to your mind and their attraction towards you is beyond appearance. You might become their go-to person for random thoughts and late-night talks. The connection starts light but can get emotionally loaded fast. They flirt through words. Texts, jokes, side comments, etc and that’s their way in. If one-sided, you’ll feel like their emotional dumping site. They romanticize your tone, your humor, the way you speak. Can ghost you out of nowhere if you're not on the same wavelength. If it ends, they’ll still lurk by liking your posts, watching your stories, saying nothing.

Their 7th lord in ur 4th - They feel emotionally safe around you way too fast. You remind them of home sometimes in a comforting way, sometimes in a triggering one. They might start talking about deep personal stuff out of nowhere. If mutual, the bond feels warm, familiar, and deeply personal. If one-sided, you’ll feel emotionally responsible for their mess. You might notice them trying to insert themselves into your routines or family stuff early. If they’re emotionally immature, they’ll act like a victim when things shift. If it doesn’t work, it feels like a breakup with your own peace.

Their 7th lord in ur 5th - They might see you as the father/mother of their children. Can see you as child-like or they can be that way towards you. If one-sided, you might feel they used you for just an ego boost or to keep a score. They may try to woo or chase you. Even if they’re emotionally reserved, you pull out their playful, flirty, affectionate side. You might notice them getting possessive when they’re not getting enough attention back or backing off completely if the energy stops feeling exciting. In public, they want to show you off.

Their 7th lord in ur 6th - They are drawn to how you carry yourself under pressure. They show interest by doing things for you or offering help, not through big romantic gestures. It can feel sweet at first, but over time, you might notice a subtle pressure to perform or “keep it together” for them. You become the reliable one, the one who holds it down. If it’s mutual, the bond feels steady and loyal. If it’s one-sided, you’ll start feeling like their emotional support system, not their partner. Quiet tension builds when effort isn’t returned. It’s love through labor, and that can either ground the connection or wear it out. In public, they help carry your bag, pick you up at work or drop you off, and remember your schedule.

Their 7th lord in ur 7th - They see you as "the one". They show up already “partnered” in their mind. It’s giving a default commitment. It’s not casual. Even if you try, something about it feels official. You bring out their relationship side even if they weren’t looking for it. If they're immature, they might project ideal partner expectations on you too fast. They may test you to see if you match their ideal. In public, you both give off perfect pair vibes to others and people would respect you both.

Their 7th lord in ur 8th - They want access to you, like all of you. They get emotionally attached fast, even if they pretend they’re not. You may feel both desired and slightly exposed around them. You might feel like they want control, even if they frame it as “just caring.” It can get toxic, and you won't realize it until it's too late. Secrets come out, willingly or not. The sexual tension is crazy. It’s there even when nothing physical happens. They’ll either bring you closer to your shadow work or pull you into theirs. When it’s real and healthy, it feels like love meets rebirth. When it’s not, it drains your soul. In public, they can be low-key and people can def see the sexual tension between you both.

Their 7th lord in ur 9th - You might feel like a muse to them. They romanticize the idea of growing with you. If mutual, the connection feels freeing, future-focused, and full of potential. If one-sided, they might put you on a pedestal as their “escape.” Long-distance, cultural, or lifestyle gaps are common with this overlay. A partner in evolution. In public, you both give off travel couple vibes or the nerdy couple.

Their 7th lord in ur 10th - They see you as someone they can publicly claim, like status matters here. You come off as “partner goals” to them, whether you’re trying or not. You might feel like they’re into the idea of you more than the real you. They could treat you like a trophy or someone who boosts their rep. If mutual, you feel like a power couple together. If one-sided, you might feel used or put on display. Respect matters just as much as affection here, maybe more. If it ends, it’s not just a breakup, it’s a hit to their image. Their career can take a hit too. They def wanna show you off and would feel proud to be seen with you. In public, they show you off with pride. People might see you both as a "power couple".

Their 7th lord in ur 11th - They see you as their "partner in crime". They romanticize how accepted and understood they feel around you. Feelings grow through shared interests, group chats, and inside jokes. If mutual, it’s that “my best friend is also my person” type of love. If one-sided, they’ll hover in your orbit, hoping you catch on. The line between friend and partner gets blurry fast. When it ends, it’s still hard to fully let go as the friendship keeps echoing. In public, you look like best friends who also hook up. They act easygoing and proud of you, but not possessive.

Their 7th lord in ur 12th - They feel drawn to you without knowing why and it’s an unconscious attraction. The connection feels private, hidden, or impossible to explain. You might feel like they see a side of you no one else does. If mutual, it’s telepathic. You feel each other’s moods without speaking. Boundaries blur emotionally, spiritually, and sometimes physically. They can disappear emotionally just as fast as they appeared. Feels karmic like you’ve met before or have unfinished business. Love here is felt more than acted on and that can be painful. In public, people don’t really get your dynamic. People never would have imagined you both would end up together.

💌For readings, check out my pinned post for pricing! ✨💌🪐

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