#and i get multiple thirst traps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cbeargyu · 2 months ago

Note

Ever you think about camboy!yeonjun? 🥺

just chillin'

summary: alone on a saturday night, you stumble upon a camboy's stream by pure accident. what begins as innocent curiosity spirals into an irresistible addiction, especially when he seems to notice you among the thousands. and when he reaches out to you personally... you realize that some fantasies are too tempting to leave behind.

pairing: camboy!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers, slight angst (insecurity), heavy tension, slow burn turned fast, eventual public sex (streamed), slight exhibitionism.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), camboy themes, masturbation (m and f), sexting, sextalk, blowjob, vaginal sex, multiple positions, dirty talk, slight choking, spanking, use of sex toys, praise + possessiveness, masking identities (reader wears a mask, yeonjun wears sunglasses) during public stream, emotional insecurity (reader worried about appearance), reader is implied to be inexperienced or shy, mild degradation (very soft, mostly praise kink), slight breeding kink talk, heavy mentions of viewer comments/donations.

wc: 4,6k

notes: baby, thank you so much for this amazing request, i was blushing like crazy thinking about all the ways i could handle the story, wow, not gonna lie, my favorite request ever, bae, yeonjun camboy is such a concept 😭��

it’s saturday night, and the house is dead quiet.

your parents left earlier for some family dinner party—you had no interest in small talk with distant cousins or watching your dad argue about politics over cheap wine. your brother, predictably, is out with his girlfriend, probably halfway into some movie or already making out in his car. either way, he’s not coming home anytime soon.

you’ve got the whole house to yourself. all night.

at first, it felt nice—freedom. silence. you curled up on the couch, made popcorn, browsed netflix like it was an olympic sport. but after an hour of half-watching three different movies, nothing could hold your attention. not even the romcoms with shirtless leads.

you switched to tiktok. scrolled. scrolled more. a couple thirst traps. a couple puppies. nothing hit.

you huffed and opened your laptop, fingers drifting without purpose. maybe a gameplay stream would help pass time. something soft. chill. maybe even fall asleep to it.

you searched “streamers live now” and clicked a random site link that looked slightly sketchy.

only—it wasn’t for gaming.

the homepage was dark. black background, bright red accents. pulsing icons and neon outlines. bold letters reading “18+ only. enter responsibly.”

you blinked. hesitated. your heart kicked once in your chest.

then curiosity won.

you clicked.

the page opened with a grid of livestream thumbnails. too many skin tones. too many soft moans bleeding through overlapping audio. most thumbnails showed women—arched backs, lace underwear, fingers between thighs. the kind of content you’d only ever dared to peek at by accident.

you licked your bottom lip without realizing. eyes glued to the screen.

and then you saw him.

a stream titled “just chillin’”. the thumbnail was cropped just below the neck, showing a toned chest in a tight black tank top, arms flexed casually as he leaned back in a gamer chair. loose, light-wash jeans slung low on narrow hips, exposing a hint of red boxers.

his username: yawnzzn.

something about it made your fingers freeze.

there weren’t too many viewers inside. only a few hundred, way less than the others. maybe that was better. maybe you wouldn’t get noticed.

you clicked the stream.

your screen went black for a moment—then it loaded.

he was talking already, laughing softly, the kind of voice that scraped low and slow against your ears. the room was mostly dark, lit only by the glow of his monitor and faint neon strips behind his desk. it cast shadows across his collarbones, the slope of his shoulders.

you quickly plugged in your headphones, pulse jumping.

he leaned forward, adjusting something on the desk, and that’s when the camera caught his chin. his mouth.

his lips were plush, pink, and curved into a lazy smirk.

your whole body froze when you heard it:

“huh,” he chuckled. “who’s ‘babygrl87’?”

your username.

your dumb, randomly chosen username.

you nearly slammed your laptop shut, face burning, heart jackhammering inside your chest.

“didn’t think we had new viewers tonight.” his voice dipped lower, teasing. “you shy, babygrl?”

you didn’t answer.

his chat was wild. emojis, donations, constant messages.

“take the tank top off!” “the new girl better tip if she’s gonna stare.” “yo, yawnzzn, we want the show.”

he ignored most of them. or teased them back.

“which one should go first?” he mused aloud. “shirt or pants?”

your thighs pressed together. he wasn’t even doing anything yet, and your body was already betraying you.

then—slowly—he stood up.

his tank top hugged his body in all the right places. tight against his chest, his waist slim. he stretched, letting his arms lift overhead, showing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans. the v-line below his abs? obscene.

you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath.

then he reached down, thumbs hooking into his belt loops.

“you wanna see more?” he asked, looking directly into the camera. it felt like he was looking straight at you.

“say please.”

his viewers spammed please, but you stayed quiet.

and yet—you couldn’t look away.

he unbuttoned his jeans. dragged the zipper down slow. the denim slid off his hips, falling to his ankles with a dull thud.

your breath hitched.

tight red boxers. snug. low. the bulge underneath them? impossible to ignore. thick, heavy-looking. twitching slightly under the fabric.

you pressed your thighs tighter.

he sat back down, shifting slightly, letting one leg rest wide open on either side of the chair. spread just enough to show off the outline pressing against the boxers.

“you guys are fucking filthy,” he muttered with a smirk. “but lucky for you... so am i.”

his hand dipped under the waistband.

not all the way—just enough to tease.

his fingers brushed over himself, then pulled out, gripping through the fabric, pressing against the hardness. you watched the muscles in his arm tense.

he exhaled softly. deep. like he really needed to touch himself.

you couldn’t stop staring.

his palm moved slow at first, just rubbing the base, then stroking up and down along the outside. the fabric grew darker at the tip. he was leaking already.

you bit your lip hard, your own thighs twitching.

he kept going. breathing heavier. head tilted back, exposing his throat.

“fuck, babygrl,” he groaned suddenly. your eyes widened.

did he just—

“you’re still watching, right?” he said between shallow breaths. “don’t look away. i’m doing this for you.”

he reached into his boxers, finally pulling himself out.

thick. veiny. flushed red at the tip.

he spat into his hand. started stroking—slow at first, then faster.

the slick sound of skin on skin filled your ears through the headphones.

you were hypnotized.

his moans were low and filthy, hips shifting as he fucked into his hand. his tank top bunched up higher on his chest, exposing his abs, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he got closer.

his eyes were heavy-lidded now, lips parted.

“wish i had you here,” he muttered. “wish i could see you... touching yourself too.”

you were. not even sure when your hand slipped under your shorts. but it was there now. fingers rubbing, too fast, too needy.

he got louder.

he leaned forward, panting, fisting himself hard.

“you want it?” he growled. “want me to come for you?”

you gasped. the tension snapped.

you came first.

trembling, breath caught, hand soaked.

he moaned—loud, raw—and came a second after. cum spilling over his knuckles, streaking his abs. he didn’t stop stroking until every last drop was out, breathing like he’d run a mile.

for a second, it was quiet.

only his ragged breath. and yours.

then he talked to the camera again.

“thanks for watching, babygrl.”

you slammed your laptop shut.

you never meant to stay.

at first, it was just curiosity—an accident on a saturday night, when the house was too empty and the silence wrapped too tightly around your neck. you stumbled into his stream, yawnzzn, because it was late, and you were bored, and the thumbnail showed more skin than anything you were brave enough to click before.

you should’ve closed the window. you should’ve gotten up, made tea, gone to bed.

but you didn’t.

you stayed. wide-eyed and still, staring at the boy who leaned back lazily in his gamer chair, the room bathed in the low glow of his monitor, his body relaxed, his fingers moving with casual, devastating confidence over himself.

you didn’t even know his name.

all you had was a username. a voice. a body that looked carved by hands more careful than god’s. long fingers. full pink lips. shoulders wide enough to carry the whole damn world.

you never commented. not once.

you just watched.

he noticed, somehow.

your username would blink into the list of viewers and he’d smile, low and wicked.

“looks like babygrl87’s here,” he’d tease once in a while.

the chat would explode with laughter.

"silent watcher’s back." "she's loyal but shy." "say something, girl!"

but you never did.

you stayed hidden, frozen, cheeks burning, fingers trembling at the sight of him.

and he kept performing for you anyway.

stroking himself slow in the shadows, spreading his legs wide so you could see everything, moaning under his breath, letting his pleasure spill into the microphone until it felt like he was touching you through the screen.

sometimes he'd say things like—

"bet she's watching real close..." "wish she'd tell me what she likes..." "i'll just have to guess, baby."

every time he said "baby," something deep inside you twisted.

you touched yourself to him more times than you could count. memorized every shift of his hips, every flex of his thighs, every low curse that spilled from his throat. his face stayed mostly hidden—just his mouth, his jaw, the curve of his nose—but it didn’t matter.

he had you wrapped around his finger without ever seeing his whole face.

until tonight.

the notification buzzed on your phone and you didn’t hesitate. you flung your laptop open and clicked into his stream before your fingers could even register it.

live now: yawnzzn — "friday chill."

it was late. almost midnight. but it was friday, and you could stay up all you wanted.

the stream loaded—and immediately your breath caught.

yeonjun was different tonight.

he wore a black hoodie, the hood pulled up to shadow most of his face. only the sharp line of his jaw, the tempting curve of his lips, and the glint of an earring peeked out.

his posture was lazier than usual, sprawled low in his chair, legs spread wide.

and—

only two viewers.

just you. and someone who quickly left.

you were alone with him.

your heart pounded so loud you barely heard him speak at first.

“well, look who it is.” he smiled, a little softer this time. “thought you’d come."

you swallowed hard.

he leaned closer to the camera, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“guess it’s just you and me tonight, babygrl.”

your hands shook.

for the first time, you typed something.

hi.

the word looked tiny in the chatbox. pitiful. but yeonjun froze when he saw it.

his mouth parted.

then—

he laughed.

god, the sound was warm. real. his whole body tilted a little, like he couldn’t believe it.

“no way,” he said, eyes shining. “you’re real. you actually talk.”

you bit your lip so hard it hurt.

he grinned wider, teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a second. he looked—happy. excited. like you just made his whole night.

"fuck, i should do something special for you," he mused. "loyal watcher deserves a reward."

you hesitated. then, shaky fingers flying across the keys, you typed:

can i see your face?

for a second, the world stopped.

he leaned back, tapping his chin, pretending to think. then he smirked, eyes glinting under the hood.

"only because it’s you," he said, voice low. "only because you’ve been good."

he reached up, gripping the hood—and slowly pushed it back.

you forgot how to breathe.

he was beautiful.

no. beyond beautiful.

his face was unfair.

sharp, slanted cat-like eyes, framed by thick lashes, glinting dark and dangerous under the soft light. a high nose bridge, cheekbones cut clean enough to bleed on. his mouth, god, that sinful mouth—full and pink, curled into a smirk that promised ruin.

he was the kind of beautiful that wasn’t supposed to be real.

the kind that hurt to look at.

your stomach flipped violently. your whole body flushed hot.

he tilted his head, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, and smiled.

"what do you think, baby?" he teased. "worth the wait?"

you couldn’t even type.

he chuckled, low and raspy.

“i’ll take that silence as a yes.”

he leaned in closer, so close the camera almost fogged.

"don’t disappear on me now," he whispered. "you’re mine tonight."

and you knew—deep in your bones—you’d never escape him.

not now.

not ever.

you should’ve closed the laptop.

you should’ve logged off the moment he smiled at you like that—dangerous and sweet, like he already knew what you tasted like.

but you stayed. frozen in your seat, trembling, helpless.

yeonjun leaned back, dragging his palm down his chest, over his stomach, slow enough to make you whimper.

"you know," he said, voice dropping, "i've been saving something… just for you."

he reached under the desk and pulled out something unexpected—not just a toy, but a miniature torso made of soft, rosy pink silicone, barely the size of his hands.

it was shaped like a woman’s lower half, smooth thighs tapering into the curve of hips, and right between them, the detailed, glistening folds of a pussy. obscene. delicate.

lewd in a way that made your stomach twist. the soft rubber glinted under the light as he turned it in his hand, spreading lube over it like he was preparing you instead.

a thick stream of it spilled out—over his hand, over the soft pink opening of the toy, dripping lewdly.

your breath caught.

he grinned lazily at your silence, clearly enjoying the way you were glued to the screen.

"thought about using it a couple times," he murmured. "but it didn’t feel right without you here."

your thighs pressed together, trying uselessly to ease the heavy, aching heat between them.

your mouth went dry.

he groaned under his breath, squeezing some over his own cock. it was already hard, thick and flushed red at the tip, veiny and heavy between his thighs.

your whole body clenched at the sight of it.

yeonjun caught the way you froze.

he chuckled, low and warm.

"you like watching, don’t you?" he teased, voice velvet-soft. "such a dirty little thing, just sitting there all quiet for me."

you couldn’t even type back. your hands were gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

he slicked himself up slowly, deliberately, hissing as his fingers wrapped around the base.

then he grabbed the toy.

"gonna pretend it’s you," he said, smiling in that way that made your head spin. "gonna fuck you so good, baby."

he eased the tip of his cock into the toy, slow, teasing.

the lube made everything shine under the dim light, making it look so wet, so messy.

a broken moan left his mouth as he pushed deeper.

"fuck..." he whispered, hips twitching. "you'd feel so fucking good around me."

he started moving, thrusting lazily into the toy, one hand gripping it tight, the other braced against his thigh. his head dropped back, lashes fluttering, mouth parting on soft, desperate sounds.

your name fell from his lips like a prayer.

"babygrl," he moaned, hips stuttering. "wish you were here... wish you’d let me hear you."

you pressed your thighs together harder, trembling, burning with need.

he moved faster now, fucking the toy like it was real—like it was you.

the wet sounds were filthy. obscene. echoing through your headphones like he was right there in the room with you.

"bet you’d be so tight," he panted, thrusting harder. "all hot and wet for me… fuck, i’d ruin you."

he gripped the toy tighter, biting down on a groan.

you watched every second—hypnotized, devastated.

watched his hips buck, watched the muscles in his arms flex, watched the way his stomach tensed up when he got close.

he didn’t look away from the camera once.

he fucked that toy like he was making love to you.

slow, deep, passionate.

like you were the only thing he ever wanted.

your chest heaved with every breath, nipples aching, panties soaked beyond salvation.

and when he finally shuddered, spilling hot and thick into the toy, moaning your username again in that wrecked, desperate voice—

you knew you were already ruined.

he slumped back in his chair, panting, hair a mess, lips swollen and wet from how hard he’d been biting them.

and then—

he smiled at you. soft. sweet. devastating.

"thanks for staying with me, baby," he whispered.

the screen went dark a few seconds later, leaving you staring at your own reflection, wrecked and trembling.

alone.

but never lonely again.

you hadn’t gone back.

not because you didn’t want to.

god—you did. more than anything.

but it was too much now.

something had shifted in you after that night. after watching him fuck that toy like it was yours—moaning your username like it was sacred, like he needed you to breathe.

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

the way his hand moved. the way his voice cracked when he came. the way he smiled right before the screen went black.

he ruined you, and he didn’t even know it.

you tried to forget him. muted the notifications. ignored the replays. avoided even opening the app, like a coward. like a girl who couldn’t trust herself not to break down and need again.

because now when you thought about him, it wasn’t just lust—it was hunger.

two weeks passed.

you didn’t watch a single live.

but you did think about him. in the shower. in your bed. in the quiet moments when no one was around. and every time, you pressed your thighs together and tried to chase the ghost of his voice in your head.

you thought you were safe. that this distance would protect you.

until the dm.

at first, you didn’t believe it. you were half-asleep, phone in hand, thumb swiping lazily through random memes—until the little red dot appeared in your inbox.

no one ever messaged you. even though you were kind of known in his chat, everyone respected the line. no dms. no creepiness. everything stayed inside the stream.

but this—this was different.

you opened it slowly, heart thudding.

yawnzzn [11:32 PM]: been kinda sad u haven’t joined the lives lately :( miss seeing ur name pop up every night.

your heart stopped.

it was him.

he messaged you first.

and now everything inside you was heat and panic and that same damn ache he always left behind.

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, your whole body on fire from just one line.

he missed you.

he noticed you.

and worst of all—he cared.

you stared at the screen for what felt like an hour.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, mind racing, heart hammering. he’d messaged you. yeonjun—yawnzzn. the boy you’d been secretly watching for months, who moaned your username like a lover, who made you cum more times than you could admit.

and now he was in your inbox. waiting.

you breathed in, deep and shaky. then finally, you typed. slowly. carefully.

you [11:46 PM]: i’m sorry i disappeared… i’ve just been feeling a little overwhelmed lately.

your chest felt tight when you hit send.

you almost didn’t expect him to answer right away—but less than a minute later, the typing bubble popped up.

yawnzzn [11:47 PM]: overwhelmed? like… because of me?

your face burned.

fuck.

you should’ve lied.

but maybe it was the way he asked it—gentle, teasing, soft.

you hesitated for a second, then typed again. a little braver.

you [11:49 PM]: yeah. i think watching you became… a little too much for me.

you hit send before you could regret it.

then added one more line.

you [11:49 PM]: you make me feel things i don’t know how to deal with.

there was a long pause.

long enough to make your stomach twist. long enough for you to want to unsend everything and run.

but then:

yawnzzn [11:53 PM]: …fuck. that’s probably the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

your breath hitched.

yawnzzn [11:54 PM]: i thought maybe i was imagining it. the way you looked at me. how you never talked but always stayed until the end. i always felt like… you were watching differently.

you swallowed hard, heart in your throat.

yawnzzn [11:54 PM]: can i ask what it is exactly i make you feel?

his words lingered on your screen, sweet and dangerous.

you could lie.

or you could tell the truth, even if it made your skin burn and your thighs clench and your whole body betray you.

you told him.

typed it all out, trembling fingers and flushed skin—how much he turned you on. how just watching him made you ache. how you’d touched yourself to the sound of his voice so many times it scared you.

he didn’t tease you.

he just replied:

yawnzzn [12:02 AM]: you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to hear that from you.

the next night, he asked if he could call you. just for a second. just to hear your voice.

you hesitated. but then said yes.

the screen lit up with his face—hoodie on, smile soft, and it was dark in his room.

you couldn’t show your face right away.

your camera stayed off while you whispered hello.

you expected him to sound different. more confident. more teasing.

but he didn’t.

he sounded gentle. nervous. warm.

“can i see you?” he asked softly. “just a glimpse?”

your heart pounded as you turned your camera on. you were in a hoodie. no makeup. hair a mess. you hated the way your stomach twisted.

but he smiled.

really smiled.

“wow,” he whispered. “you’re… so much prettier than anything i ever imagined.”

you only lasted five minutes before you panicked and hung up, stammering out an apology.

he didn’t push you.

he just texted:

yawnzzn [12:28 AM]: you looked beautiful. thank you for letting me see you.

the days after that were soft. messy. hot.

late-night texting turned into slow, sticky sexting.

he’d ask if you were touching yourself. you’d ask what he was wearing. sometimes, he’d send you voice notes, low and breathy, moaning your username until you were whimpering into your pillow.

eventually, he asked to see you again. in person this time.

you said yes.

but something about it scared you—the way your heart twisted at the idea of being real to him. what if you weren’t enough?

and then, the idea.

he texted you in the middle of the night:

yawnzzn [1:03 AM]: what if we did a stream together? i could blur your face. or you could wear a mask. sunglasses. anything. i just want them to see that i’m finally fucking the one person i actually wanted.

your heart stopped.

you said no, at first. embarrassed. shy. it felt too raw, too exposing.

but that night, in the dark, with your hand between your thighs and his voice playing in your head, you imagined it.

imagined being on his lap. riding him in front of the same camera that once made you weak. imagined hearing him moan your name into your neck while the whole world watched.

you texted him at 2:11 AM.

you [2:11 AM]: i’ll do it. but only if i wear a mask.

his room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of his monitor and a red led strip that cast everything in that deep, sinful color. your silhouette, perched on your knees between his thighs, looked unreal—masked, trembling, mouth parted in anticipation. he was already hard, the thick outline of his cock pressing against his grey sweats, and the stream had barely started.

yeonjun leaned back in his chair, lazy smirk on his lips as he brushed a thumb across your cheekbone.

“they’ve been begging for this,” he murmured low, his mic catching every syllable. “but they don’t get you. i do.”

your fingers tugged at the waistband of his sweats, dragging them down with teasing slowness. the chat was explodingalready—hearts, donation pings, horny messages flying too fast to read.

his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and leaking, and you didn’t waste time—your lips wrapped around the head while he hissed through clenched teeth.

“fuck—yes, baby. just like that,” he moaned, voice rough and trembling.

you bobbed your head slowly at first, tongue circling the tip, making sure to be loud about it—each wet suck and messy slurp caught by the mic, echoing through the stream like the soundtrack to a dream. he groaned and held your hair back, letting everyone see the way your lips stretched around his cock, eyes glossy behind the lace mask.

“look at her,” he murmured, gaze flicking to the camera. “taking it so good, like a perfect little slut. you’re so fucking pretty like this, baby.”

you moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs twitch. spit dripped down your chin as you took him deeper, and he let out a breathless chuckle.

“they wish they were me,” he said, licking his lips. “but only i get to feel this mouth. only i get to fuck it raw.”

you choked a little when he gently thrust into your throat, but you didn’t stop—you loved it. you loved knowing thousands were watching you drool and gag around him, craving something they could never have.

he pulled you up by your arms, lips crashing onto yours in a messy kiss. his cock was wet between your bodies, twitching, desperate.

“get on my lap,” he growled, voice thick with need.

you straddled him, one hand guiding him to your entrance as you slowly, so slowly, sank down.

the stretch was unreal, every inch of him filling you up, and you both moaned into each other’s mouths.

“oh my god,” you gasped, hips rolling instinctively.

he grunted. “fuck, baby… fuck, you’re tight—been dreaming about this cunt since the first time i saw your name in my chat.”

your hands clung to his shoulders, bouncing gently on his cock as he held your waist and thrust up, hard and deep.

“yeah? you like showing them what they can’t touch?” he panted. “you like knowing they’re all jerking off to you being mine?”

you nodded, dazed, flushed all over.

“say it,” he growled, slapping your ass.

“i’m yours,” you whimpered. “all yours, yeonjun…”

“that’s fucking right.”

he adjusted the camera angle, making sure it caught your pussy swallowing his cock over and over as you rode him in a rhythm that made your thighs shake.

“fuck, baby, i can see how wet you are,” he groaned. “dripping down my balls—look at this mess. they’re fucking jealous, huh?”

you moaned loud, thighs burning, your mask slipping slightly but you didn’t care—you were too far gone.

he dragged you up, twisted your body so your back was against his chest, legs spread wide as he pistoned up into you.

your head dropped back onto his shoulder, a string of helpless cries leaving your lips.

he reached down, thumb circling your clit fast and tight.

“you gonna cum like this?” he panted in your ear. “with all of them watching? gonna cream on my cock while the world sees who really owns this little pussy?”

your body jerked, climax rushing over you in a tidal wave of heat and noise, clenching hard around him as he grunted and chased his own.

then he flipped you over onto the desk, bending you forward, ass up for the camera.

“still not done,” he murmured, slipping back in. “they’re gonna watch me fill you up.”

he fucked you hard, fast, raw. each thrust loud and wet, your body shaking, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“so tight, baby—gonna cum so deep—gonna knock you the fuck up on stream, yeah?”

“yes, yes, please—cum in me, yeonjun—fuck, i want it—”

he groaned, shuddering, cock pulsing deep inside as he came, buried to the hilt.

and right before he reached over to end the stream, he leaned in, kissing your masked cheek.

“mine,” he whispered.

then the screen went black.

but your moans still echoed in the dark.

968 notes · View notes

valeisaslut · 4 months ago

Text

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. two

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: One TMZ headline later, and the internet is in a full-blown meltdown. You should’ve known that sneaking out of Ellie Williams’ hotel at sunrise was a disaster waiting to happen. Now the whole world thinks you and Ellie are dating, and there’s only one way out—lean into the chaos. A fake relationship was never part of the plan, but if anyone can pull it of, it’s the two of you… right? 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 6,8k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: unserious and chaotic as HELL lmao, fake dating, mostly dialogue, memes and brainrot stuff, LOTS of cursing, pet names, fluff if you squint, use of y/n, modern au, smoking weed, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’s MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, internet, because today’s tea is so hot it might spontaneously combust. Early this morning, global pop sensation y/n was spotted making a very interesting exit from The Four Seasons—an exit that screamed, “I made some choices, and I’ll be dealing with the consequences (happily) later.”

Let’s paint the picture: baggy jeans (very much not hers), an oversized tee (suspiciously familiar), last-night heels, and, most importantly, the kind of walk that suggests she just lived through an... experience.🔥

VIDEO ATTACHED: y/n stepping out of The Four Seasons with the posture of someone who just discovered new life-altering truths about herself.

And now, the cherry on top? The hotel in question just happens to be the same one where rock’s reigning heartbreaker and The Fireflies' frontwoman, Ellie Williams, has been staying during the band's sold-out tour.

Yeah. Let THAT sink in.

THE NIGHT BEFORE: PURE CHAOS

Last night, the musicians were first spotted together at a private club in West Hollywood, and the energy? Dangerous. We’re talking intense eye contact, whispered words, and a proximity that had no business being that close. 👀

Sources inside the club (who, let’s be real, were probably staring way too hard) claim the two were “all over each other the entire night.” And then, like clockwork—both gone. Together.😏

PICTURE ATTACHED: y/n and Ellie at the bar, drinks in hand, leaning in so close they might as well be sharing oxygen.

Fast-forward a few hours, and one of them is leaving a luxury hotel in borrowed clothes, while the other is nowhere to be seen. Hm...

THE INTERNET: INSTANTLY UNHINGED

It’s not every day that the two of the most famous artists on the planet accidentally break the internet with a single walk of shame. It took exactly 0.2 seconds for Twitter—sorry, X—to collectively lose its mind. #YNxEllie shot to the top of the trending list faster than lighting, and the reactions? Pure, unfiltered, internet gold.

Some fans are calling it the rock-pop crossover event of the decade. Others are in full denial, muttering “it’s just a one-time thing” like a prayer (lol, sure). And then there’s the fanfic writers, who are already on their second chapter about this very moment.

Meanwhile, our two leads? Radio. Silence.

No wry Instagram stories. No cryptic tweets. No emergency PR statements. Just Ellie, cool as ever, casually liking a meme about getting your clothes stolen from “the girl you spent all night ruining.” 😭🙃

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

We wait. Impatiently.

Is this just an iconic but questionable decision? Will y/n post a cryptic thirst trap in retaliation? Will Ellie respond with an even more cryptic Instagram story? Or are we witnessing the birth of music’s next power couple?

One thing’s for sure—this is a story we’ll be watching very closely.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

What do YOU think? Drop your theories in the comments below! ⬇️🔥

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❤️ 10M — 💬 287,54k

@: this isn’t just a hookup. this is the lesbians Super Bowl.

@: tears in my eyes. full body worship. standing ovulation. whatever it’s called.

@: “mysterious walk of shame” NAH SHE CLOCKED IN, DID OVERTIME, AND LEFT WITH A RAISE 💀

@: not her texting the driver like “can’t feel my legs send help” 😭 icon.

@: someone check on the poor girl ellie this wasn’t a leave her paralyzed challenge

@: THE SECOND PIC. YALL. THEY LOOK SO GODDAMN FINE I’M CHEWING DRYWALL AND DRINKING THE DUST 😩

@: i need them to either hard launch or drop a sex tape at this point because my soul is restless

@: this is the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen and I was THERE for korrasami and caitvi.

@: i just KNOW Ellie’s strap game goes absolutely feral and that walk was all the proof I needed #cravethat #scientificallyproven

@: pop mother got her back blown OUT

@: #elliehititrawandnowshestrending

@: they are either deeply in love or just HORRENDOUS at sneaky links. either way, I win.

@: tmz trynna act like we don’t instantly recognize Ellie’s entire wardrobe on her lmao

@: she defo picked those on purpose and you can't convince me otherwiseeee

@: the way we all clocked those clothes immediately like homegirl has worn that same fit 67 times this year and counting

@: Ellie dresses like a divorced dad at Home Depot but somehow y/n wearing her clothes is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen

@: one-night thing my ass. drop the collab album. drop the wedding invites. drop the baby name.

@: I have no idea what's going on but I support them!

The studio is cold. Too cold.

You lean against the massive soundboard, eyes heavy with exhaustion as the producer fine-tunes the levels on your latest track. The bass hums through the speakers, deep and rhythmic.

You got home, showered, and walked into the studio like nothing happened. Like you weren’t still replaying everything in your head—the heat of her hands, the weight of her body, the way she— Nope. Not going there.

The only thing keeping you upright is sheer force of will and the coffee clutched in your hands, now lukewarm but still packing enough caffeine to keep your legs from betraying you in front of the expensive equipment.

But something feels off.

Nobody is looking at you.

Nobody is saying anything.

The thing is, your team is never quiet. They talk about everything—schedules, brand deals, what the fuck you’re eating for lunch—but today? Nothing. Just silence.

Not a single offhand comment. No teasing about the all-nighter you clearly pulled. Not even a glance in your direction.

Your producer is laser-focused on the track, nodding along like it holds the meaning of life. Your sound editor keeps his eyes glued to the screen, like looking anywhere else might kill him. And your assistant—sweet, terrible liar that she is—won’t stop sneaking glances at her phone, then at you, then at her phone again, like she’s watching a train wreck in real time and trying to figure out when to break the news that you’re the train.

Slowly, you set your coffee down, reach for your own phone, and unlock it, already feeling the creeping dread claw up your spine.

The second your screen lights up, it’s over. Notifications flood in. X. Instagram. Texts. Group chats blowing up like a damn stock market crash. Millions of mentions. Your name trending in bold, blaring letters.

And then you see it.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N'S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

You suck in a breath—a sharp, audible gasp that cuts through the eerie silence.

Your assistant makes a tiny, distressed sound. Your producer visibly flinches, finally daring to glance at you. Your sound editor—wise, blessedly silent—just pauses the track.

Your fingers move faster than your brain, scrolling in blind panic. Pictures. Too many fucking pictures.

The first one is a grainy, low-lit shot of you and Ellie at the bar—bodies too close, drinks in hand, faces inches apart. The kind of tension that crackles even through a shitty phone camera. The next? A ruthless side-by-side comparison of Ellie’s Instagram post from last week. Same shirt. Same jeans. The exact ones you walked out wearing.

And then—because the universe is a cruel, twisted place—the final nail in the coffin.

A video.

Of you.

Sneaking out of her hotel.

You hit play, and instantly regret every life choice that led you there. Because why the fuck were you walking like that?!

Not just suspicious. Not just guilty. But the kind of unsteady, post-life-changing-experience walk that has the entire internet foaming at the mouth, legs barely cooperating like you just left the scene of a particularly intense crime.

Your soul exits your body, ascends to the ceiling, and refuses to come back down.

Your phone starts ringing. And you already know who it is. For a brief, fleeting moment, you consider launching the damn thing across the room.

Because of course it’s Rachel.

Your manager and professional-life mastermind. The woman who negotiates your million-dollar deals before breakfast. And, apparently, the bane of your existence right now.

You push through the studio doors without explaining a damn thing, the cool air outside hitting your face like a slap. Your head is pounding, fingers digging into your temples like you can physically massage the embarrassment out of your skull.

Your phone still vibrates in your hand. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before answering. The second you do, her voice explodes through the speaker.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

You flinch, yanking the phone away from your ear like it might physically protect you. It doesn’t. She’s still yelling, still fully spiraling, and honestly? She has every right to. Because you’re trending. Hard.

And not for your music.

“Before you say anything—”

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS? My phone has been BLOWING UP since 6 AM. Do you understand what you’ve done?!”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. Here we fucking go.

“Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry, I never meant for that to happen I didn’t know there were paparazzi outside the hotel! I—”

“THIS IS PERFECT.”

“—know I fucked up”

You pause mid-spiral. Blink. “...Wait, what?”

“You heard me! This is GOLD. This is EVERYTHING. Your fans are losing their minds, the internet is eating this up, and you know what that means?”

“…That I need to delete my existence?”

“That this is going to take both of your careers to the next level.”

Your head is spinning. “Whoa—slow down. The fuck you mean?”

Rachel lets out an exaggerated sigh, like she’s explaining shapes to a toddler. “You need to be interesting. She needs damage control. You both need the press for the upcoming albums. This relationship is everything you need.”

“Relationship?” You nearly choke. “Rachel, we just hooked up. It was a one-time thing, nothing else.”

“Oh... just a one-time thing?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

She says it so casually you instantly know she’s about to ruin your life.

“Then fake it.”

“WHAT?”

Your soul leaves your body. Again.

“A fake relationship!” She repeats, like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.

“Oh my god. No. NO. That’s—that’s fucking stupid!"

“Oh, come on, girl.” Rachel groans. “You would be shocked to know how many celebrity couples are fake. Like, 90% of them, and people still eat that shit up like it’s their job. It’s the most effective PR stunt in the history of PR stunts.”

“I don't care! Even if it’s fake, I don’t wanna be in a relationship with her!”

Rachel, clearly unimpressed “Be so fucking for real right now.”

“Listen” she continues, slipping into full Hollywood mastermind mode. “It’s the perfect rockstar-popstar trope that people are gonna LOVE. Some staged dates, some Instagram stories, show up to a few award shows together, write some songs about her for the album—blah, blah, blah. Then, when you both get what you want, you drop a statement about breaking up on good terms because of ‘busy schedules’ or ‘long distance’ or whatever. Boom. Done. Headlines. History.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face, but you can already feel her words getting to you.

“Okay…that does sound kinda iconic...”

You hear her scream.

“BUT” You snap. “I seriously doubt she’s gonna be on board.”

“She has to be. That girl needs to clean up her image immediately. If she wants to keep her career afloat, she needs to say yes." Rachel doesn’t miss a beat. "Honestly, it even benefits her more than it benefits you.”

You press the phone tighter against your ear, your free hand rubbing over your face over and over again as if that’ll somehow erase this chaos unfolding in real-time.

But honestly?

What could go wrong?

So you exhale sharply again.

“Fine, fine. We’ll… debate it.”

“PERFECT! Tell me how it goes!”

There’s a short pause, just long enough for you to think—maybe—this conversation is about to take a serious turn.

And then—

“…So, how was she in bed?”

You nearly drop your phone. “RACHEL.”

“What?! It’s a valid question! I mean, I saw the walk.” A beat. Then, way too smugly “People are even making edits of your limp.”

Okay.

This is officially the worst day of your life.

“We are NOT doing this.”

“Oh, we are ABSOLUTELY doing this.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. There's no escaping this.

“Was it life-changing or life-threatening? Did she break your back or fix your scoliosis?”

You stare up at the sky, silently begging for divine intervention. None comes. So, with the weight of someone who has lost everything, you exhale.

“…she made me see fucking Jesus.”

Silence. A beat.

Rachel screams so loud you nearly throw your phone at the window.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT.”

“HANGING UP NOW.”

“NO WAIT!—DID SHE—”

“BYE.”

You slam the End Call button so fast it’s a miracle your screen doesn’t crack.

Blissful, beautiful silence.

For exactly three seconds.

Buzz.

Rachel: COME BACK WE ARE NOT DONE.

Buzz.

Rachel: do I schedule a chiropractor or a priest? 😭

You turn your phone off. Permanently.

It was late, the kind of night where the city hummed low in the background, neon signs bleeding color into the streets.

And Ellie Williams was trying to have a normal band practice.

Trying.

But it was pretty fucking hard when Jesse and Dina were staring at her like she’d just announced she was quitting music to become a full-time televangelist.

She adjusted the strap of her guitar, already irritated. “Can you guys, I don’t know, say something instead of fucking looking at me like that?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting...” Jesse said as he leaned against the drum set, taking a slow drag of his cigarette and grinning like the absolute menace he was.

Dina, perched on an amp, smirked. “Yeah. Just giving you a chance to come clean before we bring out the receipts.”

Ellie scoffed, trying to play it cool. “What receipts?”

Dina wiggled her phone in the air, smirk widening. “Seems like you’ve been very busy, rockstar.”

She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The fuck are you both talking about!?”

Jesse and Dina exchanged the look. The kind that made Ellie’s patience thin by the second.

Jesse sighed dramatically, putting out his cigarette on the plato like he was about to drop the biggest bombshell of the century. “Alright, since you’re playing dumb—”

He pulled out his phone with the enthusiasm of a man whose sole purpose in life was witnessing Ellie’s downfall.

“Lemme just read the best part real quick—” And clearing his throat like he was about to give a Shakespearean performance:

“‘Global superstar y/n was spotted leaving Ellie Williams’s hotel early this morning after a rumored all-night rendezvous. Fans immediately noticed the pop star's unusually relaxed wardrobe choice—’”

Dina whistled. “‘—baggy jeans and an oversized tee, both belonging to a certain someone who was seen wearing them just last week—’”

Jesse shook his head, flipping his phone around. “Nah, this is crazy. This is some Oscar-worthy shit.”

Ellie groaned the second she saw the TMZ photo—you stepping out of the hotel in her clothes. And then there was her, leaving an hour later, hoodie up like it could shield her from literally everyone, rubbing the back of her neck like some dumbass who just realized they fucked up in a romcom.

She looked guilty as hell.

He zoomed in on her face, laughing. “Yo, you look like you just realized you caught feelings.”

Dina snorted, scrolling through her phone. “Oh, they are EATING this shit up. Listen to this” —dramatic inhale— “‘They are either deeply in love or just horrendous at sneaky links. Either way, I win.’”

Jesse howled. “‘Someone check on the poor girl—Ellie, this wasn’t a ‘leave her paralyzed’ challenge.’”

Ellie groaned. “You guys—”

“OH MY GOD.” Dina gasped. “SOMEONE JUST MADE A SIDE-BY-SIDE.”

Jesse leaned in. “Caption?”

“‘WHAT IN THE SCISSOR OLYMPICS. GOLD MEDAL PERFORMANCE.”

He collapsed against the drum set, howling even harder. “Nah, this is crazy. You really let her walk outta there like that?! You KNEW what you did. You knew EXACTLY what you were doing.”

Ellie covered her face with her hands. “I hate it here.”

Jesse was thriving, nearly bouncing on his feet like a kid on Christmas morning. “Dude. You bagged y/n. Like, THE Y/N. Pop princess herself. That fine-ass woman writes songs so good they make people crash their cars.”

Dina nodded solemnly. “I crashed twice to ‘Stay.’”

Ellie shot her a look. “First of all, you shouldn’t have a license.” Then at Jesse “Second, can you fucking NOT? We just hooked up. That’s it.”

He just snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the 40 million people who liked the tweets about it.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve been mistaken for a death rattle. “This is so fucking bad.”

Jesse ignored her, grinning like an absolute menace. “Like, do you even understand the cultural impact of what you’ve done? This is like—” He gestured wildly. “—punk rock meets Billboard Hot 100 hookup of the century!”

Dina smirked. “And judging by the way she was walking? You bodied that shit.”

Ellie scowled. “She was wearing heels all night!”

Dina arched a brow. “So were you gonna say that, or are you just making that up now?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it. Dragged a hand down her face.

Jesse cackled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She was this close to walking out.

Then, like a gift from hell, her phone started buzzing.

Your name flashed across the screen. Gasps.

Ellie panicked, immediately shoving it in her pocket.

Dina’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—DECLINE Y/N?! Are you fucking STUPID?!”

Jesse shook his head, dead serious. “No, no. Let her cook. Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”

Ellie groaned, yanking her jacket off the chair and making her way to the door. “Practice over. I hope both of you trip over a flight of stairs and eat shit all the way down.”

“Aw, so sweet of you!” Dina beamed. “We’re gonna start picking baby names as soon as you leave.”

Ellie didn’t even look back—just flipped them off on her way out like a parting gift.

The door slammed shut loudly.

A beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wall—

“AND JESSE STOP SAYING LET HER COOK THE MEME DIED MONTHS AGO.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO IT DIDN’T!”

Ellie had barely stepped out of the studio, muttering “Fucking kill me” before calling you back. As soon as you answered, she was quick to be the first one to talk.

“Before you say anything—this is not my fault.”

Your voice came through immediately.

“Ellie.”

Tone flat. Dead serious.

She hesitated. “…Yeah?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks. Like, full-body malfunction.

Her entire fucking life flashed before her eyes. Marriage. A house. A tiny baby wrapped in a flannel onesie. Joel crying at the babyshower. Dina and Jesse as the weirdly invested godparents.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, fuck off!”

You howled with laughter. “Not even a little panic? All I got was a one-second existential crisis?”

“Dude. Biology exists.”

Though, if she was being honest, you had her for a solid half-second. She could already hear Joel clearing his throat, preparing for his father-of-the-bride speech, could already see Jesse and Dina clicking through a PowerPoint titled "Ellie Williams: Accidentally Domesticated—A case study."

You scoffed “See, this is why you’re no fun.”

“This is why you're deranged.”

“You love it.”

“No. You need therapy.”

“I have therapy. On Thursdays. Shoutout to Linda.”

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you actually need something, or was this just a drive-by psychological attack?”

“Oh, you know. Just the minor issue that the entire fucking internet thinks we’re dating?”

Ellie groaned, unlocking her car with a beep. “Technically, we could just ignore it—”

“Ellie.”

“…Yeah, yeah. What’s the damage?”

“Well” you started, voice syrupy sweet, “Not only do I look like I did the world’s sluttiest walk of shame, but people also figured out those were your clothes. And, fun fact! They say you dress like a divorced dad from Home Depot.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“No, I don’t think you understand the severity of it.” Your voice got increasingly dramatic. “People have shipping spreadsheets. They have theories. Someone made a Google doc analyzing our astrology compatibility. Ellie, we are trending #1 WORLDWIDE.”

Ellie ran a hand down her face. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Someone said—direct quote— that this is ‘the lesbian's Super Bowl.' ”

She paused. “That one might be true tho.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “Alright, so what’s the move? Damage control?”

A pause.

“Well…” you said, voice a little too careful, “my manager thinks we should… lean into it.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Another pause.

Then, your voice, even softer now. “Can we… talk in person?”

Ellie immediately clocked the hesitation. “Why do I feel like I’m 'bout to get scammed?”

“You’re not! I just… I’d rather explain in person.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “…Fine. Where?”

“My place.”

Ellie frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because there’s paparazzi crammed outside the Four Seasons, dumbass.”

…Fair.

She exhaled. “…Yeah. Alright.”

“Cool. I’ll send you the address.”

A beat. Then—

“…Wait” Ellie muttered. “How the fuck did you get my number?”

Silence.

“…Contacts.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean? Who—”

“Doesn’t matter.” you cut in, then cleared your throat. “Anyway. Can you, uh… give me my dress back? It was custom.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“…Ellie.”

“It might still be on the floor.”

A sharp inhale. “You little shit.”

Ellie smirked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“On my way, pop star.”

Ellie had barely knocked twice before the door swung open.

And there you were.

Standing in the dim light of your penthouse, arms crossed, drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Your hair was slightly messy, like you’d been curled up somewhere before she got here, and your skin glowed just right under the soft, golden hue of your apartment lights.

“Hey”

She exhaled, stepping inside as you shut the door behind her. She barely had time to take in the space before she realized—this was money.

The penthouse stretched wide, the kind of design meant to make people feel small. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, headlights cutting through the night far below. The furniture was sleek, modern—gray couches, glass tables, designer pieces that looked both expensive and comfortable. A grand piano sat near the window, it's lid closed and a guitar leaning against it, used enough to make Ellie smirk.

But it was the small things that caught her eye. A candle burning low on the counter. A glass of wine next to a notebook cracked open on the coffee table, filled with lyrics. Scribbled, messy. Some lines scratched out, others rewritten in the margins.

“Jesus” she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Could’ve warned me I was walking into a fucking palace.”

“Says the millionaire.”

Her eyes flicked to you—leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like you were amused by her reaction.

She huffed.

“So.”

The silence stretched, just a little too thick. A weight neither of you wanted to touch.

Then, finally, you exhaled.

“My manager thinks we should fake date.”

Ellie snorted “Yeah, no shit.”

“She says it’ll be good for both of us.”

She hummed, sauntering over to the couch before sinking into it like she owned the place. Her legs spread wide, hands rubbing over her jeans, shoulders sinking into the cushions. She looked up at you, unreadable.

“And? You wanna do it?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.” Your fingers tapped against the counter, your teeth dragged over your bottom lip. You looked… conflicted. “It’s just—ugh. The thought of staging something like this is so gross.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “Pretending to be into you in public? It just feels—”

A beat.

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

You hesitated.

And there it was. The shift.

“Pretending?” she repeated slowly.

You scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Ellie tilted her head, gaze flicking downward—brief, barely there—before dragging right back up like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do I?”

Your skin flushed, irritation prickling down your spine. She was too comfortable—slouched on your couch like it was hers, fingers drumming against her knee, wearing that look. That lazy, lopsided smirk that made your stomach clench and your heart do backflips.

You muttered. "Cut the bullshit."

Ellie watched you, green eyes sharp, the corner of her mouth curling like she already knew what you were thinking—like she could see straight through you. And maybe she could.

That was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just some business deal, some harmless PR stunt.

This was Ellie fucking Williams.

A menace. A woman who flirted like it was her second nature. Who carried herself with the kind of reckless confidence that made people love her and hate her in the same breath. She was sharp, fast-mouthed, and annoyingly charming when she wanted to be. She kissed like she had something to prove and fucked like she knew she was amazing at it.

She was the kind that didn’t just leave bruises—that left marks.

And now, you are supposed to pretend to be hers. In public. In pictures. In interviews. She’d make it look effortless, like every lingering touch and stolen glance meant everything.

Meanwhile, you’d have to grit your teeth and pretend she wasn’t already under your skin—pretend you don’t know exactly how this will end.

Ellie’s voice pulled you back.

“We can set rules.”

You blinked, exhaling sharply. “Rules?”

She nodded, resting her elbows on her knees. “Yeah. Lines we don’t cross. Shit we don’t do. Make it easier.”

You considered that. It did make sense. Setting boundaries meant this wouldn’t spiral into a complete disaster—just a controlled one.

“…Fine.”

Ellie grinned, tilting her head. “Great. Rule number one—no catching feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the counter and taking a sip of your wine. “Oh, trust me, Williams, that was never a problem.”

What a goddamn lie.

Ellie chuckled, dragging a hand over her jaw before settling back into the couch. She watched you a second too long, eyes flicking over you like she was deciding whether to call you on your bullshit. That fucking grin still lingered—lazy, amused.

She was enjoying this.

You exhaled slowly, setting your wine glass down with a quiet clink. “I got my own rules.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

You leveled her with a look. “No strings attached.”

Ellie blinked, then snorted. “Starting off strong.”

“I’m serious,” you said, arms crossing. “No getting weird about anything. We do what we have to do in public, but behind closed doors, it’s our business. No jealousy, no possessiveness.”

Ellie tilted her head, her smirk growing. “So basically, we can do whatever we want?”

You hesitated.

A fraction of a second too long.

Then nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a shift in the air. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. Ellie’s eyes dragged over you—slow, measured, her expression unreadable.

“…Can we still fuck, though?”

Your face didn’t waver, but your stomach clenched, a tiny, unwelcome knot forming deep in your gut.

“Yeah. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

The words landed firm, like a line drawn in the sand, but even as you said them, they felt a little off. Like something rehearsed, something you were trying a little too hard to believe.

Ellie let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Jesus, babe. You’re ruthless.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not even a little.” She stretched out, arms draping over the back of the couch, looking maddeningly at ease. “Just didn’t expect you to be the one setting that rule.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because deep down, you weren’t sure what would piss you off more—her calling you out on your bullshit, or the fact that she might actually be right.

Ellie hummed. “Fine. No strings attached. What else?”

You rubbed your temple, thinking. “Public stuff needs to be controlled. If we’re going to be seen together, it needs to be intentional.”

Ellie nodded. “So, no sneaky paparazzi pics of us at, like, McDonald’s?”

“Exactly.”

“There goes my dream of getting papped in the drive-thru with you.”

You ignored that. “Next—if one of us wants out, we end it. No bullshit.”

Ellie’s smirk softened slightly. “Fair enough.”

The mood had shifted—just a fraction. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a warning sign, but at least your shoulders didn’t feel as tight anymore.

You reached for your wine again. “We also need a reason.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“For why we’re suddenly together,” you clarified.

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Easy. We met through mutual friends, started talking, made it official recently.”

You nodded. “Good. Vague, but believable.”

Then Ellie grinned. “So when’s our anniversary?”

“I’m breaking up with you already.”

Ellie threw her head back, laughing. “Damn. Cold as hell.”

You just smirked, watching the wine swirl in your glass, but the humor faded when Ellie leaned forward slightly, her gaze a little sharper now.

“So, just to recap,” she said, voice steady. “No feelings. No jealousy. We can fuck, but it doesn't mean anything. And if one of us wants out, we’re out.”

“…Yeah.” You swallowed, the weight of it settling between you both. “...Are you actually okay with this?”

Ellie leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand over her jaw.

Was she?

She’d done PR stunts before—appearances, interviews, the occasional fake chemistry for cameras. But a fake relationship? That was a different level of commitment. A different level of risk.

At the same time… she wasn’t exactly in a position to say no. She needed something to get the media off her ass. Headlines about bar fights, reckless behavior, and being a bad influence were piling up like a rap sheet. A carefully controlled narrative—a shiny, clean distraction—might be the only thing that kept her from burning out entirely.

But then…

She looked at you.

Drop-dead gorgeous. Smart as hell. Sharp tongue. A little mean in a way that made people want to prove themselves.

And yeah, sure—this was fake. But Ellie wasn’t fucking stupid. Fake or not, this was the kind of shit that got under her skin, settled in deep and refused to leave.

She’d made plenty of bad decisions before, walked into things knowing exactly how they would end, knowing they’d chew her up and spit her out. That was the thing about trouble. It never felt like trouble in the moment. It started as a game, as a deal, as something simple—until one day, it wasn’t. Until it had its teeth in her, until she was in too deep to pretend she didn’t care.

And this?

This had all the makings of that kind of mistake.

But she still exhaled, still ran a hand through her hair, still met your eyes without hesitation.

“Yeah” She sighed “I’m in.”

“Alright,” you murmured, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a slow sip. Then, with a smirk just shy of reckless—

“This is officially the worst decision of our lives.”

Ellie leaned back like she had all the time in the world, legs spreading wider, her grin all sharp edges. “What you mean? This is already the most stable relationship I’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, reaching for your wine again. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. The bar is in hell.”

You closed your eyes for a second, exhaled, then took another long drink. “God help me.”

After a few minutes, Ellie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt, twirling it lazily between her fingers. She glanced up at you, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Ellie shrugged, biting the tip of the blunt. “What? It’s part of the rockstar lifestyle.”

You scoffed. “And I’m the popstar, so technically, I should be saying no.”

Ellie pulled out a lighter, flicking it open with a metallic click. “Live a little.”

You exhaled. “Fine. But if TMZ catches me high, I’m blaming you.”

Ellie grinned, bringing the lighter to the tip of the blunt, the paper curling as it burned. She took a slow, practiced drag, holding it deep in her lungs before exhaling smoothly, the smoke swirling toward the ceiling. Then she passed it to you.

You hesitated for a half-second before bringing it to your lips, inhaling. The burn was familiar, settling in your chest before you exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the dimly lit room.

Already, the tension from earlier—the ridiculous fake-dating rules, the push and pull of whatever this was—started to fade into something looser, easier.

Ellie watched you, her smirk deepening. “Damn. You’re not new to this.”

You took another hit before passing it back, lips quirking. “Told you. I just have a better PR team than you.”

Ellie chuckled, shaking her head as she took another drag.

Somehow, the conversation had spiraled.

You were both slumped against the couch, trading the last remnants of the blunt back and forth, locked in a heated debate over whether or not you’d survive a zombie apocalypse.

Ellie scoffed, waving a lazy hand. “C’mon, you wouldn’t last a week.”

“Excuse me?” You sat up, pointing at her. “I would absolutely outlive you.”

“You literally have, like, five personal assistants. You don’t even carry your own bags.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t fight!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright. How would you kill a zombie?”

You blinked. “...Guns?”

Ellie groaned, shaking her head like you had just personally offended her.

“What?!”

“You’d run out of ammo in, like, a week.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay, smartass. What’s your genius survival plan?”

“Baseball bat. Blunt force trauma. Reusable, no reload time.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s so gross.”

Ellie shrugged. “Yeah? So is dying.”

You huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m sure that if I were in a zombie apocalypse, I’d be the immune one.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, flicking the blunt towards the ashtray. “Oh, shut up. I'd be the immune one. And the main character.”

You huffed, dramatically flopping back against the couch, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh. Ellie grinned, stretching her arms behind her head.

“All that contract negotiation made me hungry.”

You snorted, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “You literally agreed to everything in under five minutes.”

“Exactly,” Ellie sighed. “Exhausting.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “What’s the most unserious meal we could possibly order right now?”

You barely had to think. “Taco Bell.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “God, I fucking love you.”

You shot her a dry look.

“Platonically. Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as she tapped aggressively on the app. “What do you want?”

“Crunchwrap Supreme, two Doritos Locos Tacos, and a Baja Blast.”

Ellie blinked. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I take my Taco Bell order very seriously.”

Ellie hummed approvingly. “Respect.” She added your order to the already absurd amount of food in her cart and checked out.

By the time the Taco Bell arrived, you were both fully slumped into the couch, heavy-limbed and loose from the high. Ellie tossed the bag onto the coffee table with zero grace, nearly knocking over your very expensive candle.

“Jesus, be careful” you muttered, steadying it.

Ellie unwrapped her burrito with a crinkle of foil, smirking. “What, scared I’ll ruin your rich-person aesthetic?”

You leaned back, exhaling. “Yeah, actually. I have a brand to uphold.”

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she took a bite. The two of you ate in a comfortable lull, the only sounds coming from the low hum of music playing from your speaker and the occasional rustle of food wrappers.

In that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time—at ease. Because being with her was effortless.

No need to pose, fake a smile, or worry if your hair was in place. You could just exist. And there was something dangerously comfortable about that, something weirdly domestic. Like slipping into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized you’d been craving.

Ellie spoke suddenly, pulling you back, like the thought had just slipped out before she could decide if it was worth saying.

“So, why’d you start doing music?”

The question landed between you like a weight, unexpected and heavy.

You paused, mid-bite, blinking at her. She wasn’t even looking at you—just lazily pulling apart her quesadilla, like she hadn’t just cracked open something raw and unplanned.

You swallowed, shifting slightly. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“It’s the only thing I was ever really good at.”

That got her attention. Her fingers stilled against the tortilla, her eyes flicking up—steady, unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you set your food down. “I mean, growing up, I sucked at everything else. School, sports, whatever—I just never stuck with anything. But music?” You tilted your head, feeling the thought click into place. “That made sense. I liked how it made people feel. You write something, and suddenly, some stranger out there feels understood in a way they didn’t before. Like, for three minutes, they’re not alone.”

Ellie’s chewing slowed, her gaze lingering. “Yeah.” Her voice had dropped, more thoughtful. “That’s kinda the whole point, huh?”

You hummed, watching her. “…What about you?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into the couch, stretching like she was trying to shake something off. “Not that different, honestly.” One arm draped over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the cushion. “Joel was always into music. Taught me how to play guitar when I was a kid, and it just kinda stuck ever since.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Joel Miller? That’s your dad, right?”

A nod. “Yeah. He’s—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “—intense. But in a good way, mostly. He gives a shit. Probably more than I deserve.”

Your brows knitted together. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Ellie let out a quiet chuckle, but it was dry, almost automatic. “Nah. Just being honest.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest feel tight.

You thought about pushing, about pressing your thumb against that tiny crack she’d let slip, but something told you she’d just deflect, maybe make some stupid joke to steer the conversation away.

So, instead, you sighed dramatically, letting the moment pass. “I think I’m too high for all this deep shit.”

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Same.”

You grinned, swirling your drink. “Okay, new topic—what’s your favorite song?”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Dunno. How’s that one song of yours go? That’s that me espresso?”

The room went still.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A deep, soul-crushing betrayal settled in your chest, a wound so profound it might never heal. Your breath caught, fingers gripping your shirt like she had physically stabbed you.

Ellie, still chewing, barely spared you a glance. “What?”

Your hands trembled. “That’s Espresso.”

Your voice dropped an octave. Near-feral.

“BY. SABRINA. CARPENTER.”

Ellie paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. “Wait… that’s not your song?”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Ellie shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, y’all sound kinda similar.”

You shot up so fast from the couch it screeched against the floor. “I HOPE YOUR AMP SHORT-CIRCUITS MID-SOLO.”

Ellie’s laughter rang through the room, loud and unbothered. “Jesus. Touch some grass.”

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm draped over your waist.

The second was the godawful dryness in your mouth, the kind that only came from bad decisions the night before and even worse hydration choices.

Squinting against the morning light, you shifted slightly, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Your head ached, limbs heavy, the air still thick with the scent of weed.

And then, as you turned your head—

Ellie.

Dead asleep beside you.

Face buried in the couch, hair a disaster, breathing slow and steady. One arm thrown over your waist like it belonged there, her entire body half-pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing just enough of the tattoos trailing down her back to make your already-dysfunctional brain short-circuit.

It should be illegal to look that good while sleeping.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of the way her fingers twitched slightly against your stomach. Desperate for a distraction, you forced your gaze to the rest of the room.

The coffee table was an absolute crime scene—wrappers, crumpled napkins, open sauce packets, empty Baja Blast cups, and one lonely, half-eaten quesadilla clinging to life.

You groaned softly, rubbing your face, before muscle memory had you reaching for your phone.

And that’s when the real nightmare started.

Rachel (25 Missed Calls, 17 Texts).

Your stomach immediately twisted into knots.

Dreading whatever mess you’d apparently caused, you clicked the messages.

Rachel: WAKE UP Rachel: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP Rachel: CHECK TWITTER RIGHT NOW.

A cold dread crawled up your spine.

With the kind of slow, creeping horror usually reserved for slasher films, you opened Twitter.

And there it was.

Trending.

#y/nandEllie

#HARDLAUNCHOFTHECENTURY

Your entire body locked up.

“What the fuck?” you croaked, voice barely functioning.

Next to you, Ellie shifted, groaning as her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in just a fraction before she mumbled into the cushion, voice thick with sleep, “Why’re you talking?”

You didn’t even process the fact that she was literally holding you because you were too busy trying not to pass out.

Instagram. You need to check instagram.

And then you saw it.

Your most recent story.

A photo of Ellie.

Sitting on the couch, head tilted down, scrolling on her phone. Messy hair, tattoos on full display, one leg tucked up like she owned the place. In front of her? The entire ungodly Taco Bell order. Wrappers, bags, napkins—absolute devastation.

And the caption, in bold, unhinged letters:

she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.

One hundred million people have already seen it.

“FUCK!”

Ellie shifted again, her fingers skimming your stomach as she let out a sleepy groan. “Dude” she mumbled. “What now?”

You turned to her, shoving the phone directly in her face, voice pure horror.

“You let me post this?!”

She blinked at the screen. Then blinked again. And then, as if the universe hadn’t already humiliated you enough, she started grinning.

It was slow at first, creeping across her face, her shoulders starting to shake—before she full-on lost it. Ellie fucking cackled. Like, sleep-rough, chest-shaking, burying-her-face-in-the-couch dying.

You smacked her arm. “THIS IS FUCKING SERIOUS!”

She barely lifted her head, still grinning like an absolute menace.

“We smoked another blunt, got drunk, and thought it would be funny.” She stretched lazily and patted your thigh, voice rough with amusement. “So, I guess we’re official now.”

You smacked her again.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ I HAD SO MUCH FUN W THIS ONE LMAOOO. I went so full out with brainrot memes i realized how much i need to touch some grass. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

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cloudyluun · 4 months ago

Text

Press Play | boyfriend!harry

Summary: What starts as a simple suggestion from Harry "Let me film you tonight." quickly turns into a night of absolute filth, passion, and pleasure as you and your boyfriend make your very own sex tape. From slow, deep thrusts in the bedroom to messy, desperate fucking in the kitchen, the camera catches everything—every moan, every gasp, every filthy whisper. And when it’s all over, Harry is more than satisfied with his directorial debut… but he might already be planning a sequel.

Wordt Count: 5k

A/N: This steamy masterpiece was based on this absolutely legendary request! (hope it turned out how you wanted it!!)😏🔥 You guys never fail to come up with the filthiest ideas, and I am so here for it. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think! 💗

Warnings:

Smut (filming/voyeurism, dirty talk (praise & degradation), hair pulling, spanking, light choking, overstimulation, finger sucking, rough & soft sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, oral (both receiving), p in v)

Fluff (aftercare & pillow talk)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

It’s late at night, and you’re curled up against Harry on the couch, scrolling through TikTok, your legs draped over his lap.

The soft glow of your phone screen flickers against the dimly lit room, casting shadows across his sharp jawline. He’s warm beneath you, solid and effortlessly relaxed. His arm is stretched along the back of the couch, fingertips occasionally brushing your shoulder, but his other hand... that one is settled on your thigh. Barely noticeable at first. Just resting. Comfortable.

Until his thumb starts moving—slow, lazy strokes that send shivers creeping up your spine. Absentminded, possessive. It’s nothing new, but tonight, it feels different. Like he’s not just touching to touch. Like he’s waiting.

That’s when it pops up on your feed—a thirst trap about couples making sex tapes. The comments are flooded with strangers talking about how hot it is. How intimate. How fun.

You let out a quiet hum, amused, half-joking, “Would you ever film us?”

Harry’s fingers tighten. Visibly. His whole body shifts under you.

Your lips part, confused by his sudden change in posture. His darkened gaze snaps to you, scanning your face like he’s trying to decide if you’re being serious or just teasing him.

“Say that again.” His voice is lower now, thicker, heavy with something that makes your stomach twist.

Your breath catches. Your skin prickles. You chew your lip, suddenly shy under the weight of his attention. “Would you… want to record us?”

His pupils are blown. His jaw flexes. His cock twitches beneath your thighs, and you feel it. The hard press of him through his sweatpants.

“You wanna watch yourself get fucking ruined?”

Heat rushes straight between your legs. The air in the room thickens. Your thighs clench on instinct.

He notices. Smirks.

And then his hand moves higher, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shorts, brushing against the bare skin of your hip. He leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath hot when he whispers—

“Then strip, baby. Let’s make a fucking movie.”

His voice is dark, edged with something primal, something that sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

You don’t hesitate—how could you? Not with the way he’s looking at you, standing at the foot of the bed with the camera propped on the nightstand, its red light blinking. Watching. Waiting.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it aside. The air feels cooler on your skin now, your nipples already tight from anticipation, the way his gaze drags over your body like a physical touch.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching for you, guiding you down to your knees between his legs.

He’s already hard, thick and heavy, his cock resting against the toned plane of his stomach. You watch as a bead of precum glistens at the tip, the sight alone making your mouth water.

“C’mon, angel,” he coaxes, his fingers threading into your hair, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. “Be my good girl, yeah?”

You obey without question, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his inner thighs, teasing, taking your time. His breath hitches when your tongue flicks out, trailing over the sensitive skin just beside his cock, your nails scraping lightly over his hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, watching you through hooded eyes. “Look at you, always so eager to please me.”

Your lips finally part over the tip, your tongue circling, savoring the taste of him. His fingers tighten in your hair when you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, letting him slide against your tongue.

The camera catches everything.

The way your lashes flutter when he pushes deeper. The obscene sound of your lips and tongue working him over. The way his head falls back, a low, guttural groan slipping from his throat.

His hips twitch, his body struggling not to thrust. But you want it—you want to feel him lose control, want to let him take what he needs.

So you pull back, lips slick and swollen, and whisper, “Use my mouth, H.”

His eyes darken. His jaw clenches.

“Fuck.”

Then his grip tightens, and his hips snap forward, pushing himself deep, forcing you to take every inch. You moan around him, your throat constricting, tears pricking at your eyes as you relax, let him fuck your mouth like he owns it.

“God, baby, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, watching the way your lips stretch around him, how messy you’ve gotten. “Knew you’d look so good like this. Knew you’d love it.”

You whimper, nails digging into his thighs as he thrusts deep, holding you there for a second before pulling back, letting you catch your breath. Barely.

“Get up here,” he rasps, voice thick with need.

Before you can fully catch your breath, he grabs your thighs, dragging you down the bed, positioning you right beneath him.

“Can’t fuck you yet, baby,” he mutters, kissing a trail down your stomach, his voice thick with something wicked. “Need to taste you first.”

Your thighs tremble when his fingers curl into the waistband of your ruined lace panties, dragging them down slowly, savoring the way your slick clings to the fabric.

“Christ,” he breathes, eyes locked onto your dripping cunt, his voice somewhere between reverence and hunger. “Been teasing you all night, haven’t I? S’why you’re so fucking messy already.”

He spreads you with two fingers, his thumb gliding through your slick, gathering it before bringing it to his lips. Tasting you.

“Shit,” you whimper, your hips jerking up desperately, but he presses a firm hand against your stomach, pinning you down.

“Uh-uh,” he tsks, smirking. “Be good for me, yeah? Let me take my time with you.”

Then his mouth is on you.

His tongue licks a slow stripe, so filthy, so deep that your back arches off the bed instantly. He groans at the way you react, at the way your thighs tighten around his head.

“Fuck—yes, H,” you gasp, fisting the sheets.

He eats you like he’s starving—like this is the only thing he’s ever wanted. His tongue flicks, swirls, presses, teasing and torturing you until your thighs are shaking.

The camera is still rolling.

And he fucking knows it.

“You’re being so good for me, angel,” he praises, his lips brushing against your clit, his voice a vibration against your skin. “Gonna let the camera see how pretty you look when you come on my tongue?”

You moan, nodding frantically, your body already climbing so high, so fast.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, two fingers slipping inside you at the same time, curling, finding the spot that makes your vision blur.

“Oh my god—Harry, I’m—”

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes, fucking his fingers into you faster, drinking in the way your body tenses beneath him. “Give it to me. Let me see how pretty you are when you fall apart.”

And when you do—when the orgasm rips through you, making your body tremble, your fingers pull at his hair so hard he groans—he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going, licking you through it, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, shaking, pushing at his shoulders.

Only then does he pull away, lips glistening, eyes dark.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Then he’s grabbing you, flipping you onto your back, caging you beneath him.

“Now,” he growls, lining himself up, his cock dragging through your soaked folds. “Let me feel you.”

The first thrust is slow, deep—pushing in inch by inch, stretching you, making sure the camera catches everything.

“Fuck, yes—”

Your fingers claw at his back, nails leaving red lines down his skin, but he just groans, loving it, drunk on the way you feel wrapped around him.

He pins your wrists above your head, trapping you, his breath warm against your jaw.

“That’s it, love,” he murmurs, his hips rolling in deep, languid strokes, making sure you feel every inch of him. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer, deeper. His pace quickens just a little, still controlled, still making you feel every drag, every pulse.

“Gonna let me film you coming on my cock, yeah?”

His voice alone is enough to push you to the edge, body tightening, trembling, already so close.

And from the way his thrusts get just a little rougher, the way his jaw clenches—he’s close, too.

The red light blinks.

The camera is still rolling.

And you never want it to stop.

Your legs are still weak, trembling, your body buzzing from the last orgasm he pulled from you. But Harry’s far from finished.

His hands are on you before you can even catch your breath—rough, insistent—pulling you upright, pressing his chest to your bare, sweat-slicked back.

“C’mere,” he rasps, dragging you across the room, guiding you toward the floor-length mirror against the wall. The phone is already in position on a chair, the screen glowing, capturing every moment, every angle.

Your eyes flick to the reflection—to the way his arm wraps around your waist, holding you close. The way his lips brush over your jaw, his voice nothing but a sinful whisper in your ear.

“Wanna see how gorgeous you look when I fuck you.”

A shudder runs through you, anticipation coiling in your stomach. His hands slip under the rumpled shirt you’re still wearing, gliding over your heated skin, before he lifts it over your head and tosses it aside.

Now you’re completely bare, standing before the mirror with his hands roaming, gripping, claiming.

“Look at you, baby,” he murmurs, one hand trailing down your stomach, fingers teasing at where you’re still soaked, so sensitive. “Fuck—you’re dripping.”

You bite your lip as his fingers slide between your legs, gathering the evidence of what he’s done to you. He smirks when you twitch, knowing how overstimulated you are, but still—you push into his touch, wanting more.

“Always so fucking greedy,” he chuckles darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Then, in one swift motion, he bends you forward, just slightly—enough to put you on display.

Your hands fly to the mirror, palms flat against the cool glass, balancing yourself as he kicks your feet apart with his knee.

His hips press flush against your ass, his cock hard and heavy, sliding between your folds, teasing.

“Fuck, H,” you whimper, your reflection blurry with want. “Please—”

He grips your chin, forcing your gaze up.

“Look at yourself,” he demands, his other hand slipping around your throat, gripping lightly.

Your breath hitches.

His fingers tighten just enough, the pressure delicious, dizzying—and then he thrusts inside you in one slow, deep stroke.

Your eyes go wide, lips parting as a broken moan spills out, watching as his cock disappears inside you in the reflection.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you steady as he starts to move, his pace slow but punishing.

The phone catches everything.

The way his body pins yours to the mirror. The way his muscles flex with every sharp snap of his hips. The way your lips part, eyes fluttering as you start to fall apart.

“That’s it, love,” he praises, his grip tightening in your hair, pulling your head back against his shoulder. “Taking me so well.”

The rhythm is perfect—deep, slow, filthy. You can hear everything—the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking into you, the way his breath gets rougher, hotter, against your ear.

Then he reaches for the phone, lifting it, angling the camera down.

You know what he’s doing.

He wants a close-up.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching the screen, watching the way you swallow him whole, the way your body trembles, gripping him tight.

His free hand slides between your thighs, fingers circling your clit, rubbing slow and firm, matching the deep thrusts of his cock.

Your knees buckle instantly, but his arm around your waist keeps you up, keeps you open, keeps you his.

“Wanna see you come just like this, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your ear, his voice pure sin.

And you do.

Right there—legs shaking, body arching, moaning his name like a fucking prayer.

The pleasure rips through you, making you collapse against the mirror, gasping for breath as the aftershocks leave you wrecked, trembling, ruined.

His grip tightens, his thrusts getting sloppy, desperate, his breath turning into ragged groans as he follows you over the edge, spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan.

The phone is still in his hand. Still recording.

You can barely focus, barely function, but through the haze, you hear him chuckle, breathless, voice hoarse and wrecked.

“Shit, baby,” he pants, pulling you against his chest, kissing your temple.

Your gaze flickers to the reflection, to the way you both look—flushed, fucked-out, completely ruined.

And then, through his heavy breaths, you hear him smirk.

“Think we need another angle.”

Your body is still buzzing, legs barely functioning, but Harry doesn’t give you a chance to recover.

He grabs your hand, tugging you toward the living room, his grip firm, unwavering.

“C’mere,” he mutters, pulling you down onto his lap as he drops onto the couch, his cock already hard again, heavy between his thighs.

The phone is on the coffee table now, angled perfectly, capturing the way you straddle him—bare, flushed, completely fucked-out.

“You ready for me, angel?” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down your spine, his other hand stroking himself, teasing the tip against your soaking folds.

Your thighs tremble as you hover over him, hands braced against his broad chest.

“Already so messy,” he mutters, watching the way your slick coats his cock, the way your body shivers in anticipation.

And then—he grabs your hips, guiding you down, making you take every inch in one slow, aching stretch.

“Fuck—yes, baby, that’s it,” he grits out, his head falling back, eyes squeezing shut as he watches you sink onto him.

Your lips part in a silent moan, nails digging into his shoulders, your thighs burning as he fills you to the hilt.

His hands are everywhere—palming your tits, sliding down your waist, gripping your hips, guiding your movements.

You start to ride him, slow at first, savoring the way his cock drags against every sensitive spot inside you.

But Harry—he wants more.

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh, and suddenly—

A sharp slap lands on your ass.

You gasp, your body jerking forward, the sting sending a shockwave straight to your core.

Harry smirks.

“Feel good?” he taunts, bringing his hand down again, harder this time, making you jolt on his cock.

Your moan is wrecked, your fingers clawing at his chest, needing something to hold onto.

“Fuck, H—”

“Shh, baby,” he coos, thrusting up into you, deep and brutal, his voice all low, sweet filth. “Take it.”

The sound of skin-on-skin fills the room, loud, obscene, mixing with your whimpers, his gritted groans.

He pulls you down onto him harder, his hands forcing your hips to move exactly how he wants—deep, fast, relentless.

Your thighs burn, but the pleasure—fuck, it’s overwhelming.

And then—his thumb finds your clit.

A desperate moan spills from your lips as he rubs tight circles, not letting up, not giving you a second to breathe.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he pants, his eyes locking onto yours, wild and intense. “I can feel you fucking shaking.”

You nod, frantic, barely holding on, the pleasure so sharp, so consuming.

“Yeah?” he taunts, thrusting up, harder, deeper. “Gonna come for me again? Gonna let the camera see how fucking pretty you look when you fall apart?”

Your body tenses, pleasure coiling so tight it’s almost unbearable.

“Come on, angel,” he urges, gritting his teeth, voice rough. “Give it to me.”

And then—you snap.

The orgasm rips through you, your legs trembling, body collapsing against his chest, your cries muffled against his neck.

“Fuck, yes,” Harry growls, feeling you clench so tight around him it nearly makes him lose it.

But he isn’t done.

His hands dig into your hips, keeping you moving, forcing you through the aftershocks, overstimulating you until you’re whining, twitching, trying to pull away.

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he groans, holding you there, fucking up into you, chasing his own release.

The pleasure is too much, your body too sensitive, but the way he ruins you, uses you, fucks you through it—

It only makes you want more.

He thrusts once, twice, a third time—

And then—he breaks.

A guttural moan rips from his throat, his grip tightening, bruising, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spills, filling you so full it’s dripping down your thighs.

His chest heaves, his fingers loosening, his head falling back against the couch.

For a long moment, neither of you move—just panting, tangled together, completely wrecked.

The camera is still rolling.

And Harry—the smug bastard—

He fucking smirks.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, tilting his head up to kiss you slow, deep, filthy.

Then his hands skim down your thighs, his voice low, teasing.

“Think we’ve got one more in us?”

Your body is wrecked, every nerve buzzing, muscles shaking, but Harry—Harry isn’t done.

Not even close.

His hands grip your waist, lifting you off his lap, and before you can protest, whine, beg for a second to recover—

He’s dragging you toward the kitchen.

The cool air chills your overheated skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way his body presses against yours from behind, his cock already hard again, pressing insistently against your ass.

He laughs—low, smug, completely in control.

“Still shaking, baby?” he murmurs, lips grazing the shell of your ear, his hands roaming, greedy, possessive.

“You can take it.”

His fingers trail down your spine, slow, teasing, before he pushes you forward, bending you over the counter.

A glass tips over, spilling forgotten water across the marble, but neither of you care.

The only thing that matters is the way he spreads you open, the way he groans when he sees how soaked you still are.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, reaching for the phone, propping it up against the fruit bowl, making sure it catches everything—

The way you arch. The way you tremble. The way your pussy is already dripping, swollen, ready for him.

His hand comes up, taps your jaw, and instinctively, you open your mouth.

“Good girl,” he purrs, slipping two fingers past your lips, pressing down on your tongue.

You suck.

You wrap your lips around them, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, moaning around his fingers as your lashes flutter.

Your hips wiggle back, ass brushing against the thick length of him, feeling him twitch, his thighs flexing behind you.

“Fuckin’ filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he groans, watching your tongue work, watching you get messy, drool pooling at the corner of your lips.

You whimper, humming around his fingers, and he curses, pulling them from your mouth.

A wet pop, strands of saliva connecting his fingers to your lips, and he fucking smirks.

“So fuckin’ desperate,” he murmurs, dragging those fingers down, down, down—

Until he’s sliding them through your folds, pushing two inside you with no warning.

The obscene squelch is loud, echoing in the quiet kitchen.

Harry chuckles darkly.

“You hear that, baby? Bet the camera’s picking up every fucking sound your pretty pussy is making for me.”

Your cheeks burn, but you’re too far gone to be embarrassed.

Your moans are wrecked, desperate, your hips rocking against his hand, chasing more, more, more.

“You like it?” he taunts, fucking his fingers into you faster, curling them just right, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp, arching against him.

His other hand grips your ass, squeezing, spreading you wider.

“Like being my little mess? Letting me use you?”

Your legs nearly give out, the words going straight to your core, making your walls clench around his fingers.

“Fuck, yes, yes—please, H, need it.”

He groans, removing his fingers, leaving you empty, whimpering.

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, lining himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing.

“You want it?”

You nod frantically, pressing back against him, whining, but it’s not enough.

“Use your words, angel,” he murmurs, gripping your hips, still not pushing in.

You nearly sob.

“Harry, please—need you. Need your cock, please, I’ll be so good.”

He groans, fingers digging into your skin, cock throbbing against your entrance.

“Yeah?” he taunts, voice rough, wrecked. “Let the camera hear you. Let them hear how much you fuckin’ need it.”

Your breath stutters, but you don’t care anymore, the words tumbling out, soaked in desperation.

“Please, fuck me—fuck me so good, make me scream for you. Let them hear how wrecked I am. Want them to know I’m yours.”

That’s all he needs.

He slams inside.

Your cry is instant, loud, your nails clawing at the countertop, overwhelmed, stretched to the brink.

Harry doesn’t wait.

Doesn’t ease you into it.

He’s relentless, snapping his hips in deep, ruthless thrusts, the counter digging into your stomach with every movement.

The phone catches everything.

The way his cock slides in and out, glistening with your arousal. The way your body jolts with each thrust, tits bouncing. The way you’re fucking losing it for him, shaking, screaming, babbling absolute nonsense.

“Too much—fuck, fuck—”

His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upright against his chest.

“Nah,” he growls, panting against your ear, lips brushing the shell.

“Gonna take every inch, baby. Gonna let me fuck you stupid, yeah?”

You nod, whining, voice wrecked.

“Yes—fuck, yes, yes, yes—”

His hand moves from your throat to your mouth, shoving two fingers inside again.

“Suck.”

You obey, tongue swirling around his digits, drool spilling past your lips, whimpering as he keeps fucking you.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he groans, watching it all—the way your lips wrap around his fingers, the way your eyes roll back, completely wrecked.

And when he presses his palm to your lower stomach, feeling himself inside you—

You scream.

Your body locks up, clenching so tight he chokes on a breath.

“Jesus—fuck, that’s it, come for me, angel—”

The orgasm rips through you, sharp, all-consuming, leaving you boneless against the counter, your body trembling uncontrollably.

Harry hisses, his thrusts stuttering, and then—

He pulls out at the last second, dragging his cock through your slick, teasing, tormenting, refusing to let you come down from the high.

Your legs buckle, but his hands hold you up, keep you there, keep you open for him.

The camera is still rolling.

And Harry—smug, breathless, completely ruined—

Still wants more.

“Think we’ve got one more in us?”

You barely register the words, still trying to catch your breath, every muscle weak, trembling, spent.

But Harry—your insatiable, relentless boyfriend—

He doesn’t rush this time.

No dragging, no flipping you over, no eager hands guiding you into place.

Instead, he lifts you carefully, presses soft kisses to your spine, carries you back to the bedroom as if you’re something fragile, breakable.

And maybe you are.

Maybe he’s already ruined you.

Maybe you’ll be feeling him for days.

The bed is soft, warm, and as soon as your bodies sink into the sheets, you exhale a shuddering breath, melting into his chest.

He reaches for the phone, props it back up on the nightstand, and then pulls you in close, his body wrapping around yours.

His lips brush your shoulder, your jaw, your temple, trailing soft, lazy kisses.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers, his voice deep, warm, his fingers dragging up and down your arm.

You hum, eyes fluttering shut, completely boneless, content.

But then—

He rolls his hips.

A slow, teasing press, his cock hard again, nudging between your thighs.

Your lips part, breath hitching, but you don’t stop him.

You tilt your hips back, letting him slide against your soaked entrance, teasing, brushing.

“You sure?” he murmurs, lips at your ear, voice softer now, more tender.

You nod, pressing back against him, chasing more.

“Need you,” you whisper, reaching behind you, guiding him in. “Just like this. Just wanna feel you, H.”

He groans as he pushes inside, inch by inch, slow, deep, deliberate.

The stretch is familiar now, easy, perfect.

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you impossibly close, his lips at your neck, your shoulder, your hairline.

It’s different now.

No desperation, no rough hands or fast thrusts or filthy taunts.

Just this.

The slow, steady roll of his hips, the way he fills you completely, holds you close, breathes against your skin.

The way he worships you.

And for the first time tonight, you take the lead.

You slide your hand down his arm, lacing your fingers with his.

Turning your head, you press soft kisses to his jaw, his cheek, whispering between them.

“You feel so good inside me,” you murmur, voice soft but sinful.

His breath shudders, his hand gripping your hip as you tilt your pelvis back, grinding against him.

You moan, deliberately loud, knowing the camera is catching everything.

“Wish you could feel how deep you are,” you whisper, pressing your ass back against him, rolling your hips slow and deliberate.

He groans, hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed against your shoulder.

You take his hand, guide it down your stomach, between your legs.

“Touch me, H,” you beg softly, turning your head, lips brushing his.

“Want you to feel how messy you’ve made me. How soaked I am just for you.”

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, and he’s gone.

His fingers slip between your thighs, stroking slow, lazy circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

“You like that, baby?” he murmurs, voice wrecked, breathless.

You nod quickly, pressing your face into the pillow, but he isn’t having it.

“Wanna hear you,” he says, nipping at your ear.

You give him exactly what he wants.

A whimper, a broken moan, his name tumbling off your lips as you clench around him.

His hand tightens in yours, his hips stuttering, his voice shaky, wrecked, desperate in a whole new way.

“M’gonna come inside you,” he murmurs, holding you so tight, so close.

Your heart pounds, body trembling, completely consumed by him.

You moan softly, turning your head slightly, lips brushing his jaw.

“Want you to,” you whisper, lacing your fingers even tighter.

His breath catches.

He groans deep in his chest, rocking into you again, again, again—

Until you’re both falling apart together.

Your name leaves his lips in a broken moan, your body locking up as you clench around him, his hips stuttering as he comes, burying himself as deep as he can.

The camera catches everything.

The way his arm stays wrapped around you, holding you close even after. The way his lips keep pressing soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder. The way his breath evens out, matching yours, completely tangled together.

“Think that’s a wrap?” you whisper, smiling sleepily.

Harry laughs softly, pulling you even closer.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your hair, your jaw, your lips.

“That was the best fucking movie I’ve ever made.”

You barely have the energy to respond, still trying to steady your breath, limbs tangled with his, skin sticky, flushed, glowing.

But you feel it—the way his chest shakes slightly with laughter, the way he presses a final, lazy kiss to your temple.

Then, with one last deep exhale, he shifts, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

You groan, instantly knowing what he’s about to do.

“Harry,” you mumble, hiding your face in his neck, still floating in the warmth of your high.

But he just chuckles, unlocking his phone, scrolling back through the clips, and letting out a low, satisfied hum.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he mutters under his breath, eyes glued to the screen.

You can hear it.

The faint, filthy echoes of your moans, your gasps, the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together.

And then—his voice.

Deep, wrecked, whispering the filthiest things in your ear, groaning your name, telling you how fucking good you felt.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head as you attempt to bury yourself beneath the duvet.

“Shut up,” you mumble, mortified, still breathless.

But Harry just laughs, victorious and smug, tugging the blanket down and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

“S’fucking hot,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your cheek, your jaw.

You huff, playfully smacking his chest, but he just grins against your skin.

“S’just for us, angel,” he reassures, softer now, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Just for me.”

He scrolls through the clips one more time, selecting them carefully, before locking them away, safe and private.

You watch him do it.

See the way he treats them like something sacred.

Because that’s exactly what they are.

Not just a filthy little home video.

Not just a collection of moans and gasps and pleasure.

But a perfect, intimate reminder of the night you let him make a movie out of you.

His own personal masterpiece.

And when he tucks the phone away, finally rolling over to face you, his fingers tracing slow circles on your bare back, his expression softens.

“Feel okay?” he murmurs, searching your face, his voice gentle now.

You nod, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper, curling into him, nuzzling into his chest.

You feel his lips press against your hair, warm, lingering.

“Good,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you even closer.

And just before sleep finally pulls you under, you hear him murmur—

“Gonna need a sequel.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

@donutsandpalmtrees

@panini

@mads3502

@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

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@berrywoods1245

@jennovaaa

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@prettygurl-2009

@almostcontentcreator

@run-for-the-hills

@maudie-duan

@dipmeinhoneyh

#harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles!boyfriend #y/n!girlfriend

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imaginesig · 6 months ago

Text

In Every Realm

SMAU

Aaron Taylor Johnson x Wife!Reader

Yn is the muse of the brilliant Robert Eggers, she has been in multiple of his films. When she is casted in "Nosferatu" the entire cast becomes family, in some cases literally.

Idea sent by @ateliefloresdaprimavera

ynjohnson

liked by lilyrosedepp, aarontaylorjohnson, johnnydepp, and 928,928 others

ynjohnson always a good day when I get to celebrate family! Lily-Rose I love you to the moon and back!! Have the best birthday ever, you deserve it 🩷🩷

tagged: lilyrosedepp

lilyrosedepp I love you!!!

lilyrosedepp the second photo 😭

ynjohnson moments before we choreographed a Disney dance number

ellefanning Happy Birthday Lily-Rose!!

nicholashoult Have a great birthday Lily-Rose!!

aarontaylorjohnson Happy birthday to the best cousin-in-law I could've asked for!

user1 ugh the best cousin duo ever

user2 I could only dream to be so iconic

user3 imagine showing up to family holiday and you see Yn and Lily-Rose in the corner

user4 and then Aaron Taylor Johnson shows up

user5 what a stacked family

Twitter--

Instagram--

ynjohnson

liked by user2, robberteggers_, user92, and 983,920 others

ynjohnson oh rumours! How they fly!

tagged: no one

comments have been disabled

Twitter--

Instagram--

ynjohnson

liked by user73, lilyrosedepp, robberteggers_, and 928,029 others

ynjohnson from a fresh faces, young actress to now, mine and Robert's careers have been interconnected. We constantly go back and forth about potential projects and I've had the pleasure to act in for him several times. I am so excited to be apart of his dream come true!!

Lily-Rose, I am over the moon to finally work with you! You are one of the most talented actresses I know and I cannot wait to see your brilliance up close 🫶🫶

Aaron, my love, it is an absolute honor to be your wife in life and now on screen 🤍🤍

tagged: aarontaylorjohnson, lilrosedepp

lilyrosedepp I love you!!! This is going to be the best movie yet

ynjohnson 🩷🩷

aarontaylorjohnson you are such an admirable women, I love you 🤍🤍

ynjohnson 😘

robberteggers_ lets make the movie of the year

ynjohnson hell yea!!

user1 I am way to excited about this!!!

user2 always a good day when Yn is in a Robert movie

user3 also the rest of the cast is stacked

user4 I need it now!!!!

Time Skip-- Middle of Production

Twitter--

Interview--

Instagram--

aarontaylorjohnson

liked by ynjohnson, user93, arianadebose, and 920,283 others

aarontaylorjohnson "Kraven the Hunter" is in theaters today!!

tagged: kraven_movie

arianadebose 👏👏👏

ynjohnson DAYUM

ynjohnson THATS MY MAN

ynjohnson YOU BITCHES MAY LOOK BUT YOU CAN'T TOUCH

aarontaylorjohnson my love, I'm flattered 🤭

user1 they're both insane

user2 matching each others freak

user3 Mrs. Johnson I am looking respectfully ✋🥵

user4 the creme jacket is making me feral

user5 the last pic, he's so babygirl

Time Skip-- Nosferatu Wrap

Instagram--

aarontaylorjohnson

liked by user5, user93, ynjohnson, and 928,029 others

aarontaylorjohnson post-wrap holiday 🤍🤍

tagged: ynjohnson

ynjohnson best surprise ever!! I love you 🤍🤍

aarontaylorjohnson I love you too my angel

user4 "my angel" SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

user1 ok Aaron, we get it your wife is hot 🙄🙄

user2 he said let me flex real quick

user3 God its me again 🙏🙏

user5 I need this more than life

ynjohnson

liked by aarontaylorjohnson, user2, and user92, and 928,490 others

ynjohnson get away with my love 🤍

tagged aarontaylorjohnson

aarontaylorjohnson 🤍🤍

user1 not them both posting a thirst trap of the other 💀

user2 and if I was in a hot ass relationship like them I would too

user3 ugh I need him in a way thats concerning to feminism

user4 I'm glad to see they still take time for their relationship/each other even with their hectic schedules

lilyrosedepp posted a story!

caption: cousins day out!! @/ynjohnson

ynjohnson posted a story!

caption: she's actually my favorite person ever @/lilyrosedepp

Time Skip-- Press Tour

Twitter--

Instagram--

ynjohnson

liked by lilyrosedepp, nicholashoult, robberteggers_, and 948,104 others

ynjohnson press tour is over which marks the end of my official "Noferatu" duties 😭 I will forever cherish this film and its cast!! I eagerly await to see what you all do next 🫶🫶

tagged: no one

Brittany_broski thou shalt not forget thou's final quest

ynjohnson i shan't your majesty

aarontaylorjohnson picture of excellence that final photo is

ynjohnson a real man you are

lilyrosedepp I miss you already!!

ynjohnson 🩷🩷🩷

user1 she's gorgeous

user2 her outfits ate every interview

user3 she was amazing in the movie

royalcourt

liked by ynjohnson, aarontaylorjohnson, user54, and 928,920 others

royalcourt citizens of Broski Nation, attention! Please welcome to the council Aaron Taylor Johnson, royal ass kicker, four legged freak of the realm!

tagged: aarontaylorjohnson

aarontaylorjohnson a privilege and an honor

ynjohnson MY TWO FAV PEOPLE!!!

user1 omg this was the best video every

user2 they work so well together

user3 the only video on the internet

royalcourt

liked by ynjohnson, aarontaylorjohnson, user1, and 928,834 others

royalcourt hear ye, hear ye!! A new member has been added to the royal court! Please welcome the fairest maiden in all the land, Yn Johnson!!

tagged: ynjohnson

ynjohnson I've never had more fun in my life!!

aarontaylotjohnson be my princess @/ynjohnson?

ynjohnson in this realm and the next 🤍

user1 this was the best thing ever

user2 between this and Aaron's episode this couple has once again broken the internet

user3 I'm in love with her your honor

#aaron taylor johnson #Aaron Taylor johnson x reader #Aaron Taylor johnson smau #Aaron Taylor johnson instagram edit #Aaron Taylor johnson instagram #Aaron Taylor johnson imagine #aarontaylorjohnson #celebrity instagram edit #celebrity smau #actor smau

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ladystoneshart · 23 days ago

Text

random asoiaf social media headcanons:

dany would make those left wing politics/pet grooming videos on tiktok. think like "come trim my bearded dragons nails while we talk about what's happenning in meeren right now" she actulaly studies international politics and has experience with activism so the videos are genuinely informative but she still gets canceled multiple times for, amongst other things: coming from a rich family, abusing her exotic pets (she takes really good care of them) and having a weird boyfriend (more than once).

ramsay kinda blows up on tiktok for making weird and off-putting videos showing his torture basement and bone collection or some shit. everyone thinks it's an elaborate bit but then someone clocks one of his bones as an actual human tibia and people start investigating him on tiktok until the police gets involved. turns out he was an actual serial killer and straight up keeping a girl trapped in his basement. true crime girlies go absolutely nuts over his case and if you open tiktok right now you will see at least 5 different videos talking about it with that fuckass creepy music sound.

myranda royce makes those water mixing tiktoks (you know the ones people put a bunch of random syrups and like red bull in their water to make it "taste good" to the point it can barely be considered water anymore?) while talking about REAL LIFE GOSSIP without bothering to change any names. the only reason she hasn't gotten in trouble for that yet is because she is god's favourite.

jaime makes work out instagram reels on his local gym that are actually barely disguised thirst traps. brienne goes to the same gym as him and gets endlessly annoyed by his bullshit because all his "training advice" is fucking terrible and "uhm some people are ACTUALLY trying to work out here mr. prince charming so if you could PLEASE do this somewhere else I think we would ALL apreciate it" so he starts including her in his videos so she can give some actual work out tips while he just flexes his muscles and tries to look sexy in the background. 99% of his followers are gay men (but he starts getting some queer girls after brienne starts showing up).

I've already talked about cersei being a right-wing grifter/complete menace online but I think that would lead her to becoming this sort of problematic gay icon because she suffers from donald trump disease (simultaneously the worst and funniest person on planet earth). her insane remarks combined with astronomical levels of slay factor turn her into a stan twitter meme (think like a karla sofía gascón or trisha paytas hybrid monster) and she amassess a huge "ironic" following composed of people trying to goad her into (another) mental break down on instagram live and lesbians who are convinced they could fix her if she would just give them a chance (they could NOT). people make thinkpieces on twitter about how you shouldn't interect with her even as a joke because she's clearly a VERY mentally ill woman who thrives on attention but it's no use she's simply too slay to be ignored by the gays.

varys is just deuxmoi.

#what a random assortment of characters #I'm not one of those cersei lesbians btw #I could NOT fix her #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #ramsay bolton #myranda royce #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #cersei lannister #lord varys #modern asoiaf #asoiaf shitpost #asoiaf crack

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misctf · 3 days ago

Note

I’m studying abroad for uni and my roommate is a typical ‘all-American’ dude who constantly talks about hating being forced to stay with a ‘dirty red coat’ instead of his frat brothers

Of all the roommates you had to be paired with, did it have to be AJ? You had concerns when you stalked his social media. His cocky smile, multiple gym selfies, thirst traps, and American pride gave you a preview of what you were in for. How this man was studying such a nuanced subject like Psychology was beyond you. But meeting the brute in person certainly confirmed your fears.

“Fuck, don’t you do anything besides read? Really dude? Reading?”

“Fuck yeah! That fuckin’ scrub didn’t have a chance.”

“Shit dude, I need you out of the room ASAP. I have some bimbo on her way. Wants to ride this American cock.”

“Dude, seriously? Ever hear of the revolution? We won that shit so we didn’t have to take orders from you dirty red coats. If I want to walk around shirtless, burp, fart, fuck- I’m gonna do it. And you’re not stopping me.”

“Maybe shut up and listen for once. This podcast might change your life, brah.”

And that was just a few of his many lines. Whether it was mocking you, mocking other gamers, diminishing women, ignoring your attempts to compromise, or brushing off your increasing frustration at the sound of some ultra-masculine podcaster, AJ simply gave no shits about you or anyone else.

“You know something, bro?” AJ said one night during your second week together, “This trip would be so much fucking better with one of my bros. Not some dirty red coat, British fuck.” You looked up from your book and raised an eyebrow, “How about you, let loose.”

A tingle runs down your spine, “Wh-what did you say?”

“Nothing brah, I just think you’d do better if you let loose.”

The tingle is stronger this time and you feel lightheaded. You look towards your American roommate and notice the shit-eating grin gracing his face. What the fuck was going on? Why was everything getting so foggy? You try to stand up, mumbling about needing a drink. AJ simply leans back in his chair.

“Nah man, what you need is to let loose.”

Your body begins to move as if possessed, shedding layers of inhibition and inhibition like old skin. The book slips from your grasp as a wave of raw, primal energy surges through your veins. A smirk spreads across your lips as you push yourself up from the chair, the world sharpening into focus.

“Damn right I'm letting loose.” you declare, voice dripping with confidence and a faint Southern drawl, “Time to show this place how us Americans party.”

Your movements become more fluid, almost predatory as you prowl towards the door. The mirror catches your reflection - your posture has changed, shoulders squared, chest puffed out. Part of you thinking how ridiculous your lanky frame looks exuding so much confidence, but any self-doubt is drowned in waves of narcissistic self-love.

AJ grinned approvingly, “Now that's more like it, bro!”

He clapped you on the shoulder and handed you one of his ballcaps. You grab it and slap it on backwards before sauntering out into the night...

____

Groggy and disoriented, you slowly open your eyes to find yourself sprawled across the couch, still wearing yesterday's clothes. Memories of the previous night come flooding back in fragmented flashes - shots, dancing, trash talking, hitting on some random dudes and chicks... Shame and confusion wash over you as the reality of your actions sinks in.

“Ugh, what the hell happened last night?” you groan, rubbing your temples. Suddenly, AJ's booming laughter fills the room.

“Aww, someone's feeling rough today!” he chuckles, shaking his head, “Guess you weren't used to keeping up with real men.” As you sit up, trying to clear the fog from your mind, AJ takes a step closer, eyeing you critically. “But damn, dude... You really gotta work on that physique. It’s holding you back.”

A sense of dread fills you, mixing with your pounding headache and churning stomach. You glance down at your comparatively scrawny frame and suddenly it feels alien, inadequate. As if responding to AJ's dismissive words, your body aches for something...more.

“Let loose... Get buff,” he says nonchalantly, stretching and flexing his own impressive biceps.

Immediately, you feel your body reacting against your will. Your muscles twitch and tighten, a strange sense of urgency building inside you. The rational part of your mind screams in protest, but it's quickly silenced by a surge of adrenaline and testosterone. Without conscious thought, you find yourself stripping off your shirt and heading towards the makeshift weights area in your dorm room. The familiar burn of exertion fills your limbs as you begin lifting, grunting and growling with each repetition. You don’t know what is happening... why this is happening... And those questions are your last conscious thoughts as you drift into your subconscious...

----

Slowly, groggily, you blink awake. Sunlight streams in harshly through the window, making you squint and wince. Disorientation clouds your mind as you struggle to process your surroundings. Where are you? What day is it? Pulling aside the sheets, you catch sight of your body - no longer lean and lanky, but rippling with muscle and definition. A pungent odor mimicking AJ's fill your nostrils and you realize with growing horror that its coming from you. Glancing down, you see unfamiliar boxer shorts emblazoned with the American flag. Panic rising in your throat, you scramble out of bed, stumbling slightly under the weight of your newly enhanced physique. Memories flicker and dance at the edges of your consciousness. Fragmented images of relentless training sessions, endless protein shakes, and vials labeled 'Anadrol' and 'Deca-Durabolin’.

“What the fuck...” you mutter hoarsely, voice deeper than you remember. “What's happening to me?”

Did you really spend the past week pumping iron and injecting yourself with steroids? The thought alone makes you feel ill. Staggering to the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Gone is the shy, bookish Brit. Now, you’re something else entirely. In the background, you hear AJ's boisterous laugh echoing down the hall. Footsteps approach and he bursts into the room, taking in your bewildered expression with a satisfied grin.

“Hey there, champ!” AJ greets you enthusiastically, slapping you on the back hard enough to make you stumble. “Lookin' good, bro! Knew you had it in ya.”

Confusion swirls in your head as you try to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of your fractured memories.

“Wha- what's going on? Did you...did you drug me?”

AJ laughs heartily, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Drugs? Nah, man. Unless you mean the steroids.” He chuckles, “Just a little hypno-training from my favorite podcast. Helped unlock your inner alpha, ya know?”

“Wh-what, how?” You cringe- your British accent was fading, intermixing with hints of southern twang.

AJ steps closer, looming over you with an intense gaze. “See, I've always dreamed of having a true American bro by my side. Someone to share in my love of freedom, guns, and sweet ass. And you, my friend, are gonna be that bro.” He snaps his fingers, and you feel a sudden jolt, like a shockwave ripping through your mind.

The shockwave crashes over you, drowning out every ounce of reason and restraint. Like a dam bursting, a tidal wave of pure, unfiltered American machismo floods your psyche. Thoughts of literature, intellectual discourse, and subtle wit are swept away, replaced by a singular focus on strength, virility, and unbridled patriotism.

“I'm gonna make you the ultimate American stud. No more of that pussy-ass British bullshit. From now on, you're all about the red, white, and blue.”

With each word, you feel your identity shifting, morphing, until you're barely recognizable even to yourself. It's like flipping a switch - suddenly, every fiber of your being throbs with the pulse of the Stars and Stripes. Your vocabulary shrinks, simplifying into a barrage of Americanisms and slang. Words like “dude”, “bro”, and “fuckin”' roll off your tongue effortlessly. Memories of your former self flicker in the recesses of your mind, but they hold no sway over you anymore. Instead, you revel in the glory of your newfound masculinity, flexing your bulging biceps and admiring your chiseled jawline in the mirror. Your thoughts race, a whirlwind of pure, unadulterated American pride. Every cliché, every stereotype, every over-the-top portrayal of the quintessential frat boy - they all converge in your mind, forming a perfect picture of the man you've become.

“I'm living the dream, man.” you declare, your Southern drawl growing thicker with each syllable, “Who needs books when you got these guns?”

Grinning ear to ear, you strike a pose, showcasing your newly sculpted physique. The sheer joy of being a jock, a true-blue American stud, courses through your veins like liquid gold.

“It's like I was born to be a bro.” you chuckle, slapping AJ on the back, “Thanks for showing me the light, dude. I owe ya big time.” And in this moment, nothing else mattered.

----

One year later, you're sitting on the shore of Lake Travis, surrounded by your fellow frat brothers. Cold beer in hand, tanned muscles glistening in the sun, you couldn't ask for a better life. College is just a blur of keggers, sex, and weightlifting sessions between classes. Who needs grades when you got charisma and Southern charm? Across the beach, AJ lounges in a deck chair, watching you with a smug grin. His work here is done. You're the perfect embodiment of American masculinity.

Laughter rings out as you sprint towards the lake, splashing and horsing around like a pack of wild animals. In this moment, you're truly free - free from the constraints of intellect, free from the burdens of responsibility. You're just a simple, happy-go-lucky American jock, living life to the fullest.

#male tf #male transformation #personality tf #mental change #gay hypnosis #forced transformation #dumber tf #jock tf

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myunghology · 4 months ago

Note

IQIEIWORFOS HII I LOVE YOUR BLOG 😭😭

Im not sure if you take reqs but in case you do, i love how you wrote your last post of attractive things for Rui!! Maybe can you do it with Akito?

Take your time if you decided to do it, ty and take caree <3

AKITO SHINONOME — attractive things he does! ( a/n at the end! )

i. he's a fast replier. akito isn't one usually known for the way he replies quickly— but with you, it's really the opposite. he'll reply quickly to anything you say, even if it's something stupid or quirky. preferably though, he likes it better whenever you update him about anything that's going on in your life. long story short, he likes listening to you yap.. even if it's about something he won't bother to listen to when it comes to other people.

ii. has multiple playlists for you. some he'd make about your relationship, which he'd send to you or is a collaboration playlist, some only songs that reminds him of you. he has more than he'd like to admit, and probably more than you think he has, which are only for his eyes ( or ears ) and won't show you. his pride's too huge for that gang i'm sorry.. ( also def has a playlist full of sexual songs just for shits 'n giggles but let's not talk about that right now ).

iii. the guy's a waist grabber. I'M SORRY i tried to hold back i really did from saying this but the demons..... anyway, yes, he'd grab your waist ( mostly from behind ) and pull you closer. and the fact that his hands are so strong and warm too just makes you want to melt in his arms.. literally. probably caresses it too using his thumb. GANG I'M GONNA CRASH OUT??????? he uses this too whenever he's being possessive, or sometimes he'd pull you back by your waist when he doesn't want you to go anywhere.

iv. posts you on his social media. this dude bruh.. he probably only updates on his social media accounts like once every four months, birthday / congratulatory posts and stories not counted. and he uses those once every four month posts to show you off with some kind of song that reminds him of you. he usually only posts dumps consists of his everyday life and his outfits, but you've been starting to pop up in 'em more often <3

v. clingy without realizing. akito would literally worship the ground on if you asked him if it wasn't for his huge ass pride. you could be sitting on his desk on break time in class and he'd be beside you, laying his head on your thighs before his hand travels to your inner thighs and caressing them once again!! he would leave kisses, but he'd rather do that in private. once he realizes though and gets called out for it in public, he'd just brush it off with a “why do you care?” and it's so attractive..

vi. would actually beat someone up for you. you sadly? have scary dog privileges when you're with your boyfriend. whenever he even hears SLIGHTLY that someone's badmouthing you, best believe you'll have to hold him back by the hood of his jacket to stop him from pouncing at that person. “baby you gotta let me beat 'em up.” he'd say, to which you shake your head and drag him away, whilst muttering that he doesn't need even more enemies.

vii. kisses literally everywhere. no, no more malicious intent this time.. but he'd kiss you literally anywhere in your body just because. of course, he's mostly fond of your lips, but if he had to choose something other than that, then he'd probably kiss your collarbone, shoulder. maybe even your thighs if he's feeling sappy or whatever, but he does it out of fondness and how much he wants to show how he loves you.

@myunghology — HEHEHEHEHE TY ANONN <3 also i was planning to do this for him too so u came in the right time 😈 ill do other pjsk boys soon i swear....!!! also do y'all think akito would sometimes post thirst traps and toya would be somewhere in the bg and the comments would be like ‘who dat in the BACKKK🔥🔥’ LMFAOOOO.

#jian’s works!#project sekai fluff #project sekai imagines #project sekai x reader #project sekai #prsk x reader #prsk #pjsk akito #pjsk x reader #pjsk #shinonome akito x reader #akito #akito shinonome x reader #akito shinonome #vbs akito #akito project sekai #prsk akito

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mrmilomoo · 3 months ago

Note

Omg … please can we get cock hypothesis posts for our two wonderful Sargents ? Your headcanons are SO yummy

Kyle Gaz Garrick cock hypothesis

18+ MDNI

Gaz cock head-cannons:

Now this is a cock you are going to want to suck if given the opportunity.

Go figure the prettiest member of TF 141 also has the prettiest member.

I have no doubt that he’s the most hygienic by far as well. You’ll never have to worry about cheese dick (aka smegma) with this man. (Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for all the members of 141.)

Most likely to shave his happy trail and pubic hair when he’s able to. The thirst traps disguised as physique checks Kyle regularly posts to his socials may or may not be the motive behind the crime.

He honestly might be cut, I just get that vibe, but he also might not be. It’s a coin flip for me… (Heads means he’s cut, tails means he’s uncut… IT’S TAILS!)

So, as fate would have it, Kyle is uncut. (It’s a good day to be a foreskin enthusiast.)

It’s about average in thickness with a diameter of 4 cm and a circumference of about 12.5 cm.

But he is well above average in length at 17 cm when hard. King of gently brushing the tears off your cheeks with his thumbs and cooing condescending shit like “remember to breath through your nose,” “come on now, be good and swallow around me,” and “poor thing… just too big for your pretty little mouth, innit?” as he’s actively choking you with his cock and listening to the sound of your gag reflex fighting for your life.

Only member of the 141 who’s capable of getting laid on a regular basis. Has abandoned the 141 at a pub to take a bird home on multiple occasions. (Johnny never fails to ask Kyle if he can cum come with them.)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A/N: I’m glad you’ve enjoyed them! I will definitely write one for Johnny in the near future. I’m still contemplating a few important details, but I can ensure you it’s as thick and hairy as the rest of him.

#kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod gaz #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz cod #gaz smut #cod x you #cod x reader #cod smut #headcannons

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sunandflame · 2 months ago

Text

Paulie NSFW/Kink Headcanons

Warnings: nsfw

Word Count: 697

Pairing: Paulie x Reader

crossposted on AO3

1. Rope Kink (Bondage)

Let’s address the elephant in the room: he’s a rope master. Paulie absolutely has a rope kink—part functional, part control, part intimacy. He loves the physicality of it—wrapping you up safely, precisely, and seeing the tension against your skin.

Expect elaborate ropework, often improvised on the spot.

He checks in constantly during it, murmuring “Too tight?” or “You good, babe?”

2. Loud, Gruff Talker in Bed

He’s not polished, but he's vocal—gruff praise, curses under his breath, or ragged moans when he loses control. You’ll hear things like:

“Fuck, you feel good—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“You’re gonna kill me one day, y’know that?”

3. Switch Energy with a Dominant Lean

He likes being in control—pinning you down, gripping your hips, making you say please—but if you tug his tie and push him back? He’ll lose composure fast. He gets so flustered when you top him. His switch side shows up especially if you praise him while taking the lead.

“H-Hey—wait, what are you—... shit, you're gonna kill me like this...”

4. Praise & Fluster Kink

Paulie adores being praised—especially if it's physical. Tell him he feels good inside you? That his hands are perfect? That he’s your favorite? He’ll groan and grip harder, maybe thrust deeper just to earn more of it. But he’s also a blushing mess about it.

“Y-You don’t have to say stuff like that—...I mean, you can, but—!”

5. Oral Fixation (Giving)

He loves using his mouth, especially after a long day. He sees it as a way to unwind you, as much as himself. Expect long, focused sessions where he’s completely in his element—face buried, hands gripping your thighs, groaning at every reaction.

6. Workbench Sex / Workshop Quickies

There’s something deeply hot to Paulie about pulling you onto his worktable after a long day—grease on his hands, sawdust in his hair, and you bent over plans and blueprints. He loves spontaneous, rough sex when he’s still in work mode. Tools rattling, clothes half-on, just raw need.

“We can clean up later—right now, I need you here.”

7. Clothes-On / Half-On Kink

He finds it stupidly sexy when your clothes are only partially removed—skirt hiked up, shirt unbuttoned, his belt undone but pants still on. It’s messy, desperate, unpolished—he thrives on the heat of the moment.

8. Dirty Talk with a Clumsy Edge

He tries to talk dirty, and he’s not bad at it—but sometimes it comes out clumsy in a way that’s so hot because it’s real. Expect lines like:

“Fuck—y-you feel amazing—like, too amazing, it’s actually dangerous—” or

“I’m gonna wreck you. Respectfully. Thoroughly. Efficiently.”

9. Muscles & Manual Labor = Stamina

Let’s be honest: the man works with his hands all day, swinging tools, building ships. That strength and stamina absolutely translate to the bedroom.

He can go for multiple rounds.

Sweaty, shirtless, grunting—he’s like a walking thirst trap without even trying.

10. Cum on Skin / Mess Appreciation

He’s a tactile guy. Seeing his release on your body does something to him. Chest, stomach, thighs—he groans like he’s watching a masterpiece. He also gets super handsy post-orgasm, running his fingers through the mess while admiring the view.

11. Prone to Sex in Weird Places

Workshop table? Hammock? Rope storage shed? Paulie’s not afraid to get messy or creative when the mood hits.

You might hear, “Shut the door, no one’ll come in. C’mere.”

He has the tools to hang you up in very inventive ways—if you’re into it.

12. Sensitive Post-Orgasm / Overstimulation

He tries to act tough, but give him a second round too soon and he shudders. His back arches, hands scramble for something to hold, and he’ll swear under his breath. Still? He doesn’t ask you to stop. He loves how you take control when he’s sensitive.

13. Aftercare King

Rough sex? Rope play? Even just intense sessions? He’s the type to immediately scoop you up afterward—check for marks, give you water, clean you up. He might grumble about “being too soft,” but it’s his way of showing love.

Will 100% wrap you in a blanket like a burrito and kiss your forehead.

“Did I hurt you? No? Good. I’ll run a bath, just stay put, alright?”

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intuitively-her · 7 months ago

Text

You have an innocent look to you. "Damsel in distress" vibes. You might attract partners that want to take care of you or save you in some way.

Your lovers tend to become possessive of you pretty easily. You're like a trinket that they want to keep tucked in their pocket to carry with them everywhere they go. You probably have multiple people in competition over you right now.🤭 Someone here has a lottt of social media stalkers, especially if you post thirst traps.😅

Your energy reminds me of Cher from clueless. You're a very beautiful and high-value person. But you still remain very down to earth and friendly to others.

You could have naturally curly hair. Someone here has blonde or black hair. You could have beautifully tanned skin as well.

The way that you command attention without even trying. You have a very confident and humble energy. But you also have this air of mystery to you as well. You are so aloof at times that you may not even realize how much attention is really on you.

You can be a little stubborn at times and prefer to stick to your own way of doing things.

You turn your pain into power! You're always onto the next best thing and following your goals. I feel like you've had to defend yourself and stand on business with a lot of folks lately.

🤍Zodiac confirmations: Taurus, Aries, Aquarius, Scorpio

Your energy is very exciting to be around. You are very free spirited and adventurous. Someone here likes to take solo trips/road trips.

Someone here could be into plants and botany. You could have a garden/greenhouse as well.

You know how to keep your situations surface level and keep your business on the low. People never really know what your next move is.

Someone specific here is a brunette or you could have blue/purple hair. You could also have a kinky hair type.

You are very independent and all about your money. Someone here owns a nice home. You have a lot of stability and actually take the time to move away from the things that don't serve you.

Someone here likes to get pedicures. You could also wear high heels often as well.

You have a generous and warm energy. People feel accepted by you. There could be people that look up to you in some way. I also sense a cutthroat energy from you as well though lol. You have a sweet x spicy duality to you.🥰

🤍Zodiac confirmations: Cancer, Capricorn, Pisces, Libra

Your dedication to your work and goals.

Your ability to bounce back from situations by yourself and transform into new energy. Alchemist energy.

Someone here likes to wear knee-high stockings or leg warmers.

For my masculine's here, you could like to dress up in business casual attire or you could wear a lot of sneakers.

Your rebellious energy.⚡

You are very family oriented and hold your close relationships to a high regard. You have a very kind and sentimental energy. You could like to capture memories with your loved ones as well.

Someone here has their hair in a bob haircut, or you could have hair that flows all the way down your back.

You may have a tendency to ghost your flings/romantic partners or could be the type to lead people on at times.🤭

🤍Zodiac confirmations: Heavy water and air energy

You're a jack of all trades! Your skillset is very admirable. Someone here could play different sports, or you could be a part of some type of club/committee. There are many people that want to learn from you.

Someone here has tattoos.

Your sweet and loving vibe.

When you wear dresses or more fitting clothes. Your jewelry/accessories are very appealing to the eye as well.

You stick to your values and beliefs. You could be a "goody two shoes" lol

Your creativity.

When you wear your hair tied up in a bun or pigtails.

Someone here wears glasses.

Your rbf; y'all often have this bored expression on your face like you couldn't be bothered to interact with anyone around you.😂

🤍Zodiac confirmations: Sagittarius, Leo, Libra, Virgo

*ONLY TAKE WHAT RESONATES*

🤍Please DO NOT copy, repost, or steal my work! Thanks!🤍

*Credits to @anitalenia for the text dividers🤍*

Masterlist

Paid readings

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a card #collective reading #111 #angel number 888 #999 #angel number 1111

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sakachichi · 3 months ago

Text

It’s for Research Purposes!

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Synopsis: you’re a stressed out college student, finals are beating your ass so your obviously at the bar almost every weekend. Toji is there and he’s the typical creepy old guy whose got the bar girl whipped to get free drinks.

CW: NSFW!MDNI 🔞 unprotected sēx, masturbäting (fem), self n!pple!sucking (fem), 69!, overstimulatiön, photo play, dirty talk!!!, mention of daddy, squ!rting, pet names, degrading, breeding kink? (Mild), weird foot mention (not foot kink!), side&regular miss!onary, døggy, multiple ørgasms, weird girl imaginations lol, crëampie

Word Count: 5k

A/N: this was originally gonna be a drabble but it slowly became a 5k fic lol 😭😭🙏 I hope u guys enjoy!!! Happy Thursday primas 💗

You and Toji met at a bar, you're a senior in college and nothing like a nice cold alcoholic drink is perfect to take all the finals stress away. He’s there, alllll the time, every time you go to the bar you see him sitting on the same stool — chatting away and pervertedly staring at the girls that pass by him. You think it’s gross, an old man trying to get a glimpse under a girl's skirt, so you try to keep your distance from him. But you can’t help but think he’s actually fucking hot (lol), for a geezer like him to be this well proportioned is insane.

You see one of the lady bartenders literally melt at the sight of him, and you just know that half — or maybe all — of his drinks are on the house. You don’t blame her, that sexy smirk of his is enough to make any girl go feral. One day you were on your way out and he was on his way in, you bump into his hard, hard chest instantly bringing your hands to your head as you wince. No way it hurt that bad? You thought, and he’s all smug looking down at you. “Woah you okay there, darlin’?” His voice is so deep and gruff, it’s the first time you're seeing him up close, standing actually. He’s tall! And his voice rumbles throughout your body, vibrating every atom. You stutter a yes and run out, he just shrugs it off of course.

The next weekend you're back and he’s there, he was looking straight at the door — almost as if he was waiting for you to come in, and when you do he smirks. You scowl, you ignore him and b-line straight to the bar to order your usual. Your peacefully sipping on your drink whilst doom scrolling when he scoots over the bar stools until he’s next to you, “hey, just wanted to say sorry for bumpin’ into you the other day. It looked like I hurt you real bad.” You look over, face straight as if you weren’t sure he was talking to you, and it’s almost like he read your mind. “Yea I’m talkin’ to you, girl” he lets out a little chuckle, and you go ‘ooooh’.

“Yea, just a little, I’m all good tho. Do you eat concrete or something?” He laughs wholeheartedly, hand resting over his chest as his shoulders shake, “no! I’m glad to see you fine, how about I buy you a drink?” Oh no here it goes, just another guy trying to flirt with a girl by buying her a drink. You thought, but you don’t deny his offer, nodding with a smile before ordering you your drink. As the night went on the two of you laughed and joked around, giving him all types of snarky remarks. He loves it, the first time a girl isn’t trying to get in his pants (not that he minds! But it’s definitely refreshing) numbers were exchanged when he said he majored in the same subject as you, and offered to tutor you or help you study. (It’s absolutely a lie, now he’s the one wanting to get in your pants lol!)

After months of texting, you actually realize the truth, he doesn’t know shit about anything. You start to realize his pattern, how he flirts first and then gives you the answers after you beg and beg him to hurry. You just know he’s using chat gpt! But the more the two of you text, the more attracted to him you are. The way he sends random thirst traps, like him shirtless at the gym, a bathroom mirror selfie with his happy trail peeking out, and him face down on his pillow with his sexy signature smirk. You’re not gonna lie now, it makes you so wet it’s embarrassing! But you suppress those feelings until one night, you just couldn’t help it anymore — you had to do something about your growing arousal.

You send him a text, ‘hey remember that animation class I told u I was taking? Could u send an ab pick rq, it’s for research purposes!’ Yeah right, you had a filthy plan to touch yourself to that picture — yea yea it’s weird but you only live once :p

‘Sure thing, sweetheart’ and he sends it, in front of a mirror, a t-shirt covering his bulge — that’s clearly half hard. Your heart drops and you squeal, instantly grabbing your vibrator, turning it on and placing it on your clit. Sweet delicious vibrating waves rush through your body, making cute soft moans slip from your lips. You’re so wet the strong vibrations send little drops of your juices flying, sprinkling your thighs. Your eyes are focused on how nicely trimmed his pubes are, curly but weirdly lined up, that happy trail you so often see, his sharp v-line, and his washboard abs are just soooo fucking sexy. And the way he’s half hard in the picture, his smirk?! You're gonna cum so hard, you just know it!

Who cares if this is absolutely weird and pervy, that’s a problem for a less horny you. You roll your hips on your bullet vibrator, throwing your head back into your pillow as you let the rush of ecstasy take over you so deliciously. You’ve been holding back, you told yourself you were never gonna date a guy 2x older than you but fuck Toji could be an exception. Your brain showing you images of how he would fuck you, seeing him put you in so many positions, how his dick would feel pumping inside you. You just know he’s absolutely big.

You feel it now, that sweet feeling of your highly anticipated orgasm — so close you could almost taste it. Your chest heaves as your moans and whimpers become more desperate by the second, and it snaps in your belly, making you release all over your vibrator. You milk it, looking back at the picture, looking straight at his face — and then he texts you. ‘Touching yourself to my pic?’ You squeak, embarrassed. How does he know? You swipe out of the picture and that’s when you see a jumbled alphabet on the text bar, heart dropping once again.

The vibrator still on you clit, forgetting about it for a second but your sudden overstimulation brings you back, you whine out loudly. And then you squirt, your sweet juices sprinkle all over your bed sheets. Breathless you turn off your toy, in shock as you look at the mess you’ve created.

“Fuck, this is nasty” you breathe out, falling back onto your bed.

And then he texts, ‘show me what you’ve done baby’

That sends you over, your post orgasm high immediately wearing off as you dramatically turn over to scream into your pillow — because no way did you just touch yourself to a photo of an old man! You know if he was here right now he’d be laughing his ass off, teasing you about your actions. You cringe as you drag yourself over to your bathroom, not even daring to look at yourself in the mirror. You shove your shower curtain out of the way and turn on the shower, the colder the better.

Few weeks have passed, you haven’t even gone to the bar, you're too embarrassed to do so. Even though you never confirmed your filthy actions to Toji you know he knows, he may seem a little dim witted but he truly is a smart man — and surprisingly can read you like a book.

You don’t ghost him though, you just avoid full conversations now, being extremely vague with him it’s so noticeable. He texts you every now and then asking where you’ve been, teasing you about the other night, asking you out, and you just can’t bring yourself to even text back but you’d hate to be rude.

‘Hey sweet face, when are you popping in to say hi?’

‘Can’t rn! School stuff 😬’

‘Oh come on. Still embarrassed from the other night?’

‘Idk what ur talking abt. But I gotta go, text u later!’

‘Aw, I was just starting to like you’

You could throw your phone right now if you weren’t in public, you shove your phone into your back pocket before turning up your music — so loud it’s blasting outside your headphones. You can’t avoid him forever, you can either just get over it and face him like a big girl, orrrr ghost him for real — options are limited.

No matter how hard you try to fight your freaky thoughts, he still pops into your head when you're touching yourself late at night. He’s still putting you in so many ungodly positions, he’s still whispering filthy things into your ear, and what you imagine his cock would look like. It makes you so wet, you hate it — but you just can’t help it. It’s driven you to the point of literally inviting him over just to finally fuck him, but you never let yourself.

“This time I will, mmph! I will text him” you say out loud, legs sprawled apart on your couch as you rub the vibrator over your sensitive clit, fingers violently thrusting into your pussy. That nasty squelch and your sultry moans fill your living room, soft mellow jazz music playing in the background as you throw your head back onto the couch cushion. God you wish he was here, so he could play with your tits or your pussy. Oh — no way you just thought that?!

Tits feeling so empty and needy as both your hands are occupied, you could take your fingers out of you to knead your boobs, or take your vibrator up to one of your sensitive nipples — but the pleasure is too good to take either one away from you dripping cunt, embarrassingly you remembered watching a video of girl sucking her own tit and wondered if you could do that.

You wondered.

You're curious.

And you know when curiosity gets the best of the poor cat…

You take your fingers away from you cunt for a brief second, cupping one of your tits to bring it up to your lips, you hesitate — tongue rolling out slowly before it surprisingly makes contact with your hard nipple. It boosted your confidence, letting your lips latch on before sucking your nipple. It felt so wrong yet so right, the feeling heading straight to your throbbing pussy, a wave of delicious heat washing over you. You couldn’t help but moan, letting go of your latch to throw your back once again.

Truly it felt good, but you can’t get Toji out of your head, preferring his mouth over yours — you’ve never felt or touched this man but he has such a tight grip one you.

And then he calls you, unexpectedly. It’s not just a regular call, it’s a FaceTime — you’re literally naked right now you shouldn’t pick-

You picked up.

But not before shutting off your vibrator and taking your fingers out, you fix yourself up before answering. A small quivering smile painted on your sweet face, it fades into him, a sly smirk curling his scarred lips.

“Hey there, princess. Whatcha doin’ ?” Fuck he sounds abnormally attractive right now, you could literally roll your eyes right now at how good he looks and sounds. You quickly bite your lip before answering, “just sitting here, watching a show”

“Oh? Watching your show naked?” He raises a brow as he points at his screen, at first your confused, but when you see his finger pointing at you, you freeze — eyes slowly moving towards the little box in the corner, your literally nip-slipping him right now…

“Oh my god!” You squeal, immediately hang up, you could hear him chuckle briefly before your screen turns black. If you were embarrassed before today takes the cake.

Your phone vibrates again, it’s him of course, he texted you.

‘Don’t gotta be shy now, sweet cheeks’

‘I can come over anytime you want all you gotta do is say the word and I’m there’

It’s sooooo tempting, truly, your fingers dance around the keyboard as you think and think and think. Then your phone vibrates again, he sends you a pic of his bulge beneath his grey boxers. It’s big! Sooo fucking big, just how you imagined. A text then follows;

‘This is what you do to me, sweetheart’

Fuck! You don’t understand why you're hesitating, it’s clear you both want each other but you just can’t bring yourself to make the highly anticipated move. It’s like two negative magnets so desperately trying to connect but they keep dancing around each other.

Then he sends another, and this one is just the missing puzzle piece, it’s standing so proud, so angry — crying tears of pre-cum. You let out a soft moan as you bless your eyes, he calls you back shortly after.

“Do I have permission to come over?” You can hear the horniness in his voice, voice almost strained. “Yes, yes, yes pleaseee come over” you answer so quick, instantly sending him your address.

He’s there rather fast, knocking at your door and you quickly run up to open. He’s here, wearing a zip-up hoodie and some baggy sweats, his hair slightly wet, and you can tell he’s wearing no boxers — Cock slinging around as he walks into your apartment. You can’t keep your eyes off it, he sees and snickers.

“You want it so bad huh?” He comes up to you, placing his warm hands on your waist, pulling your flush against him. “Tell me how bad you want it, baby” you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out, “cat caught your tongue, sweetness? Don’t be shy, tell daddy how much you want his cock” that surprisingly does something to you, it makes you whine, burying your face into his buff chest.

“Please Toji, I want you so bad~” you mutter, he tuts, fingers softly pinching your chin raising your face back up, “look at me, and say it again.” God this is embarrassing, but you obey him, what else can you do? “Fuck me, Toji please. I need you so bad”

And without skipping a beat he’s, lifting you up and heading over to your couch — where your vibrator neatly resides, not going unnoticed by Toji.

“Ahhh, so this is what you were doing? Dirty little girl.” All you could do is hide your face in his neck as you straddle him, bare cunt resting on his grey sweats leaving a cute little wet spot. He lifts up your extremely oversized t-shirt, revealing your naked body underneath, “no bra, no panties? I’m so fucking lucky.” He says admirably, eyes taking their time scanning your tits and cunt before removing your shirt and tossing somewhere around the room.

“What do you want me to do to you, sweetheart?” He whispers in your ear, hands roaming all over your body before gripping at the fat of your hips, making you grind on him. You mouth falls open to let soft sighs drip from your lips, “fuck me please” you whisper back, hands gripping at the fabric of his soft hoodie, the zipper so tempting to slide down.

“Yeah, but how? Hmm?” He teased, lips tickling your neck.

“Fuck I don’t know, just do me however” your growing sososo frustrated, he can hear it in your voice and it makes his smile. “Do you however? You're really gonna leave it up to me, princess?” So many fucking question, you just wanna skip to the part where your literally screaming out in pleasure. But you digress, foreplay never hurts, it just makes the second soooo worth it.

You nod as you let out a heavy sight, “yesyesyes, I’m all yours, Toji. Please” you make a mental note to not skip out on the pleases, you know he’s one of those. Toji lets out a deep sinister chuckle, tongue sliding all over your neck before sucking hard, making your skin bruise nicely. You couldn’t care, you loved the way it felt, you loved the way his warm mouth felt on you. Toji then flips you to lay on the couch, he’s on his knees before you watching as you squirm beneath him. Your arms are above your head as you sway your hips, your pretty pussy fluttering every so often.

He knows your so fucking sensitive right now, you just played with yourself, so eating you out right now sounds like the perfect idea. And then it’s like a light bulb just flicked on when his eyes quite literally light up, a smile curling at his lips. “Stand up for me real quick” he says, and you do just as he says, standing there before unintentionally trying to hide your cunt with your hands (´⊙ω⊙`)

Toji swiftly — struggles — to take his sweats off, but ultimately succeeds before tossing them away along with his hoodie. He lays down as he turns to you, that smirk back on his lips again. “Sit on my face, baby” you gasp, you hesitate but he’s eagerly inviting you with his hands, you’ve never done 69 before — not even in your little imaginations did he put you in this position. But before you could take another second to think about it, you're already starting to straddle his face, pussy hovering over his face — it’s so up close he’s literally salivating. It’s so pretty, his hands rest on your hips as he patiently waits for you to get comfortable. He can see how wet your are and every flutter your cute cunt does, his thumbs rub gentle circles against your plush skin in a way to encourage you to bend down.

Meanwhile, you're staring right at his raging red cock, watching as it twitches with anticipation, just so desperately wanting to dig itself inside of something. His pretty balls are so round and full, full of his precious seed, waiting to release all of its contents. Slowly you start to bend down, hand gripping him at the base, and the other hand resting at his hips. You open your mouth to take his tip, warm wet tongue wrapping around it, lightly sucking it as you dance your tongue around. He groans as he roll his head back, taking a moment to gather himself before latching onto your overstimulated pussy, and when he does he lets out a low hum once he gets a taste of your essence — your honeyed flavor just as he imagined.

So decadent, so creamy, he can’t get enough of it as his mouth is literally ravenous against you. And god does it feel so fucking good, his mouth, the tight greedy grip on your ass, and his hard veiny cock in your mouth. It’s magical how sex can literally change someone, from being a quiet reserved person to an absolute fucking freak, a cock drunk slut — feeling like just sucking his cock isn’t enough, you need him literally rearranging every organ, every bone, every blood cell, every fucking atom in your body. Dramatic? Yes, but who can even blame you right now?

Your hands and mouth are hard at work, licking, slurping, and sucking his cock while your hands play with his warm fat balls. Enjoying the way he gags you every single time.

His mouth is wide open on your pussy, literally sucking the entirety of your swollen cunt into his mouth before his tongue abuses your clit, enjoying the way the bundle of nerves feels on his tongue. And he’s growling into your cunt like a feral dog, hands so harshly slapping your ass with each suck. Then he starts tongue fucking you, long sharp tongue tasting your insides like he’s trying to desperately get nectar from inside you. It’s all too new for you, it’s different but you love how his tongue feels, the way it curls and prods inside is absolutely incredible.

“Fuck Toji!” You squeak, taking a quick break to collect yourself.

“Pussy so fucking good, baby” he slurs against you, it has you rolling your eyes back before going back to suck him.

And then he feels it, his orgasm. “Fuck! Stop, stop” he groans into your pussy, you look back confused and questioning him, “I’m gonna cum, just leave me” he waves you off and you just let yourself fall onto his beefy thighs, moaning and whimpering out as he continues to abuse your poor pussy.

It’s too good, his talented tongue, his warm mouth, you grind yourself on his face. Nails digging into the skin of his thighs, as you practically start crying out. “T-tojiiiii, I’m cumming~!” Your whine, looking back at him stuffing his face full of you — it’s so fucking hot, the way he’s just gripping onto you so desperately, shaking his head from side to side.

He slaps your ass as a way to say ‘do it all over my face’ and you do, he doesn’t let a single drop go to waste, still latching on to you for dear life. Tears start falling as you try to escape his mouth, begging him to let you go.

And he does, he lets out a loud sigh of contempt before slapping your ass one more time. Legs are shaking as you come down from your high, but you still manage to get up from him and the couch. You looked so disheveled, so fucked, and he loves it. You throw yourself on the other side of the couch, totally beat.

Toji swiftly gets up and flips you over with such ease, making your face dig into the plush couch with your ass high up in the air, calloused hands smoothing over your soft skin. Dick prodding at your soaked entrance, watching as you desperately try to suck him in.

“Say, sweetheart…you wanna tell me what happened the other night?” He asked, mainly demanding you tell him as he slips his fat tip inside your tight hole, making him groan — lip getting caught in between his teeth.

“W-what?” You say, innocently.

“Don’t act dumb now. You don’t needa’ be shy no more, tell me what happened.”

He’s so fucking cocky, slowly rolling his hips into you as you take your time to respond. “The picture?” He hums in agreement, “I umm-mmph! I-I told you to send it because-!” Toji pulls out his cock almost all the way before slamming right back into you, muttering a ‘go on’ between thrusts. “Because I was h-horny! Ah!” It’s like music to his ears, your filthy confession.

“Made you horny didn’t I? Made you touch your cute pussy to my picture, huh? C’mon baby, tell me all the nasty details” he coos as he fucking you at such a fast pace, the sound of slapping echoes throughout the living room.

But you can’t even bring yourself to finish your sentence, one because he’s fucking you so rough, and two because your absolutely embarrassed right now. And he stops, still burried so deep inside you, “you don’t talk, I don’t fuck. That’s how this works, princess” he’s soooo mean, why does he want you to tell him so bad? He already knows you touched yourself; he doesn't need to know more.

You guys stay like that for a while, both stubborn, but he’s worse and it makes you break. “I was so horny, I…I touched myself to your picture!” You cried out, and he finally starts to fuck you back, this time rougher, faster, deeper. And you fucking love it, body lundging forward with each filthy thrust. “A-and I squirted!” You sob out, that’s just what he wanted to hear, it makes him laugh, making you feel like he’s making fun of you — he kinda is but he won’t say it out loud.

“That’s my good girl…now let me see how many times I can make you do it better”

God you want him to make you squirt so bad — so bad you start fucking him back, ass meeting his abdomen with each thrust. “Yeaaaa, fuck me back, just like that” he loves how nasty you’re getting for him, most girls just let him manhandle them but you’re taking matters into your own hands and it’s so fucking hot to him.

Minutes pass and you're already on the brink of your second orgasm of the night, and he feels it, the way your walls tighten around him so snug makes him moan. And it’s also driving closer and closer to his end as well, you know because his thrusts are getting sloppier and sloppier, but he’s still fast with his thrusts which makes your poor head spin. A few more minutes and the both of you are cumming soooo hard, his seed coating your walls in creamy white. Your body falls limp, trembling as he continues to nurse both orgasms, it feels like there’s no end to his thrusts though — still so deep inside you making you cry.

“Thought you didn’t want a geezer, huh? This old man makin’ you cry now?” God you wish he could just zip it for a moment, you're trying so hard not to ruin you couch with cum right now — or perhaps your squirting, cause that’s creeping up on you. You try to warn Toji but he just ignores you, and suddenly you feel his foot reach up to rest on your head. You're absolutely shocked, audibly gasping as you grip onto the couch even tighter, cause now he’s deeper than before.

“Gonna fill you up with all my cum, make you pregnant. Make your belly so plump with my baby, yeah?” You just cry out, tears staining your face and cushion beneath you. And then you squirt, so loud and hard, it feels never ending as you keep gushing out. Toji groans, watching as it just flows out from you, chuckling as he catches some with his fingers before smearing it all over your ass.

“Holy fucking shit, sweetheart!” He chuckles, fingers going back to catch the last gush before bringing them up to his mouth, moaning as he tastes you. “So fuckin’ sweet, doll” he says smirking, “did that vibrator make you squirt this good, or is it just me, hmm?”

“Youyouyouyou! Fuck, Toji please, stop!” You beg, his foot still restraining your head. He tilts his to the side, “don’t think so, sweets. I still haven’t came yet” he coos mockingly, and it annoys you so bad. But sooner than later he’s pumping you full of his load, pulling out to watch all his pretty cum drip from your bullied cunt — removing his foot now to get a better view — groaning as he stares, fingers sliding up to push it back inside you and you whine as you try to push your hips away, but his hands are faster as he stops you.

“Don’t run, baby. This is for your own good”

Yeah, of course having you arched up like a cat in heat with his foot smashing your head is for your own good, sure your neck is gonna be sore for the next week — shit even your legs, but it’s definitely for your own good! His fingers keep pumping you, curling inside you as he fucks his cum back inside, all while having the most sinister smirk plastered on his scared lips. “Hmmm, should I stop now?” You instantly tell small weak ‘yeses’ which makes him chuckle low, “oh really? I should? Alright then.” He takes out his fingers and sits back, watching you try to catch your breath from behind. You can feel his gaze haunting you, and it’s takes you a while to process what the fuck just happened…

‘His foot…on my head?’ That’s a position you didn’t know was a thing, and it’s a lot more gentle than it looks, he wasn’t pressing hard at all but it still caught you by surprise.

After a few minutes you realize he isn’t doing anything, so you slowly turn to look behind you and he’s just sitting there looking bored, resting his jaw on his fist as he waits for you to notice. “Wh-what?” You ask pathetically, “thought you were gonna fall asleep on me.” He’s almost slurring his words, adding to his bored aura. You let yourself fall to lay on your side, somehow still breathless, breathing loudly through your nose.

One of Toji’s hands goes up to rub your leg, then shortly crawling to lay next to you, faces centimeters apart — noses on the brink of touching. He lifts the same leg he was rubbing up on his hip, his crimson tip tickling your entrance as he inches himself closer. “Do you want it?” He asks, tone weirdly sweet as he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Come on, doll, don’t leave me in the dust.” He says while chuckling, enjoying your fucked expression, “lemme hear your pretty voice”.

“Mmhm, I wan-i want you” you whine, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him into a kiss, that’s surprisingly so intimate yet still sloppy. Tongues dance around each like a valse, the way your lips sometimes wonder a little on each other's faces, the loud sucking of lips as the two of you moan into it. He’s an exceptional kisser, that scar tickling you just right making you deepen the kiss a little more, enjoying the way he feels, the way he tastes. Your heart skips a beat as you realize what you're doing, no one has ever kissed you this long and this good — it feels amazing.

Slowly he slides himself back into your cum-filled hole, making you break away from the kiss briefly, hissing from the pressure of his fat cock. “Fuuuck” you whisper, trailing your kiss onto his neck then his toned chest. The roll on his hips is so sensual, slow and steady as he’s enjoying the way you wrap around so tightly — making him moan.

“Yeah, like that, princess?” You nod as your lips are occupied with kissing his chest, “shiiiit~ gonna fucking breed this pussy of yours, fill you up with all my babies, you want that huh? You love it” the more he speaks the faster he gets, like his own words make him more needier. Your moans are slurred and raspy, letting yourself bounce on his dick, feeling that good burning stretch he gives you — so cock hungry.

“Tell me how much you love it, doll”

“Fuck yessss, I love it, Toji~”

Your words make him flash you a toothy grin, fingers painfully digging into your hips as he fucks you faster, balls happily slapping against you. “Mmhm? Gonna let me cum in you again, right?” All you could muster is a pathetic nod, face contorting as he reaches into new places inside you.

“Yesyesyesyesss, please cum inside me, please Toji”

And it’s like words of encouragement as he swiftly flips you over so that you’re now beneath him, hands pinning you down by your shoulders as he fucks you sooooo deep — kissing your sweet cervix like he had something to prove. It’s absolutely feral, his hips slam against your hips almost painfully, like he’s gonna break them apart — you're so convinced you might need a hip replacement after this. All you could let out of your pretty lips is breathy moans as you grip onto his wrists, “hmph Tojiiiii~!”

“That’s it baby…take it, such a good g-girl fa’me”

He’s twitching now, the urge to cum becoming stronger. His hands fly to your hips to lift you up a bit higher, getting an even better angle to fuck you at, which has your a whining mess. Eyes rolled back, maw slacked open, letting out such filthy raspy moans. Your hands find their way onto your tits, playing and kneading your plush skin around, the urge to pop one in your mouth is so tempting.

You open your eyes to catch a glimpse of Toji, who’s staring right at your pussy, watching how he disappears inside you with ease. Slowly and mindlessly you pop one of your nipples inside your mouth, tongue swirling around before sucking on it.

“Oh? You wanna put on a show for me? That it?” He moans, he’s never seen a girl do that before, but it’s so hot how your just staring up at him as your licking yourself, “filthy fuckin’ girl — look at you” he grunts out, making his balls twitch with even more need to release once again.

“Cock makin’ you so dumb, you gotta start playing with yourself like that?” He scoffs as he shakes his head, just the pure sight of is making him so horny, “f-fuck” he groans.

Moments later you both cum, you look like you're getting exorcised, and he’s still pumping himself deep inside, making sure none of his cum gets wasted. “Mmmnh! Toji pleasepleasepleaseeee stop~” you beg him for the last time and he finally listens, pulling out of you with a loud filthy squelch before collapsing on top of you — giving you his full body weight.

You're just so limp, a mere doll now as he manhandled you, switching positions so that you're both on your sides, flushed against each other. He’s hugging you tightly, your face buried into his neck — smelling his manly cologne. The last few hours were the best hours of your life, the long awaited sex was just what you needed after stressing over finals. You could almost thank yourself for stress drinking, because if you didn’t you wouldn’t have met this handsome hunk. Thank you college for making me stress the fuck out! :p

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anika-ann · 11 months ago

Text

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 7,3k

Summary: It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie. Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading 🤭 if you did, please consider leaving feedback and reblogging💕

I hope July has been kind to you!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #steve rogers fluff #essie’s summer lovin’ 300 follower celebration #summer lovin’ celebration #essie’s 300 follower special #anika ann #a series of unfortunate events

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fadedtoneverland · 4 months ago

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8 makes 1 brain cell | atz.

❤︎ synopsis — living with 8 men who all share a brain cell has its moments. just crack hcs

pairing: ateez x gn!reader

theme: crack ✦

a/n: this is different form my usual slutty ahh fics. so hopefully people will like this ;))

cw: bad grammar and informal writing. lots of cursing. yeosang makes a fat joke. yunho’s feet. yunho and san have nasty ahh farting habits, so does mingi. there’s lots of mentions of farts but that’s because ateez are men. jongho talks abt decapitation. wooyoung’s dirty mind.

➵ park seonghwa

this man misplaces his legos so many times

some of the members have stepped in his lego pieces way too many times.

and he’ll just sit there like “oh you found my luke skywalker piece :))”

you just help him find his legos again and clean it up whenever he needs help

you know how ateez has that fridge rule where they can eat any food in the fridge if it’s unlabeled?

yeah seonghwa has broken that rule multiple times. he’s eaten so much labeled food before.

and no one even suspects him too, because one time wooyoung got caught doing the same thing and he’s been getting blamed ever since

while seonghwa just sits there like: ☺️ you know however, you just don’t say anything

big clean freak. we all knew this

and he’s perfectly justified too. i would also be upset if one of my bandmates just left a musty ass sock in the middle of the perfectly pristine living room.

weirdly competitive during fall guys

like he’s got his cutie patootie games where he can chill on animal crossing and stardew valley, but these other games? his swearing puts a sailor to shame

“hongjoong you bastard- don’t— fuck- do NOT push me off the damn edge-!! i’m gonna kill you.”

➵ kim hongjoong

never has has a pimple in his life. and will never get one because of how fucking gorgeous his skin is

like he’d be hearing about all the acne attacks yunho and mingi got when they were younger and he’s like “what’s that”

gen z but his knowledge on meme and slang culture is that of a rock

has to ask you, wooyoung and jongho for help

he falls for the updog jokes every time the 99z pull it on him and they never let him live it down

discovered animal farm by george orwell and will not shut up about it every time the topic of dystopian literature is brought up

hongjoong probably owns like 50+ colognes and perfumes he never uses 😀

he has a whole shelf dedicated to them, and probably only uses one or two

“don’t judge my taste in scents. y’all are just mad you can’t afford this.”

caffeine makes up 90% of his blood

he’s got that na jaemin problem with his coffee addiction because of how much he works

sometimes he tweaks out so bad you need you put on the “o i i a” spinning cat meme on the tv to distract him

it weirdly calms him down. it’s like playing baby sensory videos for the child you’re babysitting

➵ jeong yunho

very into sports anime like sk8 the infinity, yuri on ice, haikyuu, blue lock

like that seems normal at first glance, but then you realize all those shows are kinda fruity as fuck

and you’re standing here looking at him like 🤨🤨 you got somethin’ to say, yuyu??

“i’m fluidly heterosexual” is what he says

probably has a bunch of drafts of tiktok thirst traps that he just doesn’t care to post. partially because he knows ATINY won’t be able to handle it

you and him once tried making tomato soup and grilled cheese together, and he didn’t put the blending lid on properly for the tomatoes

so tomato mixture got everywhere and into your eyes. he had to hold back his laughs while you stared at him with murder in your eyes.

has deadly ass farts and has definitely aimed one of them at wooyoung because he was being annoying

if he’s laying on the opposite side of someone on the couch he’ll put his feet in their face to annoy them. caressing their cheeks with his toes n’ shit. like gross

“san you wanna smell my feet?” 😏

“i’m gonna dropkick you”

➵ kang yeosang

a savage lowk

he acts super clueless and innocent on camera, but sometimes he will deal the most lethal one-liners when provoked

“wooyoung shut your horizontally challenged ass up, i saw your fat ass down like 20 cookies this morning like you haven’t eaten in months.”

wooyoung’s reaction: 😟

misplaces his shit all the time but they’re always so easy to find

“where are my glasses??” and they’re literally in his hand

probably drinks arizona green tea like he’ll die without it

dogs LOVE him

you and yeosang were walking casually through the streets and like- two stray puppies ended up following y’all home (without you two noticing too)

gets WAYYYY to jittery and hyperactive if he consumes an energy drink

he’s officially banned from ever consuming another ghost or monster because of the “rubber chicken incident”

he doesn’t remember that incident, but if you ask jongho about it, he’s just gonna do the hundred yard stare on you.

“jongho… what is that incident all about?” “…. no.”

➵ choi san

remember how it was mentioned yunho has deadly farts? san’s are LETHAL

the amount of protein shakes he consumes is actually diabolical. one lil’ toot from him could revive the bubonic plague

one time you got a good whiff of his farts while he was napping and you went 😦

skin is gorgeous as fuck but has a nonexistent skincare routine

he either aggressively lathers on cetaphile like a true man, or uses body wash on his face like a heathen

san has a burner acc on tiktok that he uses to save all the thirsty ass edits of himself so he can flex later to the other members

one time this account almost got leaked by mingi and san saw the light for a quick second there

every time someone brings up that fuck ass leopard print purple button up he used to wear all the time in early ateez days he’s ready to fight a bitch

dude’s the dolce & gabbana prince now, he’s got an image to maintain as the fashion icon

spends WAY too much money on jellycats, and you’ve def encouraged this spending behavior. that love for plushies will never go away

if you ever mention twink san during 2018-2019, san gets a little shy and defensive

“awwww, sannie you looked so cute in this picture five years ago—“ “stop. ☹️”

➵ song mingi

actually the clumsiest mf to walk planet earth

he could be standing still and somehow fall (and do the family guy death pose), while the other members clown him

probably cried watching all of the bambi films (me too buddy)

tbh i just feel like he has a really big attachment to underrated disney movies and gets offended if people don’t know what they are (the fox and the hound, the aristocats, treasure planet etc.)

he just seems like a movie guru in general

complains about san’s farts smelling like ass but his farts could start earthquakes

like- they don’t smell, they’re just loud as fuck.

and he’s definitely paused a recording session just to lift his leg and let it rip

snores really loudly when he sleeps

jongho once was forced to sleep between wooyoung and mingi, and literally he got like- no sleep because of how loud their snores were

this guy wouldn’t hurt a fly, we all know that.

like he’s tall and buff and hot, but he’s probably scared of peppa pig or smth

“those eyes have seen things.” is what he says

he once had a dream that you shaved his head without him knowing and he wouldn’t let you touch his hair for like a week. like bro developed a legitimate fear of it

“you touch these luscious locks and i’m bodying you.” “mingi ☹️”

➵ jung wooyoung

legitimate, certified ankle biter

like wooyoung probably has a phd in ankle biting or smth, because he bites everyone all the damn time.

and he’s definitely caused some gnarly looking marks to last for a while (poor yeosang)

can make a dirty joke out of everything

he’s got the humor of a middle school boy and an absolutely rancid mind. it’s a talent, really.

“ugh, finding a rhythm for this song is so hard.”“you know what else is hard? 😈”

this boy cannot sit still for like five seconds

gives his stylists and makeup artists a hard time because he moves around too much, and giggles when he gets his blush done cuz the brush tickles his cheeks

is weirdly into competitive pokemon battling

he’s definitely used a clefable with the most annoying moveset to troll people (cosmic power, moonlight, minimize and stored power)

cooks like a god but can’t bake for shit

you showed him a fun banana bread recipe, but he got too impatient waiting for it to fully bake, so he took it out while it was still raw in the center

you threw an egg at him for that

“but y/n :(( …” “don’t speak to me.”

will do random internet deep dives at 3am, only to find the most cursed shit and later ask someone about it. for some reason he thinks going on tumblr (hehe) or ao3 is the best idea in the world.

“jongho what is mpreg?” “🧍🚶‍➡️🚪”

➵ choi jongho

biggest pear hater in the world for no reason

it’s not even because of his love for apples, he just ate a bad pear one time as a kid and forever loathes them

has definitely thrown hands with mingi cuz that mf ate his honey butter chips

jongho does NOT play about his snacks, and honestly me too

“come here so i can politely bitch slap you :)”

acts normal and above all of his hyungs cuz they’re all weird as fuck, but he’s just as insane as them

once got into a screaming match with wooyoung over fall guys, and the game got banned by hongjoong for a month

also weirdly competitive over animal crossing for no reason

like there’s no competition, he just wants to have the best island (which he can’t because hwa is so much better at the game than him, and jongho’s salty about it)

jongho understands english better than he lets on, but doesn’t help the members because he likes seeing them struggle

poses in pictures like a literal boomer

the amount of times you’ve taken his pictures, and you had to hold back your laugh because he was just standing in the frame like “🧍‍♂️👍”

says random traumatizing facts to unsettle ateez and he smiles like he won the fucking lottery

“san, did you know that when you get decapitated, your mind stays conscious for at least 20 more seconds? 😊” “…. what.”

at the end of the day, you live with eight chaotic men who are just too much. but still makes life more interesting for you <3

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#ateez #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #ateez x reader #choi san x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #crack fic #crack headcanons

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