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lightsoutletsgo · 6 months

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the one where ollie lives alone (cl.16 x bearman!reader)

pairing: mainly ollie bearman x oldersister!reader for this part but there's a plenty of charles leclerc x bearman!reader here and there!

word count: 4.2k

warnings: a whole lot of stupidity mentions of death, seemingly angsty in some parts (you'll see what I mean) this might be one of my favourite parts I've written for any series ever 😭 it's so dumb but so funny (according to the people who proofread for me!) as always let me know what you think! your comments are always appreciated. happy reading! mimi 🤍

taglist: @arieslost @iamapersonwholikesunicorns

“Jesus Y/N, what the hell is in here?” Ollie wheezed as he staggered past you, arms straining under the weight of the box he was carrying. You rolled your eyes, “You’re so dramatic Ols, it’s literally just makeup.”

“Is that the last box ma belle?” You turned and saw Charles in the doorway, staring at you fondly. “Mhmm! Everything else is in the van.” You held your arms out to him and he crossed the room, pulling you in by your waist and kissing you softly, “I can’t believe you’re finally coming home with me…” You smiled, looping your arms round his neck, “Me either,” He booped your nose with his own, a loud cough making the two of you jump apart as Ollie leaned against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised, “Are you two done being gross?” “Shut up dummy.” You punched his arm as you walked past him towards the front door. You inhaled deeply, it felt strange but exciting to be moving out and into Charles’ apartment.

Behind you, Charles watched Ollie stare at you, looking like he wanted to say something. He quietly padded up behind the younger driver and nudged his arm, “Are you going to miss her?” Ollie was startled but quickly scoffed, “Hmm? No way!” Charles gave him a pointed look, “I get the whole place to myself! I can’t wait!” Charles gave him a smile and punched his arm gently, “We’re only ten minutes away if you need us.” Ollie laughed, “Thanks but I can manage!”

♯ incident 1 - the dishwasher ⊹.∿ As it turned out, Ollie could in fact, not manage. Mere hours after you’d left him, you found yourself sprinting back up the stairs, cursing the old apartment building for still not having an elevator. You reached the floor of your old apartment and checked the door to see if it was open, turning the handle and entering you called out, “Ollie? I got your text!” You poked your head into each room as you went, searching for him, “What’s the emer…gen…cy…” You trailed off as you reached the kitchen, Ollie staring up at you with wide eyes, crouching next to the dishwasher that was… pouring out soapy bubbles? “Ollie!” “I think I made a mistake.” He said dryly, suspiciously poking some of the bubbly foam next to his shoulder, “Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” You said sarcastically, thinking of a solution, “You put dish soap in didn’t you?” He nodded sheepishly, “There were no dishwasher tablets left so I just… thought on my feet?” You facepalmed and sighed, “Okay well, we need to- DON’T OPEN IT!”

You looked on in horror as Ollie pulled open the door and a torrent of soapy warm foam spilled out and all over the kitchen floor, creeping further into the centre of the room, was it… growing? You looked over at your brother to see him staring back at you with comically wide eyes. “So that’s why we don’t do that.” You said, face deadpan. Ollie giggled nervously, “Oops?” A snort from behind you had you turning round to see Charles filming the whole thing, “Oh some help you are babe.” Charles coughed to cover up his laughter as he put his phone away and entered the foamy bubbly monstrosity that was now the kitchen. “Somewhere under here there’s a bucket and mop.” “Ollie?” “Yeah?” “You’re going in.”

♯ incident 2 - french toast ⊹.∿ A few days had passed since the dishwasher incident and you dozed in Charles’ arms, enjoying the lazy Sunday morning sun slipping through the bedroom curtains. The previous night’s activities had left you a little worn out and with no plans for the day, you had wordlessly agreed that a cosy day in bed was just what you needed. A shrill sound pierced the air and jolted both you and Charles awake. You scrambled to find your phone, as Charles groaned, hands rubbing his face as your hand came up to feel how quickly your heart was pounding. You glanced at the screen as your hand met your phone and you scowled, Charles rubbing your back and doing his best not to laugh as he saw who was calling you, “Ollie Bearman, you better have a damn good reason for calling me this early on a Sunday morning.” There was a pause, “It’s eleven o’clock?-” “That’s not the point!” You sighed, “What do you need?” “Well, you see… I have a question.” “Go ahead,” “So I was making french toast right? And I followed the recipe exactly as you wrote it out! Right amount of eggs, milk and sugar.” “So what’s the issue?” Ollie sighed, “It won’t cook but it smells a bit smokey…” You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Then turn it down?” “I don’t know how!” “Turn the hob dial down dummy!” Ollie went silent for a second, “Did you say hob dial?” Alarm bells started ringing in your head, “Why would I adjust the hob when I’m using the toaster.” You froze for a moment before pulling your phone away from your ear and putting it on speaker, unable to believe what you were hearing, “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Charles gave you a concerned look, sitting even closer to you and wrapping one arm around you while the other rubbed your knee comfortingly

“I said, I’m using the toaster.” You stared at your phone, mouth slightly agape, “You’re making french toast in the toaster?” “Correct.” Charles snorted and choked back a huge guffaw of laughter as the hand he’d placed on your knee came up to cover his mouth, his face turning pink with how hard he was laughing, “Ollie! French toast isn’t made in the toaster!” “It’s called french toast!” You pressed the video button and changed the call to facetime. Your brother stared back at you, looking rather dishevelled, “That’s a rather deceiving name if you ask me!” You groaned, facepalming, “You make it in a frying pan” Charles was no help next to you as he wheezed silently, grabbing his own phone to record the conversation for later use and hilarity. “Well how was I supposed to know that?!” Ollie was indignant as he pleaded with you through the screen, “OLLIE! You’ve watched me make it hundreds of times!” He pouted through the screen letting out a little ‘hmmph’ “Well if you hadn’t abandoned me, we wouldn’t have this issue would we!” You rolled your eyes, “For the last time, I did not abandon you! I live a 10 minute walk away!”

You sighed before laughing at your brother lovingly, “Alright then silly, head over for lunch and I’ll show you how to make french toast the proper way.” Charles snorted once more and you both burst into giggles as your brother scowled at you, “Stop laughing at me!” Ollie whined, you caught your breath and wiped your eyes, heart warm at the silly moment you knew would turn into a fond memory, “Uhhhh Y/N?” You looked back at the screen to where Ollie was turning the camera round to show you a sparking, smoking toaster, “I don’t think it should be doing that…” You cursed as Charles scrambled out of bed, pulling mismatching socks on as you grabbed a hoodie, “Change of plans Ols, we’re on our way!”

♯ incident 3 - Gerald ⊹.∿ Things were peaceful for a couple of days after the french toast debacle - something you were more than thankful for, wrapped up in your perfect little bubble with Charles. Of course you continued to text Ollie, but there had been no major crisis that required your immediate attention. Until there was.

It had been one of those long lazy days spent at home, until Charles had announced he was taking you to dinner and told you to get all dressed up. You’d slipped on one of his favourite numbers and he’d shown his appreciation more than once, sliding his hands round your hips and squeezing while you waited to be seated, pulling your chair out for you to sit down and sliding his hands down your arms once you were seated, moving his chair round the table to sit closer to you so he could place a slow smooch against your neck. You hummed happily as he fed you a mouthful of his dish, “I knew you’d like it!” You smiled at him, “I like most things you suggest…” He bit his lip as his eyes darkened slightly, “Is that so?” You nodded, eyelashes fluttering as your lids close, “What if I suggested something a little… more intimate?” You giggled, picking up your wine glass to take a sip and hide your face, too shy to keep the eye contact, “I wouldn’t mi-” Your phone blaring cut you off and you gasped, rushing to put your glass down as other customers in the restaurant glared at you, Charles chuckling quietly next to you, his hand resting on your thigh and rubbing soothingly.

“Ollie I swear to go-” “He’s dead.” You heard your little brother sniffle and adrenaline kicked in, “Ollie, who’s dead?” You kept your voice as calm and quiet as possible, you heard him sniffle once more before a sob left his mouth. That was all you needed to hear before you were grabbing your clutch and nodding towards the door. Charles tilted his head and you mouthed your brother’s name. He nodded understandingly and rushed to pay the bill before you were both scurrying back to his car. As soon as you were buckled in you put your phone on speaker, “Ollie… Honey… what happened?” Charles also looked panicked as he heard Ollie’s choked sob, “He was fine and then he just… wasn’t.” “Who Ollie, who’s not fine?” You pleaded, “Ge-” You cursed as the call cut out, “It’s okay ma belle, his phone probably just died, we’re almost there okay?” You nodded, hands nervously twisting and wringing together in your lap. Charles eyes darted to your hands for a second before looking back at the road, one hand leaving the steering wheel to gently hold your hand in his. You looked at him and squeezed, a wordless thank you.

As soon as Charles pulled up, you were racing out of the car, slipping your heels off and carrying them in your hand as you sprinted barefoot up the stairs of the apartment building. You reached the door and rang the bell, knocked, called his name, anything you could think of to attract his attention. The door opened slowly and it wasn’t Ollie that appeared but Arthuer Leclerc, looking ever so sombre, “Arthur?” Your eyes were panicked as you looked him over for any injuries or obvious isses. He simply held his hand out to indicate to you to enter and you slowly stepped through the door, “Where’s Ollie?” Arthur nodded, head down towards the ground and the panic rose in your chest again, “He’s in the living room, saying his goodbyes.” “Goodbyes to who?” You paced down the hallway and burst into the living room, your jaw dropping at the sight you saw.

Ollie stood in front of the coffee table that was lit with candles, dressed in a suit and your brain suddenly registered that Arthur had been dressed the same way. You were even more concerned when you saw Arthur’s girlfriend fully dressed in black, standing next to Ollie with a comforting hand on his shoulder. You approached him slowly, arms opening and your expression softening as he turned to you with a red splotchy nose and red-rimmed eyes, he fell into your arms and you patted his back, gently shushing him, “What happened, Ols?” “He’s gone.” Ollie croaked out, “Who’s gone honey?” Your voice was gentle as you stroked his hair, the same way you did when he was younger and couldn’t sleep, “Gerald.” “Oh.” You said softly, “Was he a friend?” Ollie nodded and you held back a wince as he rubbed his snotty nose onto your shoulder, knowing he needed you, “He was such a good friend.” You led him over to the couch and sat down, his head falling onto your shoulder as you continued to play with his hair.

You were aware of Charles appearing in the doorway and you gave him a brief smile, before turning your attention back to Ollie, “Would I know this friend?” Ollie nodded, his sobs quieting to sniffles, “You were his friend before I was.” Your stomach dropped as you frantically thought of who Ollie could possibly be referring to, feeling guilty that your mind was blank, “The funeral was lovely.” Arthur’s girlfriend nodded solemnly, a hand over her heart as the other hand came up to dab her eyes with a tissue, “The funeral has already happened?” You were confused as Arthur nodded, “Just before you got here.” Your eyes shot to Charles who was just as concerned and confused as you, “Wait, the funeral was here?” Ollie scoffed, “Well where else would it have been?” “Wait Ollie,” You held his face in front of yours, “Why was the funeral in your apartment?” “He wanted to be remembered in the place he was most happy…” Ollie sighed wistfully, his head turning to look at the coffee table once more.

You squinted, focusing on a shape amidst the flickering candles and once more your mouth gaped as you stood up and stormed over to the other side of the room. “Ollie. Bearman.” You gritted your teeth, “Don’t tell me that this was all about a fucking cactus?” “Succulent!” Ollie snapped at you, wiping away a tear from under his eye, “He was a succulent,” He whispered as he looked down at the floor. Charles broke first, snorting in the doorway and you watched as he did his best to choke down his laughter, coughing and shaking his head, you watched as he excused himself from the room for a moment to force a solemn expression back onto his face. He returned but you could see the laughter threatening to bubble over as he took in the sight before him. Ollie, his younger brother and his younger brother’s girlfriend all dressed in black and in mourning for a succulent that sat sadly on the coffee table and looked like it had been watered a little too much.

“I’m glad you got here,” Arthur spoke up suddenly, “Oh goodie, do tell me why.” Your tone was sarcastic. “We’re about to do the funeral exit.” Charles was holding in his laughter so much that he now had tears streaming down his face and Arthur patted his back with a ‘there, there’ and handed him a tissue. “Arthur’s girlfriend has agreed to sing the exit song and we’re so thankful she has.” “Who is we Ollie?” You brow furrowed as you looked around the living room, “I-I…” You sighed. “Go ahead.” You all stood still, heads to the floor as Arthur’s girlfriend launched into a rendition of ‘Memory’ from Cats, “Miiiiiiidniiiiiight, not a sound from the paaaaavemeeeent.” Charles quietly crossed the room to stand next to you, nudging you gently with his shoulder, “Interesting date night hmm?” You growled, “Don’t you dare encourage him.” Ollie approached you, “Do you want to say your final goodbyes?” “Ollie, why would I care about a succulent?” He gasped, “It’s Gerald!” “Yes Ollie so you said, but why would I care that it’s name is Gerald?” Ollie shook his head, “Don’t even recognise your own friend…” Arthur tutted and even his girlfriend gave you a disapproving look as she continued wailing in the background, you mentally made a note to apologise to the neighbours the next time you were here during normal sociable hours.

You rolled your eyes at your younger brother and stepped forward to ‘pay your respects’ to the succulent. Your eyes narrowed, “Oliver. James. Bearman. That’s MY fucking succulent!” “It was nice of you to wear black.” He continued, nodding towards your dress and Charles blazer and pants, ignoring your exclamation. “We were on a date!” You screeched, Charles once again powerless to help in any way, instead just collapsing with laughter. You growled as you lunged for your brother, “Ollie, I swear there will be a funeral tonight.” You hissed, “Yours!”

♯ incident 4 - spiderman ⊹.∿ After everyone had said their goodbyes to Gerald, he had been unceremoniously dumped into the rubbish bin and that had been the end of it. Ollie had promised to buy you a new succulent and had learned that they did not, in fact, require watering every day, and you now forever had ‘Memory’ stuck in your head. Once more, peace had been restored but you doubted it would last much longer.

Your theory was proved correct when a few days later, your phone rang. An unknown number. You ignored it at first, all too aware of strange reporters and crazy fans who would do anything to get closer to Charles. You simply went back to reading your book, until your phone rang again. It was an unknown number still and you grumbled, rolling your eyes and answering quite snappily, “Yes? Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line seemed almost taken aback, “Umm excuse me is this Y/N Bearman?” You sighed, “Yes it is, no I won’t give you a quote and yes Charles is great in bed, goodbye!-” “No wait please! I’m from downstairs! You live in 10B yes?” You stopped as your finger hovered over the end call button and brought the phone back up to your ear, “Uhhhh I used to, yes, can I ask why?” “Oh, well there’s a man trying to climb onto your balcony and I was concerned that’s all.” Your stomach flipped, your mind rushing to thoughts of someone breaking in when your little brother was home alone, “I’ll come over now! My younger brother still lives there.” You raced to grab your keys and jumped into your car, deciding to get there as soon as possible rather than walk. Who was stupid enough to break in in broad daylight? You briefly considered calling the police but you were sure the idiot would be gone by the time you got there. Your car pulled up and you craned your neck to look up at the balcony of your old apartment. Your eyes widened and you gasped as you spotted that there was indeed a man hanging off of your balcony, “Holy shit,” You mumbled, scrabbling to open the door and race towards the apartment complex. The closer you got you squinted as you realised the hoodie looked ever so familiar. “Ollie?!” You yelled up and shrieked as your brother looked down at you, giggling nervously as his feet kicked back and forth as he desperately searched for a footing, “What the fuck are you doing?” “Uhhh I can explain!” He yelled back to you, “H-hold on, I’m on my way up!” You hurried up the stairs, once more cursing the lack of elevator as you finally reached your floor, unlocking the door and rushing through the apartment to french doors out onto the balcony.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” You screeched, leaning over the balcony and diving to grab him and pull him up, “Ollie that’s so fucking dangerous!” “Look!” You heard a kid shout from the street below, “It’s Spiderman!” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, "He wishes!" You paused for a moment to yell back, before resuming hauling your brother over the apartment balcony. “How did you even get up here? Why are you up here?” Ollie chuckled, panting slightly as he finally threw one leg over the ledge, “Funny story actually…” You raised an eyebrow, “Well please share,” “I forgot my key…” “I-” In your shock you almost let go of him and his scream attracted the attention of yet more passers by below, laughing and pointing at the odd sight they were witnessing. You smiled down awkwardly before turning back to Ollie once more, “Why didn’t you call me?” Ollie whined as you began to tell him off, “Because I didn’t want you to find out…” “Oh so this was a better idea- Ah!” You squeaked as Ollie tumbled over the ledge and onto the balcony. Landing on your stomach in a tangle of limbs, “Your foot is up my butt!” “Yeah well it wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been being stupid! Anyway, get your elbow out of my eye!” “Oh I’m sorry, I was making sure I wasn’t about to fall to my death!” You shoved Ollie off of you and led there on your back, panting, Ollie much the same,

“For the record, you are the shittiest spiderman there is.” “Thanks, that’s really boosting my confidence.” “Glad I could help.”

♯ the resolution ⊹.∿ “We need more protection.” You announced loudly, stepping into the kitchen “Excuse me?!” Charles choked on his protein shake, cheeks turning pink and you heard Max snort on the phone, “God, no! You pervs… I meant like, we need protection from Ollie and his dumbass incidents.” Max cackled, “Charles has sent me the videos, I was dying at the dishwasher incident.” You groaned, crossing the room to stand next to Charles who sat at the breakfast bar. He grinned as you rolled your eyes at Max who you could now see was on facetime. “Yeah, well I’m turning grey way sooner than I should!” You joked. You chatted with Max a little longer before Charles signed off with the promise of joining him to game later.

You sighed, leaning against Charles’ side, “What’s wrong ma belle?” You took another breath and paused, “I’m just… worried about Ollie…” Charles put his arm around you and rubbed your back soothingly, “What has you so worried mon amour?” His expression was warm and you knew he wasn’t angry with you, rather genuinely curious, “I just feel like… maybe he isn’t ready to live on his own yet?” Charles nodded at you and you took that as a signal to continue, “I mean, he’s always had me there to help him and I know someday he’s gonna have to get used to me not being there but I just feel like right now…” You trailed off with a sigh, “He still needs you.” Charles finished and you gave him a grateful smile and nodded. “But, I don’t wanna leave you. I love living with you and having you around and I love just... living life with you. Am I selfish for not wanting to give that up?” You bit your lip, moving away from Charles to pace the kitchen floor. Charles shook his head with a fond smile,

“Ma belle… You’re not selfish for wanting to do something for yourself and I’m proud of you for wanting to pursue that, especially since it’s me you want,” he slid his arms around you as you stepped next to him and dragged you backwards to him, making you giggle, “but I also know that you want to be there for family and I can understand that, you guys are close, the same way that me and Thur are, probably even closer.” You hummed, leaning back against him, “Thank you for being so understanding.” You sighed, “Now I just need to work out how to fix it…” Charles smiled and turned you round in his arms, nudging your nose with his, “Well… we have a spare room?”

Which is how you found yourself hauling boxes upstairs a week later, “Jesus Ollie, what the hell is in here?” You wheezed out and Ollie simply smiled at you, patting you on the head as he walked past you, arms empty, “You’re so dramatic Y/N, it’s literally just a few bits.” You poked your tongue out at him as he mimicked your words from just a couple of months ago. “Is that it mate?” Charles head appeared from behind the apartment door and Ollie nodded, as you finally conquered the stairs and planted the box down on the hallway floor. “Now let’s go over the rules one more time Ols.” He sighed, “Fine…” “Rule one?” You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, “No dish soap in the dishwasher…” He grumbled, Charles chuckled, “Rule two?” “No cooking without supervision.” Ollie recited as you nodded, “Don’t worry, that rule applies to Charles too.” “Huh?!” “Shush baby, rule three?” You turned back to Ollie, “No watering the succulents unless instructed, no matter how sorry I feel for them.” You nodded, “I am not having a repeat of Gerald and the… funeral.” You shuddered, as Charles snorted before asking, “Rule four?” “Always call one of you two if I forget my keys…” “And?” You raised an eyebrow, “No climbing balconies under any circumstances.” You clapped your hands together and smiled, “Good! Well I can’t think of anything else, can you?”

You turned to Charles who shook his head and Ollie who just shrugged, “In that case, let’s go! Pizza for dinner sound good?” The three of you walked into the apartment and the door to the hallway swung shut, your arguments about pizza toppings muffled through the door, but the happiness and love you felt for each other not dulled in the slightest.

#mimi.writes #bear hugs series ˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚#f1 fic #f1 series #f1 fluff #f1 crack #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman fluff #ollie bearman fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 fanfic

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princessbrunette · 7 months

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˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

let’s go back to my roots. let’s talk about girly, prissy, spoiled bunny!reader with rafe.

you’re untouchable, kook royalty just for your attachment to the cameron’s but you don’t even care about all of that. all you care about, is rafes time money and attention.

he loves you a lot, but more so — he puts up with your shit. whilst you don’t have much of an attitude, soft in all corners of your life, you can still manage to be a nightmare. you clutter his sink with your makeup and skincare, decidedly a maximalist when it came to your self care and beautification rituals. he plucks a clump of mink eyelashes from the side of the sink, something he nearly mistook for a spider and sets it aside— only calling out a “jesus chr — bun, told you to clear out your shit. my bathroom looks like fuckin’ sephora. in here, now.” before he hears the soft padding of your feet come tottering along, happy to do as your told.

if that’s not making him huff and puff — it’ll surely be the outfits, moreso scraps of fabric you parade around in. expensive, according to his black card, for items of clothing that cover so little — and he can’t say you don’t get your moneys worth, toddling around in strappy powder pink dresses that leave nothing to the imagination or white mini skirts that cling to the fold of the bottom of your ass cheeks, giving not only the chumps at the country club a good look — but his closest friends too. his life had become a sequence of tugging down your hem, manhandling you to be decent. “you—y-you think i need my fuckin’ friends getting an eyeful of your pussy each time you move? are we gonna have to have another talk about what’s appropriate, bunny girl? huh? or maybe the belt will help you learn a valuable lesson. fuck.” he sulks, stomping around after his threat. you’re clung to his bicep with a dazed smile only five minutes later because his mean treatment usually flew through one bedazzled ear and came out the other. soft and dopey as ever.

back to him ‘putting up with you’, there’s a ton of reasons why that is. like aforementioned, he does love you a lot. you’re his little prized possession, his trophy. you were soft in all the ways that mattered and understanding, always listening when no one else would, even if he was admittedly in the wrong. that, and you really did fuck like a bunny rabbit.

you had a libido that was constantly set to high, all hours of the day. you were a chronic pillow humper when rafe wasn’t available to sate you, the man often times walking in to find you teary eyed with a white lacy thong binding your spread knees, pulled down just enough to grind your messy, glossy pussy against the fluffed white pillow from his side of the bed. because really, you were a chronic rafe humper— but you were well behaved enough to know that sometimes he had to handle business and didn’t have the time to feed your greedy cunt.

you’d grown accustom to taking him in any position too, whether it was in doggy style — waving your plush ass in the air, pointing that fluffy pink bunny-tail butt plug straight at him as you mewl into expensive pillows, or you’re crouched on his lap on the couch, feet planted either side of him, a high pitched whimper punched out of you each time you slam your hips back down on his cock, mushroom tip thumping your cervix. you said you liked the pain, liked when it bruised, liked when you could still feel him the next day when you missed him. reminded you of how grateful you are to have a boyfriend who dicks you good.

you had a little obsession that was serving as a problem though— having to give you plenty of ‘sit down talks’ when he talks to you real slow like you’re stupid because you keep begging him to breed you. it seemed no amount of “sweetheart, i’on know how many times i have to say this to get it through that head, but you are too young for a baby. i—i gotta get my shit together first, alright? promised you as many babies as you want after i secure tannyhill did i not? i…i really need your patience… okay?” would stop you from bouncing on his cock with a feverish and determined look in your eye, or locking your legs around his waist when he’s about to nut— babbling tearfully as you beg “please daddy, please gimme a baby. please want — want your babies!”

you’re lucky he was so much stronger than you, often wrestling you down to straddle your face and aim his cock at your mouth before he blew his load, gritting out a spiteful “well you’re gonna have to fuckin’ swallow them ‘til the time comes. fuck.” through gritted teeth as you mewl miserably (but lap it up nonetheless)

you gave him trouble, but nothing he couldn’t handle. he wouldn’t trade his spoiled bunny girl for the world.

˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

#rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader

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strawbeerossi · 1 year

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Magic Touch

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: When you hurt your back in the field, Spencer offers to give you a massage. Then he tells you a little fact about men and women who orgasm without sexual stimulation during massages.

Content/Warnings: Talks of field injuries, talks of orgasms, massaging, Spencer’s expert hands are mentioned like 4 separate times, cumming untouched (sort of).

Word Count: 1.3K

Kinktober Day Eight: Massage

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

There have been plenty of tumbles in the field that left you sore for days on end. It came with the territory, plus you weren’t exactly the most agile. It was after you had solved a child abduction case, the child was safe in police custody while you had a chase with the unsub in question. You’d seemed to have pulled a muscle or something, being in so much pain that you were laying on the floor of the living room when you’d gotten home.

“Why are you on the floor?” Spencer asked, an eyebrow raised as he couldn’t help but chuckle. “My back.” You groaned, face being muffled by the fluffy rug that your face was resting on. “It’s that bad? Do you think a backrub will help?” The idea of his skilled hands was heaven, honestly.

“Maybe..”

“I’m not sitting on the floor. Come on.” He chuckled, hands held out towards you so he could help you to your feet. The way you winced made him do the same out of sympathy pains. “I know it hurts. We will get you sorted.” He assured, one hand gently resting on your lower back before walking to the bedroom alongside you. “After this, I may have to get you some ice or maybe a heating pad. I think we have one..” He was mostly murmuring to himself, his brain figuring out what exactly he needed to ensure that your back got better as fast as possible.

“Go ahead and get undressed. Lay down.” He assured while he was heading to his bedside drawer to fish around for a bottle of lotion that surely had to be carelessly tossed in there. The feeling of the smooth container was what prompted him to pull out the half full bottle of lotion. “I was looking for that!” You grunted, making Spencer put his free hand up in self defense. “You threw it in there, not me.” He chuckled while heading over to sit on the edge of the bed after you’d stripped down to your underwear and laid on the mattress, cheek squished against your pillow. “Please fix me.” You begged in a playful tone.

Spencer was shaking his head with a chuckle, rolling up his sleeves before he was moving to squirt a generous amount of lotion into the palm of his hand. “It smells really good. I think this is the rosewater one that mom gave you.” He spoke while rubbing his hands together.

You shivered at the feeling of the cold lotion on his hands hitting your bare skin. Even with the warmth of his hands, it wasn’t enough. “Cold,” You groaned. “Oh shush, you big baby.” Spencer commented while his palms were flat against your back, his firm touch pulling a soft moan from your lips. “Better?” He asked, chuckling as he continued to put pressure into your back as his hands glided across your skin with ease.

“Much better.” You slurred. The pressure was heaven sent, his hands doing more than making you drool when you linger too hard looking at them. He was useful for some things. “Good.” He responded in a soft tone.

Like any man, Spencer’s generosity began to play to his own benefit. His hands were slowly moving to your lower back as he continued on with his good deed for the day. “Spencer.” You warned, feeling his hands moving to play with the waistband of your panties, a light hum leaving his lips. “What?! I’m helping.” He commented, trying to use that sweet little innocent tone of voice as his hands were gripping a good handful of your ass, making you squeak softly while lifting your head.

“You are such a man.” You scoffed, although you offered a smile as he was leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “I’m just giving my girlfriend a massage! I have no idea what you are talking about.” He mused, hands continuing to trail down to your thighs while generously rubbing them, nudging your thighs apart with a soft hum. “You should ask me to do this more often.” He spoke, his hands working your thighs while you were already feeling the arousal smack you right in the face.

“Did you know that there are some men and women who can orgasm from just a massage alone? It’s actually a really interesting study.” You weren’t fully listening, the circles in your inner thighs making your body hot, face flushed. “I think that we should test the theory.’ he’d suggested, making your head nod slowly. “We should,” You were letting out a groan of satisfaction as Spencer was squeezing your thighs with a grin. “Good! I’m gonna try not to touch you sexually even though.. You make it really hard not to.” he chuckled, putting pressure into your thighs again before his hands were moving to your legs.

Now, normally massages get people in the mood regardless. After all, there's a reason why people joke about only wanting a backrub when they get pregnant. You’d never heard of anyone cumming on the sole basis of having their body worked and no sexual contact, however the sensuality of it made sense. That’s why you were squirming in your spot from the skilled, large hands on your body.

“I’m gonna move to your hips.” He informed, dragging his fingertips down your body. The moment he was putting that pressure, your mouth was agape as a loud moan echoed through the room, which Spencer took as a perfect sign to continue caressing your skin, which was hot and now had a thin layer of sweat. “Oh fuck,” You cursed, making your boyfriend chuckle. “Feels good? You look so sexy right now. Who would’ve thought that I could turn you on just by massaging you? Think you can cum like this?” He’d asked, your face buried in the pillow under your head as you were completely transfixed on the expert hands gripping and rubbing at your body.

“I have an idea,” He began and pulled his hands away, gently rolling you onto your stomach. “Hi there.” He cooed, chuckling at your glossed over eyes and fucked out expression. “I’m gonna do something that I know you like. It may be breaking the rules just a little bit but I wanna see that gorgeous face when you cum.” He mused, hands grasping at your hips again, however this time he let them slide up your torso. You know what was coming the moment that his gaze had fallen on your breasts.

As his hands were cupping both tits on your chest, he was letting his hands knead at the balls of flesh and fat, thumbs swiping over your hardened nipples. “Look at you falling apart right now.” He chuckled, one hand moving to tweak your nipple and elicited a whine. “I’m gonna cum, Spencer.”

All of the overwhelming touches and the both of you learning your pressure points was actually a fun experience. You would opt out of only getting a massage next time but hey, it was an interesting study. His hands found themselves at your hips again, that seemingly being the best place to touch you.

It took a few times before you were letting out an airy moan, head tilting back as your hands came down to grip at his wrists. Your thighs were shaking as you hit your peak, panties being soiled with your creamy arousal as Spencer had the pleasure to watch the cloth dampen.

“Holy shit.” You huffed out, making Spencer laugh. “Well, I hope that helped your back.” He mused, leaning down to press a kiss against your lips. You had gently rested a hand against his chest after parting ways.

“Should we try to make you cum from just a massage? I don’t wanna brag but I’d say I’m pretty good with my hands.” You teased, making the male crinkle his nose with a smile.

“Well, I am a man of science. It would be wrong to deny a scientific experiment.”

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stararch4ngelqueen · 1 year

Note

For the Jason drabbles, what about Jason conforting/taking care of reader while they are sick or even on their period?

We love a supportive man. What he receives he gives back tenfold.

“Show me where, baby.”

His hand roamed along your lower abdomen, imagining the soreness in your tense muscles. The spikes of pain that riddled you bedridden during your most heavy days.

“Here?” He applies pressure, fingers rubbing circles down just under your stomach, along the spot near your hip bone.

“Oww, yes,” you whine, wincing from the pain before being soothed by his massage.

Jason knew what periods were. He knew it’s a natural thing women dealt with. He’s worked with women for years, alongside doing his own research on it during one time you hadn’t left your bed for a while, thinking you were sick at first. It was an.. interesting conversation with Babs over what more he could do to help that the internet didn’t tell him about those relentlessly heavy cycles.

Pain like this took a lot longer to be rid of than a heating pad would allow. Especially the good quality ones with different settings.

Or, if you want something different, something fun that he wouldn’t mind shoving into the microwave for a minute, he’d get you a heatable, plush teddy bear. Or a duck. Or a menstruation crustacean.

He had no idea what the hell that was until you showed him on the site. You received whatever you chose in a box nearly three days later from Prime shipping.

Don’t freak out about blood. Accidents happen. If you got some on the sheets, along his lap when he held you, or on the couch, he could’ve cared less.

He wouldn’t even point it out, if you didn’t know. If you did notice it, he’d immediately shush you in an consolation attack, hiding your shameful expression in the crook of his shoulder.

“Shh, baby,” he’d murmur in your ear. “Easy. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. S’alright, it’s okay.”

With advice from Babs, he cooks a lot more iron rich meals for you a lot more during this time. Usually, it’s been a team effort. You cook, he cleans up, you wash dishes together. Vice versa.

This week, regardless if you suffer from irregular periods, he does it all. He’ll do it even if he was a walking zombie, he doesn’t care.

Jason will not, no matter what you say, let you lift a finger if he knows you’re in pain. He’s an expert of masking his own, he can tell when you do it.

This even goes if you’re not used to being babied, get used to it. You tend to him for weeks at a time in a single month alone, this is his way of saying thank you for it all.

“Bed.” Jason demands, not even having to turn around from his attention on the stove to hear your shuffling to the kitchen.

“But I’m—“

“I brought you a drink,” he replies. A cup of warm raspberry leaf tea sitting on your bedside.

“No, I mean—“

“I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything until after you eat,” Jason peers over his shoulder, seeing his olive green shirt loosely draped over your body. “Go back to bed, Princess.”

“Can I stay here?” You plea, making his shoulders slump with a sigh. Try as he may, your weakened state makes him more pliable to your every request.

Might as well, since you’re already up. Stubborn girl.

“Go sit on the couch,” he sighs, knowing a few comforters were folded up on the cushions. “Get comfortable, an’ stay there. Dinner’s almost done.”

Jason has pills, plenty of them. From plain Tylenol, ibuprofen, to doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, morphine, etc. All thanks to Alfred.

Broken bones or severe, suture required injuries would be the only times Jason felt complied to take them. He knew addiction, watching it first hand and being involved in it at one point himself. He only took them when he absolutely, positively needed it.

For you, if you needed something stronger, he’d give you half of one pill, or a full, single pill at most. No way would you ever fall victim to such a cruel, toxic routine. He’d keep them locked up, for both your safety and his.

After your said hearty, iron rich meal, you remained on the couch snuggled up together like true lovers.

His guilty pleasure during your period of vulnerability was how much you relied on him for comfort. Positions varied, but his most favorite would be your body laying in his lap as he lounged on his reading recliner.

A gray comforter over your shoulders, some fuzzy socks on your feet. The furnace you called your boyfriend leaving you nice and toasty, his hands settling along your hair and back, preparing to soothe and massage when needed.

He adored when you needed him, he loved catering to you. You were his woman, his little nurse turned patient.

This also sort of gave him an excuse to skip out on patrols, but he never voiced the reasons why he’s gotten calls about it. He just didn’t feel like it, refusing the idea of abandoning you late at night, leaving him tense and unfocused on his routine on if you needed something, and he wasn’t there.

The others, with their detective mindsets could figure it out for themselves as to why Jason didn’t show up on a Saturday night. Or a Sunday, and definitely not a Monday.

He had important priorities, after all.

Just him, you; snuggly comfortable and content, and your herbal scented, menstruation crustacean.

#jason todd x y/n #Jason Todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #gotham knights jason todd #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd dc

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marlynnofmany · 10 months

Text

Arboreal Species

We had plenty of options for ways to keep occupied while waiting for the client to show up and collect his delivery. Several of the crew were playing card games with the captain, using a delivery crate as a table, and she was beating the pants off all of them. (Though none of these particular aliens wore pants. You know what I mean.) Some of the others waited inside the ship, declaring boredom with this particular patch of exotic wilderness.

The rest chatted with crew from the ship that had arrived after us, which was also delivering cargo for the same late-to-arrive local. They had plenty to complain about. They also had food to share, and a decent chance that it would be edible by those they shared it with.

While Alien Food Roulette was always exciting, I’d found a much better option.

“Hey, they tell me your species climbs things,” the stranger from the other ship had said, long snout curling into a smile. She looked like a mix of 3/4 baboon and 1/4 crocodile.

“They’re right!” I replied easily. There weren’t many climbing opportunities on our little courier ship, and I was curious where this was going.

The alien pointed at a huge tree on the edge of the landing pad, which boasted smooth orange bark with branches every couple feet. “I’m gonna go climb that. Care to join me?”

“Would I ever!” I said, already heading toward it. I called back over my shoulder, “If you guys need me, I’ll be up a tree!”

Captain Sunlight didn’t even look away from the game, just waving distractedly, her scaly face intent on whatever play Mur had just made. He was chuckling about it and rubbing his tentacles together in a way that was probably a bluff. As soon as I looked away, he made a noise that said the good captain had just wrecked his clever plan. Trrili hissed with laughter.

None of them cared that I was about to climb to a dangerous height. None thought this was out of character in the slightest, and all of them were missing out on an excellent climbing experience.

It was a great tree. The bark was smooth but not slippery, reminding me of a madrone tree from back home, just without the flaky outer layer. And it didn’t feel as cold. If anything, it was warm as we scampered skyward, almost as if the tree welcomed a good climb by people who’d appreciate it.

The alien stopped, picking a branch to sit on and leaning back against another. “Now that is a nice view.”

I had to agree. “It is!” I found my own convenient pair of branches, draping my arms over the top one and finding a nice footrest on a third. “Everybody down there doesn’t know what they’re missing.” The forest around the landing pad was bright with oranges and yellows, the kind of vivid colors that I associated with autumn, but which could have been year-round here. Rolling hills lined the horizon, with a river sparkling merrily in the distance. The only straight line was the road. It made a nice counterpoint to all the gentler natural shapes.

My new friend cupped a hand to her snout unnecessarily. “Hey, everybody down there! You should come see this view!”

To no one’s surprise, she got a chorus of “no thanks.”

I shook my head. “Such a shame. They’re missing out on all the knowledge that comes from above, too. Hey, Paint!” I yelled down to the crewmate who had just dropped a box of round things. “One rolled under the ramp, and two are over in the grass!” I pointed them out.

A distant “Thank you!” reached my ears.

The alien nodded. “Wisdom of the heights indeed. What else can we see, that those on the ground can’t?”

We spent a good few minutes pointing things out to each other and swapping stories. Apparently her people were called the Farsights, for exactly this reason.

“Oh, motion on the road!” she declared, squinting into the distance. “Looks like somebody’s in a rush to be a little less late.”

“Well that ship has launched,” I said, following her eyes. “Nice thought, though. Say, is that one car or two?”

The Farsight didn’t answer immediately, which made me worry a little. Then she said “Uh oh,” which made me worry a lot.

“Uh oh what?”

She stood up on the branch and bellowed, “INCOMING! Client’s being chased by hostile fauna!”

“Oh jeez.” Now I could see it too: something large and antlered galloping after the little surface skimmer. Both were headed straight toward our landing pad.

Chaos erupted down below as we slid off our perches and scrambled downward. The bark was still friendly-smooth.

“I think that creature eats these!” my friend said, bounding out toward the end of a branch to shake loose a bundle of round seedpod things. “I’ve seen them before!”

“Will that matter?” I asked, slowing. “It looks pretty mad!”

“Can’t hurt!”

I couldn’t argue that. There were more than a few seedpods waiting on my path down, all of which came loose with a little judicious bouncing of the branches. When I hit the ground, it was in a sea of baseball-shaped plant bits.

The rest of the crew was scrambling to move crates and dash into the ships for anything weaponlike. A handful of beefy individuals from the other crew lined up to stare the thing down as it approached, and my ship’s biggest and scariest hurried to join them. Trrili claimed a place in front with her black-and-red carapace gleaming in the sun, pincher arms spread wide. She left space for the skimmer to zip past, but only just.

I grabbed seedpods, making a basket with my shirt. “Will we need these? Is it going to stop?”

“Beats me!” said my new friend. She grabbed an armload and ran. “Let’s find out!”

I raced after. We joined the lineup just before the gigantic whatever-it-was skidded to a halt, rearing to paw the air and roar thunderously. The guy in the skimmer was trying to park behind our ship. The various scary aliens yelled back at the huge moose-rhino.

“How well can you throw?” asked my friend, not waiting for an answer. She dumped her armload and started chucking seedpods.

“Pretty well!” I didn’t bother dropping mine, just grabbing them one by one from my shirt basket and aiming for the head.

I didn’t count how many of those direct shots were me, but I’m going to say most of them. The pods burst into squishy fruit with a solid core, doing a great job of annoying the creature as well as coating it with presumably-tasty purple goo.

Its forefeet hit the ground with a teeth-rattling thud. It roared some more, but half-heartedly, like it was just trying to save face at this point.

My friend the Farsight had run out of seedpods, so I gave her some of mine. While our crewmates did their best threat displays, we pelted the dangerous beastie with fruit until it turned to lope in the other direction. I made sure to throw a few on the road near it, in case it felt like picking up a bite to eat on the way. It didn’t, but I did see a tongue lick out as it turned its back on us.

Belatedly, Kavlae and Eggskin skidded out of our ship with stun guns at the same time as a couple people from the other — was that a rocket launcher or a flare gun? — none of which turned out to be necessary.

“Take that and eat it!” crowed the Farsight.

“Yeah!” I agreed. “It’s probably delicious!”

“It probably is, actually,” she said as the congratulations started to pour in.

I picked up a seedpod I’d dropped and sniffed it. “Smells a bit like kumquat.”

Captain Sunlight, busy trying to coax the client out of his vehicle, yelled across the landing pad, “Don’t eat that until Eggskin runs it through the medscanner!”

“Aw, really?” I complained, perfectly in synch with my new friend.

“Yes really!” She shook her lizardy head. I couldn’t make out her muttering from here, but I could guess it was about omnivorous habits, self-preservation instincts, absurd treeclimbing species, or all of the above.

The Farsight said, “If these are safe, I’m taking some back with me.”

“Even if they’re not, the seeds would make good souvenirs,” I pointed out, pulling at the pod where it had separated. “Look how perfectly round they are.”

“Oh yeah, those are nice.”

Trrili stalked past with a haughty tilt to her antennae. “You two get along far too well.”

“Like two seeds in a pod!” the Farsight quipped.

That made me smile. “Hey, my people say that too!”

We had plenty to talk about while everybody else handled the actual delivery we were there for. Eventually Eggskin did check the thing with a medscanner. It tasted like sour kumquat. The seeds cleaned up nicely.

And most importantly, my new friend had family with a whole enclave at the next space station my ship was planning to visit. And they had a climbing structure three stories high. I couldn’t wait.

The rest of the crew thought that sounded pointless and dangerous, of course, but none of them had ancestors who danced through the tree branches, so clearly they have no taste.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #humans are space orcs #humans are space monkeys #treeclimbing #hfy #humans can climb #humans can throw #kindred species #eiad #yes it's the same species from that comic ages ago #I figure it's about time there was an appearance in the stories #they're fun

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jpitha · 11 months

Text

Do What it Takes

Everyone goes on and on about the humans, how strong they are, how dangerous their world is, their risk management (or lack thereof) and even their ability to process the rather worrying things they call “food.”

One thing I haven’t seen though is people discussing their… aspect that I find fascinating. They even have a word for it - grit. It’s this ability to take on unimaginable stress, and maintain that strength of resolve. That realization that the only thing they can do is endure. They even have a saying. “When you find yourself going through Hell, keep going.” Hell here is a substution for any kind of hard times they’re currently experiencing. It’s an idiom, don’t worry about the specific meaning of the word. The saying implies that if you’re “going through hell” then you need to keep going, because otherwise you won’t ever get out of the hard situation you find yourself in.

When it was first explained to me, a lot of what I saw about the humans snapped to place, like magnets on a table.

Once, back during the war I saw a single human shoulder a crew operated slug thrower and - by themselves - hold off an entire Zenni boarding party long enough for the rest of the ship to mount a defense. Not only did they shoulder and fire the weapon themselves, but they survived!

Others weren’t so lucky. I’ve heard tales of humans walking into active reactors to stop an overload, blinding themselves from ultraviolet radiation to repair a hull, and sustain withering gee forces to crush attackers. When asked why they’d do that, most of them replied that they just “did what they needed to” or that “they do what it takes.”

I’m not here to say that we can’t do that either. Having grit or strength of character isn’t solely a human development. But maybe as a result of the world they evolved on they tend to have grit in greater supply than other sapient species. They “do what it takes” because they’ve always had to do what it takes to survive.

A human friend has recently offered to take me to Earth, their homeworld to “see the sights.” His only warning about his own planet was that we should probably avoid some months. I asked why.

He waved his hand dismissively as if it was just a minor trifle, an inconvenience. “Oh, it’s hurricane season in the fall. I don’t know if you want to experience one of them.”

“What’s a hurricane?” I asked, cautiously.

“It’s a large storm that spins up over the ocean as the planets way to help remove some heat from the water. They can get pretty wild sometimes.”

When a human tells you that something can get “pretty wild” one’s fur tends to poof out.

I said I’d think about it, and went back to my cabin to research these Hurricanes. About an hour later I was shaking in my seat, glued to my pad watching video after video of houses just… disappearing in the wind and water.

The next day, I confronted him about the hurricanes. Once again, he was dismissive. “You get plenty of warning, and time to evacuate, they’re not that big of a deal.”

I bristled, and my ears twitched. “Not that big of a deal? But your homes get destroyed!”

He nodded. “True, that does happen. But, it’s not a surprise and we come prepared. You do what it takes if you want to live there.”

I think I’ll take him up on his offer.

#writing #humans are space orcs #humans are deathworlders #sci fi writing #humans are space capybaras #humans and aliens #jpitha #humans are space australians

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cumikering · 2 months

Text

F1 John Price x reader

2.7k | fluff Price raced for Mclaren. You didn’t know that (part 2)

No human body was made for this: jetting across continents and time zones for nine months out of twelve.

Even after the years, John Price hadn’t got used to it. Neither was he used to flying from Las Vegas to London for a photoshoot only to hop on another plane the day after for his next race in Qatar.

He groaned internally, his body aching as he plopped down onto the backseat of the cab before taking his black surgical mask and cap off. He didn’t get a proper rest with how turbulent his flight was.

“Oh, I’ve seen ya mate!” the middle-aged driver exclaimed, eyeing him from the rear-view mirror. “You’re famous- you’re the F1 bloke, innit?”

John gave him a polite smile.

“Could you sign something of mine?” He popped open his glovebox. “Wait, this wouldn’t sell so high…” he muttered as he rummaged through it.

The cars behind started a cacophony of honks.

“Am in the way.” He chuckled sheepishly as he pulled away. “You better not run off before I find something!"

Downtown London was packed at the hour. The driver had plenty of time to look through every nook and cranny of his car, but cursing when he could only come up with a yellowing notepad and a drying pen. John made do.

“Could you also put your name down, please?” He held the pad over his shoulder after he’d inspected it. “So we know who you are.”

And he did, with another rehearsed smile.

“Cheers, mate.” With a pleased grin, he tossed the pad onto the passenger seat, not even bothering to make eye contact amidst the traffic.

At the red light around the corner of the magazine HQ, the taxi halted in front of a coffee shop. He glanced at his watch - he was 20 minutes early and he desperately needed caffeine.

John pulled his mask and cap back on before exiting the car. The cap was still stiff, one with a French flag patch he grabbed at random at the airport with a grumble. He’d misplaced the plain one he liked.

He kept his head down as he stood in the short queue.

“Hot Americano, double shot, please.”

His phone chimed when he waved it over the payment terminal. He was going to regret this. He wasn’t a big coffee drinker.

“Can I get a name for that?” You looked up from the cup you scribbled on.

“JP.”

You smiled, glancing at his cap and wrote his name down. “Like Jean Pierre?”

He chuckled, only now making eye contact with you. It was a joke between him and his teammate, Kyle, or Gaz as the fans called him. You must be one of those well-meaning people pretending to not recognise him, giving him a slice of normalcy.

He always appreciated the gesture, especially the more years passed. As glamorous as life had been since F1, John discovered he wasn’t about all the glitz and glam.

He didn’t care about looking immaculate all the time, scripted speech in designer clothing or driving expensive cars. Have you seen the state of London’s streets? Everything was PR, PR, PR - like this wasn’t even his life he was living anymore. He wanted to be home on his racing simulator or get the neighbourhood takeaway in his thick hoodies without anyone shoving a camera in his face. He just wanted his old, quiet life.

You worked the coffee machine, your back to him, and his gaze wondered to the pastry display as he leaned on the counter. The cookies were massive, thick in the middle, probably chewy too. They would be perfect with his coffee.

He glanced at the line which had grown longer, and at you at the register now, scribbling another customer’s order onto a cup with a smile. It was odd that no one else was in sight to help you at the busy time.

A quick peek at his watch: he didn’t have the time to queue again. He’d just have to come back later after his business.

“Enjoy.” You flashed him a smile as you placed his order on the counter.

It didn’t hurt that you were easy on the eyes.

Sure enough, hours later after a photoshoot and an interview, caffeine still buzzed in John’s veins. He could only imagine how long he’d be up later that night, but it was worth it. At least he didn’t look like a zombie in the footage.

His mask didn’t hold off the gust of wind - cold against his cheeks as he stepped out of the building. His stomach rumbled. While pubs had started to fill up with people in work attire, the lights were still on in your shop. He crossed the street only for the sign to read ‘closed’, the last couple exiting the door.

His shoulders sagged, but he pushed the door open anyway.

You looked up from the tablet you fumbled with, your smile apologetic. “Hiya, we’re closed. Sorry.”

He glanced at the display, empty safe for two remaining cookies. He pointed at them. “Hi, so sorry to bother, but I just wanted those, please. I didn’t get the chance earlier.”

Recognition flashed in your eyes. “Oh, I remember you. Jean-Pierre.”

“It’s me.” He laughed.

You slid the bag of two cookies across the counter. “On the house.”

“No, no. You’re doing me a favour already. Have one with me at least?”

You hummed. “Why not.”

At the nearest table, he had taken his cap and mask off. You set down a mug of milk.

“You’re spoiling me.” He chuckled, taking a bite of the cookie. “Oh my god, it’s spot on,” he groaned.

You smiled. “I’m glad you like it. It took me a while to come up with the perfect recipe.”

“I’d thought about this for hours and it doesn’t disappoint, but I bet it tastes even better warm.” His gaze couldn’t help but fall to your untouched cookie.

You laughed, pushing the paperbag across the table.

“I’m sorry, this is so, so shameless.” He gave you a sheepish grin. “But it’s wonderful, really. I’ll be back. Definitely.”

“You’re very welcome to.”

“Can I place an order? For my team. Three dozens for tomorrow morning, or is that a bit last minute?”

“Yeah, no, I can do that.” You smiled. “If I may ask, what do you do, JP? Sounds like a big team.”

He frowned. “I thought you knew?”

You tilted your head. “Sorry, I don’t think you told me?”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. Heat crept up his neck from the presumption. “I work with cars.”

“Like a mechanic?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh, that’s impressive. You must have steady hands.”

“I do, I suppose.” He held your gaze for a moment. “Oh, sorry, you were about to close. I’ll just finish this-“

You waved your hand. “Do take you time. I hadn’t had the chance to sit down.”

“Busy day?”

“Very. One of my girls is sick so I worked alone today.”

“I can stay a bit, if you don’t mind.” He smiled. “Actually, would you like dinner? I’m famished. I can get something for us?”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“I saw a kebab shop a block away. Are they stingy with their chips?”

“Of course not. They wouldn’t be my favourite otherwise.”

He dashed out the door with a grin.

When John returned with dinner, you called out from the kitchen as you put away the cookie dough you’d just prepped for his order.

“I make the dough at least 12 hours ahead. That way the flavours have a chance to mingle.” You sat across him.

“Is that why they’re so good?”

You shrugged, smiling, as you unwrapped your dinner.

“I’ll be back for this too.” He nodded approvingly at the kebab, bursting at the seams with chips.

“They’ve got great food around here.”

“All the more reason I’ll have to be back.”

You chatted over the meal, about the area and its hidden gems. He was convinced he didn’t even know half of the city even after living there for many years.

“Thanks for dinner, Jean-Pierre. You can go now if you want.” You put away the wrappings. “I don’t want to bore you with all the cleaning I’m going to be doing.”

“It’s John, and I can do the dishes.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You said you were tired, and look how long I held you up.” He gestured at the dark sky outside.

You chuckled as you shook your head.

“Come on, let’s get to work,” he said over his shoulder as he sauntered to the kitchen.

You wiped down the counters and did the floor as John helped with the dishes, asking about you and your shop. While he didn’t like doing chores, doing them with you didn’t feel troublesome.

In fact, it was nice to spend some time out, not cooped up all alone in his apartment. It was refreshing to not be talking about racing or cars, to get away from it all. You laughed so heartily, so bright at his jokes. Within these four walls, maskless, he didn’t have to pretend.

He wore his mask as you locked up, but not before sliding in a few bills into the tip jar when you weren’t looking.

“So.” He turned to you, hands jammed in his pockets.

“I’m taking the bus.”

If he had his car he’d have offered to drive, but it was just as well he wasn’t driving. What if he wouldn’t want to leave?

So he walked you to the bus stop before calling a taxi for himself, back to his own reality.

While John was away for a Grand Prix weekend, between media day, qualifying and other preparations, he didn’t have the chance to be alone with his thoughts. However, as soon as he lay in his hotel bed that Sunday night, adrenaline still pumping in his blood from the race hours before, his mind drifted to you. He wondered what you were up to, if you’d thought about him since Wednesday morning when he picked up his order.

See, his problem wasn’t that he didn’t ask, but that he asked too easily and often came off too strong. He didn’t want that, especially not to you, someone the slightest bit more than an acquaintance now, a funny and pretty one at that.

But he should have asked for your number. He had so many chances to: during dinner, while walking you to the bus stop, or when he swung by the day after. You would have loved to know how everyone flocked to him when he walked into the room, oohing and aahing over your cookies.

He’d just have to wait until the next day.

Monday was his favourite day of the week because it was his day off, allowing him to not even leave his penthouse apartment if he so wished. But in the afternoon when he arrived back in London, he had somewhere else to be. On his way home from the factory, he took a detour, parking around the corner from your shop.

He wasn’t supposed to think so much about you, let alone miss you, but he did against his better judgement. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when you greeted him as he approached the counter.

“Hiya, what can I get you?”

“I’d like to place another order for tomorrow. Everyone loved your cookies.”

“Sure.” You smiled. “You know, you could just give us a ring, yeah?”

“Right, about that. I was wondering if you fancy dinner with me tonight?”

“Oh, I’ll have to prep for the cookies-“

Behind you, a young lady at the coffee machine quipped over her shoulder with a stifled smile. “I can handle that.”

You turned and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her. “Where to?”

“Anywhere you want. I’m driving.”

When you sent him to wait at a table with a cup of hot chocolate, his smile faltered. He didn’t think this through. He was driving his Mclaren. Shephard, the boss, made up this silly clause in the contract for him and Gaz to drive their own McLaren to and from the factory. Good for PR, he said.

He hurried outside as he dialled.

“Kate? Kate, I’m at that coffee shop.”

There was a beat. “Okay?”

“Would you please drive my GTI over?”

“Why, did your car break?” She chuckled. “A towed Mclaren isn’t a good look. Shephard won’t be impr-”

“No, I need my GTI in-“ he glanced at his watch. ”Exactly 52 minutes.”

“What? John, I’m your manager, not your errand boy.”

“Please! I’ve got no time to explain, just do it.”

“Or what?” she said dryly.

“I’ll tell your wife in Qatar there was a lighter in your coat pocket which smelled an awful lot like smoke.”

There was a pause followed by a huff. “Fine. Text me the address.”

Kate rolled up in his Golf GTI in time for your shop to close. You picked a place not too far from your flat, and he was thankful it wasn’t packed. You sat at the table in the corner and kept his cap on.

It was evident you were less tired that night, more playful with your jokes. He could listen to your laugh and look into your eyes all day. But before it was too late, much to his chagrin, you called it a night.

He pulled up at your flat. “I promise no more last-minute orders.”

“Just give us a call next time.”

“Rather call you.”

John Sloane, he typed into your phone.

You smiled, sliding your phone back in your pocket. “See you soon, John.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You held his gaze for another moment before giving him a quick peck on the cheek. His heart soared, but before he could react, you’d shut the door behind you with a supressed smile.

He grinned to himself as he drove home.

“Gaz!” Soap bellowed at the door. “Sorry am late. My alarm didnae go off.” The engineer hurried to the table to see Kyle munching happily. “Och, did ye get more cookies, Cap? I’m starvin’.”

Everyone on the team wore a cap, but Price was the only one who couldn’t be caught without one, therefore the curious nickname. That, and he often swore up a storm on team radio, like a bossy sailor. Simon, his engineer, could only remain silent witnessing the outbursts like he wasn’t even there. He earned his moniker Ghost that way.

John chuckled. “Help yourself, mate.”

He popped open the box, groaning after a bite. “Aye, that’s the one.”

“You sure you don’t want one, Ghost?” Gaz teased as he grabbed his third cookie. “You’ve been staring.”

“Alright, just one.”

“Oh, that didn’t take a lot of convincing,” Soap quipped between bites.

Ghost gave him the side eye. “Would you rather I eat the whole box, Johnny?”

Soap pouted and took his seat next to Gaz, and the team meeting for the upcoming race commenced.

As always, the crew flew out on Thursday, but this time, he had you to text. And he did, between the press conferences and briefs, or work, as he simply told you. If he was home, he would ask you out again in a heartbeat. Texting couldn’t compare to seeing that smile in real life, but it would have to do for now.

Abu Dhabi was the last race of the season. He was very much looking forward to winter break, even more so this time, because for the first time in years, he had someone to come home to. Okay, maybe that was too generous a statement. There was someone he would very much want to see, to say the least.

John landed in London Monday evening, still thrumming from his P1 win and finishing second for the season. He went straight home to switch cars before picking you up at work for dinner with a giddy smile.

He had a few days to himself before leaving for Liverpool for Christmas, which hopefully meant one more time of seeing you, if you let him, that was. But when you gave him another peck on his cheek when he opened the car door for you, he decided it was impossible to stay away from you.

I’ve missed you too much.

Ex boyfriend Price Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @le16erc @keegansshark @kyletogaz @footyandformula

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longlivedelusion · 1 month

Note

Loved your wolfstar fic 🥹 could u do maybe another poly!wolfstar fic but like maybe they're not dating yet and have to share a bed? one bed troupe that like leads to them maybe getting together? ok if not!!

Hi darling anonnn! Absolutely, managed to get this written out despite my move. One bed tropes are some of my favorites to read omg 😭 Hope you enjoy!

All of the Above

Summary: You get stuck in a hotel last minute with Remus and Sirius, and the only room they had left was with a single Queen sized bed. This should be fine. You were totally in love with both of them, but it's fine. Right?

Warnings: Unrequited love (or it feels like it), anxiety. One bed trope, if that isn't your thing.

I stood in the center of the room, looking at the singular queen bed that sat pressed against the wall.

Shit.

I didn't have problems sharing a bed with friends, I'd done it plenty of times before on trips or when people would come to visit.

The only difference was... I would have to share a bed with two of my closest friends who I happened to be slightly in love with.

Since they were a couple, Remus and Sirius always ended up bunking together whenever we went anywhere, so up until this point I had actually never needed to share my sleeping space with them. Even before when we went to Hogwarts, they always ended up sharing everything anyways.

That's also why I never really acted on my feelings about the whole thing. We always knew they'd end up together, Sirius and Remus. Remus and Sirius. I was never going to be a part of that.

I was happy for them, truly. I loved them both dearly and just wanted them to be happy. So I did what any sane person would do and kept the romantic side under lock and key, and avoided anything too affectionate. I was their friend, nothing more.

But this? Sleeping in the same bed as them felt like a new kind of torture. I could deal with Remus sitting thigh to thigh with me as we talked about our latest reads or having Sirius throw his arm around me on occasion, sure fine! This? This?

There was no way.

"I'll take the floor," I said, already going to the closet to look for extra bedding.

Sirius stormed forward, arms out, "Absolutely not! I'll take the floor, there's is no way I'm letting you sleep on this horrible carpet." Sirius' foot nudged at the floor, his face crinkling in disgust.

Remus smiled, placing his hand on his boyfriend's lower back. "That's sweet Pads, but we both know you'll be complaining all night if you do. I'll take it and you two take the bed."

I shook my head, already carrying over a single extra pillow and blanket as I set them down. "Rem, you've got a hurt back. There's no way I'm letting you sleep on a hard floor. It's really fine, I don't mind. It's just for the night anyways while we wait for Lily and James."

Remus stepped up beside me, my skin tingling as he gently stilled my movements. "Well we aren't going to let you sleep on the floor." His eyes looked over the bed again, "I think it could fit us three actually. Like you said, it's just for one night, right?"

My heart was beating a mile a minute, but I had no logical reason to refuse him. I glanced at the bed, my fight leaving me as I sighed. "Fine. We all take the bed then."

"Great! I get dibs on the middle." Sirius said, throwing himself on the bed.

Remus chuckled, but I felt his eyes turn back to me with a concerned look. "You're sure it's ok? I really don't mind-"

"Yup. Totally fine. I'll just head to the bathroom first." I grabbed my stuff and rushed into the adjacent room, not really waiting for an answer.

I clicked the door shut behind me as I leaned my head back against it. My chest feeling tight as I tried and failed to slow my breathing. This is fine. Just need to stay on my side of the bed and stay very still and everything will be totally and absolutely fine.

I let out another shaky breath. As long as I focused on sleeping and not on the fact that I was going to be in the same bed as two of the most beautiful, incredible people in my life then maybe I'd get through the night.

I was slow to brush my teeth and get myself ready, hoping to stall as long as I could to calm my nerves. I changed into a t-shirt and some long shorts before taking a deep breath. It's not a big deal. It would be fine.

As soon as I stepped out, I noticed the two had already changed into their pyjamas. I froze. This was already a losing battle.

Sirius is what caught my eye first, given the fact that he was wearing long drawstring trousers and nothing else. His tattoos on full display, hair taken down from his bun from earlier. I felt my body temperature rise at the sight alone.

Remus was the more modest of the two, a simple, white t-shirt and his trousers hung low off his hips. Something about the simplicity, seeing him out of his normal jumpers and in something so... intimate, casual. My breath caught as I tried to swallow my returning nerves, my heart filling with warmth.

Longing.

Their eyes drew to me, an unreadable expression crossing over both their faces as a kind of silence filled the air. I shook off as much of the nerves as I could and awkwardly made my way over to the side of the bed.

I heard Sirius let out a cough, mumbling "bathroom" before a shut and click was heard. I struggled to keep focus on the bed in front of me, just trying to get through my nightly routine and into bed as quickly as possible.

By the time the two of them finished their things, I was already in bed, scooched to the furthest edge of the bed as possible and eyes shut. I felt the dip of the bed as Sirius got into bed, and then another weight as Remus did. I kept my eyes shut, my back away from them.

Fine. This is fine.

"Hey," I heard Sirius say from beside me. "You awake?"

I could lie. Pretend I wasn't.

"Yeah," I mumbled out.

"You've seemed off... Is... Is everything alright?" He said.

"M'fine. Really."

"You don't seem fine," Remus whispered. "Can you look at us, please?"

I took in a deep breath and turned my body around, the bed creaking as I finally faced them. I opened my eyes, but struggled to hold eye contact.

Even though it was dark, there was a little bit of light from the outside peeking through the window and illuminating their features. Sirius's eyes were wide as he looked me over, Remus mirrored him as they both locked onto me.

"Is it because your uncomfortable sleeping with us? I told you that-" Remus started.

My cheeks reddened at the phrasing, and I let out a cough. "No. Not at all."

"Are you sure? I mean if you're worried we'll invade your space or be all over you in your sleep I promise I'm the perfect gentleman and only cling onto Moony here." Sirius said, smirking.

"No." I said, my eyes glancing down. "No, you guys are perfect. Really."

"Then what is it?" Sirius pleaded quietly. "I just... I hate seeing you so uncomfortable. You don't have to explain, but just tell us what we can do to make it better."

I wrung my hands on the sheets nervously, struggling to think of what to say.

"It's just my own thing, I-." I choked out. I wrung the sheets tighter, my anxiety flooding out. "It's-"

A tattooed hand gently wrapped around my own, stilling my nervous ones. I looked up to Sirius then as my breath caught in my throat.

Sirius' eyes focused on mine, his thumb slowly tracing over the back of my hand. "Is this ok?" He asked sfotly. "Just... Didn't want you to rip the sheets." His charming smile tilting up.

"Y-yeah." I stuttered out, my face was getting redder by the second as I struggled to think of a way out of this. To hide my feelings. For some reason, it just felt more impossible by the second.

I took a shaky breath in and let it out, closing my eyes for a moment. I couldn't keep hiding it like this. Maybe if I just let it out there, told them and then we could move on. I'd get over it, maybe, finally getting rejected.

I opened my eyes, Sirius's hand still stroking mine as I took them in more confidently. Memorizing their faces for a moment, just in case.

"I have..." I started, the words catching in my throat. "I have feelings. For both of you. That's why I've been acting weird all night."

Sirius's hand stilled, both men starring at me with a stillness and wide gaze that it had me scrambling.

I pulled my hands away and sat up, "I don't expect you to feel the same! Obviously. I just think it's a small thing, a crush really, I'll totally be able to get over it. I mean I know I will because you two are some of my closest friends and I don't ever want these feelings to be more important than-"

Remus sat up too then, hands reaching for my face in a flash as he forced me to look at him. "Darling, please. Stop."

I froze, eyes wide as I took him in. His gaze was so... Loving, so filled with admiration. But also shocked.

I looked over, Sirius now sitting up as well as his hand reached out to my waist. His smile was so big so wide as he spoke. "You have feelings for us?"

"Y-yes. But what is this?" I look around, confused.

"We have feelings for you too," Remus said softly, hand tracing down to my neck. "We have for a while."

"Honestly we never thought you'd even like us like that! You never looked at us any diffently than the others, you barely touched us. So we just thought you weren't interested." Sirius said.

"Your friendship meant- means the world to us. We didn't want to jeopardize it." Remus finished.

I sat there, mouth parted in shock. The two people I never thought in a million years would return my feelings, were looking at me like they had just won a thousand galleons. All of us had been so afraid to speak our feelings, choosing our friendship first, I couldn't believe it.

I reached up to hold Remus's hand, eyes darting between the two. "So, what now?"

Sirius just held his grin, his eyes playful as he spoke. "Well I'd personally love to kiss you. Touch you. Call you my partner. But that's just me."

I blushed even harder, "And you, Remus?"

"All of the above," he said, now smiling too. He slowly leaned forward, breath grazing my skin.

"All of the above," I repeated, my lips meeting his. For the first of many, many times.

#poly!wolfstar #wolfstar x reader #remus x sirius x reader #sirius black #remus lupin #remus loves sirius #remus x sirius #marauders #poly!marauders #poly!wolfstar x you #wolfstar fluff #one bed trope #marauders request #longlivedelusion originals

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petrichorium · 11 months

Text

you know jing yuan has been watching you since you emerged from the bathroom.

he lays in the bed, eyes blissfully closed whenever you sneak a glimpse—the covers are haphazardly tossed over his body and he gives a perfectly sound impression of himself dozing away in the dimmed light of the hotel room, but you know better.

you can feel his gaze on you every time you look away; have felt it since you’d stepped out in a bathrobe and turned your back on him to put on your clothes. you’d have thought that he’d jump at the chance to zip up the minidress you’d chosen; apparently, whatever intent he has with his faux sleep outweighs his typical enthusiasm to put his hands on your body.

(you emphasize your struggle anyway, pouting and sighing and all but audibly lamenting how oh, you wish your handsome boyfriend were awake, his hands are so much more skilled and steady, to no avail)

those eyes are still closed when you turn to make your way towards the vanity. you’d splurged on the hotel room, admittedly eager to show your lover the best your home system has to offer, though he’d probably name the bed as his favorite part.

jing yuan’s eyes had lit up when he’d first seen it—a large cupped thing like a bowl, lined with plush cushion and plenty spacious enough to comfortably fit five people. it’s built out into a bubble window on one side of the bedroom and the vanity you currently sit at is placed opposite, thus a perfect vantage point for him to observe you as you pull your stockings up your legs and then set about doing your makeup—which, as you apply a final choice of lipgloss, is now complete. with a quick glance to the clock ensuring you and he still have half an hour before you need to leave, you stand and turn to look at him.

while he relaxes his face and keeps his eyes stubbornly shut, it’s no coincidence that he turns over with your motion. it pulls the covers mostly off his body, ruffles his hair. the sigh he lets out is content, not sounding tired in the slightest. you huff a laugh.

he shifts again. the sheet falls further—almost nothing covers him now, little more than a strip of cotton across one upper thigh that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination with how wide his legs have been spread.

you approach the bed fully, padding over with stocking-covered feet on the carpeted floor until you stand right behind him. reaching out, you brush his bangs up out of his eyes and over his forehead, bending over at the same time to look over his lounging form.

“i know what you’re doing,” you say sternly, though you’re gentle as your fingertips caress him. “it won’t work.”

“won’t it?” jing yuan’s voice isn’t even laced with sleep; it’s perfectly alert, teasing, as he tilts his head back to give you more access.

you press a sticky kiss to his forehead. it leaves a shimmering mark of your lip gloss, tinted a faint pink. “you don’t have to come. you’re more than welcome to stay behind if you want.”

“we could remain here for a night in,” he counters. “this bed is… a marvel.”

his words have you giggling lightly. this time you kiss the mole just beneath his closed eye, drawing a heavy, pleased sigh from the elegant curve of his lips. your hand cradles his cheek, thumb reaching out to trace his cupid’s bow.

“tempting as that may be, we have a very limited amount of time on this trip. i’m not giving up on the only night i’ll be able to spend time with my friends like this.”

his hand, large and calloused and warm, reaches up to stop yours from pulling away. he turns into your touch, nuzzling at your palm with a petulantly grumbling noise. still, when his rough fingers move to lace with yours, you slip from his grasp and step away.

“i’m going with or without you, jing yuan,” you declare. “but if you’d like to come, you need to get ready now.”

“how very demanding. i must say, i thought i had successfully evaded orders when i took leave…” now he yawns and makes a show of stretching. you watch him shift, all lethargic grace, every motion meticulously planned—thighs tensing, stomach twitching, arms bulging. a display for you, a last-ditch effort to seduce you back into bed.

you snicker. it won’t work, but you’re hardly inclined to complain. it’s a pretty sight to see regardless; all that honed muscle working beneath porcelain skin, those scattered moles and full brush of stark white hair only emphasizing each sinewy movement. you’re drawn nearer once more, inclined to get a better look—that’s your mistake.

above all else your lover is a cunning man. it’s a miracle he put that mind to use for good, because he utilizes it for far more sinister things when it comes to you. beckoning you closer, setting up the trap, baiting it with his own body; your legs meet the edge of the bed and, though he’s still only halfway onto his stomach, a big hand darts out to catch behind your knee, so fast you don’t realize what’s happened until he’s dragging you towards him with inescapable strength.

your shin drags over the bed’s lowered entrance. the sheer speed of it all has you stumbling, only just managing to catch yourself with a hand on the raised side.

jing yuan lets out a disappointed little grunt. his touch is gentle, coaxing, as he attempts to pull your leg even closer. when that proves futile he eases himself towards you and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. tilting his head up, he fixes you with a heavy-lidded look, those striking golden eyes glinting beneath long, pretty lashes.

“are you certain i cannot convince you to stay?”

“yes,” you answer without hesitation, entirely unmoved by his responding whine. you remain stoic, too, when he drags your lower leg into the bed and begins to kiss down the side of your calf, lips searing, lingering longer and longer with each press to your stocking-covered skin. upon reaching your ankle he gives far too much attention there; free hand reaching around to grab hold of your foot and maneuver it to let him pepper nipping kisses along the top.

with your face growing hot and your leg squirming beneath his attention, you forget entirely about his other hand—until it pinches at the thin fabric behind your knee and tugs, fast and hard. the mesh rips with ease, a run tearing down the length of your calf. you yelp, attempting to pull back but stopped by the immovable grip he has on you. he sinks his teeth into the back of your ankle just enough that you’re certain it’ll leave a mark, but when he pulls away it’s obvious what his true intent was.

this time the rip is loud, fabric caught between his canines and giving way like tissue paper. you stumble back and yelp out a protest; his grip becomes solid, tugs you back to him so strongly that you lose your footing and spill into the soft drum beyond. he’s atop you instantly, caging you in with a thick arm on either side of your head.

“jing yuan!” your wail is swallowed by a kiss, but even as his tongue delves into the hot cavern of your mouth it cannot distract from the tattered remains of your stockings. you lift your knee to brace it against his chest; there’s a loud, wet sound as he finally pulls away from your mouth and buries his face into your neck.

“stay,” he groans out between each searing, open-mouthed suck at your skin. “let me hoard you, let me keep you to myself—”

“i thought that was my job?” your words catch and come out breathy as he trails lower, running a hand down the side of your body and then shamelessly shoving it up the hem of your dress—which has, admittedly, ridden up indecently high. still, you do your best to continue. “stealing you away from your responsibilities on the luofu.”

“a dual effort, then. we must be made for each other, my dear.”

his grip on your thigh is almost painful. he nuzzles at the other, reverent, eyes clouded over when they dare to flit up to meet yours. when his tongue pokes out from between plush lips, wetting them and then retreating, you realize the intent seconds before he bows his head.

you’re faster. your hand flies to his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking back just before he manages to burrow beneath your skirt. for half a moment the pair of you remain there, frozen—his lips halfway parted, your chest heaving with pants. you blink. then you slowly ease your legs from beneath his torso.

“i told you,” you say, tightening your grip until his eyes flutter and he lets out an obscene, unabashed groan, “it won’t work. you can wait until after we come home.”

you’re precise as you peel yourself away; you keep your spare hand free to swat at any further attempts to pin you, slide your body out from beneath him until you can perch up upon the bed’s entrance and catch your breath as you stare down at him.

jing yuan props his head in his hand and returns your look. you click your tongue, but it’s impossible to fight back the affection in your tone. “scoundrel.”

his lips twitch. “so they say.”

“it’s deserved.”

“i can hardly deny it. i only wish you put up less of a fight.”

“no you don’t.”

“no,” he concedes, “i don’t.”

finally you turn and stand. the feeling of the carpet beneath your bare foot reminds you that you need to change your stockings—you frown as you glance at tattered remains of fabric on your leg.

“bastard,” you hiss out, far more venomous than the previous accusation. your suitcase lies closed upon the dresser; you approach it to dig through for your spare.

behind you, still, you hear no sound of motion. you sigh loudly, dropping the ball of socks in your hand and turning your head just barely to give jing yuan a lidded look where he’s draped himself over the side of the bed, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he watches you. never one to give up; a stubborn, bullheaded man who would chase you to the farthest reaches of the universe for a single kiss, only spurred onward by your fleeing.

perhaps you’ll throw him a bone.

“if you’re fast enough,” you begin sweetly, “i’ll let you help me into this new pair.”

he’s up instantly, darting for the bundle of clothes you’d set out for him before you’d even showered with a speed rarely seen outside of the battlefield. the offer will make you late, surely, and quite possibly cost you your second pair of stockings—you’re well aware his mind is running wild with schemes to bury his head between your thighs and glut himself on his well-earned prize in whatever fleeting time you might give him before finally shoving him away.

but what kind of leisure trip would it be if you didn’t give in to his whims?

#jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #mine.🌧#char.🌧 jing yuan #heavily selfship coded but not the elaborate lore building stuff just yet....... eventually tho. probably

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ronearoundblindly · 5 months

Text

No Promises (2)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

Don't Be Blue, Bunny Boy (see previous or LH Masterlist)

Summary: Lloyd underestimates how dangerous you are when he finds you wrapped like a gift in his hotel room.

Warnings for smut, but it's Lloyd so there's a knife, a gun, name-calling, cursing, drugging, dubcon due to somno, two a**holes in competition, unprotected sex (honestly, just never do anything Lloyd would do, okay? great. excellent. good chat), and possibly the best banter I've ever written gdi. Darkfic...but, like, funny??? For the love of everything, MINORS DNI. I have plenty else for you on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 2k 🫣

*This CT 2024 Challenge work can be read completely out-of-context from the rest of the mini-series (which isn't even written yet anyway, lalalahhhh).

It’s bad enough you took the keycard off that fat fuck of a target first, but failing to follow you smacks Lloyd’s ego in just the wrong way. By the time he gets back to his luxurious hotel room, he’s fuming and itching to shoot something. You don’t need to be a mind-reader to know this; the man is still a man, after all, no matter how trained and controlled he thinks he is.

That’s why you’re here, trussed up in a sapphire blue bodysuit, smirking at the irritation radiating off of your rival as his eyes rake the length of your mostly-bare figure.

“Darling,” you burst, posing like a ‘50s housewife by the armchair, playful and sickeningly sweet. “You’re home! I was so worried.”

Anger quivers his lip coat till he vaguely resembles a pouting porcupine. God, you hate mustaches. You’re willing to bet—if you really put your back into it—you could hump his face with such friction, it’d rub him smooth. There are less-worthwhile endeavors that you’ve completely only today. Why not experiment?

“You have some fucking nerve, bitch.”

Lloyd keeps his steps forward into the room slow and casual, though his ire is obvious. He stops halfway across the carpet, unzips his leather jacket, and tosses it onto the foot of the bed.

He seems surprised when you strut over without hesitation; he hasn’t handed over any weapons, but you haven’t asked for a reason. Lloyd’s reputation is cocky, commanding, and curious—in that order—so he won’t start speculating till it’s too late.

Indeed, what possible harm could you inflict wearing this lil’ ol’ thing, huh?

As you get closer, his hand reaches out instinctually.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tsk in warning. “If you rip my lace, I will gut you like a fish. Understood?”

“Can’t make any promises, but…”

Lloyd, undeterred, clamps his hand between your legs and runs a finger through your folds, proving the crotchless lingerie isn’t in danger of typical snags.

The pad of his digit is rough and teasing.

“I think we can work with that,” he growls.

Oh yes, he’s definitely, perfectly, and predictably cocky. What fun you’ll have.

You make a show of gasping when he starts dipping two fingers into your heat, rolling your head as if truly undone by the minimal effort, and wait for him to watch his own ministrations, distracted.

Then you strike.

You grab his wrist, twisting harshly, yanking the arm behind him, straddling his shoulders so your legs pinch over his neck, and he turns slightly to nip at your thigh. You’re not surprised he still thinks he’ll win.

His steely eye winks as he looks up.

“Bet I can make you cum first.”

A dramatic sigh escapes you. You release his arm to sensually smooth your palm down his body, bending to whisper, “that implies I give a shit if you come at all.”

You fling yourself backwards, using the momentum to catapult him over you and into the side of the bed.

The mustache emphasizes his sneer when Lloyd pushes up on an elbow.

“I, too, like using a firm hand when breaking bitches’ spirits,” he mutters, reaching for his switchblade which you present instead, wiggling it in your hand with a grin.

“Oh, bunny boy, were you too firm to notice my gentle caress?” You deftly unlatch and expose the knife’s edge. “Now, strip.”

You tick the blade quickly for effect.

“Show me some skin so I can mark my two points so far. I know how you love to keep score.”

Lloyd rights himself, peeling his black turtleneck over his head and smoothing his hair into place calmly. “I can kill you just as easily naked as I can clothed.”

“Of course, cutie pie, and I’m counting on many little deaths.” You look at the knife in your hand, concerned. “Please tell me this isn’t the biggest weapon you're packing, or I’ll be so disappointed.”

He’s smug while unbuckling his belt and shucking off his pants. Lloyd Hansen now proudly stands stark nude.

You let your eyes go comically wide, but then your brow furrows and you shrug.

“You’re welcome to keep talking while I sit on your face, but otherwise… I’m unimpressed.”

Lloyd huffs with indignation.

“Fuck you.”

Like the footballer he used to be, he rushes you.

“Promise?” you coo, dodging him and landing a sharp smack to his butt cheek. It’s spectacularly sculpted, plump, and rock hard all at once.

“Oh my! Darling, you did not lead with your best asset…” You notice the faint scar on his pale skin and giggle. “Little prick got pricked, I see.”

Your amusement gives him a split second to grab you, and Lloyd uses the opportunity to shove you back into the window so violently the thick glass rattles its frame.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he spits viciously, not so cocky as before.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been begging you to do for me, sweetheart?”

Mouth hanging open in a taunt, one hand strokes him, the other warns. The tip of the knife you still wield barely grazes the notch between ribs where you could swiftly puncture his lung. Lloyd watches, fuming and mesmerized, until you transfer the pooling saliva to your palm and resume jerking his cock.

“A firm hand really does make you harder, doesn’t it?”

That snaps him out of it.

He scrambles to bend you over that same armchair you started at, and Lloyd’s version of prep is a single, perfunctory dig of two fingers into your cunt.

To his credit, you are dripping wet for him, so, though his need to check before chaffing himself wasn’t necessary, he rewards you with a beautifully debauched moan as he sinks to the hilt with one thrust.

Lloyd’s got something to prove.

Good.

He’s so focused on groping around to your breasts beneath the stretchy lace that you stick the switchblade deep into the chair’s cushion and hold on; whatever else you’re doing is irrelevant to him. There is only fucking. There is only feeling as if he owns you in this moment.

You let out a high whine and goad him. “Love it when you’re gentle with me, sweetie.”

That earns you an unhinged snarl and the pummeling slap of his hips against your thighs.

He’s so easy to motivate, a majestic maniac on a mission to turn you stupid, if only until the stench of sex dissipates. If the idiot would just reach down to your clit, you’d spare him, but Lloyd is a man.

A selfish, egotistical princeling who’s a good marksman and a shit human. Good, for the business you two are in. But not as good as you.

You sigh like you’re bored, sinking your chin to rest on your outstretched arms.

He stops moving, grunting as he pulls out of you and snapping one of your shoulder straps.

“Fine. You wanna put in the work, sunshine? You go for it.” Lloyd flops onto the bed, face up, his arms spread wide and high.

Of course, he’s going for the gun under the pillow. You know it, you’ve anticipated it, and you decided it would be a nice safety blanket to leave him, to keep him feeling comfortable.

So you crawl on top of him anyway, rocking yourself against his cock for a few seconds before shifting higher. You giggle for emphasis.

You’re just here to fuck him. You’re just here to fuck with him. That’s the truth, and he knows it. Lloyd simply doesn’t know the conditions of both your releases…yet.

“Such a desperate slut,” he rumbles as you settle above his face.

Before you cover your view of him, you pinch at his jaw and smirk.

“Only munches wear a fucking mustache.”

His cheek gets a condescending pat when he smiles back.

He’s cute when he’s having fun, apparently.

Lloyd licks his lips and slowly lifts his head to swipe at your entrance. “You owe me that fucking keycard.” He delicately kisses your folds before his tongue darts out to circle your clit. “And I’ll get it from you one way or another.”

You can hear the rustle of his hand over the sheet. Not even a solid suck on your cunt, and he’s already going for the gun…

“Oh, come on,” you plead, ignoring his threat. “Finish your meal, champ. I know you can do it.”

His eyes narrow, peeking past your mound as he growls, gripping your thighs hard enough for you to collapse forward.

Sloppy. The best word to describe Lloyd eating pussy is sloppy. He contributes as much as you do to the glide of his whole face over every intimate inch of skin. Because you’re sitting with weight mostly on him—some of it still rests on your knees—each movement pushes his nose, lips, tongue, and stache around with enough fervor to polish your raw nerves.

Honestly, it’s a shame he ruins the moment by slipping his hand under the pillow and pressing the silencer's muzzle to your side.

Petulance dialed to maximum, you whimper, “you said I could come first!”

Your hand falls below your navel, clutching the lace like he’s already wounded you, and Lloyd proceeds to laugh right into your cunt.

He doesn’t have time to form a comeback once you peel the sheer, protective layer away from the patch of fabric a mere inch above the opening of the bodysuit. If he’d have paid any proper attention to you, he’d’ve found it, but he didn’t.

The fumes of chloroform-drenched cobalt engulf Lloyd in the suffocating proximity of the bed and your body. He has nowhere to go but under.

The gun falls away once his limbs go lax.

You sit directly on his chest for the few seconds it takes to realign the inner and outer barriers of your dainty, chemical warfare, then you shimmy off of him.

He actually looks quite peaceful this way.

His features are carefree, his broad, smooth chest rises and falls steadily, and his…

Well.

Lloyd’s dick lays erect and proud on his stomach, unfazed by unconsciousness. It’d be an even greater shame to waste that.

“It’s ok, peanut,” you whisper out of habit now, forced to imagine the twitch of his lip, the pop of the vein in his neck. “This is your chance to make it up to me.”

It’s not difficult to take him into your still-sopping core, and once you angle yourself to grind on the cut of his abs, all Lloyd’s previous buildup rushes back. His ass may be the star of the show, but his dick is no fluffer act. He’s packing enough to nudge at that perfect spot relentlessly as you ride him, and you openly mewl as you approach the height of your orgasm.

You imagine he’d say you sound so pretty and pathetic.

He’d probably ask if this is the best you can do, but that makes you fuck him harder until you crash into a wall of pleasure, sweaty, exhausted, resting against that broad chest.

You catch your breath after a short while, skin humming with excitement. Absently, your hands paw at his sides for a tiny bit of comfort.

That thought gets buried in a tense heartbeat, and you climb off the bed, pleased to notice the sheer amount of cum and his softening dick means he finished, too.

You’ll leave that as a souvenir.

The plan was to carve a little message on him—nothing that would permanently scar—but you can’t bring yourself to mar such a glorious ass. That would be akin to treason. Seriously, if he had simply walked around you in a bathing suit with that thing, you would have slipped the keycard into his waistband and thanked him for his service to your wet dreams.

A bit of dried cum smeared all over his pelvis and dripping down his balls, his useless pistol still in-hand, will do fine as a statement.

You clean yourself up, snatching your real clothes from the closet where you hung them tidily beside his own, and give a gentle grip to his immobile knee where it hangs off the bed.

“Sweet dreams, bunny boy. Maybe I'll let you win next time.”

[Next Part: I Left You Something On The Body]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

This work was written for the amazing and inspirational Cum Together Extravaganza hosted by @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420, but a special thanks to @buckymorelikefuckme for the earworm that would not quit. Poppy, you dark enabler you... I fucking love you!

Prompts: "Bet I can make you cum first." || Somnophilia || enemies-to-lovers || Characters A + B cum together at the same time

dividers by @/saradika-graphics (blue art deco) and @/cafekitsune

#CT 2024 raffle entry #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen smut #dark fic #dark!lloyd hansen #or is this soft?#i can't even tell anymore 😣#ct 2024 #engagement challenge

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remusluvr · 1 year

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do i wanna know? | sirius black

summary: Sirius learns the consequences of treating people he loves bad. content: negative thoughts, fighting, angst, unedited note: this is a part two to my previous fic words i used (sirius black)

Sirius cannot believe how badly he messed up.

It makes his heart ache when he sees you talking to anyone knowing that you won't talk to him. You won't even glance at him in the hallway. The dark circles under his eyes worsen with each day. You notice them, of course, you do because no matter how hard you try to forget the boy, you can't.

Not talking to him is driving you crazy. Seeing him around is driving you crazy. You hate to admit it but you miss Sirius. And Sirius misses you.

He misses you so much that his body hurts. He's weighed down in bed each morning, unable to decide whether or not to even try and get up. That's when James realizes he needs to step in. He can't let his best friend hurt like this.

"Pads?" he calls quietly, peeling back the curtains to Sirius's bed. Sirius groans, turning away from the incoming sunlight. James mumbles an apology, although he doesn't really mean it, before continuing, "Time to get up. You missed class yesterday, you got to go today or they won't let you play in the quidditch game on Friday."

"I don't care about quidditch." James knows he's not getting anywhere. He won't budge without initiative. If quidditch can't be that initiative for him, he has to find what will work.

"Can you please just go and talk to him? Please!" James begs, practically on his hands and knees in front of the table you're trying to eat breakfast at. "You know you still like him. Feelings don't go away that easily. He's so mopey without you."

"He did that to himself, James."

"I know he did but he really likes you. He messed up big time. He knows that. All he wants is to talk to you."

"He had plenty of time to talk to me."

James looks defeated when you stand up, walking past him quickly. And whilst he thinks he's lost, you're stuck thinking about the conversation. You hate yourself for considering talking with Sirius. But you miss him so much, it would be nice to just talk to him for a little bit. You don't have to forgive him.

That's not a good idea. You know that you will forgive him if he starts trying to explain himself again. You won't let yourself be hurt like that again.

Although, your inner debate lasts for days and you find yourself in a similar position to Sirius's - rotting away in your bed, refusing to talk to anyone. You're grateful that it is midday on a Wednesday because there is no one around when you finally get yourself out of bed and out for a walk.

Your feet take you to an old spot that you and Sirius frequented. There's a big oak tree that overlooks the black lake. You and him would often bring a picnic out here or you'd come out here and cuddle away from prying eyes. You hate it here now.

And you hate it even more when you get closer, crunching a leaf under your foot, and scaring the boy sitting against the trunk. Sirius jolts up, rubbing at his eyes as he adjusts to the light.

"Did you sleep out here?"

"N-not for very long, only got here a little bit ago."

You nod idly, beginning to turn on your heel to leave when he reaches out for you. His hand grabs yours and the look on his face nearly has your resolve breaking.

"Can we talk, please? Just give me five minutes," he pleads, not letting go of your hand until he sees you nod your head. You pull your hand from his and go sit down on his blanket. He joins you. It feels just like old times if you don't think about all the hurt and cruel words spoken to each other.

"I miss you so much," he starts, noticing the way your arms are crossed over your chest and you're sitting as far as you can from him, "And I am so sorry that I treated you the way that I did. I should have grown a pair and asked you out properly but I didn't. I fucked up so bad. I hate that you're not talking to me. And I hate that I deserve it. You obviously don't have to forgive me but I just needed to talk to you."

His hands are shaky as they rest in his lap. You're not saying anything and he wants to cry. You hate him and you'll never forgive him and he wants to steal a time-turner.

"You made me feel so special, Sirius. All I wanted was for you to ask me out. And when I say that is all I wanted I mean that that is all I wanted. You made me think that I would get that one day. Seeing you with other girls made me think that I was just a joke to you. I feel so stupid. And I feel any stupider that I miss you."

"If you give me a chance, I'll prove to you how much I love you. I know you have no reason to believe me but I want to show you."

"Y-you love me?" Your voice is shaky and you curse yourself. His face drops and if you weren't so shocked, you would've laughed. He doesn't try to backtrack instead just sitting there, eyes trained on the blanket pattern.

You were screwed from the beginning of this conversation. You knew you shouldn't have stayed and listened.

"If you hurt me, Sirius, you won't survive it," you threaten, pushing yourself into his lap. He can't believe it and tears sting at the corners of his eyes. He knows it's embarrassing but it feels so good to have you touching him again. "I love you, too."

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jungwondazed · 11 months

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18+ only / emotion heavy sex w heeseung

i think there’s a loneliness hidden deep inside heeseung that is sort of masked with his flirty and bold interactions with fans. he’s charismatic, no question but i like to think there’s some of us who can kind of see through that.

i believe he longs for a love so deep it could heal the innermost parts of him, the parts of his childhood that he couldn’t live out regularly due to the stress of trying to debut. growing up in the spotlight under strict scrutiny and never having the chance to be like any other young adult, leads me to believe that heeseung craves a genuine relationship.

he’s gentle with you, patient. he plays his role of a man well. protective, caring, and nurturing you in the times that you need. when you come to him about personal problems he nods with every sentence you express, he tilts his head at your hurt, and wraps his hand around your fingers, reminding you of his presence. heeseung is anything but abrasive and abrupt, he is the wind blowing through a field that follows you every way.

he loves so hard that it hurts. there is no getting mad at him, he’s never wronged you of any sort. he’s sensitive, more than most guys are. as tough and head strong as he is, when he welcomes someone like you into his life that turns him into a vulnerable man there are softs spots that you must tip toe around because loving him is learning the parts of him that needs healing.

with his emotions set in place, it translates over to how he takes physical affection, and he is a fool for it. heeseung would never casually sleep with anyone, his values and life experiences has shaped him into a guy that can only get off if it’s with someone he desperately loves.

“is this okay?” he asks every single time like this isn’t anything you aren’t used to. you nod, and he continues, his breath staggering when you grind down and he pushes up.

heeseung doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this overwhelming feeling of love and warmth through genuine and meaningful sex. the way your skin presses on him, the outline of your body in the dark when you ride him, how pretty your face is so up close he could kiss every inch of it. there were days when he was so alone that even if a thousand people showed up at his door the isolation swallowed him whole. with your one body on his, he thanks all his lucky stars that he was patient enough to await for someone like you. the nerves on the pads of his fingers are stimulated by your breasts, how he loves feeling them knowing you gave all yourself to him. his grip on your waist as you fuck yourself is tight, not wanting to ever let you go.

heeseung stares at you like the world gives him a few seconds of more time, his gaze lingering down your face and body like there is no tomorrow. he soaks in the image as if there aren’t plenty of more chances to make love, yet he treats you with speciality each time.

“ah”s and “oh”s fall from his lips, some stuck in his throat when you stroke him with your walls. he feels your love in every way like this, never closing his eyes despite how good it truly feels.

“i love you, ____” he’s the first to say those three words each time, and you kiss them right from his mouth, giving it to him like he needs it.

he fucks like both of your lives depend on this one moment, thrusting up into you when you’re too tired to keep going, showing you how love is supposed to be. that we bear the weight when the other can’t, that there is a pleasure is doing the labor for our partner.

“feels too good hee,” your grip on his shoulder almost hurts but that thought vanishes in seconds when he hits it right where you love it. he keeps his pace at that same spot, listening as you tell him over and over again how good he makes you feel, how you love him so much, drinking your words up.

he presses you tight against his chest when you’re both close, trembling as each passing stroke inches you towards your high. there are moments in life heeseung looks back on that makes him think every hardship he has encountered was worth it. some of them being his first call back, first congratulations from his family, and a performance here and there. but the majority of those moments are all linked to you. memories of how you look when you cum on him flashes through his mind, because there is no closer bond in love than through feeling a moment so intense together: with you struggling to take it, spitting out i love you’s and every word of affirmation there is, he’s delighted that all the sacrifices and tears that he gave, rewarded himself with you. he cums in you deep, almost whining by the time it spills into you. he loves you so much, the feeling of his orgasm and his never ending affection for you is euphoric, you experience it in every part of you. he is raw and tender, making you feel like it was the first time after each one ended.

“i love you so much, ___, i love you, just so you kn-“ and you’re all over him again, not once letting him slip out of you.

#i wrote this all in one sitting because i just had a thought #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha smut #jungwondazedheeseung #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #heeseung smut

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hayakawalove · 4 months

Text

I'd Wait For You

Summary: Everything is perfect between you and Suguru. It could not get any better. The universe has a funny way of doing things though. How do you cope once Suguru gets taken away from you? Will Suguru be able to move onto the afterlife, or will he stay by your side? A/N: I wanted to try my hand at writing angst. Haven't done it too much. Please ignore the inaccuracies of the medicine, it won't be perfect. Comments always appreciated!

CW: SFW, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Death (not reader), Grief/Mourning, Afterlife, Depression, Medical, Car Accidents, Sad, Fucked up but honestly not too bad

W/C: 6,584

Suguru hadn’t known love until he first met you.

Everything that led up to you was somehow minuscule compared to the emotions that coursed through his veins whenever he saw you. He wasn’t aware of how fast a heart could beat, how his lungs could falter from merely being in the presence of another person. He wasn’t even quite sure what he’d done to achieve someone like you. We were made for each other, you always told him. In his opinion, he believed he was made for you. Crafted and designed to love you. Not because you needed to have someone like him, but because he needed someone like you. Someone to care for and love.

It was your birthday, and just like he had done every year before this, Suguru was planning on making your dinner. He liked doing it, it made him feel like he was doing something right. It was the least he could do for you, after everything you’ve done for him. He thinks you don’t even know the half of it.

“Shit.” Suguru murmurs under his breath as he searches the freezer. He could have sworn he bought the meat for tonight, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Did you find it yet?” He hears your voice call from the couch.

He doesn’t really have the heart to tell you that no, he hadn’t found it. His lip twitches as he pushes aside all the useless ingredients, looking in places he had already checked three times over.

Suguru is so focused on the fridge in front of him that he doesn’t even hear your feet padding into the kitchen.

Tender hands wrap around him from behind, yanking him from his despair. When he looks over his shoulder he sees you behind him, peeking over with curious eyes.

“I'm sorry baby.” He speaks quietly, turning around to the fridge again.

He shuts the freezer and faces you, taking you into his arms. It’s nice like this, having you pushed up against him. It makes him feel like he’s protecting you.

“What’re you sorry for?” You ask.

You reach your hands up and place a palm on either side of his face. Your mouth drops open as you hold him.

“Suguru, you’re freezing.” You scold. “How long were you looking in there?”

He hadn’t realized how cold he was until your warm fingers pressed into his cheek. He nuzzles against you and allows his lids to flutter closed, indulging in the warmth you provide.

“Only a little bit.” He says. He would rather die than tell you he’s been here for ten minutes.

“No luck though, huh?” You don’t seem sad when you ask this, and Suguru can’t figure out why.

He feels like he ruined your birthday.

“Unfortunately no, but I’m gonna go head down to the store to pick it up. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

“I don’t want you to go, though!”

You have an exaggerated frown playing on your lips as you tug his arm.

“Baby, you need food. I promise it’ll be-“

“Why don’t we go out to eat?” You propose.

He’s looking at you with raised brows, watching partly in amusement. It wasn’t an awful idea, but he much rather preferred to cook for you himself. It was like a gift that way, although he bought you plenty of those too. He nearly felt giddy at the idea of how you would react to each present, all hiding in various places around the house. You always told him he didn't have to get you anything, so he had to get creative in his hiding spots.

“What, you hate my cooking?” He jokes, pulling back to straighten your clothes.

At first you would snap at him when he mindlessly groomed you like this, but you had gotten used to it. It was just another avenue for him to show his love, fixing your attire like a mother would.

“Ugh, it’s the worst!” You joke back.

Both of you were well aware of how much you loved his cooking.

“A shame.” He murmurs.

“We never go out, it’s been ages since we’ve gone somewhere nice. Don’t you think it would be fun? That way, you wouldn’t have to slave over the stove for me.”

“But what if I want to slave over the stove for you?”

“There will always be another time.” You squeeze his arm.

You’re right. He can always do it for you for your next birthday.

“If you say so.” Suguru presses his lips against yours.

~~~

It’s a chilly night, the black sky above you providing no heat as you head out of the restaurant. You’re cradling your stomach as if you were 8 months pregnant, while one of your arms is wrapped around his. You’re chattering his ears off, but Suguru doesn’t mind. The night felt perfect, he wasn’t sure how it could get any better.

The two of you are making your way to your parked car, not in a rush. You have all the time in the world. You’re strumming his hand as you talk, only letting go when he pulls your door open for you.

Suguru crosses the car and slides into the driver's seat, not backing out until your seat belt is on. The drive is calming, your windows rolled down to let in the night air as you quietly sing along to the radio.

“Was it a good birthday?” Suguru asks, tossing a look your way before focusing on the road.

“It was perfect.” You promise, your eyes twinkling.

Suguru starts to think about which gift he wants you to open first.

“Hey Suguru?” You ask.

“Yeah?” Suguru looks up from the wheel to see your face.

Your brows are furrowed together as you look forward. Something wasn’t right.

“What is that guy doing?” You speak quietly.

Suguru turns his head forward, his foot on the brake as the car sits at a red light. There’s another car in front of you, driving towards you. He isn’t slowing down for the light, and Suguru can feel his pulse pick up.

“I don’t-“ Suguru starts.

The driver presses on the gas even harder, his car jerking, now hurdling in your direction. Suguru only has half a second to throw his arm across your front, shoulder covering part of your body.

…

Love makes you do crazy things.

Love can make you feel unstoppable.

Love can make you cover your partner in a car accident without a second thought.

The movies never get it right, Suguru thinks. People always talk about the pain, how much it hurts. But Suguru doesn’t feel pain. He doesn’t feel anything. He wishes it was more accurate, that way he could have been prepared.

It was loud, so loud.

Metal on metal, tires screeching. It also smelled. Gas, fire, and burning something. Was it plastic? He had never smelled something so atrocious. Suguru turns his head to locate you and sees you motionless, your beautiful lids fluttered shut. Is that blood? Something’s reflecting on your forehead and he hopes to god it’s not blood.

He attempts to say your name, but nothing comes out. It’s as if his voice box has been completely removed, leaving a gaping hole in his throat. His fingers twitch as he tries to move to help you.

Move, move.

He’s begging his useless body to do something, anything. It’s never cooperated with him, lest of all when he needs it most.

Suguru thinks he hears yelling. Was that a woman? It’s a voice he’s never heard before, and she’s saying something he can’t quite decipher. His head is spinning as he tries to focus on the voice, but it isn't easy. It's all becoming overwhelming, each of his senses being amplified. The sight and sound alone was enough to leave him breathless.

Red lights.

Cops.

No, not cops.

An ambulance.

He hopes it’s an ambulance. You really needed one.

Suguru tries to focus as he strains his ears to listen for your breathing. He could feel his eyelids get heavier and heavier, his sheer willpower being the only thing keeping him awake. There’s more tires screeching and the ambulance has arrived, heavy footfalls running to your car.

Good.

Help is here.

It would all be alright.

Everything would be fine.

~~~

When his eyes open, he sees white. He must have been in a hospital, the clinical setting surrounding him. No one was in his room. Not even you. You were in worse shape from what he remembers, so he understands.

He isn’t in as much pain as he would’ve expected from being in a car accident, but he’s glad. Suguru looks down and wiggles his fingers, then his toes. Good. He isn’t missing anything. He knows you would’ve taken care of him if he was missing something, but he would rather soon die than make you do something like that.

Suguru sits up and notices he isn’t attached to any monitors, which is odd. He figures he probably didn’t need them though, so he quickly pushes the thought aside. He might as well look for you since he was able. You could have been really hurt, and he wouldn’t have been able to rest until he learned where you were.

The hospitals halls are a scary place, even for Suguru. He knows many great things happen in hospitals, but there’s also a lot of tragedy too. He tries not to think about all the death as he walks down the halls. There are nurses and doctors pushing past him, paying him no mind. They were busy. He could see it in their droopy eyes as they locate room numbers and run to codings.

He finds the nurses station and speaks up, finding two women sitting at the desks.

“Excuse me?” He says.

Nothing.

Weird.

“Uh, I’m looking for someone.”

Suguru says your name, but neither of them turn to him.

Okay, maybe they were too engrossed in their conversation.

His eyes flick down where he sees a chart, and at the very top of the list was your name. Room A93. That wasn’t too far from here.

He spares them one last glance before turning around to locate your room. His heart flutters (not in the good way) when he gets closer to the door. Could he handle seeing you hooked up to a million monitors? Could he handle seeing other people take care of you? Suguru pushes through it. He needs to see you. He comes to a stop outside your room and hears voices coming from inside, talking to you.

“And where is Suguru?” He picks up on your voice, the sound instantly warming his heart.

“He’s… not in good shape.”

He wasn’t?

He felt great.

Suguru pokes his head around the door and finds a tall woman with tanned skin and long dark hair. She must be the doctor.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

The doctor straightens, tired eyes looking up at you.

“He was intubated, he lost a lot of blood and sustained a head injury. My team had to put him in a medically induced coma. I actually was coming here to talk to you about whether or not he wanted to be on life support.”

What?

“I'm sorry, what are you talking about?” Your body is turned towards her, anticipation leaking from your pores.

“You’re married, aren’t you? I trust that the two of you have gone over it?”

You haven't looked his way, not even once.

“Let me see him.” You’re sitting up, wobbling as your frail body attempts to hold you up.

You don’t see him right now?

“I'm not sure that’s a good idea.” The doctor comments, her voice heavy as if she knows something you don’t.

“Please.”

The doctor softly sighs and dips her head once, acknowledging your desperation. She relents, aiding you in getting up. You can’t do it on the first try, your face wincing in pain as you ease yourself off the bed. The doctor is patient as she helps you, because of course she is.

Suguru follows you to his room, throat dry as he stares at the IV stand in your hands. What was happening?

“Suguru?” His heart shatters at the way your voice cracks.

He turns the door and comes to a halt behind you, looking over your shoulder. He was looking at himself. His motionless body was laying in the hospital bed, looking more helpless than he had ever felt in his whole life.

“What happened?” You ask, your eyes never leaving his bed.

“There was an accident. I was told that he took the brunt of the crash to cover you. He’s not…” The doctor looks anxiously between you and him. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

The room is quiet, eerily so as you process the news the doctor gave you. There’s a steady beeping sound coming from behind his body, the only sign of life. By all accounts, he looked dead. Suguru flicks his eyes up and notices a brain monitor attached to him, but the line was flat. How was that possible? Was he in some space between life and death right now?

You rip the IV from your arm and run up to the bed, collapsing beside his body. Suguru can see blood begin to pool from your forearm, dark red trickling down your wrist as you force yourself against his bed.

“Suguru! Wake up!” You’re shaking his body, voice trembling and loud as tears begin to fall from your eyes.

He doesn’t wake up. His useless body doesn’t even flinch.

“You asshole! Wake up!” You’re in hysterics as you shake him, and Suguru feels himself choke on a tear.

“We need to discuss-“ The doctor starts.

“Don’t do this to me! You gotta wake up!”

Suguru is beside you now, standing above your crumbled form. You’ve never looked so small before. Your tears are staining the sheets beside his body as you hold his hand, your other arm clawing at his chest. Suguru can’t tell which hurts more, watching himself or looking at you.

He needs to comfort you.

He needs to make you smile.

But he can’t. He can’t do anything. Suguru is forced to stand by your side as you cry until you lose your voice, until all of your words blur together and no one can understand what you’re saying.

The doctor stays with you the entire time, remaining quiet as you sob. She wanted to comfort you, but she also needed an answer. And the truth of the matter was, Suguru never wanted to be on life support. It was a discussion you had early on in your marriage. He didn't want to be a burden. You respected his decision at the time, never in a million years thinking you would have to uphold his choice.

~~~

It’s raining the day they pull the plug on Suguru. He always did like the rain. It made for perfect nights in with a warm drink and his favorite book. Obviously with you by his side. That’s not what he’s thinking about when he sees the sky the day he dies. All he can think about is how your tears match the droplets, how god must be crying for you. He hated it. You said it was fitting. It was one of the only things you said on that day.

Suguru watches as his body gets whisked away, he told himself he couldn’t watch the embalming process, but when it happens he can’t look away. It felt unreal. His body was cold to the touch, pale as it lay on the metal table. He didn't look real. He watches with curious eyes as they pump him full of fluids in an attempt to immortalize his youth and beauty. He overhears the morticians talking. Not even thirty years old, they mumble. All Suguru can think about is how you weren’t even thirty. The word ‘widow’ was meant for older people whose partners died in natural circumstances, not for someone like yourself. Plump cheeks and a full life ahead of you.

It’s sunny when his funeral is held. He’s glad for that, he dreaded the idea of you waiting out in the cold. You sit in the front with Satoru. Suguru expected you to be a wreck, you were at the hospital after all. But you aren’t. You sit quietly as each person speaks, your chin tucked into your chest. Your eyes are glassy as you listen. You were checked out. He wanted to take a peek into your brain to see what memory you were reliving. Was it the time you both vacationed in the Bahamas? Or was it when you talked for hours about your favorite book? Those were his favorite memories, but he didn't know yours. He never thought to ask before. Now he wouldn’t have the chance to.

You refuse to let anyone help you make it home, I’m fine you said. You weren’t fine. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see that. All the people surrounding you tried to offer words of comfort, promises to help falling from their lips. You wave them off as you set off down the sidewalk towards your apartment. You hadn’t been in a car since the incident.

The second you close your front door you collapse onto your floor, your knees hitting the ground with a hard thud. You let out the most ear piercing wail. Suguru didn’t know people were capable of making noises like that. He didn’t have a body anymore, but he swore he felt chills creep over his skin.

You keep screaming, and screaming, and screaming. Suguru hears a loud pounding and turns his head to the door. Someone was here. The pounding resumes and he hears his best friend call out, trying to get your attention. You aren’t listening. You don’t care about anything outside these four walls.

Satoru twists the knob hoping by some miracle it would unlock. Unfortunately, you had the foresight to lock the door before falling to pieces. Satoru relents in using the knob and tries bumping the door with his shoulder. It takes him a couple of tries before it splinters open. He's out of breath as he looks down at your figure. Your crumpled figure.

Leave it to Satoru to follow you to ensure you got home safely. Suguru tells himself to repay Satoru, buy him that soda he likes, but then he remembers. He will never be able to repay him for anything again.

He hopes a token of his gratitude is enough.

You don’t register that Satoru is even there until he’s kneeling beside you, holding your body close to his. You thrash a bit, shoving him back but he doesn’t budge. Satoru takes it all, even though it hurts.

“Hey, hey, I’m here.” He murmurs quietly to you.

“He's gone! He's gone!” You’re heaving into the air, letting him rock you back and forth.

“I know. I know.”

“He's never coming back, Satoru!”

You breathe in deeply, your chest sore from the meltdown.

“Bring him back! Please, please Satoru!”

Satoru grits his jaw as he holds you tight. It must be hard. Suguru mourns the loss of himself through you. He can feel the pain you’re in, it feels like a forest fire as it claws into him.

You’re scratching at Satoru, as if you could dig your way back to Suguru.

Suguru has never felt so helpless before. How do you help someone when they’re mourning the loss of the love of their life? How do you console them when they will never see them again? How could he make you feel better?

He can’t do anything. He's an outsider in his own home, watching the people who were closest to him.

Satoru grips you as you sob, occasionally rocking your frame back and forth. He doesn’t say anything. There really isn't anything to say. The living room quiets down as your screaming becomes sniffling. Suguru doesn’t know how much time has passed. Satoru refuses to let go until he feels your breathing slow down, your body going limp in his hold.

Satoru never leaves. He just sets you on your bed before making his way to the couch. He looks just as fucked up as you do. Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever seen his friend in such a bad state before. Eyes that had previously been so bright were now dull, his lips tugged down into a deep frown. Satoru slides onto the couch, his eyes shutting the second he makes contact.

Suguru takes turns watching the two of you sleep. It breaks his heart. Never again will he feel the warmth of your sleeping figure beside him. Never again will he wake up before you to start your breakfast.

Things are awkward between you and Satoru in the morning. Neither of you know how to approach the subject.

Satoru is the first to talk. He always was the talker.

“Good morning.”

Your eyes flick to him, almost as if you were expecting him to stay the night. Satoru looks uncomfortable, which is a first.

“I uh, I'm gonna pick up breakfast. Do you want anything?” He goes on.

A moment passes before you speak. When your voice comes out it's brittle, harsh in a way Suguru has never heard before.

“I'm fine.”

The hours of screaming must have caught up to you.

“Yeah, alright.”

Satoru is scratching the back of his neck, a tell that Suguru learned years ago. He has something to say, but doesn’t know how to say it.

“I really think you should eat something.”

“Satoru.”

Satoru steps back as if the tone of your voice wounded him.

“Okay. I’ll back off. I’ll bring back something for you to drink at least.”

Satoru doesn’t ask so you don’t have the chance to deny him. You watch as he exits your apartment, your gaze fixed on your broken door.

Satoru calls repairmen to handle the door while he’s out. It doesn’t take them long at all to fix the damage he dulled out the prior night.

When Satoru comes back he has two drinks and two bags in his hands. He bought something for you to eat in the end. Satoru rings the doorbell and waits for you.

You never come.

He knows you’re home, because where else would you be?

He stands there for thirty minutes before he takes the hint that you don’t want to be seen.

Suguru wishes he could curl up in on himself at the sight of his best friend looking so dejected as he leaves. Satoru was making an effort. Suguru doesn’t blame you though. He never could. If he was in your position, Suguru wouldn’t stop until the whole world around him was burned to the ground, he wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left.

Satoru comes back hours later to drop off dinner and notices that the bag of breakfast he left for you is still in the same place. You hadn’t touched it. He leaves dinner for you as well, hoping by some chance that you’ll actually eat something.

~~~

Satoru stands at your door, a bag in his hands as he tries to keep up a smile. Suguru can tell it’s a hard task, he’s always been able to look right through his best friend.

It had been two weeks since the funeral, and Satoru has stopped by every single day.

Satoru says your name again, rocking back on his heels. He’s been here for two hours. Suguru knows because he’s seen him check his phone five times. One of your neighbors comes out and greets Satoru, smiling once he gives her attention. The two had been acquainted because he had visited so often. Satoru didn’t mean to seduce the older woman, but it just came with the territory of being a beautiful man.

“Hey Ms. Nakamoto!”

“Hello sweetie.”

“I brought you something.” Satoru searches the bag he’s holding and produces a wrapped piece of chocolate.

Suguru knows Satoru didn’t bring it for her, but that he couldn't bear the thought of not giving her something.

“You’re so kind, Satoru.” Ms. Nakamoto squeezes Satoru’s shoulder before walking off, popping the chocolate in her mouth.

Satoru watches her leave with a smile plastered on his face. It feels genuine in the same way a waitress's smile is genuine when she’s working.

“Are you gonna let me in?” Satoru calls, resting his shoulder against the door.

You’re standing on the other side of the door, staring into the wood as if you’d be able to see Satoru if you look hard enough.

Suguru doesn’t understand why would don’t want to see Satoru.

He wonders if it’s because Satoru reminds you of him. Suguru would understand, the two have always been inseparable. It was never that way for you, though. You never saw Satoru and thought of Suguru in the past. It was one of the many things he liked about you. He felt like he could be his own person around you. He wonders if the lines are blurred now that he was gone.

“I know you’re there.” Satoru says, leaning against his forearm.

“Why won’t you let me in?” He waits for a moment until you respond.

“I don’t want to.”

“I brought snacks.”

“I don’t care.”

Suguru’s heart breaks. You look like a mess, your hair was piled on top of your head and you were wearing the same clothes you had been wearing yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. It was one of Suguru’s shirts, the clothing wrapped around your body as if it was a cocoon. You had been wearing it for so long that the smell of his cologne was starting to fade away. You cried for four hours the night you realized.

Neither of you talk or move for that matter, intent on waiting it out to see who would break first. You have something on your mind, Suguru can tell you’re holding back.

“Why did he do it?” You ask, your voice muffled through the door.

You know Suguru as much as Satoru does, but Suguru supposes there’s a sense of relief from the company.

“You know why he did it. He loved you.” Satoru responds, his voice more level than Suguru had ever heard it.

“He wouldn’t have been able to stand himself if he didn’t save you.” Satoru finishes.

You and Satoru both turn around and slide your backs against the door till your butts hit the floor.

You’re separated by a piece of wood, yet it feels like you’re miles away. Even though you felt so far apart, the two of you were the only ones on the planet who understood each other.

“He’s selfish.” You say, and Suguru thinks you mean to have a bite to it, but it comes off much more heartbroken.

“What makes him selfish?”

“He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he let me die, so he’s making me live without him instead. Why didn’t he care that it would hurt me?” You question.

Satoru’s silent as he listens. He’s good at that, although he talks a lot. Suguru is glad you have someone to talk to who listens when you need it.

“I think he did care.” Satoru says, looking at his legs. “He just loved you too much to stop himself.”

“It was my fault, you know.” You start.

“I was the one who suggested going out.”

Satoru is silent as he listens and Suguru feels like he’s been shot. You were blaming yourself? If Suguru could talk to you, he would reassure you that you had nothing to do with what happened.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Satoru says, unsure of how else to comfort you.

Nothing he could say would take the pain away, he was aware of that much.

Suguru is on your side of the door, watching as your lip starts to tremble. You must be sick of being alone. You slowly stand up and reach for the door, opening it much to Satoru’s surprise. He nearly falls back before hopping to his feet, facing you.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, knowing the answer.

~~~

Ever since the night you let Satoru in, you welcome him in. Suguru thinks it's nice, watching the two of you talk. He’s glad you’re opening up to someone. It’s not good to keep it all in, and Suguru couldn’t stand the idea of you shutting down completely.

In the beginning, Satoru would sit on the furthest end of the couch, but over time he slowly inched closer until the two of you were sitting next to each other. It didn't matter what you talked about. It was always different. Usually it was about Suguru.

“He waited until the sun set and it was dark out. I didn't really understand why. Anyway, he got on one knee and when I turned around he had the ring out.”

“It was because of the people I’m sure. Suguru was a private guy.”

You’re picking at a loose thread on the couch, quietly listening to Satoru.

“I helped him pick out the ring, you know. He was so indecisive. There were two options we narrowed it down to, he ended up asking all your friends what they thought you would like more.”

Suguru sees your shoulders shake and he thinks for a second you’re crying, but when you lift your head up he sees a tiny grin on your face.

“He’s ridiculous. Would’ve loved anything he got.”

“I know. He only wanted the best, though.”

Suguru loves to listen to the two of you talk, but he loves the silence you share just as much. Satoru always used to dread silence. Suguru thinks you’re bringing him down to earth. It’s nice. Suguru didn't think it was possible.

“It’s hard. I can't sleep.” You confess to Satoru late at night.

“Why is that?” Satoru asks, but you know he knows the answer.

“It’s impossible without him.”

You aren’t aware, but Suguru is there each time you lay down. Sometimes he’ll lay beside you, but he rarely does. You always get a chill when he tries, so instead he sits across the room, listening to your breathing. He’s always loved the sound, but he finds he appreciates it more so now.

“If you ever need company, I could spend the night on the couch again.”

“Really?”

You’re trying not to sound eager, Suguru can tell. He grins to himself as he watches your face light up.

“I'd just have to bring over spare clothes, but I can.”

People on the outside may think that something was blossoming between you and Satoru, but Suguru knew better. Satoru would never cross that line. At times, Suguru almost wished he would. He wanted you to find happiness again. And truly, who better to give it than Satoru? The two were so alike that Suguru knew you would be happy. But you wouldn’t do that to Satoru. You wouldn’t want him to feel like a placeholder. Suguru doesn’t know how Satoru feels, but he knows how you feel enough to be positive that nothing was starting between you.

Satoru sleeps on your couch that night. Suguru notices it’s the first time you’ve slept through the entire night in weeks. You don’t wake up even once, not even when Suguru slides into bed beside you.

Suguru keeps his eyes on you the whole night, mesmerized by the features on your face. You were so beautiful. He should’ve told you more often.

~~~

It was going okay. Suguru thought you were healing. One night you have a terrible nightmare. He watches you in horror as you thrash and scream, wishing he could reach out to touch you.

“Help! Help!”

Satoru is in your room moments later, holding your body against his. You twitch in his hold, body shaking in fear. Your eyes flutter open and you have to hold onto Satoru for several moments before you understand where you are.

“It was just a dream.” Satoru speaks quietly to you.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks once you understand what’s happening. You have a tight grip on Satoru’s arms, as if they could keep you from floating away.

“I was- Suguru, he, we needed,”

“It was just a dream.” Satoru says once more.

It wasn’t a dream, not really. It was the accident. The scenes were flashing in your brain, plaguing you with memories. Suguru wishes it was a dream. The worst was already over, only now you were left trying to pick up the pieces.

Satoru sleeps on your floor each night afterward. Always beside the bed, ready in case you have another nightmare. No matter what, he never leaves.

Each time you had a nightmare, Satoru would reach his hand up and squeeze yours, reminding you that the worst part was over. He pretends not to see the scars your fingernails leave in his skin.

~~~

Suguru watches as you experience life. Finding your first gray hair, he was even there when you bought your first new car. They were all things he should have been experiencing with you, if only he was alive.

If you asked Suguru the day he died if he regretted his decision to cover you in the accident, he would say no in an instant. It was the same now, all these years later.

You never move on from him, not really at least. There were men that passed through your life, but you never marry again.

Suguru wanted you to find love again, but you were always more stubborn than he knew what to do with.

And when the time came for you to pass, he was there too. The hospital room didn't feel the same as his did, yours was much more warm and happy. That was what it was supposed to be like when you lived a full life. All of your loved ones gathered around you, crying as they held you. You don’t cry. You’re ready. You’ve been preparing for it for a while now. You have weathered skin and a full heart. You have smile lines now, and Suguru thinks you’ve never looked more perfect.

Suguru stands by the door, watching as everyone says their goodbyes. He feels tears begin to drip from his eyes. He knows it only means he gets to see you sooner, but he’s mourning your death just as much as he would if he was alive. He wanted you to continue living. You still had so much to experience, Suguru wanted you to have it all.

The last member of your family leaves the room, but you have one visitor left. The doctor smiles at the visitor before pulling the door closed behind the two of you, giving you privacy.

“Thank you, darling.” Satoru says, smiling at her.

The door shuts and Satoru is hobbling over to you, lowering himself down next to your bed. He's in relatively good condition for someone of his age.

“Hello.” He squeezes your hand, if Suguru looks close enough he can still see the crescent shaped marks caused by your nails on his hands.

Scars proving your love of Suguru on another man’s body.

“You’re here.” You speak.

“Of course I’m here.”

The room is silent as Satoru takes in your presence. The air is heavy, partly from sadness, but also from the memories and love everyone had left you with. You had lived a long life.

“Are you excited to see him?” Satoru asks.

You look down and fiddle with your ring, the same ring Suguru had picked out all those years ago.

“I am.”

“When you see him tell him I said hi.” Satoru could say much more than that, maybe even a joke from his childhood, but more than anything he just missed his friend.

“I will, I swear.”

“I can’t believe the two of you are going before me.” Satoru’s messing with you now, Suguru walks closer so he can catch the glint in Satoru’s eyes.

“Don’t you worry, your time is coming.” You chuckle to yourself.

“Is that a threat?” Satoru leans in close to you, the act intimate in a way that only appears between friends that have endured years of life together.

“Maybe. I think I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.” You tease.

“I hope you do.” Satoru’s tone is heavier as he speaks, a nugget of honesty leaking through.

“Thank you for being so good to me Satoru, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you as much as you were there for me.” Regret is dripping from your words.

“I know you’re dying, but have you gone senile? You helped me as much as I helped you.” Satoru looks at you in disbelief.

It was true. You had helped Satoru. It wasn’t in the same way he helped you, but instead you provided him multiple chances to relive his childhood. That was worth more than anything in the world to Satoru.

Satoru rubs his thumb along your hand. He sits with you through the silence. He's there with you as the doctor comes back in, voice soft as she asks you if you’re ready. You are, you have been for a long time. Satoru holds your hand, he doesn’t leave as the doctor turns off all the technology that’s assisting you in staying alive.

Suguru would stay, but he has a date he can’t miss.

When you die, everything is empty around you. Your old body is inching by, walking aimlessly.

“Sweetheart.” A voice like velvet fills your ears.

You whip around, jaw and eyes wide open as you come face to face with the love of your life.

“Suguru!” You cry.

Suguru’s smile is relaxed on his face as he walks up to you, embracing you once more. He could finally touch you. He had been dreaming of this moment for years.

The second his skin hits yours, it's like a ripple effect. Your skin slowly rejuvenates, your body regressing until it resembles what it looked like the night he died. You were young again.

Suguru holds you for what feels like eternity before you pull away. He tries not to frown, reminding himself that he can touch you again whenever he feels like it now.

“I missed you!” Your lash line is holding on a thin thread, tears welling up, nearly pouring out.

Suguru doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t think he can put into words how much he missed you.

“Oh, and Satoru said-“

“Hi, I know. I heard him.” Suguru reaches a hand up and skims your cheek with his thumb.

He no longer feels cold.

“You heard him? You were there?”

“Of course I was. I always was.”

Suguru chuckles to himself at the expression on your face. It's a shock, for sure. You had no reason to believe he stayed with you. Suguru could have moved on at any point in time, but he wouldn’t. Not without you by his side.

“I love you.” He says it the same way he used to say it, and you finally break down.

Tears stream down your face as you pull him in for a kiss.

“Come on, let’s make up for all the lost time.” Suguru murmurs in your ear, wrapping his arm around yours.

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nekrosdolly · 4 months

Text

this is based on nothing in particular but i think vergil would eat you out more eagerly while you're on your period.

cw; afab sub reader, dom vergil, pussydrunk vergil, blood drinking, very brief pussy sniffing, cunnilingus, reader is written to have pretty gnarly periods, somewhat soft vergil to start.

blood has never tasted so good, flowing steadily from your sweet cunt in ichor streams and into his mouth. while he's never been fond of getting blood on his clothing from demons, or perhaps having it stain his coat (god forbid it taint yamato), this is different. you needed him and he wanted you all the same.

your periods aren't usually so bad, but it seemed to be getting worse. especially this month- it had to have been the worst yet. vergil had gone out of his way to make sure you were beyond comfortable, hardly allowing you to leave his bed- yes, his bed, not your own. he didn't want you to be suffering without him there to support you. the blue twin was uncharacteristically doting for the entire week. while he wasn't a fan of physical affection, he kept snuggling up to you in hopes that the inhumane temperature his body keeps would be enough to dissuade your horrific cramps.

he fed you when asked, made you plenty of tea that was supposed to help, and kept a good distance when you got cranky. the last thing he needed was you, pissed off at him for trying to help. though he wouldn't blame you by any means- he was suffocating you. within good reason, of course.

vergil had brought your immense pain up to trish and lady as inconspicuously as he could as a means of asking for help. what could he do to lessen your suffering?

"give her head," trish's voice is blunt. lady nods in agreement from her spot beside the tall, blonde woman.

"orgasms make periods shorter and less painful. we would know."

you're in bed, lying on your side with a heating pad tucked to your lower abdomen. your cramps were lessened thanks to vergil's efforts (the heating pad, some tea, and food,) but not quite gone. you're wearing one of his shirts and some very loose shorts made for sleeping when vergil walks in, and he all but pounces on you. it's embarrassing, how quickly he gets a semi just from looking at you in his clothing, in his bed, smiling at him.

sharing blood is intimate, right?

you're so sweet, looking over your shoulder at him with a little smile and meager wave.

"hi, verg," you hum politely as he shrugs off his coat and sets on the coatrack hanging on the back of his door. he settles on the edge of his bed to unbuckle each strap on his ridiculous boots.

"how are you feeling?" you turn onto your back to watch him undress, gloved fingers undoing the complicated buttons on his shirt, then unzipping it. underneath lies a black tank top and like a victorian man, you swoon at the sight of his collarbones.

"um, still a little crampy, but fine," he nods once, peeking over his shoulder at you. his fists clench, then relax.

"would you like my assistance?" he stands, peeling off his grossly hot, sticky leather pants that you love because they "hug his ass." you shake your head softly, closing your eyes as another cramp storms your uterus.

"you've done enough, verg, i'm alright-" a sudden weight over you cuts you off, feeling the bed shift beside your head and hips. when you open your eyes, your dear half-devil is on top of you and damn-near purring. his hair is starting to break free from its slicked-back state, a few strands falling over his face. he looks hungry, his powder blue eyes dark and murky.

"let me help," he rasps, one leg shifting in between yours dangerously close to your cunt, "allow me."

never a patient man, he fights himself to be calm as you ponder your answer. period sex has always struck you as gross. besides, nobody wants to fuck someone while they're literally excreting blood and chunks of flesh- or so you think. the minute you nod, he's pulling your shorts off, your underwear (and subsequently, your pad,) slipping down with them.

at first, you expect him to pull his boxers down, but your eyes widen at the sight of him slithering between your legs so he's face-to-face with your bleeding cunt. he's perverted in his own special way, closing his eyes briefly as he sniffs your blood-slickened folds, making you squirm. you open your mouth in hopes of telling him to quit being weird, but he beats you to the punch when he licks a stripe up your seam, thus drawing a moan from you instead.

blood has never been so sweet. mixed with the taste of you, he's in heaven. your legs hook over his shoulders upon his guidance, his tongue delving into your leaking entrance to taste more and more gore. plush thighs hug the sides of his head, making him hiss quietly as he forces them to part. red coats his chin, nose, and lips as he eagerly fucks you with his tongue, nails digging into your skin. drowned out beneath your noises of pleasure, soft noises of his own bubble in his throat.

you should've put a towel down, an afterthought that strikes you as he withdraws his tongue from your fluttering walls to lap at your clit with hunger only a vampire might have after tasting blood. your back arches, a cry leaving you when he sucks at your pulsing clit. he'd never say it aloud, but he loves getting you off. seeing you in such a pretty state, spread out or pressed against him, moaning until your throat was raw and tears spilled from your eyes all because of him- his tongue, his fingers, his dick, whatever it may be.

to vergil's disappointment, blood continues to seep out of you and onto the bedsheets instead of in his mouth, so he suckles on your clit until he's sure you're close before rubbing it with his thumb eagerly, forcing his tongue inside your cavern yet again. he growls into your cunt at the taste again, his mind hazy with the need to keep drinking you in. he can taste your arousal mixing with crimson, fueling him to keep going. the now sharp-ish tip of his tongue prods at your spongy g-spot, a pleased purr emitting from his chest at the way you're crying out for him to continue.

the hands on your hips gain a rough quality, his once-dull nails pricking into the soft skin of your thighs and dear god, his tongue- ribbed down the sides and pointed at the very end- fucks you masterfully.

"vergil," you reach down to take his hand, your climax fast approaching, only to find a scaly mass where his human hand once was. a quick glance downwards tells you all you need to know: he's triggering, albeit only halfway. sharp, glowing blue eyes meet yours and it's like he knows you're going to cum, your tight walls squeezing his tongue like they would his cock.

"i-i love you," you whine, a sound that falls short in comparison to the volume of the slurping and squelching filling the air. your hands grasping for something to hold onto as your climax fast approaches. your lover takes your hand in his clawed one with a soft grip. your head falls back against the pillow, squirming against his mouth. he purrs, nose nuzzling into your puffy clit. the vibrations send you tumbling over the edge.

with a cry, you cum hard on his tongue. he laps up your release and blood combined, a soft moan leaving him as he tastes you so sweetly. fire lights your veins, white-hot and all-consuming as he tongue-fucks you through your heady high, thighs shaking under his rough hands. he doesn't stop, burying himself in you until you're whining, pleading for him to stop with crystalline tears that he wants to lick away. with a soft tug to his hair, you pull him off and he allows you. but not before pressing a kiss on your overworked clit.

standing from between your legs, ichor coats his face from the nose-down. it's dripping from his chin down his neck, soaking into the collar of his tank top. it's enough to make you squirm under his gaze and pull your shirt down to cover yourself. red-stained (human) tongue pokes from between his lips to lap at the blood left on them, pale blue eyes boring into your own.

"...i'm going to get a tampon in," you mutter, getting out of bed on shaky legs and meandering to his en-suite bathroom. luckily, he's kept a small stash of period products for you ever since you started dating.

in the wake of your absence, his eyes travel to the tempting bloodstain on his bed. he has half a mind to lean down and nuzzle his face into it, perhaps try to suck the crimson from the stain in order to taste you again. he doesn't. instead, he waits by the bathroom door for you to finish so he can wash himself of your fluids, albeit reluctantly.

in the end, when he's holding your unconscious body against his in a tight manner, soft snores falling from your lips, he presses a ghost of a kiss on the shell of your ear.

"i love you," the sound of his voice is lost with the wind blowing through the cracked window, just how he would like it to be.

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