#and them waving and smiling when they see me

[robinismywifesworld]

Ms. Manager

Saja boys x Fem! Reader

Summary: The Saja boys can't help but be enamored by their dumb and pretty manager.

Warning: Possessive! Saja boys, tw.death (not reader or any of the saja boys), dumb! reader, oblivious! reader, crybaby? Reader, a bit suggestive I guess?, might be incorrect grammar and spellings, probably more.

Author's note: Bear in mind that this is my first post here on tumblr, pretty new to this because I usually post my stories on Wattpad. I could write how they met or another part of this but I need some ideas, only if you end up liking this one though. I practically wrote this on a whim. I did not proofread this lol

[Last name] [Your name], a name most popular uttered by many people, a name who could turn many heads at the direction with just at a simple mutter, a name that could break a cold person's exterior, and lastly, a name that could easily steal the hearts of the upcoming Korean boy group the Saja boys.

The Saja boys were currently at their own dance rehearsals because they can't exactly steal fans if they don't look great, sing great and dance great, would they?

Jinu lets out an exasperated sigh as he stared at the group of demons, glaring daggers at the other four demons who just can't get the dance right. "We're meant to jump in sinc at this part." He said, crossing his arms as Baby Saja rolls his eyes from behind Abby, thinking their leader wouldn't be able to see. "Why you!-" the dark haired male was about to stomp over when the door opened.

The five males immediately straightened their postures at the sight of her.

[Your name].

Their very own manager.

Standing there with a bright smile plastered on your pretty face as you held the lyrics of their song Soda pop in hand given to you by Jinu.

"Ms. Manager, good to see you." Abby gives out a little wave, shirt riding up to show a bit of his skin and toned body. "You're late. Again."

It wasn't a secret to the five of them that you were admittedly... not that great of a manager, even though they don't have much experience of how a manager actually acts but they just don't want to get rid of you. Not when you looked at them so prettily that they can't help but want more of you, definitely not when you smelled so sweet that they just want to get closer to you just to smell you, and definitely not when you touch them as if they were made of glass (and they weren't, but to them, you clearly are).

Before they met you, you were in need of a job and well... you had a very unforgettable first meeting with them that they just have to keep you to themselves.

"I'm sorry, the landlord upped the expense of the rent." You said, giving them an apologetic look as you handed them each a plastic bottle of cold water. "And he wouldn't exactly leave me alone..." You added, unbeknown of the eyes glowing yellow at the mention of the bastard who wouldn't leave you alone when you turned around to fix the papers.

Romance hums, stepping closer to you. "We did offer that you could stay with us," He voiced, placing a hand on your waist.

You look up at the male who stared down at you, a dreamy look on his face as he tried his hardest not to brush his hand on your soft-looking cheek. "Like I said, there aren't exactly many rooms in the house you reside in that could let me stay there." You pointed out.

It was true, the house they stayed in or more likely, stolen from people before they got their souls, only had five bedrooms, fitting for the five of them.

The heart shaped haired male had his eyes trail over to your plump lips and before he could quip something else, he was suddenly bumped to the side by their muscular member who couldn't help but replace the hand on your waist with his own, pulling you closer to his bigger frame. "Just stay with us." He whispers, voice deep.

You can't help but feel your heart racing at his words but put some distance by leaning back, "Abby, that's not very nice. You just hurt Romance." You frowned as you turn to the other male who immediately changed his glare pointed to Abby to a happy smile as he saw you turn to him.

"He's a big boy, he can handle a little bump." Abby rolls his eyes as Baby snickers.

Before you could tell him to apologize, Jinu walks over to you. "They're right, you know. You wouldn't have to deal with your landlord if you just stayed with us, I can just give you my room and sleep on the living room." He offers, hoping he could change your mind and stay with them instead.

"It's fine, guys really. Thanks for the offer but I really can't, you already appointed me as your manager even when I don't have much experience..." You murmured before feeling Abby's hand on your waist tighten. "It's just some old guy anyway, it's not that big of a deal." You try to reassure, lips turned up in the pretty smile that softened their exteriors.

"Do you want me to take care of him for you?" Everyone turned to Mystery who uttered those words, the rest grumbled, clearly wanting to be the one to say that to you.

You look confused by what he meant but shook your head, "No, it's alright, you don't have to."

"I'd do anything for you," The male mumble as he watched you refuse their offers some more, clearly not having heard what he mumbled.

Baby slumps into your back making you let out a cute little yelp at the added weight, "You can just sleep with me." He said, lips brushing over the back of your neck causing you to shiver.

The others immediately disproved of that.

They watched as their little Ms. Manager gave them a wave goodbye before walking off towards the bus stop.

It was silent for a bit before Baby saja finally says, "We're getting rid of him, right?"

The next day, you slammed the door open, breathing shakily as the Saja boys turned to you in concern. You were trying to catch your breath, practically running here to inform them of the news that had been delivered to you by a fellow neighbour.

"You alright, pretty girl?" Romance was the first to ask as Jinu stopped the music.

Their concern was a facade of course. They know what you were gonna say, practically smelled your scent miles away as you moved to get to them. They held back smirks of their own as they stared down at your form.

"H-he... the landlord- he's dead," You said, eyes wide and clearly still in shock. "One of my neighbours saw dismembered bodies and- oh gosh... it sounded so frightening."

The whimpers you let out highened their growing arousal as they stared at you, eyes darkening as they fought the urge to take you right then and there.

"Wh-what if that happens to me-" You were tearing up now.

Oh, those tears. Those beautiful tears.

Baby licks his lower lip at the sight, the desire to lick them with his tongue growing. He can't help but wonder what you tasted.

Jinu walks up to you immediately, in faux concern, placing a hand on you shoulder to comfort you. "We're very sad to here that..." He said with a frown and furrowed his eyebrows. "But you shouldn't worry about that happening to you, Ms. Manager."

You look up at him and the dark haired male praised himself for not pouncing on you at the sight. Sniffling, you asked. "Wh-what?"

He gave you a small yet reassuring smile, "If you stay with us, you'd never get hurt by that awful killer on the loose."

"We'll be sad without our pretty little manager to tend to our needs..." Abby adds on.

"We need you, I need you." Mystery whispers.

Your body was shaking, overwhelmed by everything that's happening.

However, if this little thing didn't change your mind yet... then they'd just have to take you, with or without your consent. You're theirs after all.

You were just their pretty, dumb manager and they'd eliminate anyone who would stand in the way of their love.

[kiyuhai]

summary: You overheard his friends encourage him to confess to his crush (you). feat. Iwaizumi, Akaashi, Osamu Miya

I. IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“Bathroom break! I’ll be right back.” You tell Iwaizumi, chair screeching as you get up. He just nods, and returns his attention to the video playing on his phone, one that you searched up in hopes of roping him into the fandom of Alien Stage. 

You take about five minutes, before heading back down to your classroom, but there are new voices inside. Oikawa, Hanamaki and Mastukawa. You peek through the windows, but shrug, deciding that whatever they came to the classroom to bother Iwaizumi for is none of your business. 

The door slides open, quietly, then you freeze. 

“C’mon Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines. Loudly. “When are you going to confess? It’s been ages!”

Hanamaki nods along, “Make a move at least, man.” 

Confess? You swallow. Hajime likes someone? 

They still don’t notice your presence, and you can see Hajime’s face contort into one of annoyance, but his ears are red. You bite your lip, not wanting to bring attention to yourself. “It’s none of your business.” He grumbles. 

“Really? I mean, I’m pretty sure [Name]-san likes you too.” Matsukawa shrugs. 

You choke. Me?! 

“[Name]-san does tend to favor Iwaizumi more than us when we go out…” Hanamaki mumbles. “That and you always favor [Name] over us. What are you even watching??"

“Yeah! Just shoot your shot, Iwa-chan. What’s the worst that could ha…” Oikawa’s eyes flit over to the door, and he pauses. “...ppen.” 

You raise a hesitant hand and wave. “...Hi? Am I… interrupting something?” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, and he stares, before glaring at the other three. “Out.” 

“Yes sir!” Hanamaki and Matsukawa are quick to get on their feet and leave, glancing between you, and Iwaizumi, dragging a frozen Oikawa out of the classroom, but not before shouting “Sorry Iwaizumi!” and a “Goodluck!”

You’re still frozen by the door, and Iwaizumi is covering his eyes with his hand. “I’m sorry about them.” He manages to say, moving his hand downwards to cover his mouth, before sighing loudly, hand dropping to the desk. “...how long were you standing there?”

You smile, shy and unsure, and take your seat next to him. “Uhm, since Oikawa-san said confess–”

Iwaizumi groans. “Of course. That idiot.”

You laugh, “Hey! Don’t beat him up. I- so, Uhm.” You pause, before glancing at the paused video on his screen to his definitely embarrassed face. “... You like me?” 

He blinks, and you see his face redden, but he nods, hand covering the lower half of his face as he avoids your eyes. “Yeah. Uhm. For a while… now.” Then he mumbles, “I didn’t want you finding out like this… stupid Oikawa.” 

You flush, and let out a sheepish chuckle. “Really?”

He nods, and you smile. “That's… great. Cuz, uhm– I like you too.” You cough, feeling extremely awkward, but when you see his face light up as he looks at you, you feel like this is a moment you would look back on fondly in a few years. 

“Yeah? You do?”

“Uhuh.” You smile turning shy. You can see his grin widen, and he inches his seat closer to yours. 

“Then I guess I don’t have to beat up Shittykawa later.”

You let out a laugh.

II. OSAMU MIYA

You were just passing by the gym to drop off your cousins’ things before you left. You really didn’t mean to eavesdrop on Atsumu and Osamu’s talk near the vending machine. 

“I dunno, ‘Tsumu.” The moment you heard Osamu’s voice right by the corner, you pause. In your hands are Shin's things that he asked you to drop by the gym, but you look terrible right now, and your friend and also simultaneous crush, Osamu Miya is right by the corner. 

“Really, Samu?” Tsumu sounds serious. “Ya really gonna pass up the chance to admit your feelings ‘ta [Name]?”

You freeze. What?

Samu sighs, the sound of a drink clinking as it hits the metal of the vending machine. You hear the sizzle of soda, and silence for a minute before Samu speaks. “I don’t wanna ruin our friendship, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re kind of an idiot, ‘Samu.”

There’s silence, before Astumu lets out a loud “Ow!” and Samu grumbles, “The hell you mean by that, dumbass?”

“Ow– you don’t have to hit me, man!” 

“Yeah, well yer deserved it.”

“For calling you an idiot?!” 

You can tell that Atsumu was going to start another fight, and that Samu has a grin on his face, but Tsumu seems to have reigned in his urge to punch his twin, instead continuing his sentence. “Look, ‘Samu. It’s clear to everyone that [Name] likes yer back, so shoot your shot.”

You blink. WHAT?! You were going to stay still for a few more minutes, but let out the loudest shriek of your life when you feel a hand on your shoulder from behind. 

Turning, wide eyed, hands clutching your chest, you glare. “SHIN!”

Your cousin just blinks at you, and you can tell he’s judging you slightly from the way his lips turn downwards, eyes sharp as he looks at your panicked state and just states, “What’s taking you so long?”

You stammer, “Oh, uhm, well, you see–”

The shriek you let out earlier unfortunately told the Miya  twins that you were there, and had turned the corner, both faces turned in both worry and confusion. “[Name]?” 

You curse, turn to them and smile. “Hi.” Then you turn back to Shin and shove his things to him, before taking off, yelling out a “Okay, See you, Bye!” Face burning red as you think back to the fact that Osamu Miya has a crush on you, too.

You leave a confused Shinsuke Kita behind, and twins that stare at your retreating back, before exchanging glances. 

“She heard us, didn’t she?” Samu says. His twin nods, and lets out another loud “OW!” when Samu fully punches his side.  “What the hell, Samu?!” 

He does confess to you another day, but that was after a good week of you barely meeting his eyes.

III. AKAASHI KEJI

Bokuto is LOUD. 

Because you didn’t need to be close to the gym to hear the snowy haired’s booming voice, “WHAT?!”

You pause, hands midway to reaching for the gym doors. Brows furrowed, you slowly open the door, but Bokuto is loud, excited, basically vibrating in joy, as he talks to Akaashi Keiji.

You were looking for Akaashi to ask a few things regarding your shared project before you left, but what you didn’t expect is to hear Bokuto’s next words.

“You're finally partnered with [Name]?! That’s great bro! Maybe you’ll get to confess while you work on that project!!” You blank out. 

What. 

Akaashi’s back is to you, but Bokuto hasn’t even noticed you yet, continuing to ramble despite Akaashi’s embarrassed, “Bokuto-san.” 

“Say, Akaashi– you should take this chance to confess, yknow? I have a hunch [Name] likes you…” He trails off, Bokuto finally realizing you are there, standing frozen as your face reddens. 

You clear your throat, and you swear you never saw Akaashi’s head snap towards you that fast. You meet his wide eyed gaze with a small smile. “Uhm, Hi, Bokuto-san, Akaashi-san.” 

Akaashi’s composure is still stiff with what you can tell is embarrassment at the fact you heard everything Bokuto said, and his ears are red. “... [Name]-san.” 

“.... I’m so sorry, Akaashi.” Bokuto says, frozen in place as his eyes flicker from you to Akaashi. You just smile, awkward, but you continue, “Uhm, Akaashi-san, can I talk to you for a sec? It’s about.. Uhm, our project.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.” He nods his head, and you head out of the gym. 

The air is awkward, and you’re silent for a while, before Akaashi clears his throat. “What are your questions, [Name]-san?”

“Ah. Right.” You converse normally, but you can tell that there’s an awkward air the moment you have eye contact only for both of your heads to aggressively turn the opposite direction. 

“... That’s about it, Akaashi-san.” You smile, and he nods, offering you a smile of his own, and you think wow pretty. You internally kick yourself. “Ah- I’m sorry if I took away a part of your practice time.” You realize how long it took to discuss your project, already hearing the squeak of shoes from inside the gym, and quickly apologize.

“Ah, no, It's okay [name]-san.” He smiles again, reassuringly, and you hesitantly nod. “Okay.” 

It’s silent again, and you quickly excuse yourself, before Akaashi stops you with a quiet, “[Name]-san?” 

“Hm?” You look at him, and you can tell that he’s a bit nervous.

“About what Bokuto-san said… I hope you aren’t burdened by my feelings.” He flushes, and you blink. His hand nervously rubs the back of his nape, “You don’t have to return them. I just hope it won’t be more awkward with this project we have to finish….” 

You nod, slowly, “Uhm, Ah.. Okay.” You pause for a moment, then you quietly say, “I don’t think you have to worry about me not returning those feelings, anyways.”

His head snaps up to meet your gaze, but you smile. “I’ll chat with you later about the project again, Akaashi-san. Have fun at practice! See you!” 

And you run off, leaving Akaashi with wide eyes. He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, but he says to your retreating back, “... See you.” 

[suunani]

full of you [ jeong jaehyun ]

you somehow end up cockwarming in your best friend’s lap by the end of the night.

❛ content 2.5k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, bottom! male reader, cockwarming, so much praise, lots of pet names, jaehyun being completely gone for reader, sligh fingering (prep), fluff, lots of kisses.

( part one )

you hadn’t planned on staying the night.

it was just supposed to be dinner. maybe a movie. a casual tuesday night the same way it had always been — except 'casual' hadn’t meant the same thing in weeks. not since that kiss. not since everything shifted without either of you really acknowledging it, like the ground had quietly changed beneath your feet and you both just agreed not to panic about it.

now jaehyun kissed you often.

on your mouth, your cheek, your shoulder when you were brushing your teeth. he didn’t ask anymore. and, honestly, he didn’t need to.

you were already his — and he was yours — in every wordless way that mattered.

so when his fingers had curled around yours after dinner, tugging you gently into his bedroom without saying a word, you didn’t question it. you never could, not when he looked at you like that : soft and full of something you didn’t quite have a name for, but felt deep in your bones.

he sat on the edge of the bed while you stood between his knees, your thighs brushing the outsides of his, his hands exploring in slow, patient movements — under your shirt, across your waist, thumbs skimming the waistband of your sweats like he was drawing a map of you in his mind.

jaehyun didn’t rush. he never rushed. not with you.

you leaned down and kissed him — not deep, not eager, just slow. mouths barely parting. it was the kind of kiss that just felt like breathing, like leaning into warmth. you felt the subtle flex of his fingers on your hips, the way he exhaled softly through his nose when your lips skimmed the corner of his mouth. that made him weak — you could tell, and it made your heart ache with affection.

“can i ask you, hum… something?” he murmured, barely breaking the kiss, his lips brushing yours with each word.

“mmh?” your forehead stayed pressed to his.

his thumbs rubbed slow circles into the bare skin just above your waistband — he was not pushing, not teasing either, just… grounding you.

“i’ve been thinking about something,” he said, eyes flicking up.

you pulled back just a bit, enough to see the shift in his face — open, but careful. that look he gave you when he was being vulnerable. when he wanted something and wasn’t sure how you’d take it. that look alone made your stomach flutter.

“yeah?” you asked gently.

“i kinda wanna try cockwarming.”

you blinked.

your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. your throat went tight, and your heart slammed once — hard enough you could feel it in your teeth. his words didn’t even fully register at first, like your brain had hit a glitch trying to process them.

jaehyun smiled softly, thumb still tracing your skin. “you okay, baby?”

“i…” you swallowed, your eyes flicking down to his chest like you couldn’t look at him for a second. “you want me to… sit on it?”

“that’s the general idea,” he said, smiling a little more, voice still so soft. he laughed gently when your face went warm — not teasing, just fond. “but only if you want to.”

you choked a little — or whatever the hell that thing in your throat was — because your whole body had gone tight. not out of fear. just that visceral hit of nerves and want colliding in your chest like a wave.

you tried to speak, failed, cleared your throat, and tried again. “y–yeah. i want to. just… wasn’t expecting that.”

“i know,” he said, and his hands moved slowly up your sides, like he was reading you. “i’ll be really soft with you.” his voice dropped a note, not dirty — not even close — but reverent, like he was giving you a promise.

it went straight through you.

“i just want to feel you,” he said, breath brushing your jaw. “no rush. just… stay inside you.”

you didn’t even realize your fingers had curled into the fabric of his shirt until he tilted his head and pressed a slow kiss to your jaw, like he could taste the way your pulse jumped there.

“okay,” you whispered, breath catching.

“yeah?”

you nodded.

his hand found yours again, his fingers lacing with yours like they always did when he needed you to stay close.

“come here, baby.”

the clothes came off slow — peeled away like they had all the time in the universe. his hands skimmed up your back when he took your shirt off, brushing his fingers down your spine as if he couldn’t bear to lose contact. your pants were pushed past your thighs with quiet exhales and shy glances, every bit of skin uncovered only making the air feel heavier between you.

he laid you back on the bed for a moment, not even to do anything — just to look at you, to lean over and kiss down your chest, his mouth tracing every line of you with quiet awe. he kissed your stomach, the soft part just below your navel, his hand warm against your side while the other held the lube.

then he settled behind you, letting you lean back into him while he slicked his fingers and started prepping you — slow, warm, so careful. every movement was met with a whisper at your ear.

“you’re doing so good,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, lips brushing the side of your face. “opening up so easy for me, honey. like your body already knows what it wants.”

you groaned, head falling back against his shoulder. his fingers moved deeper, coaxing you open, the stretch manageable only because he gave you so much time. his free hand stroked along your waist, grounding you with every soft word and every warm breath.

by the time you were ready, he was sitting back against the headboard again, legs spread just enough, his dick flushed and slick in his hand. you watched him stroke it slow while you moved into his lap, watched the way his breath caught just slightly when you just touched his shoulders for balance.

everything slowed down.

your knees pressed to the mattress on either side of his hips. you hovered just a little, hands on his shoulders, letting him guide you by the waist as you lined yourself up his dick.

the tip nudged against you, and—

the stretch made your breath hitch immediately. your fingers clenched on his shoulders like you needed to anchor yourself really bad, your thighs trembling with the effort to stay in control.

“you okay my love?” he asked, eyes locked on your face. you nodded shakily.

“y–yeah. just… oh my god.”

jaehyun smiled, smoothing one hand slowly up your spine. “take your time, baby. don’t rush. i’ve got you.”

so you did. you took your time — letting yourself sink down inch by inch, breathing hard, feeling your body slowly adjust around him. it was intense — the pressure, the heat, the way he filled you without even moving. his hands never left you, stroking your waist, brushing the backs of your thighs, eyes never leaving your face.

and when you finally settled all the way down, seated flush in his lap, his dick buried deep inside you… everything went still.

your chest was pressed to his. you could feel the way your own heart pounded against his, the subtle shudder in your limbs, your fingers trembling where they clutched his shoulders. he wrapped his arms around you like he was holding something fragile, his face burying into your neck as he let out a low, shaky breath.

“fuck,” he whispered. “you feel… so warm. my pretty baby. so perfect.”

you didn’t move. honestly, you couldn’t. he filled you so completely, so deeply, you could feel the whole shape of him pressing against the most tender parts of you. the weight of him inside was overwhelming — not in a painful way, but in that too-much-and-still-not-enough way that made your head feel like it was floating.

every twitch of him inside you made your body respond — tightening involuntarily, fluttering around him in little pulses. even the smallest shift in your position sent a slow, pulsing wave up your spine, making your chest rise sharply against his.

and yet… the stillness was a high all its own. the way nothing moved. the way your body and his body simply existed together, locked in this quiet, molten closeness.

jaehyun’s mouth moved against your skin — soft kisses along your shoulder, your neck, the edge of your jaw. he didn’t press for more, didn’t chase the rhythm most people would. he kissed you like worship, like gratitude. like touching you like this was more than enough.

“god, you feel so good,” he breathed at your ear, his voice cracking faintly at the edges. “so fucking warm… so tight around me, baby. i could stay like this forever.”

your whole body flushed at the confession. you clenched down on him — just slightly, unintentionally — and the way he groaned in response made your eyes flutter shut. his forehead dropped to your collarbone, breath stuttering against your skin.

“shit…” he murmured. “you can’t do that, baby. i’m trying to behave.”

you laughed — breathless, warm — and your hands came up to cup his face. his skin was hot under your palms. your thumbs brushed over the apple of his cheeks, which were flushed high with pink. his lips were swollen from kissing, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

he looked… completely gone.

like he was drunk on you.

“you’re really not gonna move?” you asked, voice barely steady, teasing him enough to make him smile again.

“not unless you do first.”

his hands slid over your thighs — warm, gentle, almost reverent — before settling again at your lower back. the pressure was soft but firm, grounding. his touch felt like a tether, like it was holding you right there, keeping you full and safe and still.

you rested your forehead to his and just breathed.

and with every second you stayed like that, your nerves slowly began to quiet — like the rest of the world was fading out. all that was left was the fullness, the heat of him inside you, the solid weight of his body beneath your hands. every throb of his dick, every tiny twitch, sent ripples of sensation through you. your muscles clenched without thought, your body pulsing around him in soft, slow waves.

jaehyun leaned in and kissed you again — soft, unrushed. his lips moved against yours like the world was paused just for you two. then he pulled back just far enough to see your face again.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “you know that?”

your throat tightened at the sound of his voice — like it cracked open something inside you that you weren’t ready for.

“jaehyun…”

“you are,” he insisted, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “the way you look at me… the way you feel around me. my pretty boy, you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

the ache in your chest bloomed at those words, too full to hold. you kissed him before he could say more — a deeper kiss this time, one that felt desperate not from lust but from emotion. from the sheer weight of everything he was giving you just by being here like this.

minutes passed in a haze of soft touches and slower breaths. neither of you spoke. you didn’t need to.

you let your bodies say everything else — in the warmth of your mouths, in the quiet slide of your fingers up his arms, in the way your bodies fit together without friction, without force.

eventually, you shifted in his lap — just the barest rock of your hips. not a thrust, not even a grind, just enough to feel him move inside you. and jaehyun moaned — loud and raw, like he hadn’t expected it.

“oh my god…”

you froze — startled — and then let out a soft laugh against his mouth.

“sensitive?” you teased, your voice breathy with affection.

he glared up at you with playful exasperation, his hands tightening on your waist like he was restraining himself from snapping his hips up.

“baby, i’m trying to last, and you’re out here trying to kill me,” he muttered.

you laughed again — full and quiet — and then gasped as you moved just a little more, the slow drag of him inside you setting every nerve on fire.

jaehyun kissed you again — harder now, but not fast. his hands came up to cup your face like he couldn’t stop touching you, his lips sliding against yours, his tongue brushing soft and slow. you felt his hips twitch under you — once, restrained — like his body couldn’t help but react even when he was trying so hard not to.

“stay like that,” he whispered, breath trembling. “don’t move. just let me feel you, baby.”

you rested your head on his shoulder, breathing hard. your dick was fully hard now, pinned between your stomachs, leaking steadily onto his skin. the way your bodies were pressed together made the sensation almost unbearable.

“can i come like this?” you asked, voice soft, uncertain.

jaehyun moaned at the question, a loud moan, like just the thought undid him.

“yeah, baby,” he breathed, and one of his hands slid down between your bodies, wrapping carefully around your dick. “come just from sitting on me. let me feel it, yeah? let me have it.”

his hand moved slowly — steady, perfect strokes in sync with the pulse of his dick inside you. you were so full, so open, it was almost too much — but not in a way that made you want it to stop. in a way that made you want to live there, in that moment, forever.

you were shaking when it hit — a soft, beautiful, startled gasp leaving your mouth as you came, your body clenching around him so tightly that his breath caught hard in his chest.

“fuck— you’re so perfect,” jaehyun groaned, voice breaking. “so fucking perfect.”

you spilled between you, the heat of it spreading across both your bellies, and he held you through it — one hand stroking your back, the other cradling your jaw, pressing tender kisses to your temple, your cheek, like you’d just given him something really sacred.

after a beat, when your heart had slowed and your breath had steadied, you felt his hips shift, just once.

a shallow grind. a soft moan that sounded like a plea.

“baby,” he whispered, voice cracked and wrecked. “i need…”

you nodded, not even waiting for him to finish.

“okay,” you breathed, still trembling.

jaehyun thrust once — slow and so deep — and you felt his whole body shudder beneath you. he came with a gasp against your neck, arms wrapping tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needed to feel every inch of you when he let go.

the warmth of him filled you, spilling deep, your body still fluttering around him with every soft aftershock.

you stayed like that — his dick still inside you, your chest pressed to his, his breath against your throat — for what could’ve been hours. long enough for his pulse to slow. long enough for your fingers to loosen from his shoulders. long enough for the world to feel quiet again.

neither of you spoke.

there was nothing to say, really. not when everything had already been said — in every whisper, every still breath, every soft praise pressed between kisses.

because this wasn’t about trying something new.

it was about knowing each other — and wanting to be known that way.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

The sad thing is, there isn't two issues here.

When addicts don't have safe, private, affordable housing, then they are forced to go wherever they can, including the buss stop shelter.

What separate solution to that can you imagine?

Station a cop at the buss shelter to arrest them? And do what with them, take them away and put them where, for how long, with what money? A night in jail? A few years in prison? If they died that would solve your problem, except it won't, because those addicts are part of other lives and starting an addiction is a painfully common way to cope with someone you love dying.

Same with the 2AM screaming and door banging and threats. As long as people with mental illness are thought of as dangerous, they'll be treated like criminals by default, not worth any time or resources to help. Just ignore them or lock them up.

That's not working for you though, is it. There's no one safe for you to call when someone needs help, when you need help with a situation you're not trained to deal with.

You know how protests bock streets and stop traffic? How some protests bring broken windows?

That's not a separate problem from the issue that got those people on the street. We can't solve our own problems by pretending that the pain of other people is separate from us.

I will never be safe until the people around me are too.

So I smile and keep walking when the guy follows me down the street yelling threats with his fists up. When someone bangs on the door at midnight.

My adult nephew shouts random insults while walking down main street, he cackles and breaks into a run, and I hope no one new to town sees him and gets scared. The people who know my nephew know he's never hurt anyone. They know that just the idea of hurting someone's feelings can send him spiraling, desperately trying to make it right. He's on mediation for depression. He does daily meditation.

But a stranger won't know that.

The people threatening me or making my hackles rise might be drunk, or having some kinda episode, or maybe just be an asshole, but I don't want them dead. I don't want them shot or tossed in prison for resisting arrest. It won't help.

What might help is

-the practice some places are starting, where trained mental health professionals and people who know how to deescalate are dispatched instead of the cops. People feel safer calling them. Less people get hurt, when guns and handcuffs aren't being waved around, when the only long term result isn't just a fine or holding cell. More people end up getting help when it's there to be given.

What might help is

-a program like one of my neighboring communities have, where there are purpose built houses people can live in for free and if no one's actively living in it for a year the place goes to someone else. Compare that to half the houses in my town standing empty, slowly rotting, while lots of the people where I live are technically homeless. Some live outside in tents at -50 F.

My grandma lived just down the street from a safe home for troubled adults. She could barely walk and was basically blind, and went to the little local store for her shopping alone. When my nephew visited her, for the first ever, he was SAFE walking down those streets too. People were used to seeing someone like him around. They knew there was someone they could call if anything happened they needed help with, and they knew it wouldn't end in anyone getting shot or locked up.

Strangers saw my nephew yelling in the middle of the street and stopped to chat about the weather with him. Can you imagine?

We're all getting hurt from different parts of the same issue.

Those of us dealing with unusable buss shelters and seeing someone be scary in public still have a little more breathing room than the people who everyone's told to be scared of.

We've got more social credit. We can make the people in charge listen. We can help fix this. For them and us. For everyone.

But not by saying there are separate issues here.

I wish there were a better way to talk about some hot button issues without pushing the hot button.

[melodyofmbaku]

What You Spit, I Swallowed (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “I’ll beat the breaks off a nigga for touchin’ you,” Smoke said. “You lucky I didn’t.”

Warning ⚠️: They're a Trio. Ya'll gon' feel some things.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N - I realized I could only edit this for so long and I actually had to post it 🤪 I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘

My Masterlist ___

Smoke watched from the living room as Annie bustled around the house making sure everything was just right. The kitchen. The powder room. The cellar which nobody would see. Everything needed to be just right. 

The roast was in the oven. Table set. Wine poured. Annie stood at the counter, smoothing her hands down the front of her apron, then across the napkins again, though they didn’t need fixing.

“Can y’all just be civil? Please?” she said without turning. “For me. I just want to have  a nice dinner tonight. As a family.”

She used that word a lot. Family. Said it like a prayer, a promise. Like saying it out loud might turn it true.

The boys knew better.

Stack was leaning against the archway, a little too relaxed, wine already heavy in his hand.

“I’m always civil,” he grinned. “I’m a delight.”

Smoke didn’t say anything at first. Just sat back at the table, stiff as iron, nursing a glass of whisky like medicine. He’d need it tonight. They both would.

“I ain’t lying to nobody,” he muttered, low.

Annie sighed. Not because she disagreed — but because she understood.

They weren’t happy about this. Never had been. Melody had a way of turning Annie into someone else — smaller, unsure. And the boys hated that. Hated watching the bold, beautiful woman they loved contort herself to keep the peace. To keep her peace.

So when Annie told them that Melody was gonna be in town and wanted to visit, the news wasn’t met with enthusiasm.  When they protested she had shut them down, said that special word — family — and the boys knew they didn’t have a chance at dissuading her. 

She laid down the final plate and crossed the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel that didn’t need cleaning. Her shoulders were tight. Her smile too practiced.

Melody was Annie’s half-sister. Same father, different everything else. Product of an affair that tore Annie’s whole world sideways and maybe even took her mother to the grave.

She was pretty, and soft-spoken when it served her. But she had a way of reaching back into Annie’s life like she had a claim to it. Like their shared blood gave her a right to rewrite things. Rewrite her.

Melody said things like they’d grown up hand-in-hand. Like Annie hadn’t spent her real childhood alone, and Melody hadn’t moved in only after her world fell apart. 

She touched too casually. Said too much. Knew too little.

And yet… Annie kept trying. Trying to stitch something together out of all the scraps they’d been handed. Trying to make a family out of splinters.

There was a knock at the door.

The roast was carved. Greens passed. Biscuits buttered and cooling fast.

On the surface, everything looked like a proper supper. But Smoke hadn’t touched much of his food, and Stack had started drinking like the only way through the night was to float on top of it.

Melody leaned back in her chair, swirling her glass like she had something wise to say. Her gaze landed on the cornbread.

“Reminds me of when Mama used to burn the bottoms,” she said with a giggle. “She’d scrape off the black parts with a knife and pretend it was on purpose. Said it ‘kept you humble.’”

Annie’s fork paused mid-air.

Stack didn’t look up, but his mouth twitched.

“You remember that, don’t you?” Melody added, too quick. “That little yellow-handled knife she used for everything?”

Annie swallowed. Set her fork down quiet.

“She wasn’t my mama.”

Melody blinked, like she hadn’t expected that to sting.

“Well—no, obviously,” she said, waving a hand like it was silly to be so exact. “I just meant… your most recent mama. I mean, she was in the house.”

“She was in the house,” Annie said evenly. 

Melody laughed, high and a little breathless, like she could laugh her way out of what just happened.

“Well,” she said, putting her glass down, “family’s funny like that, huh?” She added before placing a hand on Annie’s forearm.

Smoke’s eyes followed the movement with precision.

“So,” Melody said brightly, trying to start a conversation “y’all ever thought about kids?”

The question hung there, syrupy sweet with expectation.

Annie blinked. “We— We’ll know when we’re ready.”

Melody’s husband Frank leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show.

The man chuckled, low and grating. “Ain’t it about time though? Clock don’t wait forever. ‘Specially for women.”

Smoke’s knuckles tightened around his fork.

“I gotta admit,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, “I didn’t know what to expect, comin’ out here. Lotta stories floatin’ ‘round town.”

Stack’s eyes flicked up from his plate. Smoke didn’t move.

“Oh yeah?” Annie said, keeping her voice polite. “And what kinda stories are those?”

The man shrugged, like he was being reasonable.

“Just… folks wondering how something like this works. Three people under one roof. Two men sharin’ a woman —brothers at that. Sounds more like trouble than a marriage.”

Smoke still didn’t look up. But Annie could feel the shift. Like pressure building under floorboards.

“I mean, hell. Where I’m from, we call that a love triangle, not a household.”

Annie opened her mouth, but Stack beat her to it — voice easy, even playful.

“Well lucky for us, you ain’t from here.”

Melody gave her husband a look — the kind that meant you’re doin’ too much — but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I just think kids need structure,” he said, “Two fathers under one roof? That’s confusion, not discipline.”

Now Smoke looked up. Real slow.

“You do a lot of childrearing yourself?” he asked.

The man blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“You talkin’ like you got a full house somewhere. How many you got?” the man had a menacing smile plastered on his face.

“…None yet.”

“Then hush.”

The man frowned. Then Frank reached across the table — not for the biscuits, not for the salt. For the gravy boat.

But instead of asking, he leaned in close, placing a steadying hand on Annie’s shoulder as he reached.

His thumb brushed against the strap of her dress.

Too familiar. Too firm.

“’Scuse me, darlin’,” he said, casual like he did it all the time.

It wasn’t the touch — it was the way he didn’t rush to remove it.

Smoke saw it. So did Stack.

And Annie flinched — just slightly — but enough to be noticed.

That should’ve been enough. But Melody’s hand went out — again — brushing Annie’s arm like they were girls sharing secrets instead of strangers dressed in matching last names.

"Mama used to say, ‘Ain’t no shame in wantin’ a real man.’ Guess you took that to heart, huh, sis? You went and got yourself two!"

Annie winced once more. It was soft, but Smoke saw it. And that was the last straw.

Smoke set his glass down. Quiet. Too quiet.

“You need to stop touchin’ her so casually.” he said pointing at the woman.

Melody’s hand stilled against Annie’s arm. Her smile wavered.

“Excuse me?”

“Smoke,” Annie said quickly, trying to smile, trying to control the room. “It’s fine.”

He didn’t blink. “It ain’t.”

Stack leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed but not joking anymore. “He’s right. You don’t know her like that. You ain’t earned the right.”

Melody’s brows arched, scandalized.

Annie stepped in faster this time, voice low but firm.

“Enough.”

She turned toward Smoke, hand light on his shoulder. His muscles were rigid beneath her palm.

“She’s family,” she said softly. “Let’s not do this right now.”

Stack leaned back, sucked his teeth, clearly biting something back. Smoke didn’t move at all.

“She ain’t family to me,” Smoke muttered.

“She is to me,” Annie snapped. “And that should be enough.”

That silenced the table — just long enough for Melody’s husband to break it again.

“Well,” he said, with a smirk, “nice to see someone wearing the pants in this house.”

Stack’s jaw tightened.

“Stack,” Annie warned, before he could speak.

He didn’t. But the damage was done.

Melody giggled, smoothing her napkin on her lap like nothing had happened.

Annie went to gather the plates.

“Dinner’s done,” she said. “Why don’t we move to the sitting room? I’ll bring coffee.”

She didn’t look at Smoke. Didn’t look at Stack either. She just carried the dishes to the kitchen, heart pounding, wishing it all felt less like a lie.

_

The front door clicked shut.

Silence.

Not the quiet kind, but the loaded kind. The kind that rattled inside your chest and made your ears ring.

Annie stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight, like she was bracing for impact.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. Stack didn’t move.

For a beat, nobody breathed.

Annie exhaled, hard. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’. I’m finishin’. The hell was that?” Smoke’s voice cut through the kitchen.

She turned, dish towel clenched tight in her hands. “What was what, Smoke?”

“You told me to stand down. You just about told Stack to shut up. While they sat at our table, runnin’ they mouths and touchin’ you like they know you.”

“They’re family.”

“No,” he snapped. “They’re not. That man disrespected you. And her? She touched you like she’s the one that tucks you in at night.”

“Stop it.”

Stack stepped in carefully, voice low. “She made you flinch, baby. We saw it. You don’t flinch with us.”

Annie bit her lip. Hard.

“I just wanted one peaceful night. I didn’t want a scene.”

“You wanted peace—so you offered us up like sacrificial lambs,” Smoke said, voice growing sharp.

“That ain’t fair.”

“No? You let her talk like y’all shared a childhood. Let that man spit on our marriage with a smile. Then told me to hush?”

“You think I don’t know who she is?” Annie’s voice cracked “I lived with her. She slept in my mama’s bed two weeks after she was buried. She was Daddy’s second chance and my reminder that I’d already lost.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry.

“I was just trying to keep the damn evening from fallin’ apart. You think I liked it? You think I didn’t hear every little dig, every look, every word?”

“Then why the hell ain’t you say somethin’?” Stack asked. 

“Because I’m tired!” she shouted. “Tired of everything bein’ a fight. Tired of defendin’ my choices, my house, my men. I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

Smoke’s voice dropped cold. “Then don’t invite people who only show up to remind you that you alone.”

Annie’s shoulders pulled back like he’d struck her. 

“Alone?”

“You got us. But when they’re here, you act like you don’t.”

The room felt smaller. Angrier. Like the walls were listening.

“I ain’t the one you should be mad at, Annie,” Smoke said.

“No. You’re just the one who wants to be mad for me.” Annie didn’t look at him.

He leaned back. Only slightly. But Stack caught it. Smoke prided himself on taking care of his family. He’d be the bad guy if it meant that they were ok. So for Annie to throw that in his face? It was low. 

Annie turned on him. “What? Go on then. Call me out my name. You been waitin’ all night.”

“I been waitin’ for you to stop pretendin’ you owe that woman somethin’. Stop shrinkin’ yourself so she can feel taller.”

“And I been waitin’ for you to realize the world don’t revolve around your damn temper!”

“Y’all—” Stack tried.

“Elias, stay out of it.” She pointed at him.

That did it. Stack’s hands dropped. He stepped back, mouth flat.

Smoke’s voice turned dangerously soft. “You tellin’ him to stay out, but you let them strangers walk right in and put hands on what’s mine?”

Annie’s nostrils flared. She stepped in close.

“Don’t talk to me about ownership. I’m not some bitch you can pull by the leash when I embarrass you.”

Stacks head whipped around. Shock coloured his face. 

“Annie. Don’t,” Stack warned softly — they didn’t talk like this to each other. 

Smoke’s voice dropped low and clipped. “You gon’ wanna be real careful with me right now, woman.”

“Or what?” Annie challenged. “You gon’ bark louder? Show me why everybody outside scared of you?”

He stepped forward. Stack moved fast, blocking him.

“Enough.” Stack said. “We don’t do this shit. This ain’t us.”

“No,” Annie said. “This is exactly who we are. Pretendin’ this ain’t built on shaky ground.”

Looked like Frank’s words had planted a seed. 

Stack moved like she’d slapped him.

“You think it’s shaky?” Smoke’s voice shook. “You think we ain’t holdin’ you up every day? Lovin’ you, buildin’ you back from the goddamn inside?”

His voice cracked — just slightly.

“I would burn this house down to protect you,” he said, softer now. “And you out here handin’ matches to people who never cared whether you froze.”

“She disrespected you, Annie,” Stack said, voice stiff. “Right to your face. And you smiled through it. Made us smile through it too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Annie laughed bitterly. “Was I supposed to let y’all growl and swing your dicks like dogs markin’ a tree?”

“Watch your mouth,” Smoke said slowly.

“No—you watch yours. I let you bark, posture. The minute I asked you to sit like a man, you sulked like a whipped boy.”

There it was. The heat. The disrespect.

“Annie…” Stack said, quiet, alarmed. 

“I’ll beat the breaks off a nigga for touchin’ you,” Smoke said. “You lucky I didn’t.”

“Elijah—they’re family.” she tried to plead.

“So you gotta put up with disrespect?”

Annie threw her hands up, all syrup and sass. “The Moores got morals tonight!”

Stack cursed under his breath. Smoke went still as death.

“Fix them lips to say somethin’ crazy again, Annie,” Smoke warned. “See if I don’t remind you why you call me daddy.”

She tilted her head. “You sassin’?”

“C’mon now y’all…” Stack said half-terrified.

Smoke stepped closer, his voice dropping into something dark and dangerous. “It’s gon’ be real hard to take you serious if you got my seed drippin’ from your hole. Test me.”

Annie’s throat bobbed. She was gonna take that bait.

“Do not,” Stack said, sharp and urgent.

Too late.

“Annie’s sorry — ain’t ya, baby?” he tried, reaching for a lifeline.

“The hell I am,” she snapped.

“Don’t be a hero,” Stack warned, tension threading through his voice. “He gon’ turn you out, and I’ma join him.”

Annie looked at him, eyes glittering. Daring them both.

Smoke started up once more, “We’ll paint your insides white just how you like it. Remind you you the property of the Moores — no one else’s.”

“Property? That’s what I am to you?” she shot back. “A place to plant your damn flag?”

He shrugged. “You said it, not me.”

“I ain’t land. You don’t own me.”

“You act like disrespectin’ us is rent you pay,” he shot back, voice cold. 

That line came from somewhere deep — deeper than Smoke usually let show.

“If I’m so damn disrespectful,” Annie stepped in close, venom curling her words, “why you still crawlin’ back to this disrespectful pussy every night?”

Stack looked away. Smoke didn’t blink.

“That’s right,” she pressed. “You talk all this mine mine mine shit, but you only feel like a man when I’m on my knees, beggin’ for it.”

“Fix them lips, woman,” he said, low and mean.

“What? You don’t like it when I talk back? Only like me with your dick down my throat?”

“It make a fine picture.” Stack muttered from the side. 

“I like it when you remember who’s keepin’ you safe. Lovin’ you every goddamn day while you spit in our faces.” Smoke reasoned.

“I’m done talking to you.” she spoke lowly. 

“C’mon now,” Smoke said, voice soft and twisted. “Say somethin’ real filthy. You good at that when your jaw’s slack and your legs spread.”

“Smoke,” Stack snapped. “You know what you doin’. Stop provokin’ her.”

“Nah,” Smoke said without even looking at him. “She a big girl. She can take whatever daddy dish out, right?”

Stack stepped in. “It ain’t fair, Smoke. You know it ain’t fair.”

Smoke paused. Just a second. There were two of them. One of her. It was unbalanced. Always would be.

He sighed, started to lift a hand — maybe to apologize.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Annie spat in his face.

It hit his cheek and stuck.

For one sharp breath, nobody moved.

Annie stood perfectly still, chest rising hard. Her jaw clenched, eyes shining—not with tears, but with fury. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

Then Smoke cracked.

Stack caught him hard at the chest, shoving him back.

“Don’t.”

Smoke went still.

The spit clung to his cheek, hot and humiliating. He didn’t wipe it. Just stared — right at her.

Annie’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her spine was stiff, posture defiant. But there was something flickering in her eyes now. 

“I wanna fuck that disrespect right outta her,” he muttered, voice low and rough.

He stepped toward her — not to strike, but to claim, to punish her with the only kind of control he knew wouldn’t break her.

Annie’s breath caught. Just barely.

Stack stepped in fast — arm out, body angled between them.

“And we don’t do things that way,” he snapped, sharp and firm.

Their eyes locked. For a long, brittle second, it felt like something might break.

“You want her like that? Broken?” Stack asked his brother. 

The picture he painted with that statement stung. 

He didn’t want her like that. Giving in because she didn’t have a choice. Because he “bested” her. 

He wanted it offered to him, because she felt like he deserved it. He didn’t wanna take it. 

“You keep pushin’, you gon’ scare her,” Stack said, quieter now. “And she don’t deserve that from you.”

That stopped him.

Smoke’s jaw ticked hard, and he deflated. 

Behind Stack, Annie was still frozen in place—arms locked at her sides, as if afraid any movement might shatter the silence.

“Take a walk,” Stack added. “Right now. Before you say somethin’ you can’t unsay.”

Smoke didn’t move.

“I got her,” Stack said, gentler now. “You… go cool off.”

Finally, Smoke blinked. Swallowed. His eyes never left Annie.

“You make sure she’s okay,” he said, hoarse.

“I got her.”

Then he turned and walked out — quiet, controlled, like a storm bottled in a man.

Annie stood frozen.

Then sat — slow and stiff — like someone letting herself fall without a net.

Stack stayed standing, chest heaving like he’d just run a race.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer.

He dropped to a knee beside her.

“He lost his temper. He shouldn’t’ve. You know that.”

She nodded — barely.

“I made him,” she said.

“No,” Stack replied. “You matched him. That’s different.”

A beat passed. He reached for her hand.

“You still ours,” he said. “Ain’t nothin’ shifted in that.”

She squeezed once. 

“He didn’t even flinch,” she whispered. “But his eyes… they changed.”

Stack squeezed her hand. “He was mad. That don’t mean he stopped carin’.”

“He’s scared. Same as you,” Stack said. “That’s what it is—fear dressed up as fire.”

She exhaled hard, like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You meant it,” he cut in gently but firm. “Don’t lie to me.”

That shut her up. Her mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You meant it,” Stack said again, softer this time, “and that’s what’s eatin’ him up.”

Silence fell between them. Heavy. Thick with things they couldn’t take back.

She looked toward the door, then back at Stack.

“You mad at me too?”

He sighed. “Don’t matter what I’m feelin’. You’re my wife. My family. I stand with you—even when I don’t like how it went down.”

“I’m sorry, Stack,” she whispered.

He gave a small shrug. “Don’t be sorry. Be sure.”

Then he stood and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch.

“I'm gon’ fix my plate again,” he murmured. “If I don’t eat, I get mean.”

That earned him the smallest laugh. But it was what he needed to hear. Enough to know she was still with him.

“I set aside your favourite,” she murmured, voice rough but soft. “Kept it warm in the oven… in that little dish with the blue trim. Knew you’d want a snack later.”

He paused, and his eyes flicked to hers — just for a second. That did something to him.

“Always lookin’ out,” he said, almost to himself.

Then, quieter: “Love you, baby.”

One more kiss to her head. Then he turned for the kitchen, shoulders squared a little taller than before.

__

The door creaked open.

Smoke stood in the threshold like he wasn’t sure he had the right to come back in. Smoke looked different. Not unraveled — not quite. But quieted. Like whatever storm had rolled through him had lost its bite, leaving behind a man instead of a tempest.

Annie didn’t turn. She sat curled on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, her hand still in Stack’s. The fire had burned low, its glow casting soft shadows across the room. Silence pressed in like fog.

Smoke stepped inside, slow and cautious, like a man testing floorboards for landmines. His eyes found her first. She didn’t flinch. But she didn’t look up, either.

“I scared you,” he said, voice low.

No one answered.

He stood there a beat longer, hat in hand, shoulders heavy.

“I talked about ownin’ you. Fuckin’ the disrespect outta you,” he went on, his voice thick. “That ain’t love talk. That’s not somethin’ you say to the woman you love.”

Annie shifted slightly. Stack’s thumb moved gently over her knuckles.

“I ain’t proud of it,” Smoke murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Still, neither of them spoke.

Smoke let out a breath through his nose, rough around the edges.

“I was mad you shut us down,” he said. “Mad you didn’t let us defend you. But I didn’t come at you like a husband. I came at you like a man who forgot what kind of woman he had.”

That made her look up.

Her eyes were still red, but she met his gaze steady.

“You did scare me,” she said softly.

Stack’s jaw ticked, but Annie gave his hand a squeeze—like she was okay.

“And I hurt y’all too,” she added. “Shut you down in your own home. Made you feel unheard. That wasn’t right.”

She stood, slow and deliberate. Smoke didn’t move.

“You and Stack… you’re my peace,” she said. “My anchor. And tonight I treated you like a storm. All ‘cause I let my past talk louder than the two men who actually built something with me.”

She stepped toward Smoke now, close enough her chest brushed his.

“I’m sorry I spit,” she said, quieter still. “That was… uncalled for. And beneath me.”

Smoke’s brow furrowed, something soft and pained flickering in his eyes. His hand came up, cradling her jaw.

“You still ours?” he asked.

She nodded once.

“Yours. Always.”

Behind them, Stack smiled to himself. 

Then Annie turned to Stack.

The man looked caught off guard—his brows lifted, lips parting like he wasn’t expecting the spotlight.

“I’m sorry I made you feel secondary today, baby,” she said. “Like your opinion didn’t matter. Like you were less than.”

“Whoa, now—I ain’t say all that,” Stack replied, lifting a hand.

“You didn’t have to,” she murmured. “I see now what I was doing. And it was wrong. You’re every bit a part of this, and I treated you like a bystander. I’m sorry, Elias. Truly.”

Stack blinked. For a second, he didn’t know what to say.

Smoke chimed in, voice low. “And thank you.”

Stack looked over.

“I was losin’ my head in here,” Smoke said. “And you got me right. You always do.”

“Well,” Stack drawled, clearing his throat and smoothing down his collar. “Now that y’all mention it… you right. I am the star of today’s show. Glad that’s been properly acknowledged.”

That earned him a chuckle from both Annie and Smoke.

He folded his arms and leaned back, cocky as ever. He thrusted his chin at Annie “You can show me your gratitude in peach cobbler.”

Annie arched a brow. “Peach cobbler?”

“Yes ma’am. And don’t cheap out it either. I need hella peaches in there.” he said dead serious. 

“And you—” he looked at Smoke, “you can take stock at the juke for the next week.”

“Three days,” Smoke countered.

“Five.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, solemn as preachers. 

Annie laughed—quiet, but real—and turned to glance over her shoulder.

“Well,” Stack said, breaking the lingering tension with a dry drawl, “now that everyone’s sorry… can we go back to actin’ like Melody’s husband don’t eat with his damn mouth open and ask questions like ‘what y’all do for money’ like he ain’t got food crumbs in his mustache?”

Annie barked a laugh. Smoke cracked a grin despite himself.

“Mm,” Annie said, eyes dancing, “maybe I’ll go spit on him next time.”

Smoke raised a brow. “You better not. I’m the only one gettin’ that kind of disrespect.”

She smirked. “So… the ‘fuckin’ the disrespect outta me’ thing… that still on the table, or?”

Stack groaned, loud and dramatic, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m leavin’ the room.”

“No, no,” Annie said quickly, reaching out to stop him. Her voice softened. “I want all my boys,” she murmured. “My family. With me tonight.”

Stack froze.

Smoke looked up at her—really looked.

Smoke’s lips brushed her temple. Stack kissed her shoulder.

The house, so loud just an hour ago, fell to hush.

Just heartbeats.

Just them.

And the slow, quiet burn of still belonging to one another.

__

A/N Thought I'd give ya'll a variation of some angst for the trio but I'd actually end it off so I don't leave you in perpetual pain like I did in Touch of a Woman 🤪 For those curious about what fic in this AU would come after this... you'd enjoy Signed in Crayon, Sealed in Cash 💰

Always eager to hear your thoughts and encouragement it keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think 🥰

____

My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

___

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[smutmind]

The Wife ft. Chaeyoung

----

FULL CHAPTERS HERE

----

Bedroom lights glowed dim gold, softening the edges of everything but the truth.

Chaeyoung’s knees sank into the memory foam between his thighs. Her ponytail brushed his belly as her small hands braced his hips. Jihun groaned, breath catching when her lips sealed around the head of his cock—soft, teasing pressure at first, then deeper, wetter, purposeful.

He arched slightly, eyes half-lidded. “Fuck, baby… that tongue.”

Her eyes flicked up, playful. “You missed this?”

“You have no idea.”

She bobbed slow, then fast, sucking with shallow grace. Saliva warmed the base of his shaft. The tight hollow of her cheeks made every stroke obscene.

Jihun’s hands threaded into her hair. “You’re so fucking good at this,” he breathed.

She gave a light hum, vibrating around him. Then pulled back with a soft pop. “You get hard just thinking about my mouth, huh?”

“Every time,” he groaned.

She climbed over him next, straddling his stomach, her petite frame naked and flushed. Her breasts were small—tight and firm with dusky nipples that stiffened in the bedroom air.

“Show me how much,” she whispered, dragging her slick core along his length.

Jihun’s hands gripped her thighs. “God, you’re soaked.”

She grinned. “Your fault.”

Then she leaned forward, guiding him inside her inch by inch until he filled her.

“Fuck,” she moaned, hips circling. “That stretch...”

Reverse cowgirl. Her favorite.

Jihun grinned. “You want control tonight, huh?”

“You mind?” she teased, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

“Not one bit.”

She rode him slow at first, rocking her tight ass against his groin, her muscles gripping him in pulsing waves.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Just like that. Fuck, Chaeyoung...”

Her rhythm deepened, pace steady. “You gonna come already?”

“Getting close,” he admitted, voice ragged.

“Then flip me. Let me feel you deeper.”

He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her waist, rolled them easily, and pulled her onto all fours.

“Doggy it is,” he growled.

She arched her back, ass high, slick and ready. “Come make me beg.”

Jihun slid into her with a groan, buried to the hilt. Her body took him easily, dripping wet and clenched tight.

He thrust deep, fast, every slap of their bodies louder than the last. His fingers dug into her hips, grounding him.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he gasped.

“Harder,” she panted. “Don’t hold back.”

He obeyed, slamming into her with everything he had. Her moans filled the room, high and breathy, urging him on.

“Shit, Chaeyoung, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” she begged. “Come inside me. I want all of it.”

He groaned loud, thrust once more, and spilled into her, body convulsing. He collapsed forward, breath heavy, sweat trailing from his chest to her back.

She stayed there a moment, smiling, then gently pulled away, his cum spilling down her thighs.

Chaeyoung padded into the bathroom, humming softly. The faucet ran, a drawer opened, lotion clicked shut.

She returned with a towel, cleaned him with gentle care. Her kiss was soft. Her fingers ran down his chest.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, half-asleep.

She smiled again. “Get some rest.”

She stood over him for a moment, still naked, hair now messy and clinging to her cheek. Her fingers hovered near the nightstand—where pens and scissors lay in a cup beside the lamp. She stared.

Her hand moved slowly, lifting a pen, its tip gleaming faintly in the low light. She held it inches from his sleeping face, close enough that his breath fogged the plastic.

Her fingers trembled.

She stared at his closed eyes. “Not yet,” she whispered, barely audible.

She turned, padded out of the room.

He exhaled slow.

She didn’t hear the rustle under the blanket. Didn’t see his eyes open.

He waited a full minute after the door clicked shut.

His breath slowed. Eyes wide now. Awake, every nerve alert. The room still smelled of her—sweat, sex, the subtle vanilla in her hair—but something under it smelled wrong. Like heat without warmth. Like danger wrapped in silk.

Jihun sat up, slow and silent. The sheets were still warm where she’d tucked him in.

He replayed it: the way she stood at the nightstand. The way her hand hovered over the pen. Not random. Not distracted. Something deliberate—and then restrained. Not love. Not care. Something colder.

He swung his legs off the bed, bare feet pressing to the hardwood floor. It creaked once beneath his heel. He froze. Waited. Nothing.

The hallway was dark, save for the faint spill of moonlight from the living room. No sound of her. No clicks from the bathroom. No water running.

She was gone.

His fingers brushed the top of the dresser until he found his phone. 1:48 AM.

He slipped a hoodie on, skipped the boxers, just tugged sweatpants over his bare skin. No noise. Just the quiet pull of fabric and the dull pound of his pulse.

He cracked the bedroom door wider.

The pen was still in the cup by the lamp. No knife. No weapon. But his gut wouldn’t let go of the image—her knuckles tight, her gaze blank, her body stiff with something unspoken.

The front door stood half open. A breeze moved the paper taped beside it. Her shoes were gone.

Jihun inhaled.

Then stepped out. The hallway’s air felt colder now, as if it knew what the night would reveal.

Jihun eased the door shut behind him, slipping down the apartment stairs barefoot in his sweats. Outside, the street lay quiet under a bruised sky, amber from the flicker of a lone streetlight.

Then he saw it—her silhouette gliding across the sidewalk, fast, decisive.

He followed.

Her stride was too clean, too purposeful. Not someone walking off tension. Someone with a destination. She didn’t look back. Her small frame vanished around a corner.

Jihun closed the distance, heart hammering, air sharp in his lungs. Asphalt cold under his soles.

Then—screech of rubber. A taxi pulled up.

She got in.

“Fuck,” he muttered and raised a hand. Another cab crawled up moments later, driver looking bored.

“Follow that one,” he said, climbing in. “Don’t lose it.”

The driver glanced at him, then nodded, curiosity swallowed by the night.

The ride was a blur of shifting streetlamps and humming tires. Jihun sat forward, tracking her cab ahead like prey.

They stopped near an industrial lot—low buildings, old neon signs long dead. She stepped out.

Two men waited near a side door. Big guys, tall and wide, one with a leather jacket slung over his shoulder, the other bald and broad across the jaw.

“Boss,” one called.

She nodded. Said nothing.

Jihun ducked low in the seat. “What the fuck…”

His wife. Petite, careful, quiet Chaeyoung—being greeted like someone dangerous.

He cracked the door open, stepped out onto the gravel. Stayed low, crouched behind a rusted SUV.

Then a twig snapped.

Too loud.

One of the men turned. “You hear that?”

Shit.

Jihun took a step back. Another. Then sprinted.

Heavy boots hit gravel behind him. A shout. Then pounding footsteps. He ran hard, turned fast around a wall.

Arms wrapped around him mid-stride.

“Got him!”

A sting in his neck—sharp, cold.

The world tilted. His legs folded. The night stretched into black.

He blinked.

White ceiling. Morning light.

The bed. His bed.

Sheets rumpled, body bare. His skin still carried the faint scent of her. Dried sweat clung to his chest. The blanket was pulled halfway down, his arms sprawled wide, exposed to the morning.

No clothes. His phone sat untouched on the nightstand. No missed calls. No messages.

He sat up slowly. Mouth dry. Skin clammy.

Had it happened?

He stared at his hands. They didn’t shake, but his heart pounded like it hadn’t stopped all night.

“Jihun?”

Her voice floated in from the kitchen—light, sweet, sing-song.

“Come on, babe. Breakfast’s getting cold.”

The scent of eggs and soy sauce pulled him down the hall, but something else burned behind his eyes—a pressure, a heat, a warning.

Jihun stepped into the kitchen barefoot. Morning light streamed through the gauzy curtains, catching on dust motes and glinting off steel. Chaeyoung stood at the stove, barefoot too, wearing one of his old button-downs. It was half-buttoned, barely skimming her hips. No bra. No panties. Her ass peeked through with every shift of her weight, and her bare legs shimmered in the light.

She turned with a plate in hand, smiling like sunshine. “You look pale. Sit.”

He stared at her, the plate, the eggs.

She raised an eyebrow. “I said sit, baby.”

He sat. The chair felt too solid. The air too still. Something inside him wasn’t right—no tension in his groin, no morning stiffness. Just a hollow weight. Cold.

She leaned in, setting the plate down. Her breasts brushed his cheek, soft and warm and bare beneath the fabric.

“You’re quiet,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “I followed you last night.”

She paused. Not long. Just a fraction. Then laughed—light, airy. “Oh no, baby. Not again.”

“There were two huge guys. They called you boss.”

She tilted her head, eyes amused. “You really didn’t take your pill, did you?”

“I never forget my meds,” he said. “Not once. Since college. I don’t hallucinate.”

She came closer, straddled him on the chair. Her thighs hugged his hips. Her shirt slipped open more, nipples dark against pale skin.

“You told me you do,” she murmured, sliding her hand down into his lap. “First month we dated.”

He twitched under her touch, but nothing stirred. He looked down. Still soft.

She frowned, then smiled again—sweet, reassuring, deadly. “Aw. That’s what stress does to you.”

“I’m not stressed,” he said. “I’m confused.”

“Then let me help.”

She kissed his neck, her hand stroking him slowly, coaxing life back into him. Her breath tickled his ear.

“Just let it go, baby. You’re safe. You’re home.”

He closed his eyes. Her touch was relentless—light at first, then firmer, confident. Her fingers curled just right. His cock responded, heavy and slow, but real. She leaned down, letting one nipple brush his lips.

“You like my tits?” she whispered.

He nodded, mouth warm against her skin.

She lifted his face with both hands, kissed him deep. Then stood, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the dining table.

“I want you to eat me out like you mean it,” she said, voice low and charged. “Sit. Mouth first.”

He obeyed. She climbed onto the edge of the table, opened her legs wide. The shirt hung off one shoulder. She guided his face between her thighs.

She was wet already—dripping, needy. His tongue slipped between her folds, tasting the salt and slick of her. She moaned, fingers in his hair, hips grinding against his mouth.

“That’s it,” she breathed. “Suck my clit. Right there—yes.”

He obeyed, lips locked around her, tongue flicking fast. Her thighs tightened around his head, her voice rising.

“You always made me come quick,” she gasped. “Still do.”

She trembled, moaned, then came hard against his face, thighs quivering. She held him there through it, shivering.

Then she pulled back, panting, eyes glassy. “Now sit back. I’m going to fuck you.”

She straddled him again, one hand guiding his cock to her soaked slit. No hesitation. She slid down with a long moan.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Still fits perfect.”

She rode him hard. Fast. Her pussy clenched around him with every bounce. His hands found her hips, her ass, gripping her as she slammed down over and over.

“Say it,” she demanded. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” he groaned.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Then come in me. Right now.”

He couldn’t hold it. His body bucked, cock pulsing as he came deep inside her. She moaned, shuddered, clung to him.

They sat there after, tangled, sweat-slick.

She kissed his forehead.

“I’m heading out,” she said sweetly, standing and reaching for a napkin. She wiped herself casually, like it was any other morning.

“And Jihun?” She smiled over her shoulder. “The pen, the taxi, the boss—that was just a dream.”

She left.

He sat there, pants open, chest rising and falling.

Then leaned down to reach for his slippers beneath the table.

There it was.

The pen.

The exact one from last night. Same color. Same bite mark on the cap.

His breath hitched.

He never mentioned the pen.

**to be continued**

[screamlet]

911 what is your pride (week 4; sex & romance)

@911whatisyourpride thank you for running this project 💖🌈

bucktommy, 1k a short future coda to drag bingo night at shelley's (tumblr) leaning heavy on the romance here! this coda is now on the ao3!

---

It's been two months since Evan invited him out to drag bingo night, and a month since they decided to give their relationship another try. That's why Tommy's parked outside the 133 at 7:45 AM, his truck packed for their first weekend away. Ever.

This time last year they were together and every time they talked about a romantic getaway, they would end up in bed before either of them could suggest a place to go. Just the idea of getting away was a thrill; a year later, they were starting to understand the value of actually getting away.

His watch alarm lets him know it's 7:50 and Evan will be done with his shift any minute. Tommy's losing time and losing his nerve for this—this stupid little—

"You're an idiot," Tommy says to himself as he climbs out of the truck. "You've flown helicopters through combat zones and wildfires and a goddamned hurricane, but picking up your boyfriend from work, somehow that's scarier. Somehow. Somehow."

Yeah, but if you crash and burn in those scenarios, you only die once, his brain helpfully reminds him. Embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend and his coworkers—that's forever.

"Forever? If I'm lucky," Tommy mumbles under his breath as he jogs across the street.

The 133's bay doors are open and both the A-shift and B-shift crews are milling around, saying hi and catching up before they go their separate ways. Tommy looks around for familiar faces, but only sees Cristy as she laughs with a couple of people, and Captain Mehta, clapping the B-shift captain on the shoulder as he leaves his office.

And then there's Evan, half-hidden behind one of the engines with a handful of people. Something makes him laugh uproariously, full-body doubled-over laughter that has him wiping his eyes when he straightens up again. That's when he spots Tommy and waves wildly at him from all of 15 feet away.

"Tommy! Oh my god, Tommy." Evan drops his duffel bag unceremoniously and crosses the floor to him. "Hey, can I introduce you?" Evan asks quietly.

"What? Oh. Yeah, yeah of course."

"Okay, great," Evan whispers, pulling him into a giant hug with a kiss on the cheek. Then he turns around and yells, inches from Tommy's ear: "Hey, everyone, this is my boyfriend, Tommy!"

Cristy laughs loudly. "Tommy Kinard from Harbor Station, were you lurking behind that ambulance? Get in here."

He gives her a quick hug and waves at everyone, trying not to feel like a pageant contestant who's been called on stage to perform his special talent. Evan distracts him, though, as he points to something in Tommy's hand. "Tommy, what's that?" Evan asks, his smile lighting him from the inside. "Is that for me?"

And that's when Tommy remembers what had him ready to crumble from embarrassment in the truck, why it took him so long to actually leave the truck and come get Evan. It's the fully bloomed, dark and rich red rose that Tommy had seen growing off a rosebush as he was leaving his own shift at Harbor. It was from a random wild rosebush that didn't belong to anyone, so no one would mind if Tommy took out his pocket knife and cut one to bring to Evan.

"It's for you," Tommy says, holding it out to him. "Sorry, I—I feel really silly coming in here with like—like I'm on The Bachelor or something, or picking you up for prom, but I saw this on my way over and thought—I thought you might like it."

Evan accepts it with a smile. He looks at it and brushes the petals against his fingers before he holds it out to Tommy again. "Touch the petals, they're so soft. I think that's the best part of flowers. My favorite part, anyway." Tommy touches the petals, too, and their eyes meet as their fingers brush together, touching the rose.

"I love it," Evan says, and throws his arms around Tommy's neck, right there in front of the captains and firefighters and paramedics and anyone walking on the sidewalk past the bay doors. Anyone and everyone can see; it feels so good to hold Evan like this in his arms.

"Thank you," Evan says, his voice gentle, almost a whisper.

Tommy almost says, for what, it's just a flower, but he knows them both better than that. He pulls away and brushes a few stray curls from Evan's forehead, then kisses him. It's quick and chaste (only one whooooo from the crew), but Evan looks at him with those dark eyes and the dazed expression he seems to save for him, for Tommy. They could stay in this spot for years if Tommy's watch didn't beep for the top of the hour.

"Shift's over," Tommy says. "Ready for our road trip?"

"Yeah," Evan says, "wait, yeah, just a second." He slings his duffel bag across his chest and then grabs Tommy's hand to lead him out the bay doors. He waves goodbye to everyone and then holds the rose up to Tommy's face. "I think I've got everything. How about you?"

Some past Tommy would howl and kick his ass at what present Tommy's about to say, but that past Tommy didn't have Evan in his life. Past Tommy could stay quiet and learn a thing or two, like how to be happy. It was a skill, a real thing he and Evan were learning to do, and sometimes it meant small gestures that felt like the whole world.

"Well, I've got you," Tommy says. "I think that's all I need."

Evan looks taken aback, then blushes and lightly shoulder checks him. "Yeah, okay," he mumbles, but he can't hide his grin. As they climb in the truck and buckle up, Evan leans over and kisses him again—they can't hide a damn thing.

[cherrygirlfriend]

PROFESSOR DONALDSON

♡ pairing: married professor!art x student!reader

♡ summary: art has a thing for one of his students and when he confides to his best friend about it, he sees her at the same bar.

♡ warnings / tags: smut, age gap (30s, early 20s), thigh riding, cheating, patrick being a wingman. MDNI! wc: 1.4k

♡ author's note: this has been in my drafts since april… sorry 😔

ART MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST

art knew that every part of his attraction towards you was wrong— not only was he a married man with a daughter, over ten years your senior, but the worst part was that he was your professor.

but every time you walked into the room, it was as if his eyes were pulled to you by a magnetic force; the way your smile showed off the dimples that looked hand-carved to your cheeks, how it seemed that the sun always seemed to find your eyes and make specifically them brighter than anything else in the room, your hand raising to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, showing the same pair of pearl earrings you wore every day. it was like everything was slow-motion when you walked into the room, like the melodic sound of your laughter tuned out every other noise.

not only that, but you were one of his brightest students; always writing down notes, a serene smile on your face as your eyes flickered from him to your notebook - he doesn't think you've ever even yawned during one of his lessons. sometimes, after class was over, you'd walk up to his desk, art's eyes widening as you cocked your head to the side with a genuine smile on your lips, and even though his ears started buzzing the moment you said something to him, he could read your lips enough to know you were complimenting his class, art offering a shy chuckle and a shake of his head with a quiet thanks.

at this point, though, art was just ready to admit defeat; he knew that it was wrong for him to have such thoughts about you, such feelings towards you, but he couldn't help it. so as long as he didn't do anything about it, he'd be fine. he was a grown man, he had self-control.

"so." patrick clapped his hands on the hardwood counter of the bar as he settled down next to art, ordering the same thing as his blonde friend had gotten, whiskey on the rocks. "what did you call me here for? doubt it's to party." he said, taking a sip of his drink, "tell uncle patrick."

art took off his glasses, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger, placing the lenses down on the counter, and downing his whiskey in one large swig, tapping the edge of the glass to signify he wanted a refill, letting out an exasperated sigh, all the while patrick looked at his friend with widened eyes.

"what do i do..." art mussed up his hair, his lips pursed, "if i'm... attracted to someone i really shouldn't be?" patrick turned to look at art with narrowed eyes, letting out a soft chuckle; he saw the guilty in art's eyes, and immediately knew. "you have a crush on one of your students, don't you?"

art's eyes nearly bulged out of his eyes as he looked around, as if someone had told his deepest, darkest, secret to patrick; but the man simply chuckled, "dude, it's fine to have crushes on your students, just as long as you don't act on them."

but art couldn't hear a single word patrick was saying; because as soon as you spotted art, you smiled, lifting your hand up, waving at the man; and before he could pretend that he didn't see you, you had started walking over. "shit." he mumbled under his breath, catching patrick's attention. "what?" "that's her." "your little cr- YEOUCH!" art kicked patrick's foot under the table, interrupting the other man's sentence just as you got to the bar.

"i didn't expect to see you here, mr. donaldson." you chuckled softly, seeing the tight smile on art's lips. you tilted your head to the side as the man scratched the back of his head, "i could say the same." "i'm patrick." the black-haired man you'd noticed was accompanying your professor, and you turned to look at him, looking the man up and down, sizing him up with narrowed eyes, before telling him your own name. "i should go, my friends are gonna join me soon."

"ye-" "no, no. you should stay and have a drink with us while you wait for your friends." patrick grinned, stopping art's attempt from getting you to leave them. "is that alright with you, mr. donaldson?" you asked with a coy smile, the man clearing his throat, trying his best not to look at your cleavage, or how your skirt had slightly ridden up. "yes, that's fine. and, uh, you can call me art, since we're not on campus."

"alright, art." your lips curled up, and the way his name rolled out of your mouth so smoothly, the way your plump lips looked as you said it caused a twitch in his trousers as you pulled back a stool, sitting down next to art.

it was like talking to an old friend, like talking to someone art had known his entire life. one drink after another, the conversation between you two just… flowed. you didn't even notice when patrick slipped away, or even when your hand moved itself to art's thigh after a joke he'd told you had made you nearly keel over in laughter.

patrick did, though; the man was watching it all go down from a slight distance away, leaning against a jukebox, swirling around the in his glass of whiskey; a priceless grin on his face as soon as your lips connected with art's, only widening when he saw you two stumble into the women's bathroom of the shitty dive bar.

'don't shit where you eat' is what you told your friends every time they told you about some coworker they had a thing for; it was never a good idea to hook up with someone you knew you wouldn't be able to avoid. but as your professor out of all people sucked your nipple into his mouth, he might as well have sucked all the common sense out of your brain. you arched into him as art's hands slid up your skirt, his large, callouses hands gripping your thighs as you straddled his thigh.

"oh, god, mr. donaldson…" the term slipping out of your mouth without you even realizing, the man letting your nipple out of his mouth with a wet pop! as he looked up at you, your cheeks starting to feel warm with embarrassment.

but when you looked down at art, he had a small grin playing on his lips as he moved you on his thigh, the friction causing electricity to run through your veins as you felt the wet patch in your panties growing.

you rubbed art through his trousers, the man letting out a whine as he continued moving you as you ground down on his muscular thigh.

even though you were both still half-dressed, the pleasure you got just from the way art moved you on his thigh was heavenly, one of his hands squeezing the fat of your ass.

the drinks you'd had made every sensation feel so much better, every pulse of pleasure… the bathroom was filled with the sound of your mingled breaths, with your lewd moans, the pleasure in your abdomen building up and building up…

until finally it all crashed down, pleasure flooding through your entire body, your pussy clenching around nothing as your orgasm crashed through your body.

that was the moment art knew that he was screwed; because as he watched you come undone on his thigh, no part of him felt guilty. only thing he could think about was how beautiful you looked in that moment, and how he was the one to make you feel that way.

taglist: @h8aaz @purpleplumpudding @cinnamoncunt @nonietosay @ariieeesworld @in-my-feels-probably @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @destinedtobegigi @jessalys @lacy-doe @aliluvssyou @lexasaurs634

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[andy-15-07]

https://www.tumblr.com/princess-fairytales/785419277737000960/introducing-u-to-my-parents-getting-rawed-in-my

Could u write this with Danny or one of his characters please and thank you 💘

Mi Tesoro

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1083 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

You had no idea what to expect when Joaquin said, "Come home with me for the weekend. My mom's dying to meet you."

But now, sitting at his family's kitchen table in Arizona, eating homemade pozole while his mom beams at you like you're already her daughter-in-law, you wonder why you were ever nervous.

"Ay, mija," his mom coos, patting your hand. "You're even prettier in person. Joaquin, why didn’t you bring her sooner?"

Joaquin blushes and looks down at his plate. "Mami..."

You try not to giggle. He'd been the picture of confidence when flying drones and taking down HYDRA leftovers with Sam, but in front of his mom? Reduced to a shy, fidgety boy.

She pours you more horchata. "So, are you two getting serious?"

You glance at Joaquin, whose face has turned crimson. "Very," you say with a little smile. His hand tightens around your thigh under the table.

"Mami," he mutters, embarrassed.

"What? I'm just saying! Maybe next year you give me some nietos."

You nearly choke on your drink. Joaquin groans. "Can we not talk about babies while we're eating, please?"

His mom waves a hand, clearly delighted.

Later, she makes you help her clean up while Joaquin dries dishes behind you, brushing his hand over your back every time she turns away. His abuela FaceTimes in from Mexico and says, "Ay, tiene buena cadera. Muchos niños!"

You have no idea what she said, but Joaquin flushes so red, you cackle.

When you're finally in his old bedroom,walls still lined with old photos, one cringey Captain America poster above the twin bed,he closes the door behind you with a soft click.

You smirk, dropping onto the bed. "Your family is adorable."

He stares at you like you're prey.

"You have no idea what you did to me tonight," he says, voice low. "All sweet and polite... wearing that dress. Sitting at the table while my mom talks about marriage like she didn’t hear us fucking in my apartment last week."

You grin. "Poor baby."

He's on you in seconds.

Kisses you like he’s trying to make up for hours of waiting. Hands everywhere. Tongue hot and hungry in your mouth.

"You're not gonna be able to keep quiet, are you?"

"Try me," you pant.

He hikes your dress up around your waist, pushes your panties aside, groaning when he sees how wet you already are.

"Fuck. You ready for me, baby?"

"Raw," you whisper. "I want it raw."

He moans like a man possessed, fumbling his belt open.

"You're gonna take me, right here, on the bed where I had my first wet dreams as a kid,dreams of someone just like you."

You laugh, but it melts into a moan as he sinks in. Deep, slow, stretching you perfectly.

"Shhh," he breathes, stilling. "We can’t wake my mom."

You clench around him deliberately.

He snarls and starts moving. Deep, fast, hard. One hand on your mouth, the other gripping your hip like it anchors him.

"You feel so fucking good," he groans. "Gonna come so deep in you, baby. Want you leaking on my childhood sheets."

You come first, legs shaking, and he follows right after, moaning your name into your neck as he pumps you full.

But he's not done.

He flips you on your stomach.

"Been thinking about this all night. Want you there."

You freeze. "There?"

He leans over, kisses your shoulder. "Gonna make you feel so good, mi amor. Trust me."

His fingers dip into your pussy, spreading slick over your puckered hole. You gasp.

"Joaquin,"

"I got you, baby. Just relax. You're so wet. You can take me."

He pushes one finger in, slow, gentle.

"That’s it. Good girl. So fucking tight."

Another joins, stretching you open. You clutch the sheets, panting.

"Want me to fuck you here? Say it."

"F-fuck me there, Joaquin," you whisper. "Want you to."

He spits on you, then lines up his cock, thicker than his fingers.

Slow, so slow, until you're filled to the brim. You both moan.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes. "You’re perfect."

He starts thrusting.

Deep. Controlled. He leans over you, whispering in your ear.

"So dirty. Letting me take your ass in my childhood room."

You whimper.

He reaches under to rub your clit.

"Come again for me. All full. Come for me, hermosa."

You fall apart, moaning into the sheets, and he loses it,pounding into you, then stilling with a groan as he comes inside you, deep and messy.

You collapse together on the bed.

"Still think my mom didn’t hear that?" you murmur.

He kisses your shoulder. "Worth it."

You grin. "So worth it."

And somewhere, Steve Rogers' poster watches in silent judgment.

You wake up to the smell of cafecito and tortillas. Your thighs ache. Your stomach flutters.

Joaquin groans beside you, face buried in your neck. "Five more minutes."

"She’s making breakfast."

"I’m never looking her in the eyes again."

You giggle and roll out of bed. "We’re already in too deep. Might as well go eat."

You head to the bathroom first to freshen up. You’re brushing your teeth in front of the mirror when Joaquin slips in behind you, arms sliding around your waist.

"Still sore?" he murmurs against your neck.

"A little."

"Good. That means I did my job."

You snort around the toothbrush.

His hand slips lower. "Bend over the sink real quick, mami. Just a taste."

You choke on foam. "Are you serious?"

"Completely. Turn around. Hands flat. Be quiet."

You obey, bracing yourself on the cool counter as he pushes your sleep shorts down and runs a teasing hand between your thighs.

"Still wet. God, you're perfect."

He slides two fingers in, slow and deep, then leans over to whisper, "After breakfast, I’m fucking you in the shower. But for now… let me wake you up properly."

He sinks to his knees behind you.

When you step into the kitchen, his mom greets you with a knowing smirk.

"Did you sleep okay, mija?" she asks.

"Very well," you say sweetly.

Joaquin drags in behind you, hair a mess, face red.

His mom serves him eggs. "Your bed must still be comfy. Lots of... movement last night."

He chokes on his coffee.

You wink at him. "Told you she heard."

He glares, cheeks flushed, but his hand finds yours under the table and squeezes.

He leans in and murmurs, "Tonight? Shower. You're not leaving this house unshaken."

You smile. "Can’t wait, Torres."

[robbysreaders]

i needed to write something outside of the series i've been doing recently and this just tumbled out of me. I worry Jack is a little ooc here but guess what! idc! ;)

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

word count: 700ish

You keep a similar schedule to Jack. Well—not exactly. That would be a bit nuts. But you are a night owl, which is why it’s not the least bit surprising when your phone buzzes with his name at 1 a.m. And why you don’t hesitate to pick up.

“An actual booty call? How retro.” “Hiiiiiiii,” he drags out, cutting you off mid-sentence. There’s a smile tucked into every syllable, the kind that always makes you feel like he’s happy you answered. You catch the faintest slur in his words.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” you ask, laughing. “Heeyyyyy, I’m being good. I’m being soooocial. I’m bonding with my coworkers. I thought you’d be proud of me, not judging me.” “I could never judge you, Jack. If anything, I’m jealous of you. Or maybe just your coworkers…” “I would like to see you. But also, I can’t take my truck…”

“You can come over,” you offer. “I’ll call you an Uber?” “Welllllll that’s the other thing. I don’t wanna get towed… and we’re near your place. So I could walk to you, and then we walk back, and you drive my truck.”

You hear a voice in the background—Robby, you think—grumble, “You don’t even let me drive your car.”

“Jack, this is a lot of logistics for 1 a.m.” You rub your eyes. “Drop me a pin. I’ll walk to you and we’ll figure it out.” “Baaaby, you know I don’t know how to do that sober, much less in this state. And you’re not walking alone.” “Okay, compromise: you text me the name of the bar and we stay on the phone.” He sighs. “Fiiiiiine.”

Four blocks later, you step into a packed bar to the sound of cheers. Way more of Jack’s coworkers than you expected. You would’ve changed out of your sweats if you’d known. But then Jack spots you, and his whole face lights up like you’re the damn sunrise. He wraps his arms around you like he’s been waiting all night.

“Let’s get a drink for the lady!” someone yells. You wave them off. “I’m gonna have to pass. I have work in six hours, so I’m just here to get this drunkard home. Anyone else need a ride?” A chorus of playful boos goes up before Jack cuts them off with a single look. “Alright, call your Ubers. Be safe.”

You leave together, and he steers you two blocks toward your apartment—where his truck is parked.

“For a man who spent an ungodly amount of time in school,” you say, “you might be the dumbest person I know.”

He opens the driver’s side door for you. “What’d I do this time?” “We’re two blocks from my apartment. You could’ve parked in my guest spot. There’s always room.” “I didn’t want to assume,” he says, suppressing a hiccup. You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

You climb into the truck, and he shuts the door behind you with exaggerated care. He fumbles his way around to the passenger side and climbs in, sighing loudly as he slumps into the seat.

It smells like him in here—clean and faintly smoky, like laundry detergent and cedar and something a little spicy that lingers in the upholstery. You reach over and buckle his seatbelt for him because he’s too busy humming along to whatever classic rock station is playing low from the speakers.

“You’re so helpful,” he says, leaning his head against the window dramatically. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No,” you agree, starting the truck. “You don’t.”

You drive the two blocks mostly in silence, save for Jack softly singing along to the guitar solo. When you pull into your building’s guest spot, he doesn’t move to get out. Just turns toward you, slow and heavy-lidded.

“You look really pretty,” he says. “Like… offensively pretty.”

“Okay, now I know you’re drunk.”

“I’m serious.” He leans his head back against the seat and sighs. “I was watching the door all night. Every time it opened I thought—maybe that’s her. You didn’t even know where we were or that I was out but I was hoping. Isn’t that dumb?”

You glance at him. He’s half-asleep already, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks.

“No,” you say quietly. “It’s not dumb.”

You sit there for another minute, the engine ticking as it cools. Then you shake his arm gently.

“C’mon. Let’s get you upstairs.”

[hearts4hughes]

With the leaked pics of Wheezie’s actress being on set that came out I request ex!Rafe and reader who’s close to Wheezie.

Maybe one day when she’s hanging out with him outside and they see reader. And Wheezie admits she misses reader but doesn’t think reader will hang out with the little sister of reader’s ex boyfriend.

wheezie’s sitting on the porch swing, knees pulled up to her chest, twisting the drawstrings of her hoodie between her fingers. the breeze is sticky with june humidity. she’s mid-rant about her calc tutor when rafe finally looks from his phone.

“you’re not even listening,” she mutters, catching it with a scowl.

“because it’s boring,” he says, not looking up from his phone.

“you’re boring.”

“you’re a child.”

“and you’re so annoying.”

he smirks, stretches, doesn’t respond. the porch creaks as he leans against the railing, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. that’s when wheezie sees you.

you’re across the street, head tilted, hand gesturing mid-conversation with someone she doesn’t recognize. there’s a tote bag over your shoulder, a pair of headphones around your neck. you look soft and so familiar it hurts.

wheezie goes quiet. rafe follows her gaze lazily. then the earth stops. his whole body stills, like a dog catching a scent.

“she’s with someone,” wheezie says after a second, voice low. “not with with. just…walking.”

rafe doesn’t say anything, but his jaw clicks. you haven’t seen them yet. or maybe you have and you’re just pretending you haven’t. you’re good at that—avoiding things, especially him. rafe watches your mouth move, eyes skimming the curve of your jaw, the way your fingers curl around the strap of your bag. there’s a flash of silver on your wrist—his. well, it used to be.

“you know,” wheezie says suddenly, sharp with the kind of honesty only little sisters get to use, “she didn’t just leave you. she left me.” rafe’s gaze flicks to her, unreadable. “she was like. she was there…all the time. she knew my coffee order. she let me borrow her nail polish even though i always messed it up. and now she’s never around.”

he blinks and scoffs, biting his fingernail. “what, you want me to fix it?”

“no,” she snaps. “i want you to not be the reason it’s broken.” that lands harder than it should. he straightens a little. wheezie sighs and picks at the label on the waterbottle near her. “she probably thinks i’d choose you.”

rafe’s quiet for a long time. “you wouldn’t?” he asks like it’s a shock.

“not if you’re the reason she cries every night.” she shrugs and scrunches her nose. he doesn’t reply. doesn’t move. just sits there and watches you laugh at something the guy says, head thrown back like rafe never existed.

when you finally glance across the street—eyes catching on the two of them, just for a second—wheezie lifts a hand in a soft wave. you smile and wave. a small, gentle thing. hand raised and real. it’s not meant for rafe, but he knows that.

wheezie perks up beside him, waving back with both hands like she’s twelve again. “see?” he says quietly. “she doesn’t hate you. i’m the one she hates.”

still, he’s frozen in place. your smile—it’s not nothing. it’s not for wheezie only. not the way your eyes linger on him, not the way your mouth tilts like you know he hasn’t stopped watching you. but, he doesn’t smile or doesn’t wave back. he doesn’t give you anything at all.

because if he does, he’s afraid he’ll walk right across the street and kiss you in front of everyone just to prove you’re still his. so he just sits there, mouth hanging open, ruined in silence, and watches you walk away.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

[moonlight-ba3]

hiiiii, so basically just seen your master list and was wondering if i could request a Jack Hughes x fem! Reader fic

So basically the reader is okay at skating but want to get better at it since she is dating a literal ice hockey player (jack hughes) so she starts showing up to the rink early in the morning to practice and one day jack shows up and begins to help the reader with her skating :)

Skating help 

pairing:jack hughes x reader

summary:you want some extra help with your skating but to scared to ask for help, good thing your dating a nhl player 

a/n:fluff, thank you for the request :), also I gave up like halfway through, not proofread!!

I wake up to my alarm blaring in my ears. I groan turning it off, my eyes start to close again before I feel something licking me. I groan again, realizing it’s my dog, Vanilla.

‘’Ok, im up girl’’ I tell her as she keeps licking me.

As I get up and walk towards the kitchen to make some coffee, I hear my phone go off I pick it up to see a text from my boyfriend, Jack.

Wanna get breakfast??

I stare at it, too scared to tell him im going to the rink.

I haven’t told him I’ve been going for a while.

Maybe I should tell him.

No, it’s gonna be so embarrassing if he asks to come and sees how horrible I am at it.

I can’t woke up with a bad headache.

He responded almost immediately 

Do you want me to come over?

No its ok

Okay, I love you

Love you too

I let out a deep breath, looking down at Vanilla she stares back up at me like she knows what just happened.

As I get ready I keep thinking about how I should tell him how long I’ve been doing this.

He won’t find out.

At least not yet.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

A few days pass, with the same routine wake up, lie to Jack, go to the rink.

But today when I went I noticed a familiar person.

Its Jack.

I turn around ready to walk out, before I hear somebody call out my name. I turn around.

‘’What are you doing here?’’ I ask him.

‘’To help you.’’ He tells me causally.

‘’How did you even know I was here?’’

‘’We can see each other’s locations, remember.”

I completely forgot about that.

‘’You’ll help me?’’

‘’Of course, I will’’

I let out a soft laugh.

‘’Come on show me what you got.’’ He tells me as he gets my skates out.

Jack helps me put them on, he insisted that he had to, I look down at him admiring the way his fingers move softly through the laces and his hair falling in front of eyes. He pats my knees, pulling me out of my trance.

We walk over to the rank. A wave of anxiety slightly hits me. 

He puts his hand in mine.

‘’Im here to help, not to judge’’ He assures me.

I take a deep breath, before stepping on the ice.

We skate around the rink, my legs wobbling a little bit, Jack right beside me the whole time.

When we reach the end, I start to loose my balance, thankfully Jack was right there to catch me.

‘’Caught you.’’ He smiles at me.

He puts me back on my feet, hands still on my waist.

‘’I think you did really good, but make sure you have more bend in your knees.’’

‘’Thank you’’

He smiles back at me, before giving me a kiss on the lips. 

‘’Anytime, again, Im here to help you not judge.’’

When we finally put all our stuff up and leave. We go back to my apartment.

‘’Thank you for your help, I needed it.’’ I tell him.

‘’Of course Im here whenever you need me.”

[httpknjoon]

the princess and the rockstar | jjk [1]

plot | Once upon a time, there was a crowd-favorite crown princess who found herself romantically involved with a famous rockstar. See how they will try to navigate the world and maybe live happily ever after.

w.c | 3.3k

genres | angst, fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au, established relationship!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | oh my god, finally. i'm here, it's here. almost took me years to finally write the chapters. this is the first chapter, I just broadened the spotted drabble. but I hope you'll enjoy reading it :)

main masterlist | series masterlist | spotify playlist

[AN EXCERPT FROM THE INTERVIEW]

Growing up in a palace may seem like a fairy tale for most people, but for Queen YN, the Sapphire Palace is home. Born a year after her father was crowned as the king, Queen YN of Zafiro was introduced to the royal lifestyle before she could even learn how to talk.

“I think I learned the royalty’s etiquette first before saying my first words,” she quipped with a small smile. “This might come off as unexpected, but my mother is much stricter than my dad when it comes to our behavior. She was my first teacher in everything and made sure that we followed every rule in the book.”

With her mother’s strict upbringing, Queen YN was already aware from a very young age that she was not just like any other kids in her old preparatory school. She shared how her mother will teach her about royal traditions and responsibility, while her father will balance everything out by organizing a weekly family event like a movie marathon night, where they would just watch films Queen YN and Princess Astrid chose until they fall asleep on their unusually large couch.

“Maybe it was because they grew up in different status of life. Mom always wanted me to be a great example and do no wrong since I am the model for young Zafiroans… But now that I’m older, I thought of it as a result of the scrutiny she got as a young commoner who suddenly got everyone’s attention after marrying one of the world’s most eligible bachelors back then.”

“Isn’t this whole outfit a little too inappropriate?”

Looking up from your sketchpad, you see Astrid standing before you, rocking a themed outfit with her favorite platform boots. She looked amazing and prepared for tonight’s concert, the one she begged you to chaperone her in. But based on your mother’s tone through the video call, your sister might have to change her clothes later. She always does outfit checks whenever someone in the family has somewhere to be, wanting to make sure everyone is well-dressed.

“Sweetheart, I think it’s very much appropriate. They are going to a rock concert for Pete’s sake, everyone who’s coming will be sporting that style.” 

Your father comes on the screen, saving his princesses as usual. You and Astrid shared a knowing glance as you knew what your father was doing. Even though they are a million miles away from their royal duties, you two can still sense the awkward air between your parents’ differences.

“But not everyone is a royal princess, sweetie,” your mother replied, not wanting to back down from her initial opinion.

Now this is where you step in, “Hi, Papa!”

“Hello, my princess.” Your dad waved. “And what are you wearing tonight?”

You stood up from Astrid’s bed, the one you have been lying on ever since the call started, and distanced yourself from the camera to show them the Prada dress you have on. In your mother’s standards, it’s perfectly appropriate. Covered shoulders? Check! Almost knee-length? Check! Classy and graceful? Check! 

Although the dress fits your mother’s standards, you did not wear it specifically because of that. It’s just that you wouldn’t know what to wear to a rock concert, you've never been to one. Your closet lacks the style of clothes Astrid has, and even though your sister is wonderful in what she’s wearing, you don’t think you can wear something like that comfortably. It’s something new, and new is always uncomfortable to you. And the Prada dress is something familiar to you. It’s better.

“See! That’s how I want you to dress up as a princess, Astrid. Very elegant,” your mother told your sister, who’s standing next to you.

Knowing how the comment might make your little sister feel, you gave her a side hug, “Mooom, this is my style, and I think Astrid looks exceptional with her outfit. She’s so much more stylish than I am. I’m sure Vogue will write her an article as soon as they see her outfit later.”

Your mom hummed for a few seconds, “Okay. But don’t take the jacket off when you’re out of the venue.”

You felt your sister perk up beside you, “How about during the concert?”

“Fine, but no taking pictures with the leather jacket off,” she said sternly, but you and Astrid were already smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you, Mom!”

“Okay, my loves. We have to go now, and I think you two should too. Don’t make your Uncle Eddie wait, you should be ready before 7,” your father reminded you.

No matter how high his position is in Zafiro, he makes sure that his family doesn’t cause any unnecessary inconvenience to his staff members, including his courtier, whom you and Astrid always called Uncle Eddie. He has been your father’s best friend ever since middle school, where they met. They were so close that you and Astrid, the royal princesses, attended his wedding as flower girls, which was the first time that considered to be a commoner’s wedding was considered.

“We’re just going to touch up our hair and makeup. Then, we’re good,” you smiled. “Please take care there.”

“And please get me one of their wool scarves, Papa!” your younger sister exclaimed.

“We will keep that in mind, Dee-dee.” Your father smiled, calling Astrid by her childhood nickname. “Enjoy your night, okay? Listen to Eddie’s instructions—”

Your mother cuts him off, “And Astrid, listen to YN. Okay?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she nods.

After some goodbyes and ending the call, you and Astrid found yourself finishing your looks in her room. Loud music, which you assumed to be by the band you’re about to see tonight, played in Astrid’s speakers while you looked through her closet to find something that could make you fit in even a little.

“Does this go with this?” You turned around, holding her black knee-high boots next to your dress.

Astrid looked back, holding her eyeliner just above her right eye, “Yes.” She grinned, “But this isn’t a country concert, YN.”

You sighed, “Come on, I’m trying. I don’t want to look like a sore thumb in the crowd.” 

“As if being the crown princess of this country is not enough for you to stand out,” she teased, making you roll your eyes. “Wear it! It goes with your dress, and I swear no one will bat an eyelash at your outfit. Everyone there will focus on the sweaty guys playing on stage.”

Sweaty guys playing on stage. The thought somehow made you cringe. What does this band do on stage anyway? You barely have any idea about Sweet September, even though they fill Astrid’s playlist in almost a hundred percent. You only read their name before in a news article about their work with the UN against cyberbullying. But other than that, nothing. Boy bands (Astrid claims they are a man-band, like, based on her words, they play real rock music.) rarely interest you. Starting when you were younger up to now, the only type of concerts you’ve been to were orchestral and jazz concerts, which are more tranquil than a rock concert.

“Do you think it will piss Mom off if I go with a black lipstick?” Astrid breaks out of your stream of thoughts.

“Definitely.”

“Perfect,” she laughed before swiping the jet-black lipstick over her lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head, as you sat on the edge of her bed to zip up the boots, “Can you, like, give me a quick briefing about this band before we go there?”

“Hmm, okay.” Astrid remained focused on the mirror. “So, Sweet September is a four-member pop-rock band that was formed two years ago. Carter is their drummer and the oldest member of the band. He’s usually the more chill and caring one, like an old grandpa,” she laughed. “Then, we have Woosung, who’s the sarcastic one. He plays the bass guitar and also produces and writes most of their songs. There’s Mingyu, their lead guitarist. He’s the funniest one and like the co-founder of the group. His sister was dating Carter, who’s now like his brother-in-law.”

“And who’s the other founder? Carter?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Astrid shook her head, “No. That would be Jungkook.”

“And what about him?” you asked after the sparkles in her eyes got brighter.

She had to pause and look at you. “He’s the lead vocalist. Also, their frontman. Really, really talented, but one of his main skills is like pulling new fans into the group. So be careful out there.”

You chuckled, figuring that she was probably just exaggerating over the guy, “Is he that good?”

“Oh my god, YN. You have no idea. He’s the face and the voice of the band! I personally love Mingyu, but man, Jungkook can easily make me switch lanes if he wants me to. That face? With that voice?! He’s God’s favorite.” Astrid went on before squinting her eyes at you. “I swear, if you see him perform tonight, you’ll get me. You might even fall in love tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” You stood up with her heavy boots and checked yourself out in her full-length mirror. 

The boots feel different, but you’ll get used to them. Hopefully.  You don’t have a pair since you usually opt for shoes and sandals that complement your dresses and other formal wear. For tonight, for the sake of fitting in, you wanted to mix Astrid’s fashion style with yours. Even a little.

“Your Royal Highnesses, Sir Edward asked me to tell you that your ride’s waiting outside,” a royal servant knocked on the door.

Astrid picked up her leather jacket while you reached for your purse. Smiling at her,  you asked, “Let’s go?”

A thin sheet of smoke almost veiled the ‘No Smoking’ sign in the green room as Jungkook took a hit from the freshly lit cigarette stick between his fingers. He exhaled slowly, hoping that every drag would calm down his nerves. 

“Hey, that’s not allowed here,” Carter comes in with his drumsticks in his hands. “Tara will kill you if she knew you’re doing that.”

Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly, “Just one.” 

Carter, being the big brother he is, picked up something in their youngest’s behavior. He knew Jungkook did not smoke regularly. The last time he saw him smoke was earlier this year during the launch of their second album. Twirling his drumstick between his fingers, Carter sat back on the sofa.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook shook his head. “It’s just it’s a first show for this tour, and my heart’s already exploding.”

“Alright, that’s okay. But the moment you hit the stage, whatever you’re feeling will be gone anyway,” the older smiled, tapping his shoulder.

Jungkook smiled, but his shoulders remained tensed. When the door swung open, he immediately soaked the cigarette in the soda can on the table. He quietly hoped the air diffuser in the room would clear out the cigarette smell to avoid their manager’s reprimands. But it was Mingyu who came in, unaware. He has his eyes glued to his phone.

“Do you think they’re coming?” he suddenly asked, looking up at Jungkook as he sat next to him.

Jungkook raised a brow, “Who?”

“Zafiro’s royal family.”

That made the lead vocalist and the drummer chuckle, which offended Mingyu, who got defensive, “Okay, I am not being delusional here. But I think we all know that the younger princess is a big fan.”

“Doesn’t mean she’ll drag the whole family here,” Carter laughs, shaking his head.

“You never know… And you,” Mingyu points his finger at his best friend, “Don’t act like you will not be delighted if Princess YN shows up here tonight.”

The name is not new in Jungkook’s ears. Hell, even in his head, Princess YN is not a new visitor. He knew a few facts about her than a normal person would, but he can justify that by saying that she was (or is) basically his recent fascination. Is four years ago still considered recent?

He knew you were the same age as him. You have been in the limelight so much longer than him, and probably handle the attention much better than he does. He is aware of the royal protocols. Or that one Vogue article you wrote to raise awareness about Zafiro’s rising jewelry exports. You have your advocacy, just like any other royal family member, but something about you stuck with him the first time he saw you in a magazine interview clip years ago.

He remembered replaying that short six-minute interview over and over again, where you talk about things that Jungkook usually finds boring. But the smile that glows on your face as you tell stories pulled him in.

“She won’t,” Jungkook mumbled confidently, but he could feel his fingers itching for another stick of cigarette.

“You two will have your own entrance and exit spots. Ronnie and Ben would accompany you two to the entrance and would meet you at the same gate after the concert.”

Your father’s trusty courtier, Eddie, guided you and your sister on what you’re supposed to do. There were rules you had to remember, so you listened carefully to make sure you won’t forget a thing. Especially since Astrid practically begged your parents not to have bodyguards with her for tonight, wanting to feel that sense of normalcy for once.

“Is that all, Uncle?”

Astrid already had her arms crossed as she asked that. It’s been fifteen minutes since your car arrived in front of this secret entrance to the concert. But because of the King’s instructions, you two were held up.

Eddie smiled, noticing your sister’s tone, “I know you are excited about this concert, Your Royal Highness. But His Majesty still has one last message… and this is a very important one, so listen.” Your sister sighed, you leaned forward to hear whatever his about to say, “Please remind my lovely girls to enjoy the night amidst my tiring instructions. Take pictures and sing along. I would love to hear stories from them about this very important concert, based on what my Astrid said, when my queen and I get back from our short trip to Scotland. Follow what your Uncle Eddie says.”

A small smile formed on your lips with that. Finally, Eddie lets you two go with your bodyguards until the gate. Then, a nice concert staff welcomed you into the venue and led you and your sister to your seats.

“Oh, my god. I cannot believe Papa let us come here alone,” your sister said as she slipped the Xyloband into her wrist.

“I know…” Your voice trailed off when you heard the people singing along to the song playing not too far away. You turned to the staff,  “Excuse me, is the concert starting already?”

“No, Ma’am. We’re just playing the band’s music videos before they perform on stage. But they will be performing in a few minutes.”

You nodded with that. It didn’t take long for you to get into your seats. The seats are not that close or far from the main stage, and it’s in the center. For safety purposes, your father and the security team agreed not to put you two in the floor area where you can see the band better and closer. Nonetheless, you knew Astrid would love any seat she would get in this place.

Since you heard from Astrid that the tickets were sold out as soon as it’s started selling, you assumed your father pulled some strings to make this possible. It made you wonder even more what’s good in Sweet September. Other than Astrid's introduction earlier, you made an effort to read a couple of articles about them, and you later learned that tonight is the start of their world tour. You learned that they have a huge following in your country, and fans petitioned for them to visit Zafiro, which resulted in tonight.

“Oh, look at that! Look at those signs!”

Your sister was laughing while she pointed her finger all over the crowded arena. The joy on her face was enough for you to smile. But still, your eyes followed where she was pointing. Each sign has big, bold, easily noticeable letters and words. They were aggressive and funny, with one of them asking to put oil on the lead vocalist’s body. 

What was that supposed to mean? 

You wanted to ask Astrid, but she was already talking to another fan who was sitting beside her. The fan seemed surprised and delighted at the same time when she locked eyes with you for a second. You just smiled. As a highly-regarded crown princess, you know that they least expect you to show up at a rock concert next to them. You then turned to your other side, where you immediately locked eyes with a lady who seemed a bit older than you. She instantly looked away and slowly looked back after a few seconds, thinking that you were not looking at her anymore. But you are. And you can tell who she is by her awkward aura and stiff movements.

As part of showing respect to a royal, a commoner cannot talk to you unless you speak to them first. So you decided to say something in a mumble, “Did the King hire you?”

You don’t want your sister to hear it. You want her to focus on the fact that she is free from your parents’ overprotectiveness tonight. You can read the hesitation on the woman’s face, but you can already tell that she is a secret security agent Eddie hired.

“It’s fine. I understand,” you gave her a reassuring smile. “Please, enjoy the concert too.”

The woman nods and bows subtly. Turning away, you see, Astrid had already made new friends. They were taking pictures and talking about their excitement for tonight until one of the girls told her,

“It’s a surprise to see you in here, Your Royal Highness.”

“Please, just call me Astrid, or you can add that princess title if you’re uncomfortable with calling me by name,” she quipped, and they laughed. “Actually, the King only let me come here when Princess YN agreed to accompany me.”

Her friends’ mouths all formed into a small o. You waved at them, and they bowed their heads. Suddenly, the lights slowly dimmed down, and everyone began screaming– including Astrid. To say that your sister is excited was an understatement. It’s like she slept with a hanger in her mouth with how wide she’s smiling. Your cheeks hurt for her. But you’re happy to see her happy.

Taps on the microphone can be heard before someone clears their throat, building up everyone’s excitement. You stood there, just listening to them and observing.

“Everyone, welcome to the denim jungle!”

Someone began playing a good riff on a bass guitar. The band’s silhouette is recognizable on stage over the thick, white smoke. In the first beat of the drum, the lights snapped open. There, your eyes spotted the lead vocalist. His hair is damp for some reason, yet it goes perfectly with his mostly dark outfit.

“Zafiro, let me hear you scream!” he growled into the microphone.

A fucking growl. A growl that basically popped everyone’s balloon, releasing a thousand screams and cheers from everyone in the Crystalline Stadium. Everything is so loud. You’re finding it hard to breathe. You can’t breathe, but you are enjoying it. It’s confusing. The screams. The instruments are playing. Your heartbeats thumping. 

“I swear, if you see him perform tonight, you’ll get me.” You clutched your chest as you heard Astrid’s statement from earlier in your head. “You might even fall in love tonight.”

Oh, no.

additional note: i understand if some of y'all want to be removed from the taglist, it has been so long! feel free to reach out if u want to be removed <3

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[starkeymeow]

hi! loving your rafe cameron who thingy at the moment it’s so good and i love all the different fandoms and ideas! i was wondering if you’d ever consider writing a slytherin rafe x hufflepuff reader one?

love you work <33

# HOGWARTS — slytherin!rafe who . . .

main masterlist | series masterlist

glances at you the first time during second year when you trip over your robes in the hallway and instead of laughing like his friends, he just keeps walking, but his gaze lingers half a second too long.

bumps into you on purpose one afternoon, knocking your bag to the ground, just to see if you’d cry or snap, and when you glare at him like you’re not scared at all, he grins for the first time in days.

scoffs when a professor partners him with you for a magical creatures project, muttering “great, a puff. this’ll be fun,” but still does every part of the work because he refuses to be outdone.

sends a jinx your way during third year dueling club, smirks when you fall, then just stares when you laugh and get right back up like you weren’t humiliated at all.

stays behind after class when you drop your quill and actually hands it back instead of kicking it like he used to. he doesn’t smile, but doesn’t look away from your eyes either.

starts watching you more during fourth year, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying to decide when exactly you stopped being annoying and started being interesting.

sighs dramatically when he’s paired with you again in potions but doesn’t argue this time, just lets you lead and mutters “guess you're not just sunshine and stupid after all.”

glares when you wave at him across the great hall, but still nods back.

tosses a sugar quill on your desk after snapping at you in front of the whole class, then walks off before you can thank him.

gets weirdly quiet in fifth year when someone calls you “just a puff” under their breath. he doesn’t say anything until after class when he meets that kid’s eyes and hexes their ink bottle to explode mid-essay.

starts sitting next to you in electives without being asked, and when someone points it out, he just shrugs like “we’ve partnered before. might as well.”

starts watching your quidditch matches, always near the back, arms crossed and scowl tight maybe, but he still never misses a game.

lets you wear his scarf during a snowy sixth year hogsmeade trip with a sigh, muttering “don’t stretch it out.”

fights with you in the courtyard after you catch him hexing someone again, and when you shove him, he grabs your wrist and kisses you, like he’s been waiting since second year.

doesn’t tell anyone about the kiss, but he doesn’t need to. everyone sees the way he stands beside you now.

still teases you in front of others, still rolls his eyes, still calls you “too soft,” but starts doing it while holding your hand under the table.

starts waiting for you outside your common room, hands in his pockets, pretending he’s “just walking by” even though it’s across the damn castle LMAO

pulls you aside before every quidditch match now, lifts your chin, says “don’t get distracted. and don’t die.”

listens when you talk about what you’ll do after hogwarts, doesn’t say his own plans, but quietly shifts his to be closer to yours.

says “you’re not allowed to fall in love with anyone else” on a late walk after curfew, and you realize it’s the closest he’s ever come to saying he loves you.

walks beside you on the last day of seventh year like it’s just another morning. he doesn’t kiss you goodbye just yet. he just says “you were the best thing i got out of this place.”

me when i write them a happy ending idc i dont wanna ruin them id probably cry

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @sukunasmuse @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts

[opiumwings]

prank’d — sophia laforteza

– you pull a prank on sophia, telling her your ex texted you and you’re going to meet up with them – word count: 708 words

you walked into your shared bedroom to see sophia sprawled out on the bed, scrolling on her phone.

“hey babe, you remember yunjin?”

“the one that’s your ex?” sophia looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah. she just texted me—wants to meet up for brunch.”

sophia paused, staring at you like you’d just told her something crazy, which you had. “we literally just had breakfast.”

“well yeah, but i haven’t seen her in a while,” you shrugged, heading to the closet.

“i didn’t even know y’all still talked,” sophia said, sitting up.

“we do sometimes,” you replied casually, flipping through hangers.

she tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she watched you search through your nicer clothes. “i just think it’s wild that this is the first i’m hearing about it.”

“i didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“so how long has this texting thing been going on?” she asked, arms now crossed.

“it’s really recent.”

“and that’s not weird to you at all?”

you waved her off. “she’s not like that,” you said, hiding your grin as you turned back to the closet, because honestly, you were about to start laughing.

you laid a silky dress on the bed, the kind you usually save for date nights, then grabbed your cutest sandals from the rack.

“wait—you're actually going?” sophia's voice pitched up, eyes wide in disbelief.

“umm, yeah? i told you i was.”

“wearing that?” her eyes darted between the dress and you.

“i wanna look nice,” you said with a smirk.

sophia went completely silent, processing everything you had just told her. you kept moving, pretending not to notice.

“okay…” she finally said, standing up. “then i’m going too.”

“huh?” you turned to look at her.

“i wanna meet her.”

“why? you don’t even know her,” you said, but she was already yanking open the other side of the closet.

“i just need to know why this girl thinks it’s okay to be asking my girlfriend out on a date like it’s not weird.”

“it’s not a date. it’s just brunch with a friend,” you said.

“‘just brunch with a friend,’” sophia mocked, yanking a dress off a hanger with unnecessary force. “there’s no way you actually think i’m buying that right now.”

“i don’t know why you’re so pressed. she’s my ex for a reason.”

“oh please. you’re putting on your best dress for this date, and i’m supposed to act like she’s not a threat?”

“you don’t have to be jealous,” you teased, finally letting your smile break through.

“okay, now you’re making me feel crazy,” sophia said, rolling her eyes.

that did it. you burst out laughing.

“what’s funny? i wanna laugh,” she snapped.

“i’m so sorry for doing this to you,” you said, walking over and pulling her into a hug. “i was just messing with you.”

you turned her toward the small camera strategically set up nearby. “say hi.”

sophia stared, blinking at the lens. “you stress me out,” she muttered, trying to push you away, but your arms stayed locked around her.

“i’m sorry! i wouldn’t actually go see her.”

“move. i don’t like you right now.”

“nope, you have to,” you said, still laughing.

you leaned in to kiss her. her lips were pressed in a firm line, but she didn’t move. and when she finally kissed you back, it was with a lot more fire than you expected. so yeah, definitely not mad anymore.

when the kiss broke, you grinned. “the girls are gonna love this video.”

“i’m glad you get along with them so well,” sophia said sarcastically, rolling her eyes again.

“we just have something in common,” you said, pressing another soft kiss to her lips.

“so, yunjin never texted you?”

“nope,” you shook your head. “haven’t heard from her since the breakup.”

“good. keep it that way.”

you kissed down her jaw until your lips brushed against her ear. “sophia… you’re the only one for me,” you whispered.

“of course i am,” she whispered back, voice low and sultry against your neck.

you walked her backward toward the bed, easing her down on top of the clothes you’d laid out.

“let me just remind you of that,” you said, climbing on top of her.

[admiringlove]

tw: nsfw, afab/fem! reader. themes of insecurity. a/n. this is me practicing to write smut properly. do drop a comment if there's any advice or comments because i'm only just starting to write nsfw after a decade of writing sfw things 😭🙏

[22:02] . . .

“hey.”

you open the door just a sliver first, out of habit, out of anxiety, out of something you can’t name, and then wider—letting it swing open until it hits the rubber stopper near the wall. you’re leaning on it, the wood cool against the back of your arm, and the hallway lights pour in behind geto like they’re illuminating something cinematic. but he’s just there. as usual. hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, chin tilted down just slightly like he’s already bracing for your mood, your sharp tongue, your jokes. he steps in without asking, of course he does. doesn’t even give you a second glance as he passes by, like he already owns the air between you.

you watch his back retreat into your space—your soft, stupid, lived-in dorm with the dumb clutter and gojo’s idiotic meme posters and the bunny plushie you still sleep with—and you sigh, defeated in the way you only get around him. you throw yourself on the bed the way someone might fall into water: all abandon and no grace. the mattress groans beneath you, and you reach blindly for your book, the one you were pretending to read before he knocked.

“you didn’t look too good today,” suguru says casually. not cruel. just noticing. “i go too rough on you in training?”

“you wish,” you mutter, but it’s a breathless thing. you’re already losing the thread of what you meant to say next, already faltering. because when you glance up, he’s watching you.

and not in that indifferent, smug way you’re used to. no, tonight he’s watching you the way someone might watch the clouds before a storm, or the water before it breaks into waves. calculating. quiet. his brow lifts slightly, and suddenly you’re flustered. you’re tucking your legs under you. you’re sitting up straighter. you’re all too aware of how fucking childish your dorm looks. you want to hide the plushies, the figurines, the chipped mugs with silly quotes on them, the tangle of rollerblades and laundry in the corner.

and he’s still just staring. you are eighteen years old but somehow you feel twelve in front of him.

because this is geto suguru, and the thing about suguru is that everyone knows what you feel. it’s not a secret. not really. you’re sure even the new first years can see it. your feelings stick to you like static. like glitter. like something embarrassing you can’t scrub off. and the worst part? he knows. of course he knows. he’s him. he knows and he does nothing. says nothing. just keeps stringing you along with touches that don’t mean anything and smiles that might mean everything.

you look down. you rub your thighs together where they’re bare above the hem of your shorts. you can feel the heat rising to your face. “i don’t know. i’ve just been stressed lately.”

“stressed?” he echoes. skeptical. the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. “your cursed energy feels fine. missions are going well. didn’t you ace all your exams?”

“yeah, i mean, i did. but…” you shrug, your voice trailing into a quieter register. “i don’t know. it feels like i’m burning out. like i’m... like i’m disappearing a little more every day and i don’t know how to stop it.”

he tilts his head, something slow and calculating moving behind his eyes. he looks at you like he’s cataloguing every little tick in your expression. every word you don’t say. “don’t you do anything to destress?”

you shrug again, a little defensive now. “i do. i play games with satoru. i go out with shoko. i go rollerblading with haibara and nanami. i get food with you.”

geto rolls his eyes, and stands up. and now your whole body is on high alert.

you shift slightly on the bed, tracking him as he walks toward you. your back straightens without meaning to, your hands fidget in your lap, your gaze dips but then darts back up—like you’re scared to watch him and scared not to. his steps are lazy but deliberate. his presence fills the room like heat, like static, like something you don’t know how to handle.

“i mean something that really gets your mind off things,” he says, voice low now, deeper. “off jujutsu. off curses. off all this trying-to-be-better bullshit. something that makes you forget the weight.”

“i just said i—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“honey.”

he says it flat. like it’s nothing. like it’s air. but it breaks you open.

your whole body stills. your heart stops, or jumps, or stutters—you can’t tell anymore. the word hits you low and warm in your belly. like syrup. like sin. and he’s standing between your legs now. you don’t remember letting him get this close, but he is. so close. close enough that you can smell his cologne. close enough that your breath is fanning against his stomach.

“video games and burgers aren’t gonna fix burnout,” suguru says, lifting his hand. the pads of his fingers brush beneath your chin, tilt your face up like you’re made of something softer than you feel. “you need to find something that helps you come back to your body. that makes you feel like yourself again.”

your mind goes completely, utterly blank.

because a year ago, you dreamed about this. a thousand different versions of it. of him standing in this tiny room with its ugly carpet and hand-me-down furniture and mismatched blankets. of him with you—really with you. and now it’s happening. and you don’t know what to say. what to do. you just look up at him, wide-eyed and trembling and painfully aware of how little there is between your skin and his. and your heart, god, your heart—beating too loud. too fast.

you swallow. “i can’t think,” you say softly, almost a whisper. almost a confession.

suguru just smiles. slow. knowing. ruinous. “good,” he says.

“tell me,” he murmurs, voice a velvet edge. his fingers trail over your cheek with the kind of care that feels surgical. like he’s trying to peel you back, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left but pulse and breath. his index finger pauses at your temple, resting there, light but deliberate. as if he could press through the bone and unravel the knots behind your eyes. “do you touch yourself?”

you blink. like a fool. like a deer in the middle of a highway. like someone who was never built for this kind of intimacy, at least not with him. you stare up at geto, wide-eyed and stilled, until your mouth finally works around the echo: “do i what?”

his grin is unfair. crooked and indulgent, something close to cruel but not quite. not really. he licks his lips, eyes half-lidded as he leans in just enough for his breath to skate over your skin. “do you touch yourself, dummy?”

dummy. a nickname soaked in condescension and something teasing and dangerous and so casually affectionate it borders on unkind. it makes your stomach clench, the humiliation immediate and bright, because you are a dummy in front of suguru. you always have been.

you’ve loved him too long, too quietly. you’ve followed him through fire and rain and boredom. you’ve laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t funny. you’ve clung to every offhanded compliment like it was scripture. and now? now he’s touching your face like you’re glass he’s trying to see through. and smiling at you like he knows exactly what you’ll say before you say it. still, your voice comes out small.

“i do,” you admit. it’s pathetic, the way you say it. barely above a whisper. your hands fidget in your lap, knees nudging together, shame gathering under your skin like a fever. “but… not like that.”

his smile fades, just the tiniest bit, replaced with something slower. quieter. more curious than mocking. “not like what?”

you’re staring at his mouth now. at the way it moves when he speaks. at the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips without thinking. you want to blame the heat in your face on the way he’s looking at you, but the truth is you’ve been this way since the moment you let him into your room.

you hesitate. your throat clicks when you swallow.

“like…” you pause. your eyes fall to his shirt collar. to the bare sliver of skin at his throat. to the faint pulse there. you wonder if it speeds up the way yours does.

“…like orgasmed.”

the word comes out too final. like a confession in a hospital bed. like something ugly and medical and wrong. you hate it. you hate saying it out loud, especially in front of suguru, especially when his gaze sharpens immediately. not cruel, no—but focused. attentive in the way men become when they want something they don’t yet have. when they’ve just discovered that they’re the first. that you’ve never—not with anyone. not even yourself.

his brow creases a little. not from pity. but consideration.

you can feel it shift between you. the weight of that revelation. the way it makes the air a little heavier, the silence a little longer. and for a second, you want to take it back. want to lie. want to pretend you’re not as young and foolish and untouched as he always suspected.

but suguru just lets out a soft sound. barely a hum. then he slides his hand from your cheek to your throat, thumb pressing gently at the hollow there. his other hand finds your wrist, holds it like it’s fragile.

“then,” he says, voice dipped in honey and smoke, “i guess we should fix that.”

“h-huh?” you look up, blinking, like you’ve just woken from a half-remembered dream. “what do you mean, ‘we should fix that’?”

he drags the words out slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the weight of them. “i mean,” he says, voice low and thick with something unspoken, “show me.”

you blink again, as if the meaning might slip past you, but it doesn’t. you know exactly what he’s asking. it’s there, heavy and sharp between you, like a secret you’ve carried too long. your ribs cave inward, your body folding in on itself, caught somewhere between wanting and fearing. it’s like you’re suspended in limbo, waiting for a sleep that never comes. you’ve waited so long—so fucking long—for him to make a move, to break the silence, to cross the line. but he never has. and now, with the moment finally here, you don’t know what to do. all this time, you would’ve traded every drop of blood, every ounce of sweat and tear, for just one look from him. one sign that you mattered more than a passing thought.

“suguru,” you whisper, voice barely more than a breath. “i…”

“lay back, pretty,” he interrupts, sliding down to his knees at the edge of your bed. his smirk is slow, knowing, like he’s finally shedding the weight of the distance between you. you watch him lean in, the space between you shrinking until it’s nothing but heat and breath. then his lips press softly against the bare skin of your thigh, cool and deliberate. you gulp, breath hitching, a shaky exhale escaping you. “suguru, ’m not sure about this.”

his eyes lift to meet yours, sharp but patient, hand splayed wide across your thigh as if to anchor you. “do you want me to stop?” his brow arches, waiting, but there’s no cruelty there. you know that if you said the word, he would stop. immediately. because that’s who he is. mean, yes, but never careless. almost cruel, but never actually.

but now, here he is. taking the first step. kneeling before you, lips still ghosting against your skin. you swallow hard, throat bobbing, and then shake your head. no. not yet. not ever.

his brow dips again, and he presses another kiss to your thigh, soft and slow, sending tingles skittering across your nerves. then he murmurs, voice a velvet thread pulling you closer, “come on. show me how you do it.”

you feel like you’re slipping into a new kind of hell. the air thickens around you, and you scoot back just a little, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. you can feel him watching—suguru—his sharp gaze tracing every inch of you, and somehow, that only makes everything worse. your hands come up to rub your thighs together again, but this time, you’re painfully aware of what’s happening beneath your skin. you feel it. warm, slick, impossible to ignore. you gulp, voice barely steady. “i start like this.”

your hands tremble as they rise to your neck, fingers ghosting over skin that feels suddenly too exposed. you move slow, deliberate, as if each touch is a secret you’re sharing with yourself, and with him. one hand drifts to your collarbone, the other hovers just above your breast, fingers brushing lightly, teasing. geto watches. he’s watching, always watching, and god, you can’t stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together again, desperate for some kind of relief. your breath catches, shaky and uneven, and your hand closes over your breast, squeezing. a gasp slips out—unbidden, raw—and your fingers find your nipple, kneading it like they belong there, like they’ve been waiting for this moment. and still, his eyes don’t leave you. your thighs part slowly, hesitantly, and your breath grows shallower, more ragged.

“t-then,” you falter, voice breaking as you lower one hand, letting your fingers brush over his hand still resting on your thigh. it hasn’t moved—not once. you trace your fingertips over your inner thigh, inching higher, higher, until you can feel almost the dampness of your cunt against your skin.

“i-i should probably stand, huh? to get my shorts... off,” you stammer, voice small and uncertain.

he says nothing. just breathes in sharply, the sound low and deliberate. then he rises, deliberately slow, bending down again. his hands find the hem of your waistband without hesitation, fingers curling around the fabric. with one smooth motion, he pulls your shorts off, letting them fall away like a barrier removed.

you watch as his eyes widen, the sharpness in them flickering like a flame caught in a sudden gust. he blinks, and you know he’s realizing there’s nothing there. nothing beneath your shorts. your skin bare, exposed in a way that feels both terrifying and electric. you swallow hard, voice catching before you manage, “s-sugu—”

“sit back down,” he says, voice tight, strained with something you can’t quite name. “fuck, sit down.”

you obey without hesitation. the weight of his command settles over you like a tide you can’t fight. it feels like the only thing you’re meant to do. like you’re already under him, beneath his will, and you always will be. you watch as he lowers himself back to his knees in front of you, eyes fixed on your face—waiting, patient, expectant. and you respond. you spread your legs, slow and deliberate, and he winces. a sharp, almost pained movement that makes your chest tighten.

“what?” you murmur, about to close them again, but his hand stays firm on your thigh, anchoring you. you furrow your brows, confused.

“didn’t expect you to do it so easily,” he says, voice low and rough. “y’know, letting me see you. fuck.”

your gaze follows his line of vision, down to where your slickness glistens—wet and shining like a secret spilled onto your sheets. you shift slightly, feeling the dampness spread, warm and sticky against your skin. “i—um…”

“keep going,” he urges, softer now, like a teacher coaxing a hesitant student. “i’ll tell you where you’re going wrong.”

“where i’m going wrong?” you echo, a flicker of amusement in your voice. one hand moves down, trembling slightly as your fingers brush over yourself. your index finger teases your entrance, slow and deliberate, not curling, just exploring. you catch the way suguru swallows, the subtle tightening in his pants, the bead of sweat gathering at his temple. it’s like you’re unraveling him, piece by piece, and for the first time, you don’t feel like a child in front of him anymore.

you press a finger inside, slow and steady, savoring the stretch, the slick heat that wraps around you. your body hums with a fierce, burning pleasure—sharp and deep and impossible to ignore. your cunt feels alive in a way it never does when you’re alone—heightened, raw, as if every nerve ending is on fire just because he’s watching. because you’re being watched. “then i keep going like this, but i never come. i can go up to three fingers, too, i think.”

he curses under his breath, low and rough. “jesus.”

“y-yeah,” you say, shifting one foot up to the edge of the bed, opening yourself wider. his eyes lock onto yours, dark, before he asks, “don’t you touch your clit?”

“’s too sensitive,” you admit, shaking your head. “i can never stay there too long.”

he clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes with a mix of amusement and disbelief. then his gaze drops to your slick folds, then back up to you. “can i?”

your stomach twists in a delicious way, a coil tightening low and slow. you nod, breath hitching. “yeah.”

he’s on you in an instant. lips crashing against yours, urgent, demanding as he pulls you down, one hand tangling in the back of your neck. you moan into the kiss, breath shaky and warm. his other hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers grazing your ribs before he lifts the fabric, revealing the bare skin beneath. he clicks his tongue again, a sound thick with surprise and something darker when he realizes there’s no bra.

“you always go around wearing nothing under your clothes?”

“no,” you breathe out, chest rising and falling unevenly, “just on nights i’m about to sleep early. maybe touch myself for a bit.”

“can never make yourself come, anyway,” he says, voice edged with a sharp bite as his fingers spread your thighs wider, exposing you fully. “what’s the point?”

“can’t a girl try?” you challenge, falling back onto the bed but propping yourself up on your elbows, eyes locked on his. he grins then—slow, devilish, the kind of grin that promises trouble.

his fingers slide up from your slick entrance, tracing the delicate folds before settling on your clit. the touch is featherlight at first, teasing, coaxing. a moan escapes you, unguardedly raw, your head falling back as the sensation spreads like wildfire through your body. it’s nothing like when you do it alone—this is deeper, more consuming. his fingers pulse and circle with a rhythm that feels both foreign and achingly familiar, and your skin flushes hot, every nerve ending alive with pleasure.

your breath quickens, as waves of heat roll through you, building, building, until your body trembles on the edge of something fierce and overwhelming. you’re lost in the sensation—so different, so much more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. and through it all, he watches, unyieldingly attentive, like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this moment.

“you feel this?” suguru murmurs, voice low. “this is what you were too ‘sensitive’ to do.”

“don’t tease me,” you breathe back, panting, voice thick with want and frustration. “you’re supposed to be teaching me.”

he hums softly, a chuckle vibrating against your skin before his lips press a wet kiss to the crown of your head. his finger slides down your slit, but his thumb lingers, resting on your clit. a sharp gasp escapes you when he teases at your entrance—he doesn’t push inside, doesn’t dare. instead, he just watches, that smug smile curling at the edges of his mouth as you shudder beneath his touch, feeling a pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known.

“touching yourself isn’t just about doing it for the sake of it, dummy,” he says, thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles against your clit. you groan, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching at him, at the sheets, at anything you can hold onto. his voice drops lower, thick with something fierce and knowing. “it’s about the ride. the high. the chase. and the release.”

“i’ve never felt anything like this,” you whisper, trembling.

he chuckles again, then slides a finger inside you without hesitation. your eyes widen at the sudden fullness, the delicious stretch. “well,” he says, voice steady, “i’m not stopping till you come.”

“and what if... what if i can’t?” you breathe out, voice fragile as he adds another finger, thicker, longer than yours ever were. every nerve in your body seems to flare, senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. the world narrows to the heat between your legs, the slick press of his fingers, the sound of your own ragged breaths.

he shakes his head, low and amused. “you can. you were just too chicken to touch yourself properly. let go, dummy.”

“stop calling me that,” you say, voice breaking between gasps, as he leans down to kiss you again, lips soft but demanding.

the wet, desperate sounds spilling from your cunt are nothing short of sin—so lewd, so raw, so achingly good. it’s a flood of sensation that crashes through you, deeper and richer than anything you’ve ever dared to feel before.

it’s so good. it makes you feel so good. so much more than before.

“you feel it building?” he asks, brow raised like he’s already reading the answer on your face.

you press your lips into a straight line, breath catching just a little. “a bit.”

“a bit,” he repeats under his breath, with a sharp edge of attitude. he huffs, amused. “you’re a tough one, aren’t you?”

“h-huh?” your brows knit together, confused for a moment, before he leans in and kisses the hollow of your neck. the air rushes out of your lungs in a sharp gasp as his lips suck and press there, sending a jolt straight through you. you moan his name, loud and raw, the sound trembling from deep inside. something about this—your nearly bare skin against his fully clothed body, the hard press of his cock against your thigh—sets your nerves on fire. you whisper, desperate, “i need you.”

he pauses, hovering over you, voice low and steady. “i’m not fucking you tonight.”

“what does that mean?” you ask, brows furrowing, voice sharp and accusing, just as his fingers speed up their rhythm against your clit.

and then you feel it—the slow, relentless building coil of pleasure tightening inside you. you gasp, breath breaking in the most desperate way. suguru chuckles softly, that devilish smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “so my dummy here doesn’t get off to my fingers inside her, but on her clit. that’s interesting.”

“n-no,” you pant, overwhelmed. his breath hot against your skin, his cock pressing steady against your thigh, his fingers moving with a surety that makes your body tremble. “go back to the part where you said you’re not fucking me tonight.”

“i’m not,” he says, shaking his head slowly, voice low. “i’m gonna make you come, then we’re gonna sneak out and get burgers at the diner with satoru and shoko. that’s why i came here. to get you.”

“you're such a dick,” you breathe, unable to bear the mounting pleasure anymore. it’s been building, relentlessly fierce, with no release in sight. his voice in your ear, the wet sounds between your thighs, his fingers still buried inside you, thumb circling your clit like it’s the only thing that matters. he rubs slow, then presses harder, and when he does both at once, it steals your breath away—like the air’s been sucked from your lungs. “t-there!”

“i got it, didn’t i?” he laughs, voice warm and teasing as he kisses the shell of your ear. when he presses again, you inhale sharply, voice trembling. “’m gonna come.”

“perfect,” he whispers, “keep going. grind against it.”

and you do. you obey without hesitation because nothing else exists. your vision narrows to a tunnel, and he’s the only light at the end of it. everything else blurs into haze as you grind your hips, arch your back, buck your body like this is the one thing you’ve been waiting for your whole life.

and then you come. it’s not a crashing explosion but a soaring high that lifts you, leaves you breathless and still. you lie there, trembling, as he pulls his fingers from you. your head feels light, your body quivering with aftershocks. your cunt spasms around empty air, and he grins, pressing a soft kiss to your head, showing you the slick sheen on his fingers. you can’t look away as he slowly, deliberately cleans them with his tongue, licking every drop of you from his skin.

it makes your whole body twitch with a delicious shiver.

“look at you,” he says softly, voice thick with something tender. “that feel good?”

“yeah,” you whisper, words barely there. “it felt like everything you said. the chase. the high. whatever.”

“yeah?” he grins, eyes dark and amused. “it was everything, huh?”

you hum, sitting up slowly, pulling your shirt back down over your flushed skin. you watch as he rifles through your dresser, tossing a pair of sweatpants at you. then he pulls out a pair of black panties, holding them up with a wicked smile.

“these look good.”

“f-for now? to sneak out?” you ask, voice small.

“no, dummy,” suguru says, eyes glinting like the devil himself, before stuffing them into his pocket. “for me to keep.”

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