#and you know i try not to think about it when i play because i just want my lesbian shepard to be in a healthy relationship in the game

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK Men React to Seeing You in Their Clothes

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader; Yuta x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: fluff over fluff, I'm pretty sure I already wrote something like this but I can't find it anymore lol, all scenarios talk about the clothes of the said jjk men being big on you so please don't read if this isn't what you vibe with (but feel free to let me know if you want a version in which their clothes actually fit reader quite well!)

Gojo Satoru

The apartment is unusually quiet as you move through the living room, your bare feet padding lightly across the cool floor. Gojo had left early this morning to deal with some “business,” leaving you alone with nothing but a mess of his belongings scattered around. You’re not one to complain though - cleaning up after him has become second nature after spending so much time together.

As you tidy up his place, you come across one of his oversized hoodies. It’s sprawled across the back of a chair, still slightly wrinkled from when he wore it the night before. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you find yourself reaching for it.

It’s soft, much softer than you expected. You hold it for a moment, staring at it thoughtfully before a mischievous grin tugs at your lips. You slip the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. The sleeves are comically long, almost covering your hands completely, and the hemline reaches down to your thighs. It’s so big that it feels like you’re wearing a blanket, and despite yourself, you giggle at the sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

You sit down on the couch, pulling your legs up under the hoodie, and let yourself relax into the comfort of wearing something that smells like him. His signature cologne that follows him around wherever he goes, that makes your heart skip a beat every time you smell it. To be honest, you really miss him. These past weeks were so busy that you didn’t really get the chance to see him more than 2 hours before passing out sleeping. What you’d do for a whole afternoon, just you and him…

Not long after, you hear the oh so accustomed sound of the door unlocking, followed by the familiar voice of Satoru calling out, “I’m home!”

You stiffen for a moment, wondering how he’ll react, but you can’t hide now. Fuck, you never wore his clothes before. After all, they belong to him and you have no right to grab his stuff as you please.

Before you can say anything to defend yourself, Gojo steps into the living room, his bright blue eyes immediately locking onto you.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teases, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

His sunglasses are perched on his head, revealing his crystalline eyes that seem to glow with delight.

“Did you raid my closet while I was gone?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

“Your place was cold. Figured I’d borrow something.”

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he walks over to you, crouching in front of the couch as he eyes you up and down. His grin widens as he takes in the way the hoodie completely engulfs you, making you look even smaller than usual.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, laced with something playful but undeniably affectionate.

He reaches out, tugging on one of the oversized sleeves gently.

“In fact, I think it suits you better than it does me.”

You scoff, though your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You think everything looks good on me.”

“That’s because it does.”

His grin is infuriatingly confident, but there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“But you, wearing my clothes? I think that might be my favorite look.”

He leans closer, his nose brushing against your temple before pressing a soft kiss there.

“You can keep it if you want,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t think I’m getting it back anyway.”

Megumi Fushiguro

It’s early morning, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a soft glow over Megumi’s small apartment. He’s still asleep, his dark hair a mess of unruly strands as he breathes softly beside you. You’ve been staying with him for the weekend, a rare break from the chaos of jujutsu sorcery.

As you quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, you feel the cool air hit your skin. Without thinking, you look around the room for something to cover yourself with. Your eyes land on one of Megumi’s plain black shirts, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. It’s oversized, much bigger than anything you’d typically wear, but you shrug and grab it anyway.

Slipping it over your head, the fabric is soft and familiar, carrying the faint scent of him. It hangs loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long and the hem falling halfway down your thighs. You glance at yourself in the mirror, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something comforting about wearing his clothes, like having a part of him with you even when he’s asleep.

As you turn back toward the bed, you freeze. Megumi’s awake. His dark eyes are half-lidded, still clouded with sleep as he watches you from the bed. You can’t quite read his expression -it’s a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up early,” he mutters, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed your shirt.”

Megumi blinks, his gaze drifting over you slowly. He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can see the way his eyes linger on the way the shirt swallows you, how it looks like you’re drowning in fabric. After a long moment, he finally speaks, his voice quieter than before.

“It looks good on you,” he finally speaks out, a little awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure how to compliment you.

“Better than it does on me.”

You can’t help but laugh at how flustered he seems, even though he’s trying to play it cool.

“Really? I think it’s a little big.”

Megumi shakes his head, sitting up in bed and running a hand through his messy hair.

“No. It’s perfect.”

He pauses for a moment before adding, almost shyly,

“You should wear my stuff more often.”

His words catch you off guard, and you raise an eyebrow at him, surprised. Even though you know all too well that Megumi Fushiguro has a soft spot for you, you never really thought about stealing or borrowing his stuff. After all, he is the guy who slaps the back of Yuji’s head each and every day over stealing his sandwich or equipment. And now…he’s telling you straightforward that he wants you to wear his shirts?

“You want me to?”

He looks away, his usual stoic mask slipping just a bit as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks.

“I mean... yeah. It suits you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. Megumi isn’t one for big, flowery declarations, but this, this small, almost hesitant compliment, is enough to make your chest warm. You walk over to him, climbing back into bed and curling up beside him like you always do after waking up.

“Well, if you insist,” you mutter teasingly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I might just steal more of your clothes.”

Megumi huffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his loose shirt.

“I don’t mind.”

Yuta Okkotsu

You’ve been staying at Yuta’s apartment for the past few days, crashing at his place while you’re both on a break from missions. It’s been nice: quiet, peaceful, just the two of you enjoying each other’s company without the usual chaos of jujutsu high looming over you.

It’s late in the evening now, and you’ve just gotten out of the shower, feeling refreshed after a long day. As you towel off your hair, you realize you forgot to grab something to wear. Your suitcase is still in the living room, and you don’t really feel like walking out there in just a towel.

Your groan in frustration over your usual absent-mindlessness, eyes landing on one of Yuta’s old sweatshirts, folded neatly on the chair by his desk. It’s a little worn, clearly well-loved, and the idea of wearing something of his brings a smile to your face. Yuta definitely wouldn’t mind you wearing one of his shirts, right? And even if he did…you’d love to see that little blush creep up his face.

Without thinking twice, you pull the sweatshirt over your head. It’s oversized, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, and the fabric is soft and cozy against your skin.

You’re adjusting the sleeves when the door creaks open slightly. You look up just as Yuta steps into the room, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you.

“Oh, hey-” he starts, but then he freezes, his gaze locking onto the sweatshirt you’re wearing.

His face flushes almost instantly, a deep red creeping up his cheeks as he stares at you.

“Uh… is that…?”, Yuta stammers, clearly flustered.

You glance down at the sweatshirt and smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I forgot to grab my clothes, and this looked comfortable.”

Yuta blinks, his face still bright red, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind at all! It’s just… you look… um…”

He trails off, his eyes flicking away as if he’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

You giggle softly, stepping closer to him, to tease the hell out of him even more. That poor innocent boy who doesn’t even dare looking your direction when you stumble in the bathroom in the morning with noting but a shirt and panties on.

Even though you’ve been together for over a year by now.

“I look… what?”

Yuta clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze.

“You look… really cute,” he mutters, barely audible.

“In my sweatshirt, I mean.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help but smile as you reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Yuta.”

He finally meets your gaze, his face still red but his expression softening as he squeezes your hand back.

“You can wear my clothes anytime you want,” he says quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You grin, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I might just take you up on that.”

Yuta chuckles, his arms wrapping around you in return as he pulls you close.

 “I wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Not at all.”

Nanami Kento

It’s late, and Nanami is still out on a mission. You’ve been waiting for him to come home, but the clock is ticking past midnight, and exhaustion is beginning to catch up with you. After all, you’ve had a long and exhausting day at work yourself.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-asleep, when the chill of the evening air prompts you to grab something warmer to wear.

Your own clothes are in the bedroom, and you don’t feel like moving that far. Instead, your eyes land on one of Nanami’s neatly folded dress shirts, sitting on the back of a chair. It’s probably not the warmest option, but the idea of wearing something of his feels comforting, like having a part of him with you while you wait for him to return.

You slip the shirt on, the crisp fabric soft against your skin. It’s too big, of course, the sleeves hanging past your wrists and the hem falling almost to your knees, but it’s cozy in its own way. You curl up on the couch again, pulling the sleeves over your hands and breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingers on the fabric.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the sound of the front door opening stirs you awake. You sit up groggily, blinking as Nanami steps inside, looking tired but unharmed. He pauses when he sees you, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the sight of you wearing his shirt.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Nanami’s lips.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he observes, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

You rub your eyes sleepily, nodding.

“It was cold, and I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Nanami walks over to you, his expression soft as he takes in the sight of you.

 “It suits you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“I didn’t expect to come home to this.”

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“If you don’t like it, I can-”

“I like it,” he cuts in, his tone firm but gentle.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand lingers at your cheek.

“I like it very much.”

You smile, leaning into his touch as you look up at him.

“I might have to borrow your clothes more often, then.”

Nanami chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You’re welcome to them,” he breathes out.

“Though I have to admit, you make my clothes look much better than I do.”

You laugh softly, your heart warming at his rare display of affection.

“I doubt that.”

Nanami shakes his head, his eyes soft and filled with affection as he looks at you.

“It’s true. But regardless, you’re welcome to them anytime” he insists.

With that, he sits down beside you on the couch, pulling you into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his shirt making you feel safe and content.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, closing your eyes as exhaustion starts to pull you back into sleep.

Nanami presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and soothing as he murmurs,

“Anytime, love.”

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[cherry-leclerc]

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Cleve gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head his nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

[hoshifighting]

i’m not even going anon for this because i have NO SHAME for what i am about to ask

i can’t stop thinking about gamer woo… and better yet i can’t stop thinking about what sucking him off under his desk would be like while he’s playing.. 🫠

so lyla i am asking you to PLSSSS write something smutty about gamer!woo if you would be so kind 🥲☝🏻 just sumn about getting him hot and bothered and distracted while he’s gaming (& trying not to stutter and moan into his mic) has me going absolutely bonkers

i know i can trust u with this

giving gamer!wonwoo blowjob as he plays WARNINGS: smut, semi-public sex, blowjob, cum eating, mentions of body fluids (spit/cum)

you’re crouched under wonwoo’s desk, back pressed awkwardly against the leg of his chair, knees scraping the hard floor as you breathe out a quiet laugh. the low hum of his voice drifts from above, a steady stream of half-bored conversation with his teammates. there’s something about the way he talks when he’s gaming—always little impatient. his fingers click furiously over the keys, and his jaw clenches when something doesn’t go his way. it makes him feel untouchable.

and you’ve made it your personal mission to fuck with that.

“fuckin’ idiots, just push left,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the screen, completely oblivious to the fact that your hands are already sneaking up his thighs, fingers teasing at the waistband of his joggers. you feel him tense, the sudden shift of his body as your nails drag lightly against his skin, just under the fabric. his focus doesn’t break, though, not yet.

you grin.

“yah—keep up with the heals, come on,” he snaps, trying to maintain some kind of composure, but you hear the slight hitch in his breath when your fingers dip lower.

“what the fuck are you doing?” he mutters breathless, but the mic isn’t muted, and the noise from his teammates drowns it out.

you don’t answer. instead, you tug his joggers down just enough to free him, your fingers wrapping around his half-hard cock, feeling him twitch in your hand. it’s satisfying, the way his body reacts before his mind even catches up. you hear his breath stutter, like he’s trying to keep the sounds inside, trying to keep some shred of control.

“mmph—yeah, yeah, just push, we can still win this,” he’s saying to the team, voice tight, and you almost feel bad for him. almost.

but then you lean in, let your tongue drag along his length, slow and wet, and you feel him jolt in his chair, his hand gripping the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“fuck,” he whispers, quieter this time, more for you than the game.

you smile against his skin, lips brushing over the sensitive head, and then you take him into your mouth, slowly, savoring the way his thighs tremble under your hands, the way his breath catches in his throat.

“w-wait—shit,” he stammers, and you hear the faint confusion from his teammates on the other end of the mic. you’d laugh if your mouth wasn’t full, if you weren’t so focused on making him lose his mind.

his hands are gripping the desk so hard now, knuckles white, his hips twitching involuntarily as you work your tongue along his length, hollowing your cheeks, sucking just hard enough to make him curse under his breath.

“wonwoo, you... good? you’re like…really quiet, man.”

he doesn’t respond right away, too busy biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to keep it together. it’s almost pathetic how hard he’s trying not to break.

“yeah,” he finally grits out, voice strained, “i’m fine. just—focus on the game.”

you chuckle around his cock, the vibrations making him hiss through his teeth, his hips bucking up slightly into your mouth. you let him, taking him deeper, tongue swirling around the head every time you pull back, slow, teasing, like you’ve got all the time in the world to make him come inside your mouth.

“i swear to god, if you don’t stop—” he starts, but the threat dies in his throat when you hum again, pressing him deeper into your mouth, watching his hand fly to his headset, muting his mic with a shaky breath.

he sets the headset aside with a hasty clatter, both of his hands moving down to grab fistfuls of your hair. you feel the shift immediately—the control he’s trying to take back, the dominance that flares up when you push him too far. his fingers are rough as they tangle at the roots, pulling you just enough to make your scalp tingle, but not enough to hurt. you groan at the pressure, letting him guide your head, and that seems to light something inside him. his hips roll up into your mouth, savoring the feeling of your lips wrapped around him.

the chair squeaks under his shifting weight, the soft creak of it barely audible over the wet sounds of your mouth working him over. you’re drooling now, the spit gathering at the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, resting on his crotch, but you don’t care—you know how much it gets to him when you make it

you glance up at him, eyes rolling back, letting your expression go slack and fucked out—just like he loves it, and that’s when you hear it—his sharp intake of breath, the way he swears under it. it’s like he’s trying so hard to be a strong soldier, but you know him, know that look in his eyes.

“fuck—” he groans, his hips bucking up harder into your mouth, his fingers twisting tighter in your hair, practically holding you in place as he starts moving faster, forcing you to take him deeper.

your hands grip his thighs for balance, feeling the tense muscles under your fingers, the way his body is so close to snapping. every move unraveling as his thrusts get more desperate, more reckless. the squeak of the chair is constant now, a chaotic rhythm that matches the way he’s fucking your mouth, the sound punctuated by his shaky breaths and low curses.

“shit—you’re too fucking good at this,” he pants, eyes wwild as he stares down at you, his voice almost whiny, “look at you, drooling all over me…fuckin’ filthy.”

you moan around him, the sound muffled but still loud enough to vibrate through him, and he jerks, hips stuttering as he struggles to hold back. his grip on your hair tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to let go, let himself come in your mouth—but he doesn’t.

instead, he pulls you off him suddenly, your lips slick with spit and precum, and your breath comes in short gasps. before you can even question it, his hand wraps around his own cock, slick with everything you’ve left behind, and he starts stroking himself fast, the way he likes it.

his other hand grips the back of your head, holding you close, forcing you to watch as he jerks himself off right in front of you, his breath coming out in rough pants, the muscles in his arm flexing with every stroke. you can’t help but let your tongue dart out, licking at the head every time his hand moves down, teasing him.

“gonna cum, fuck—gonna cum all over your pretty fucking face,” he growls, his voice desperate. you open your mouth wide, tongue out, eyes locked on his, and the sight of you like that, so eager for him, makes him roll your eyes.

he groans loudly, his whole body shaking as he spills across your face, thick ropes of cum splattering over your lips, your tongue, your chin. you swallow what you can, but the rest drips down, mixing with the mess already on your skin. his hand keeps stroking, milking out every last drop, until he’s twitching from oversensitivity, his breathing ragged.

he watches you for a moment, panting, chest heaving, and then—without a word—he leans down, his thumb swiping across your chin, gathering the cum that dripped there, and pushes it back into your mouth.

“swallow it all, baby,” he says, and you do, your tongue curling around his thumb as you swallow everything he’s given u.

he smirks, pulling you up by the hair and pressing a lazy, messy kiss to your lips, his cum still lingering on both your tongues. when he finally pulls back, he looks at you like you’ve just become his favorite fucking person in the world.

“next time,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “i’m fucking you on the chair.”

you grin, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

[oddinary4bts]

To Give a Helping Hand | ch 3 (jjk)

☆summary: when you finally come over to his place, Jungkook realizes he'll need more of you.

☆pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: smut, idol!au

☆warnings: unedited, curses, alcohol, an NDA (brief mention), explicit content: grinding, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), edging, begging/praise kink, spitting, jerking off, unprotected sex (don't be stupid), creampie

☆word count: 3.7k

☆a/n: i was horny i guess lmao hope you enjoy! this is unedited so beware for typos and stuff that doesn't make sense haha love y'all <3

☆☆☆☆☆

There’s something about you that Jungkook can’t quite figure out.

Maybe it’s the way you signed the NDA when you got to his place, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with playfulness. Maybe it’s the way you teased him, threatening to spill his secrets with a wink that went straight to his dick. Or maybe it’s the way you told him he can’t tell anyone about you either.

It can be our secret, mmh?

Your words have been resonating through him since he made you dinner And he only did so because he wants to spend some time with you, to get to know a little before he actually fucks you, and all that shit. He’s just trying to be decent. But ever since you walked into his apartment with that skirt of yours - showing your indecent, strong legs, and thighs he wants to be crushed by - Jungkook has known he’ll get his dick wet tonight.

Hell, he knew it even before that, but the sight of you has been making him feel feral. It’s nothing new - he’s been feral for you ever since the first time he saw you at the gym, with that stupid Cooky keychain he hated then.

He doesn’t hate it anymore. In truth, he doesn’t even give a shit anymore. Maybe it’s because you have him wrapped around a finger, and he’s ready to make you see stars.

“Thank you for the food,” you say as you sit back in your chair, toying with the glass of the wine you brought. 

He tilts his head to the side, offers a small smirk and says, “Anytime.”

Your eyes glint. They glint like jewels in the sun, and it strikes him deep. “Does that mean it’s time for me to repay you?”

Fuck. His blood shoots down to his dick, and Jungkook stirs in his chair.

“I think we’re on uneven grounds, mmh?” he lets out.

You cock an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I haven’t seen you come yet.”

You smile a small, secretive smile, looking at your wine. “Does that bother you?”

“It does.” He shifts in his chair, leaning closer to you. He suddenly hates that you’re sitting on the other side of the table, but he’ll be patient tonight.

He wants to savour you until the sun comes up.

“So tonight is all about me?” you tease.

He can’t help the small laugh he lets out. “Oh, I think we’ll both find our pleasure.”

It doesn’t take you long after that to get up, walking around the table. Jungkook pushes his chair away from the table, and you straddle his lap with the quiet confidence he likes about you, lowering yourself on him until he’s sure you can feel his dick on you.

And he feels you, feels the warmth radiating off of you, and he already knows his climax will hit harder than it ever has.

“So,” you purr, circling your hips. “What do you want to start with?”

His hands find your waist, and he gently rubs you with his thumbs. “Why don’t you take your shirt off?”

You’re a brat. You’re a fucking brat, because you pout, saying, “Can’t do it for me?”

He’ll go insane tonight. Thoroughly, completely insane.

What will be left of him in the morning?

“You want to play this game?” he says, voice low.

You blink innocently. “What game?”

Jungkook gets up, carrying you with him. Your eyes widen in surprise, but you recover quickly, wrapping your legs around him. And he meant to carry you to his room, but your lips find the side of his neck, and you suck hard.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and he immediately directs himself towards the wall, pinning you against it. “You’re impatient.”

You lean your head back against the wall, looking at him through your lashes. “Maybe a little.”

It spurs him into action - Jungkook captures your mouth in a languid kiss, parting your lips with his tongue to taste you. He can taste the food and the wine on you, but also a taste that is so distinctly you that he sighs in relief.

He’s a man starved when it comes to you, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

Jungkook grinds his hips, rubbing his length on you. You whimper in his mouth, your hands pulling on handfuls of his hair, and he hisses in pain, though it only turns him on more. Still, he kisses you, sucking on your lower lip and teasing it with his teeth. He doesn’t bite down too hard, doesn’t want to hurt you, but when your tongue toys with his piercings, he knows he needs to have you now. So he makes sure he’s holding you up with one hand, and then slides the other one between your bodies. 

He makes quick work of pulling your skirt up, and then his fingers deftly push your underwear aside. One digit parts your folds, tests your wetness, and his dick twitches in his pants at just how slick you already are.

“Who’s impatient now?” you purr.

He feels an inherent need to shut you up, and so he dips his finger inside of you up to the first knuckle, swallowing the needy moan you let out. And then he’s pulling his hand away, bringing it up to your face, and he pulls away from the kiss to push his finger in your mouth.

Your lips wrap around the digit, your eyes blazing bright, and you suck on it, your tongue teasing the pad. It reminds him of how your mouth felt on his dick the last time he saw you, and he grinds into you again, loving the way your eyebrows bunch together with pleasure.

He can’t wait to hear you moan his name. That, more than anything, pushes him to pull his finger out of your mouth, and to then carry you to his room. You busy yourself on the skin of his neck as he does so, and he grunts when your tongue teases the earring he’s wearing.

“No hickey,” he reminds you when you go back to sucking on his neck.

You stop, pulling away just enough to meet his gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice.”

He’s reached the bedroom by then, and Jungkook puts you down on his bed. He takes his shirt off while you make yourself comfortable on the bed, and he throws the piece of clothing on the floor before climbing on the mattress. You immediately spread your legs for him, and he pushes your skirt up to reveal the black lacy thong you’re wearing.

It barely even hides anything, and he can already tell that you’re slowly soaking the fabric.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing his chest, lust and desire swirling in the depths of your gaze. Your eyes, glistening earlier, have turned darker, and he can’t help but admire you for it.

You’re beautiful. Beautiful in a savage, strong way that he can’t even describe. Maybe it’s your muscles, or that quiet confidence you carry yourself around with. Or maybe it’s just the way his body reacts to you - his lust for you is wild, feral, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jungkook bends down to kiss you, hand sliding to your wrist when you run your hand through his hair. He pulls your hand over your head, pressing it into the mattress right as you wrap your legs around his waist again. 

“Be nice and don’t touch me, mmh?” he tells you.

He doesn’t wait for your answer. He’s already sliding down between your legs, readying himself to finally get the taste of you that he’s been craving. And there’s something sinful about your skirt, about your black lacy thong, so he decides to keep your clothes on, hooking one finger in your thong to pull it aside.

You’re gleaming with your slick juices, your pussy flushed red with arousal. Jungkook just knows you’ll feel divine on his dick, but first he wants to lap you up.

And so he does, leaning forward to push his tongue between your folds. Your taste is heady, inebriating, and he grunts as one of your hands shoots to his head as if you’re trying to push him closer.

“Nu-uh,” he tuts, kneeling between your legs. He grabs your hands, puts them over your head, and then says, “Don’t move.”

He doesn’t break eye contact as he slowly unbuckles his belt, and then takes it off. Doesn’t break eye contact as he ties you up with it, making sure to not make it tight enough to hurt, but still tight enough to restrain your motions. 

Your breath is ragged when he sits back on his heels, tilting his head to the side as he smirks. “Now, if you move again, I’ll tie you up to the bed too, m’kay?”

You flash a lustful smile. “Maybe I’d like that.”

It turns him on far too much, his dick rock hard in his pants. He rubs himself, watches with manly contentment as you look down at him and bite at your bottom lip.

“Careful, baby,” he says. “If you’re too much of a brat, you’re not getting anything tonight.”

“As if you can resist me.”

He can’t. He knows he can’t, so he abstains from replying, instead choosing to make you regret your words. Indeed, he goes back to your pussy, pushing your underwear aside once more to blow a breath on your clit that makes you squirm slightly. He loves it, loves everything about how your body responds to his. Even more so as he dives in, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking on it lightly. You moan, somehow shy, and he looks up at you to see your jaw as your head is thrown back.

But you’re obeying, hands gripping at the pillow over your head, and Jungkook knows he’s got you right where he wants you to be. So he unleashes himself, feasts on you until your moans grow louder, his name intertwined with your pleasure. His dick hurts in his pants from lack of stimulation, and he starts palming himself as he eats you out, as your juices cover his chin.

Circles after circles around your clit lead to it growing sensitive, flushed with so much arousal he knows you’re teetering close to your orgasm. But he won’t give in yet, won’t let you come even though he thinks the sight will entrance him, will make him worship you like a goddess.

So instead, Jungkook pulls away, blowing another breath on your clit as you whine.

“Fuck, why’d you stop?” you complain.

He smirks, waiting for you to look down at him. 

“You think I’m just going to let you come like this?”

You clench your jaw, chest going up and down rapidly as if you’ve just sprinted down the street. “You’re a little shit, aren’t you?”

He bends down, bites at your clit lightly yet it makes you cry out in pleasure, and your hands shoot to his head. 

“What did I say about touching me?” he warns.

“Jungkook…”

“Hands up, baby,” he tells you, kneeling between your legs. “I think we have to tie you to the bed.”

You obey, yet Jungkook resists from restraining your movements further. Hell, he might want to edge you, but he also wants you to be a brat, to tell him how much you want it.

So he kisses you wild instead, lets you taste yourself on his lips as his hand lets go of your wrists where he’s pinned them over your head again. He trails his way down your side, lifting your shirt so that he can graze the skin of your stomach lightly, and you let out a breathy sound that he thinks might have been his name.

“What?” he asks.

“Touch me,” you say, eyes fluttering open to meet his. 

Your gaze is sex-crazed, a clear indication that he indeed denied you an orgasm, and Jungkook sits back on his heels. 

“Where?”

“Are you always like this?” you ask.

He nods. “Only with pretty girls like you.”

He doesn’t think you like the mention of other girls - he’s been with plenty of them, but evidently that’s not something you’d want to hear. So he decides to stop teasing, to finally let you ride the wave of your climax.

If only so that you stop looking disappointed. And so Jungkook brings his hand between your thighs, collecting your juices on two fingers before slipping them inside of you. 

You’re tight. Or maybe your walls just fight against him for a moment, relaxing the second he starts rubbing on your velvety spot. Your hips raise from the bed, your back arching as you moan loudly.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you cry out.

“Feels good?”

“Yes.” You wet your lips, gaze meeting his. “Eat me out at the same time?”

He tilts his head to the side, the predator and you its prey. “Why should I?”

“I’ll suck your dick after.”

His dick twitches in his pants at your crude words, but Jungkook ignores it. “What makes you think I want that?”

“The fact that -” Your words are interrupted by a loud moan, your walls momentarily clenching around his fingers as he pushes them in and out of you quickly, his thumb rubbing on your clit. “That you came down my throat last time.”

He bends down to whisper against your lips. “Open your mouth, baby.”

You look like you want to fight him, but he knows you’re nearing your high. Indeed, your gaze has lost its focus, your cheeks are flushed red, and your breathing is ragged, so much so that he wonders if he should give you a break before fucking you.

When your lips part, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate before he spits in your mouth. You moan in answer, your walls fluttering on his digits.

“Fuck,” you curse. “I’m so close.”

He knows it. He knows it, because you’re growing impossibly tighter, and your eyes are screwed shut now, your eyebrows almost touching. So he gives in to your earlier desire, going back between your legs to wrap his lips around your clit.

He only has to suck on it once, teasing it with his tongue, for you to crash into your high, and you moan as you come, your walls pulsing on his fingers. You taste divine, like the ambrosia of the gods, and Jungkook laps you up, guides you through your orgasm. And it lasts a while, wave after wave after wave crashing into you until your thighs are shaking, instinctively closing around his head.

Only then does Jungkook pull away, looking down at your ruined panties as he slips his fingers out of you.

“Holy shit,” you let out, and the breathy laugh that follows makes Jungkook pause, eyes widening as he looks at you.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Fuck. Yeah. That was…”

He toys on his piercing, everything in him waiting for the praise. But it doesn’t come, and his dick hurts in his pants, and all he wants is to bury himself deep in your hot wetness. So he moves away enough to remove his pants, and then he fists his cock, stroking himself as he waits for you to look at him. When you do so, he slowly takes off your underwear, never breaking eye contact, before kneeling between your legs again. 

“You think you can take me now?” he asks.

You look down at him, and your hands reach for him. As much as he wants you to touch him, he thinks he’s already close - if you were to suck him or jerk him off right now, he reckons he might come on the spot. So, once again, Jungkook pushes your hands over your head, but this time, he holds them in place before gently nudging your clit with the tip of his cock.

“Can you?” he asks.

“Can I?”

You sound confused, which he assumes might be because you’re fucked out from coming hard. So he kisses you once, pushing his tongue in your mouth lightly before he pulls away.

“Can I fuck you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you purr, and he loves that the brat is back.

Even more so as he rubs his dick between your folds, collecting your juices.

“You’re dripping wet, baby,” he says. “You always get this wet?”

You meet his gaze, biting at your lower lip. “What if I do?”

He starts pushing in, and you surprisingly hold onto the defiance, your smirk never fading. His, on the other hand, melts as he feels you for the first time, and you’re even better than anything he could have imagined.

“Then,” he lets out, pushing in inch by inch. He pulls back out for a second, and then pushes in again. “I better fuck you good until all you want is my dick, mmh?”

“Please.”

It’s the begging. It unravels the last of his restraint, and Jungkook pushes all the way in, grunting as he hits your cervix. He pulls out slightly as he surveys your features, aware that he might have hurt you, but you don’t look like you care.

No, your hips lift from the bed, trying to meet his, and so he starts pushing in and out, slowly at first if only to make sure you’re adjusted to his size. And when you moan his name for what might be the hundredth time but feels like the first, Jungkook increases his pace, increases the strength of his thrust until his headboard is banging into the wall.

He takes you in, takes the sight of you as you mewl from your pleasure, your walls sucking him in so good he thinks he sees stars. You’re heaven personified, his own nirvana, at least for the time that he’s fucking you.

Everything else fades away - his life, his fame, the NDA you signed that’s still on the counter. All there is is you and him, and the way that your bodies move like one. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way while having sex. Hell, he reckons twenty years from now, he’ll still be thinking about this moment while he’s fisting his cock.

But for now, Jungkook tries to focus on the present. Tries to focus on the way you respond to his every motion, your walls clenching around him. His balls grow tight, a knot forming in his lower back as he tries not to come. It’s hard, but he manages to refrain from coming by slowing down, establishing a deeper rhythm that makes your eyes flutter open.

“I really want to touch you a bit,” you whisper.

It’s not said out of lust. There’s something else in your eyes, and Jungkook wonders if you feel like he does.

If you, too, will be thinking back on this moment twenty years down the line.

“Let me…” he trails off as he stops moving, and then he unties your wrists. 

Your arms immediately wrap around him, holding him close, and Jungkook likes it. Likes the way you lightly trace his back with your nails, and he winces as you slightly dig into his shoulders as he starts fucking you again.

“No marks,” he reminds you.

You whine, yet it morphs into a moan as he starts pounding into you again. His balls are tight, heavy, and he knows he’ll have to let himself go soon, yet he wants the moment to last just a little longer. Maybe that’s why he pulls out, flipping you on your belly. Why he takes a moment to massage your ass cheeks as you glance at him over your shoulder. Your hair is a mess, but it’s beautiful, in such a simple, feminine way that it stabs Jungkook in the chest.

Or that might be the way you’re looking at him - it’s hard to tell, and Jungkook decides to chase the vulnerability away by pushing inside of you, up until he feels your ass against him. And then he’s fucking you again, relentlessly, sweat dripping from his forehead. It falls on you, but you don’t look like you mind, and though it’s burning his eyes, he doesn’t care either.

All he cares about is the way is dick grows infinitely hard, and soon his motions grow sloppy. He focuses for a time, tries to hold it in, but then you say, “You’re so good, Jungkook”, and the praise sends him over the edge.

Jungkook slams all the way in, holding your waist tightly, and he comes deep inside of you, painting your insides white as your pussy clenches around him. He sees stars - galaxies and nebulas - and his body folds on itself until he’s got his forehead pressed to the side of your face. He thinks he might have moaned your name, moaned a silent prayer to your beauty, and the orgasm washes through him, erasing everything until he’s just a blank canvas.

It takes a long time for him to come down from his high. For his breathing to return to normal, for his blood to stop singing the song of you. Meanwhile, you’re just breathing in sync with him, your hand on his cheek - when did it get there? - as your thumb strokes idle lines on the side of his face. It’s intimate, and oh too vulnerable considering that you’re a fan, so Jungkook straightens, finally pulling out.

He watches his cum dripping out of you, the sight nearly enough to make him go feral again, but he takes a deep breath, reminding himself that, as much as he wants you, you’re still just a fan.

He’s never going to date you, is he?

But he can’t deny the attraction, or the way your body answers to his perfectly. So when you get ready to leave, later, Jungkook pulls you into a short embrace, kissing you slow as your hands rest flat on his chest. And then he pulls away so that he can meet your gaze as you look up at him.

His heart feels warm - he thinks his whole chest might slowly be catching fire. So, even though you’re just a fan, even though you probably shouldn’t, he whispers, “Can I see you again next week?”

Prev

☆☆☆☆☆

hope you guys enjoyed this... horny chapter haha jungkook finally got what he wanted with her... but he already wants more hehe let me know what you think of this chapter!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

Taglist:

@pamzn | @chimchimmarie | @llallaaa | @backseatana | @xmspurple7x

@jadestonedaeho7

[monstersflashlight]

do you have anything about some sort of reptile-based monster that involves hemipenes? i think it’s a very cool way to do double penetration with only one top

A/N: First part of this was one of the stories in the 10k followers event (find it here). Enjoy!

Lizard-brain: the research

Lizardman x fem!reader || double penetration, hemi-peens, tail play, light choking, exhibitionism, dirty talk (low key)

When he pulled out, you felt your holes twitching at the same time a mechanical voice said from the speakers: “You did well, researcher, very interesting data was recorded.” Shit, you forgot there were people watching and probably saw you get fucked within an inch of your life. All your coworkers just watched you getting double creampied by a giant lizard-man. Great.

You were allowed to go home after that, your boss telling you to go clean yourself and the next day you could go over the data with them. Your lizard mate wasn’t happy about it, but he complied knowing he could see you the next day. You felt many emotions when you left the place, not ready to name any of them, you only showered and went to sleep, your body sore in the best way possible.

You arrived to the facility next day, and the first thing your boss said was: “We need you to do it again,” you looked at them confused, what the fuck did they mean.

“What?” You asked, looking at the monitors in the wall to try catch a sight of your mate.

He explained some of the data they collected, but how it was still very early in the research to know for sure, that’s why they said: “We need more data, and you are his mate after all.” You looked at him with understanding, your scientific brain already working all the possible conclusions of all the data collected so far and how much more you could know if you kept it. But also...

“I need to talk to him about this,” you told them. You had feelings for a big monster, and he considered you his mate, there was a lot of possible ethical problems there.

“Oh yes, it talks. True.” They said, but like it didn’t matter at all.

That infuriated you, but you swallowed your complaints, trying to understand why you felt so protective over him. And then it clicked, mate bonds weren’t only one way, he felt the mate bond, but you felt it back. You cemented your bond with sex and now you felt tied to him the same way he was tied to you. That realization should have scared you, but only made your stomach flip with butterflies. You had a mate. And that came with a new goal in mind: demonstrate that lizard-people could go outside and live like equals to humans. That started with proving your mate bond was true and necessary, scientifically. And if that meant to be fucked in front of some researcher, so be it.

The talk with your mate went as well as expected. He was more than okay with the idea of fucking you again, but not so keen on the idea of other people being there. But the head researcher insisted it was important for somebody to be in the room with you to catalog fine movements and reactions that cameras couldn’t capture. You agreed with them on that, that’s the only reason you accepted (nothing to do with the fact that you might or might not have a bit of an exhibitionist kink).

And that’s why you were naked over a medical bed with your lizard-man mate over your body and a researcher standing a few meters away. Your pussy was already wet, needy and desperate to be filled to the brim again. Your lizard mate was looking at you intensely, caressing your body with one hand as he jerked his upper dick with the other. You knew this position meant big dick downstairs, and you were already anticipating the stretch.

He approached you and rubbed his small upper dick against your entrance. “Good job, keep going,” the researcher instructed. “Touch her pussy.”

Your lizard stopped and turned to look at them. “Don’t tell me what to do with my mate,” he growled, making the researcher step back and cover their mouth. “You are here because she wanted it, but I will kill you if you say more,” the danger in his tone indicated he wasn’t kidding. And it made your clit tingle.

You reached up to touch his face and redirect his attention to you, rolling your hips to feel his dick against your needy pussy. He pushed his dick slowly, breathing hard over you, his eyes never leaving yours. You could hear his tail thrashing behind him as you caressed his head with your short nails. He purred, making you giggle as he pushed his upper dick a bit further inside your pussy. The groan he got in response made him chuckle as you felt his claws probing your asshole.

“Are you going to be a good mate today, too?” His question was filled with hope, and you could only nod, trusting him and his magic precum to make it possible. Seeing as you woke up without any pain, you guessed the magic was more than great and would help you out this time around, too. “Such a good mate for me, your holes are so perfect,” he was talking to you but not really. He seemed far away, like your pussy was transporting him into another dimension.

He started rubbing his big dick against your asshole, and you instantly felt the calmness and relaxation of his precum, allowing him to push the tip inside. You cried out, way too big. There was no pain, but the stretch was noticeable as he kept going, and going, and going… By the time he was fully inside you were breathing hard and he had crazed eyes. It was intoxicating.

“How is he doing that?” The researcher asked out loud, stepping a bit closer and earning themselves a warning growl.

“Ssssshut up!” Your lizard mate hissed in their direction, his pace fluttering at the distraction.

“But I-” The researcher tried again.

You looked over at them, trying to move your hips to get your mate to move again. “I will fill a report later,” you told them between pants.

“But I-,” they insisted.

It was enough. “SHUT UP!” You yelled at them as your lizard man stopped moving completely to glare at you, surprised. “Shut the fuck up and I will answer the questions, but you won’t be able to get any responses if you don’t shut up and let my mate fuck me senseless,” you let out between your teeth.

Said mate liked your outburst very much, soon grabbing your face forcefully to look at you. He started fucking you with intent then, the combination of his dicks inside of you driving you insane in a matter of seconds. He reached you neck and squeezed, feeling the vibrations of your moans against his hand and increasing his thrusts to make you lose your mind.

You felt something different this time, the tip of his scaled tail reaching around his body to rub against your clit. The textured surface made you see stars and the universe as he played with you in every way, taking your pleasure to the next level. It was exhilarating, your mouth open and your head thrown back as he fucked you like a machine.

He lowered his body, whispering against your ear: “Come for me, my mate, let me feel your holes milking me.” And like a good girl, you exploded into a million pieces as he growled over you and painted your insides with his cum.

This time around he didn’t stop, though. He kept fucking you for what felt like hours, probably were. You forgot everything about research and people watching, you forgot everything about your boss and the world. You could only focus on his dicks inside of you and his tail rubbing your clit until you came so many times that you had to ask for mercy, which he sweetly complied. He kissed your forehead and pulled out, leaving you messy and exhausted.

Once again you found yourself creampied in front of all your colleagues. Your job was suddenly a lot more interesting than two days ago.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mignon & Pollito

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

@wileys-russo's Pollito x Teen!Reader

Summary: You and your partner in crime

Whether it was the gods smiling down on you or just an extreme miscalculation on the staff's part, you and Pollito end up sharing a room.

This training camp was only a week long so it must be fairly expensive to move you all from Barcelona to here but, you're not the higher-ups at the club so you don't get much of a say.

"I'm bored," Pollito declares and you roll your eyes.

"Would you prefer sleeping on the bottom bunk?" You ask dryly," I heard that's more interesting."

Pollito's head appears above you, poking over the edge of the top bunk that she had wrestled you onto the ground to get to first.

"Don't be silly!" She says, a smug grin on her face," I'm doing you a service! I'm letting you stay away from the top bunk boredom."

"I'm sure I can deal with it."

"Yeah, but you Frenchies always change your minds."

"I'm trying not to be offended here."

Pollito's grin only widens and her fingers appear to jab you in the forehead.

"I'm still bored."

"I've got UNO."

"UNO's shit."

"Unless you're playing Jana. I made twenty euros off her in one round."

"Oh, shit, you're right. Let's go and find Jana."

"We're banned," You remind her," After that time that we rigged the game."

"Oh, yeah."

The bed above you creaks as Pollito throws her back against in annoyance.

"Is there really nothing we're allowed to do?"

"Irene said that we can get lunch. We just have to tell the others that we're doing that."

"But they'll make us eat healthy."

"Yeah."

Silence for a moment and then...

"I'm bored!"

You jab your feet up into the mattress on top of you and Pollito yelps.

"What do you want me to do about that? Play you to sleep?"

"You'd play me to sleep?" Pollito scoffs," What does that mean? Kicking a ball at my head?"

"I meant with my flute, dimwit."

There's silence again

"You can play the flute. Since when?"

"Since always? This isn't new information."

"It is to me!"

Pollito peaks back over your bed, a wide grin spreading over her face. "I think I have an idea."

It's Irene who hears it first.

It starts off quiet, barely audible over the phone call with her wife and son. But it's still audible and she frowns.

"Are you playing music?" She asks and her wife shakes her head.

"It must be coming from your end."

Irene pokes her head out of her hotel room, spotting a few of the others doing the same.

"Who's playing that music?!" Alexia complains, looking like she's been woken up from a very good nap if her messy hair is anything to go by.

"I thought it was Pina."

"Me?" Pina scoffs," I don't like classical music."

"It's hardly classical music," Keira says," It's the song from the Muppets. You know that one that goes 'do doo be-do-do, mahna mahna, do do-do do'-"

Everyone to turns to look at her, similar looks of judgement as Keira peters off, face crimson.

"Or, you know, I think that's what it is."

"Either way," Alexia brushes her off," Who is making that noise?"

What started off as soft flute music suddenly gets louder and louder until it's booming across the whole floor and Alexia's grip tightens on her door frame.

Her eyes dart to the room at the end of the corridor and she does a quick count in her head.

Everyone and their roommates are hanging out of their doors, heads poking out to see what all the noise is.

Everyone except two people.

Her teeth grind together.

"Who let Pollito and Mignon in the same room together? Who let them room together with no supervision?"

Usually, Alexia would be the one sorting out all of the rooms but she'd left it to the staff this time because she'd gotten distracted on the bus when Pollito had hidden you up in the luggage rack and you'd taken it upon yourself to drip water onto Mapi's head from your hiding spot.

"Er...They might still be in there?" Pina offers up but everyone else knows that it's a pipe dream to say something like that.

"Spread out," Alexia snaps," And find them." She massages her temples. "They take years off my life."

The longer they take, the louder the music gets until it rings in their ears with every step.

There's thumping at the door and you jolt, your flute music wavering as Pollito pops her head up to look through the window.

"It's Ingrid and Frido! Pretend we're not here!"

You both hide under the window where they can't see you.

The change in position makes your playing a bit unstable for a moment as you adjust, fingers cramping from the past forty-five minutes of nonstop repetition.

"I know you're in there!" Frido bangs on the door," This is the room with the sound system. Come out!"

"You'll never take us alive!" Pollito yells back and you want to hit her for being stupid.

"Shut up! You've blown our cover."

A hand reaches through the window and you instantly want to murder the idiot who thought windows should be able to be opened from the outside because Ingrid's hand immediately grabs onto your flute.

You yelp, finally stopping your playing as you try to wrestle it back.

"Hey! No! That's mine!"

"Give it over," Ingrid says," And we'll tell Alexia that you both cooperated."

You pop your head over the window. "Give us a moment to discuss."

"We can't just give in," Pollito says to you in a hushed whisper.

"Well when our other option is to run the laps Alexia will make us do if she finds out we fought them..."

"You make a good point but...No, you do make a good point." Pollito sigh," Fine. Let's give in."

You clap her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We may have lost the battle but we haven't lost the war."

Frido sighs from the other side of the door, hitting her head repeatedly against the wall.

"You're both so dramatic."

[judebellswife]

Shattered Trust, Mended Hearts

— REQUESTED by ANON / REQUEST status: OPEN

— pairing • jude bellingham x soft!reader

— summary • Jude Bellingham, consumed by jealousy and fueled by rumors, believes his girlfriend is cheating on him. In a moment of anger, he refuses to let her explain, kicking her out of their shared apartment. Tragedy strikes when she gets into a life-threatening accident, leaving Jude overwhelmed by guilt and regret. With her in the hospital, he reflects on his mistakes and learns that love and trust are fragile but worth fighting for. Realizing that she never betrayed him, Jude is forced to confront his own insecurities. Together, they find a way to rebuild their broken relationship, restoring what was lost in a sea of misunderstanding and pain.

— warnings • Heavy angst, miscommunication, car accident, hospital scenes, mention of injuries, emotional turmoil.

"Jude, please, just listen to me—"

"I’ve already heard enough!" Jude's voice roared through the apartment, his anger palpable, bouncing off the walls like daggers. He stood in the kitchen, fists clenched, chest heaving, trying to contain the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. His dark eyes, usually so warm when they looked at you, were cold and distant, as if he couldn’t even recognize you.

You stood frozen near the door, the keys you had just placed on the entry table trembling under your fingers. You had no idea what you were walking into. Coming home after a long day at work, all you wanted was to relax with Jude, maybe watch a movie, talk about your day—but instead, you were met with fury.

"Jude," you whispered, your voice shaking, tears already welling in your eyes. "Please. Just tell me what’s going on."

He scoffed bitterly, turning away from you as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Don’t act like you don’t know," he muttered, his back to you now as he stared out the window into the rainy night.

You blinked, confused. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jude whipped around, his expression dark. "Oh, don’t play innocent, Y/N. I know about you and Ryan."

The mention of Ryan's name hit you like a punch to the gut. Ryan was a colleague from work—someone you'd had to collaborate with closely for the last few weeks due to a project, but it had never been anything more than that. He was friendly, sure, but you never saw him in that way. You never even thought Jude would be suspicious. "Ryan? Jude, he's just a co-worker, we—"

"A co-worker? That’s funny, because that’s not what everyone else seems to think!" Jude's voice was dripping with bitterness, a tone you had never heard from him before. "Do you think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see the way you’ve been acting? Coming home late, spending more time with him than with me—"

You shook your head frantically, trying to approach him, but he stepped back, his face twisted in hurt and disbelief. "Jude, no, it's not like that! I swear, it’s just work! There’s nothing going on between me and Ryan, you have to believe me!"

But Jude wasn’t listening. He wasn’t hearing you. All he could see, all he could feel, was the poison that had been festering in his mind for days, the doubts and insecurities that had been fueled by whispers and rumors. He was blinded by his pain.

"You think I’m an idiot? You think I haven’t heard the rumors? Everyone’s been talking about it, Y/N. About how you and him have been seen together, laughing, having lunch, all those 'late nights' at the office. I bet they weren’t all about work, were they?"

You were shaking now, tears streaming down your face as you tried to reach out to him. "Jude, please. I would never—"

"I don’t want to hear it!" His voice cracked, loud and raw, and it silenced you. His anger was too much, too overwhelming. You had never seen him like this before—this angry, this distant. And it broke your heart to see the doubt in his eyes, the mistrust.

"I thought I knew you," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost more painful than his shouts. "I thought we had something real. But maybe I was wrong."

Your chest constricted painfully, your breath hitching as you reached for him one last time, desperate to hold on to something that was slipping away. "Jude, please," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Don’t do this. I love you."

But Jude’s gaze hardened. "If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me."

The silence that followed was deafening, your heart shattering into a million pieces as he turned his back to you again, his next words sealing your fate.

"Get out."

You stood there, frozen, your mind racing as you tried to comprehend what he had just said. "What?"

"Get. Out," he repeated, his voice quiet but firm, as if he couldn’t even bear to look at you anymore. "I don’t want to see you right now."

Your world came crashing down in that moment, the weight of his words too much to bear. You opened your mouth to say something, to beg him to listen to you, but no words came out. You felt numb, completely broken.

With trembling hands, you grabbed your bag and stumbled toward the door, your vision blurry from the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. As you reached for the doorknob, you turned back one last time, hoping—praying—that Jude would stop you, that he would realize how wrong he was and call you back.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, rigid and unmoving, his eyes focused on the floor, his expression unreadable.

And so, you left.

The rain was relentless, soaking through your clothes as you stepped out onto the dark street. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering both from the cold and the overwhelming despair that consumed you. You couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was walk, your feet moving without direction, aimlessly wandering the city streets, your mind still reeling from everything that had just happened.

How had things gone so wrong? How had the love you shared with Jude turned into this nightmare?

You pulled out your phone, trying to dial your friend’s number, but your hands were trembling too much to type properly. You managed to hit send, but as you crossed the street, you didn’t hear the roar of the car coming toward you until it was too late.

The blinding lights flashed before your eyes, and then— Nothing.

Jude sat on the couch, his hands covering his face as he let out a shaky breath. He had kicked you out. The realization sank in slowly, the weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

I kicked her out.

The anger that had burned so fiercely in him just moments ago was gone, replaced by a sickening sense of guilt and dread. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty without you there. And now, sitting there alone in the dark, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was terribly wrong.

His phone buzzed in his lap, dragging him out of his thoughts. It wasn’t a number he recognized.

"Hello?" His voice was hoarse, tired.

"Is this Jude Bellingham?" a woman’s voice asked, calm but urgent.

"Yes," he answered slowly, his heart beginning to race. "Who is this?"

"This is St. Mary’s Hospital. I’m calling about your partner. She’s been in an accident."

Jude felt the floor drop out from beneath him. "An accident? What—how bad is it?"

"She’s in critical condition. We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

Jude’s legs felt like lead as he sprinted through the hospital’s sterile halls, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he reached the emergency ward. His heart pounded violently in his chest, panic rising with each step.

A nurse led him to your room, where the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, left him frozen in place.

His world shattered in that moment.

You were so pale, so still, and the beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room. Jude sank into the chair by your bedside, his hands shaking as he reached out to take yours.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. "God, I’m so sorry, *Y/N*. I didn’t mean any of it. I should’ve believed you."

He squeezed your hand gently, bringing it to his lips as his tears fell freely now. "Please wake up," he begged. "Please. I need you. I—I love you. I was so stupid. I should have trusted you."

The guilt gnawed at him, tearing him apart as he watched your chest rise and fall weakly with each breath. How had he let things spiral this far? Why hadn’t he listened? Why hadn’t he let you explain?

For three days, Jude didn’t leave your side. He barely slept, barely ate. He couldn’t think of anything else but you and how wrong he had been.

When your fingers twitched on the fourth day, Jude’s heart leapt in his chest.

Your eyes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented, the bright lights of the hospital room making you wince. Everything felt heavy, your body aching, and it took you a moment to remember what had happened.

"Y/N?" Jude’s voice was soft, but urgent, pulling you back to reality. You turned your head slowly, finding him sitting beside you, his face pale, eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying.

"Jude…" you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Jude reached for your hand, his fingers trembling as he held yours tightly. "I’m so sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I was so wrong, *Y/N*. I was so stupid. I—I didn’t trust you, and I should have. I should have believed you. None of this—none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t been such an idiot."

You blinked, trying to process everything, your heart aching at the sight of him so broken. "Jude…" you whispered again, trying to find the right words. "It’s okay."

"No, it’s not." He shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks as he pressed your hand to his lips. "It’s not okay. I almost lost you because I was too caught up in my own insecurities to trust you. I should’ve known you would never… I should’ve known better."

You looked into his eyes, the raw pain and regret there clear as day, and despite everything—despite the accident, the pain, the heartache—you still loved him. You had always loved him. "Jude, I love you," you whispered, managing a small smile despite the tears in your own eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you. I would never cheat on you."

He let out a shuddering breath, leaning down to rest his forehead against your hand. "I know," he whispered. "I know now. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I swear. If you’ll have me."

You squeezed his hand weakly, your voice soft but filled with emotion. "Of course I will. I’m not going anywhere."

Jude let out a soft, broken laugh through his tears, leaning in to gently press his lips to your forehead. "I love you so much," he whispered against your skin. "And I’m never letting you go again."

[scarletcomalies]

Hear. Me. Out! Wanda has been your best friend for almost ten years now, meaning you could trust her to chat about anything, without restricting yourself by prudeness or filters. But that trust went too far one day.

Word count: 1,129

Warnings: 18+ content, guided masturbation through phone call, kind of innocent and inexperienced reader.

A/N: I promise I'm NOT procrastinating this story, you'll have it sooner than you think, but, well, college... 💔

It was a big step, considering that you failed to enjoy every time you explored yourself with your fingers alone. As much as you tried to play music, lie down, and imagine exciting scenes, you ended up frustrated because it wasn't enough. So you opted to buy a little help. Maybe this way you would be able to explore your tastes and to please yourself properly.

Your best friend, Wanda, had recommended an online site. It had all kinds of artefacts, many of which you didn't know existed, or considered too potent a level for a newbie like you. So you went with the safest option; a simple ten centimeter vibrator, with three levels of intensity.

And nothing...

You felt the tingle of the vibration inside you, but nothing built up. It was just a pleasurable sensation that led to nothing.

You had sent a message to Wanda, telling her that you had already received it, and just when you turned off the toy and put it aside, your phone notified a message from the redhead, where she asked you to tell her about your experience.

"It's useless, Wanda!" You answered, such a simple message but all your frustration could be transmitted in this one.

"What do you mean it's useless?" She replied.

"Maybe I'm anorgasmic or something, because I can't finish. I didn't feel it helped me."

You were perplexed when your phone screen displayed her name, indicating that you were receiving a call. This was unusual of her, but you didn't hesitate to answer.

"Honey," she let out a giggle, as soon as you picked up. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Well, when I feel needy, no matter how much I stimulate myself, I don't orgasm. Not even with the toy. It's horrible," you answered honestly.

These kind of talks were frequent between you, and that was something you loved about your friendship. No judgments, no prejudice, much less in the face of topics that, at the end of the day, were completely normal.

"Yeah, but what did you do with the vibrator?" She inquired.

"Well, I put it inside, the usual," you replied matter-of-factly. You didn't understand why other girls did get to feel something when they had something in there, and you didn't. Why you were more complex about everything?

"Just like that?" She exclaimed, and at your confirmation, she let out another laugh. "No, darling, you have to tease yourself, make yourself desperate for your own touch."

"And how do I even do that?" you asked curiously, but also with a hint of relief. She seemed to have the solution to your problem.

"It's complicated, do you want to try it now? I'll guide you through every step and you don't have to distract yourself by reading or writing," she proposed.

The thought of hearing her voice guiding you, that she would be listening to you as you pleasured yourself, made the anticipation take over, again initiating that feeling that was begging to be satisfied.

When you thought of Wanda, or when you spent many hours together with her, that feeling came no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. It was no surprise when you realized that this was not something usual and that you definitely felt attraction towards her.

But you didn't want to ruin the friendship you treasured so much.

"No, that would be weird," you replied, feigning aversion to such a thing, when really, that was all you needed.

"Oh, come on!" Wanda exclaimed. "It wouldn't. I'd be helping you get to know yourself, please yourself. I won't even see you."

You sighed softly in resignation. She was right, maybe a lot of friends have given each other advice like that.

"Okay, fine," you agreed. "What do I do?"

Wanda was glad you couldn't see her smile of victory when you agreed, or else, she would've also given herself away.

"First, spread your legs, and place the tip of the vibrator on your clit," she instructed you.

You did as she asked, and no sooner had you pressed, when you felt an electric current run through your body in a matter of a fraction of a second.

"Oh, shit!" You exclaimed, withdrawing it as if by reflex.

"What do you feel?" She inquired curiously. She was aware such a cute little thing like you wouldn't be able to take it first time. But that was what she was there for.

"Weird, like a swift current!"

"Exactly! Please try to place it again, and little by little, apply pressure," she replied. "At your pace, there is no rush, darling," she purred, making your core throb in desperation at her raspy voice calling you that pet name.

Again, you did as she asked.

The intense vibration made all the nerve endings in that area react deliciously to the stimulus, and again, it sent that current through your body.

You let out a little murmur of pleasure, feeling yourself lose control over your body. Your back arched, your eyes closed, and your free hand fisted your sheets in an attempt to keep you grounded and resistant.

"Good girl, apply more pressure for me," Wanda added, noting from your murmurs that you were becoming familiar with the sensation.

Applying a little more pressure caused you to emanate your first moan since forever. That snapped you out of your trance briefly, and you realized you moaned with your friend on the other end of the phone.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, beginning to feel your cheeks heat up.

"None of that," she countered. "Don't hold back, let me hear you."

In a matter of minutes, you alone learned to listen to your body. You explored different areas and found your most sensitive spots. You were so focused on not leaving a single inch untouched, that you even forgot that Wanda was listening to the mess of moans, whimpers, and murmurs of her name that you were letting out.

"Mmm, Wanda!" They became more audible tones, signaling that you were close. There was too much to process, but Wanda decided to quiet her thoughts and allow herself to be delighted by the wonderful sounds you were making.

Hearing you cum for the first time was the most beautiful of all, by far.

A scream of pleasure too desperate, even animalistic, for your own good. Your so innocent set could not withstand that longing finally reaching its highest exponent, after so much stagnation. She was even surprised your little lungs allowed you to scream like that.

Wanda provoked all that in you, without having touched you... yet. But she made up her mind that it would change.

"Start over, but don't you dare cum," she commanded you. "I'm coming over in ten," she established, before hanging out.

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

MISS YOU — rafe cameron (smut, angst, nsfw)

pairing; ex-boyfriend!rafe cameron x fem!reader summary: years after your breakup, rafe cameron crawls back into your life when he realises that you might have started moving on. a/n: omg this was so long i think i got carried away warnings: smut 18+, a LOT of angst, mdni, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, unprotected sex.

He does not knock.

Rafe Cameron barges into your dimly lit apartment instead of knocking the door and allowing you to let him in. He walks right past you, ignoring the frown on your face, and collapses down on your couch.

His shoulders are relaxed, arms stretched out along the back of the couch as he settles in and looks around your apartment.

His blue eyes are dart everywhere, but they don’t meet yours. His veiny hands are tapping away on his thighs—the same hands that used to envelope yours perfectly.

His blonde hair is longer than it was when you two were together—they're curling over his forehead. The length is almost too long, it makes him look shaggy, and yet it suits him nevertheless.

Your fists clench. Suddenly, the warmth of your home has vanished because of his presence.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" His voice is raspy and rough, almost as if he had just woken up, but you can tell from his red eyes and the dark circles underneath that he hasn't slept a wink.

"What do you want, Rafe?"

He finally turns his gaze to you, and the sight makes your knees go weak. You want to sit down next to him and bury your head into his chest, but you know that can't happen anymore.

He stands up, making you take a step back. You don't miss the hurt look in his eyes, but he hides it quickly and walks towards you.

The light coming out of the television playing in the background illuminates Rafe's face, his jawline sharp and his lips pulled in a soft frown.

He walks past you, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

"What the hell?" You murmur, following him as he walks towards the kitchen.

He halts to a stop and you stand behind him, feeling like a mouse in his tall presence. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He rolls his eyes and turns around to face you. His eyes stare into yours, resulting in the formation of a lump in your throat as your eyes meet for the first time in years.

“Who is he?” Rafe asks bitterly, his eyes not leaving your face. “The guy you were with yesterday at the Golf Club. Even better, where is he?"

Yesterday, your date made a reservation at the Golf Club for your first date, and the smug part of you had wished the Rafe saw the two of you together—which he apparently did.

You had a good time with the boy. He even dropped you off to your house afterwards. He was sweet, polite and soft-spoken. The complete opposite of your ex-boyfriend.

"Rafe, leave."

He scoffs, running his tongue along his inner-cheek. His eyes still burn into yours.

He brings a cold finger to your face and the metal of his ring faintly touches your cheek. You suck in a deep breath as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You look away from him, unable to stand the intensity of his eyes. You know what he wants, and you won't allow yourself to give in to him.

Almost turning away, you feel him grab your face and force you to look at him. He's staring down at you in a way that makes your heart dip.

You can't believe you used to know this man, can't believe you shared the same bed with him and loved him so unconditionally.

His eyes drop down to your lips, and then back up to your eyes. "Kiss me."

It's your turn to scoff. You try to pry his hand off your face, but he doesn't bulge. He simply leans his face closer to yours, the faint smell of alcohol and cigarettes enveloping your nose.

"Don't tell me that you don't miss it," his thumb moves against your cheek. "I've thought about you every night since the day we broke up. You know, you're the only thing that stays on my mind."

"Rafe—"

"No," his jaw is clenched. "Let me finish, alright? I-I can't eat, I can't sleep. I'm fucking useless without you. I need you."

You push his chest away from you. "And whose fault is that, huh?"

"Please," his voice cracks. "Baby, please."

"Oh my god, just-just stop this, okay? Rafe, you didn't even remember our anniversary! The whole day you were getting high with B-"

"I don't care!" He shouts, interrupting you. "I don't care, okay? I just need you, and you need me too! Tell me you don't miss me and I'll leave."

You sigh, rubbing your face. You want to yell at him, but his presence and words make you weak.

He knows that he has an effect on you. He knows how easily he can manipulate you and bend you to his will.

But you gather yourself. You shake your head and seethe through your teeth, "Go fuck yourself, Rafe. Get out, right now. Or I swear to god, I will call the police."

He chuckles lowly. "And tell them what, baby? That Rafe Cameron came into your house and refused to leave? Please, call the police. It'll just make things easier."

"Get. Out." You point towards the door. "Go back to her, Rafe. The bimbo who's always on your arm."

He groans, his voice low and guttural. "She's not you, okay? She doesn't fucking get me. Only you do."

"You're a piece of shit."

He takes a step closer to you, if that was even possible.

"I'm a piece of shit? Do you hear yourself?" He's towering over you. His hands are gripping your arms.

You push his chest again and step back, only to bump into the wall behind.

He, too, takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. He laughs and looks down at his feet. "Fine. You wanna play this game, huh?"

He starts walking towards you, and suddenly your feet are glued to the floor.

You feel his warmth against your body before his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your bodies are pressed against each other's.

You feel him run a finger down the length of your jaw.

You try to fight back the urge to moan at his touch. You want to push him away, but his touch makes you melt. It's been too long. Too long since he's been this close.

"Fuck you." You say, and your shaky voice doesn't go unnoticed by him. "And let go of me."

He ignores you.

He presses his forehead against yours, and your breath hitches in your throat.

You can't stop thinking about how much you want his lips on yours. How much you want him to not listen to your complaints and just fucking kiss you.

His breath hits your lips as his eyes search your face. "Tell me you don't miss me. Tell me you don't miss this," He whispers, his right-hand snaking up your body until it's resting right below your breast.

"I'll leave right now," he says, "and never come back. We can go our separate ways and live the rest of our lives separately. And then, ten years from now, you'll be at a children’s park and you'll see me and think, 'Wow. Rafe Cameron is hot.'"

"I-"

"Or," he pauses, his hand sliding down to your ass. "You can just stop being in denial and admit that you need me just as much as I need you."

His grip on you is tight, and his blue eyes are boring into yours. His breathing has quickened, and so has yours.

His face is mere centimetres away from yours at this point, and his eyes are digging holes in you. You feel his erection against your thigh, and the knowledge that he's aroused makes your brain go haywire.

"Say you fucking want me. I'm yours, alright? Just fucking say it." He's so close to you that you can taste his breathe.

You're at war with yourself. A part of you is screaming to kick him out, but the other part wants him to stay.

His grip on you tightens.

"I hate you." You murmur.

And then his lips are on yours.

The kiss isn’t soft and loving. It's harsh and needy, but it feels so right.

All protests, all thoughts and all the mixed feelings die down when he shifts his hand to your throat and squeezes it. With his other hand, he pulls up your thigh to his waist.

Your lips move together sloppily, his tongue darting into your mouth.

You feel him lift you up and walk over to your bedroom, his grip on you never loosening.

Your arms wrap around his neck, his tongue moves against yours, and all the feelings make you moan against his lips.

He breaks the kiss and pushes the door open with his foot, the dim light in the room allowing you to see the outline of his face.

He's breathing heavily. His eyes are dark with lust and his pupils are dilated.

You don't know what's gotten into him. Maybe the years apart have driven him crazy. But all that doesn't matter because right now he's kissing you like it's the end of the world, and you're letting him.

Your lips collide together again, and this time, it's different. It's more passionate and slow, and he kisses you in a way no one has ever kissed you before.

He lays you down on the bed and crawls on top of you.

You expect him to take control and dominate, but instead, he rests his head against the crook of your neck, his breathing hot on your skin.

"I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispers as he kisses the side of your neck.

You're speechless. Your brain is telling you to shove him off, but your heart and body are telling you something else.

The lump in your throat has returned, and your eyes are starting to burn.

But before you can say anything in response, he rushes back to your lips, and you lose yourself in him.

His lips move hungrily against yours. You can taste the saltiness of his tears, and the thought of Rafe Cameron crying makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

His hips are pressed firmly against yours, his erection digging into your inner thigh.

The kiss is passionate, but there's a hint of possessiveness in the way he grips the side of your face.

His hand trails down your body, his fingertips roughly pushing against the fabric of your shirt making you whimper.

"I missed you so much, baby." He whispers.

Then he's sucking your lips, nibbling, and kissing. He's all over you.

Your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, and he lifts himself off of you, straddling you as he helps you pull his shirt off.

He's still the same; toned, sculpted, and ripped. You can't help but stare.

You run your fingers down his chest, and your eyes shut.

He's beautiful, and you've missed him so much.

He starts trailing kisses down your neck, sucking and leaving dark marks.

You moan breathily when he sucks on the sweet spot beneath your ear.

You were supposed to stand your ground, but fuck, you need him. You need him the same way you did when he first made love to you.

"Rafe," your voice comes out breathy, "I want you."

His hand is on your stomach, moving upward. He pulls his head back, and you see the desperation in his eyes.

"Fuck, say it again," he kisses the tip of your nose. "Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours." You shakily murmur. "Only yours."

He only groans in response. His lips capture yours again, making a gasp come out of your mouth—which he greedily swallows.

A piteous whimper slips past your lips when you feel your wetness coating your panties and rubbing against Rafe's pants.

But he still doesn't do anything to relieve the ache between your thighs. You buck your hips discreetly to grind against his covered dick, but he simply slaps your thigh, making you yelp.

He positions himself in between your legs, both of your parts still clothed; the fabric against your wet skin making you whimper.

You moan, grasping his bicep when his fingers trace along your underwear teasingly.

"Does he make you this wet?" He asks before pulling your underwear off and running his fingers past your exposed clit.

Your brain is so fucked up that silence is your only answer.

“Answer me or I swear to fucking God I'll leave you like this,” he says, slapping your thigh and making you gasp.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you reply annoyedly, "Just fucking-"

Suddenly, all heat disappears from above you. Your eyes snap open. The sight of Rafe clenching his jaw and pulling himself away from you makes you hurriedly reach out for him.

You stutter, “Wait-wait, wait, Rafe, baby, please.”

You tug at his arm, pulling him back down on top of you.

"I need you. Please. Please just fuck me."

"You're so pathetic." He chuckles, clicking his tongue before his hands are taking his shirt off, followed by your shirt being thrown somewhere in the room.

He diverts his attention to your tits, trailing wet kisses on each of them. You let out a satisfactory sigh as he continues wrapping and unwrapping his lips around your nipples.

He goes further down and presses kisses along your stomach.

Before you can react, he buries his face between your thighs. Your back arches, a hand on his soft hair as the other grips the pillow next to you, “Oh, fuck."

He practically devours you, looking up every two seconds to meet your blown eyes. He pushes your legs up, making them almost touch your shoulders. You gasp, tightening your grip on his hair as he continues to eat you out.

Your hands are everywhere, trying to hold anything that can make the storm in your stomach calmer.

Rafe slowly releases his tight grip on your legs before sliding his fingers into you. Your eyes squeeze shut.

Your hips slightly buck upwards, but Rafe shoves you down with his free hand.

His fingers are thrusting into you at a brutal pace, his tongue doing wonders right along them.

He detaches his lips off your pussy, but his fingers are still in you.

"Does he-does he touch you as good as I do? Does he make you as wet as I do?" Rafe asks as he leans over you. The hand that had shoved you down is now wrapped around your throat as he presses, making you choke. "No, he fucking doesn't. Only I make you feel this good, yeah?"

He doesn't expect you to say something because he knows that he's saying the truth. He’s the only person who can turn you into a mess.

"Oh my god, Rafe, right there." You moan as he curls his fingers deeper into you.

"Answer me, does he fuck you up as good as I do?"

You roll your eyes at the question he's asking for the nth time now, "Yeah, yeah he does." You reply absent-mindedly.

"What the fuck?" He exclaims, immediately pulling his fingers out of you. He pushes his fingers into your mouth, so deep that it makes you gag.

"You know what, I'll fucking treat you like a whore." He says, his fingers still deep in your mouth. "I thought I'd be nice to you after all these years, but you always have to be a bitch, don't you?"

With one hand, he clumsily pulls off his pants and underwear.

You moan as you feel him drag the tip of his cock over your pussy. He teasingly does so for a few more seconds before meeting your eyes and smirking at you.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." He mumbles. "Show your boyfriend the bruises I give you, alright?"

And when he pushes his dick in, he makes sure to look down at how your walls envelope him perfectly even after all these years.

"Oh, holy fucking shit." You gasp when his hips thrust forward and go deeper into you.

Rafe drops his head on your shoulder as he sets a pace. "I fucking missed this. I missed fucking you- oh shit." He breathes into your shoulder.

Your eyes roll back into your head, your body budding with the pleasure his thrusts give you.

"Right there." You breathe.

"You never learn, do you?" He says. Swiftly, Rafe pulls out of you and flips you over so that you're on your stomach. "You're a whore. But only mine, baby."

Then he harshly thrusts back into you, making a pathetic moan leave your lips. His hands grip your waist as he pounds into you.

He wraps his arms around your stomach and pulls you flush into his sweaty chest, tipping your head up to pull you into a messy kiss. Your teeth and tongues clash uncomfortably, but neither of you give a fuck.

His lips detach from yours, and he buries his forehead into the back of your neck.

"You're squeezing me the fuck out," He moans out.

The new position makes you moan, your hands shifting from being vacant to grabbing your tits as he pushes himself deeper and deeper into you.

The sight of you touching yourself results in Rafe letting out a loud groan. His hand leaves your hair and slides down the front of your body to rub your clit.

The new fervour makes your legs shudder, "Fuck, I'm close." You mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He nods frantically—having waited for this moment for years now.

"Cum for me, yeah. Cum all over me, baby. Need you." Rafe breathes out, thrusting harder into you.

In response, your back arches with a high. A loud moan escaping your lips and white dots blurring your vision as you release all over him.

Rafe fucks you through your orgasm—chasing his own with wild thrusts. “Oh, fuck, fuck."

You can feel his high approaching as he grips you tighter. He thrusts into you harshly, desperate for his release.

He throws his head back with a loud groan and a long string of curses when his hips falter and he's covering your insides with his cum.

The two of you are a gasping mess when you lay down on the bed.

You both stay there for moment, breathing in each other's scent. He traces your body, as if to memorise every inch.

When Rafe pulls away from you, it's like he's pulling your heart out too.

Because you know that this was just another night for him.

When Rafe cleans you up and covers you up with a blanket, he fails to cover the ache of your heart.

Because you know that the bed he'll be returning to won't be yours; but the other woman's.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

get off the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get off the floor. He says, "Make me." You make him. Eventually.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tipsy, bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK hooking up in a random corner room bc they can no longer contain themselves, gasp; semi-public smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, JK becomes half-undressed while reader is still fully dressed, slight degrading talk (not really), heavy making out, dry humping) basically, I was staring at this photo and had thoughts

--

“Get off the floor.”

“Make me.”

Once again. No stranger to this supreme annoyance, and yet knowing that did not make it bearable. You looked down at him. Was he drunk? He stared off to the side. Looked moodier than anything. Trying to play it cool, perhaps. You caught him glancing and you stepped back, smoothing the high slit of your deep purple evening gown.

“That suit costs way too much to be on the ground,” you attempted again, his black blazer over your bare shoulders.

Jeon Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t care.”

You could feel your patience running thin. Not new, just like all of Jungkook’s antics. You felt his eyes travel up from your legs to your waist to your chest. When he got to your face, you gave him an unimpressed frown. If he hadn’t been drinking, he would have the good sense to look away. But he had, so he just ticked his head as if he wasn’t laying down in the middle of a random offshoot room in a very nice hotel. There was no one around. Time of night and because this wing had been rented for the wedding that was still going on in the main ballroom.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” you warned.

His dark eyes caught the low lights of the art deco sconces on the walls.

“Get on top of me.”

This was precisely why you had considered skipping this wedding. But, alas, common sense pulled through. You had not come with a plus one because you didn’t have one. Jungkook had not arrived with a plus one either even though you were quite sure he could have secured one. He was probably thinking the same of you as well. The look on his face when you strode in and greeted the couple was enough to encourage some of the guests to mysteriously begin herding you and him in close proximity. You couldn’t blame them. Playing matchmaker was bound to happen if a woman attended such a social event alone.

You just didn’t think the lucky man would be Jeon Jungkook.

You narrowed your eyes. His eyes lowered to half-moons. His lips parting. The two silver rings gleamed on the right edge of his lower lip.

“Don’t play this game.”

The tip of his pink tongue flitted against his lip rings.

“I’ve been wanting to play your game for a while now,” Jungkook breathed, his low voice vibrating in his chest.

You could still hear the bass of the music. One step. The heel of your pumps clicked loudly against the tile floor. His black three-piece suit had been perfectly tailored to him. There was no need for additional shape because his body lines were already ideal. His black hair had been carefully slicked back. Nothing to hide behind. Another step. His black vest and crisp white shirt were tight enough to his chest that you could witness the way his breath hitch lifted his upper torso. You looked down, then pointedly back up at his face, reminding him that his tight slacks made everything obvious.

He bit the side of his lip.

With a casual lift of your slinky skirt, you stepped over him, and then re-draped the dark violet fabric over his lower torso. One foot on each side of his hips. He must have expected you to refuse, as you already had many times before. He immediately froze, his startled eyes widening. In your defense, he had previously been more subtle and annoying about it rather than direct. You reached up, maintaining eye contact with Jungkook, and twisted your wrist, hooking two fingers on the collar of his blazer around your shoulders, pulling it away from your body to reveal skin.

You dropped it on the floor, away from your bodies.

The fitted gown had a soft sweetheart neckline with thin straps that framed your collarbones. A simple white gold chain necklace with a tiny round-cut diamond nestled at the base of your neck. The straps crossed over to your exposed lower back. The medium-weight fabric was tailored to skim over your curves. Princess seams accentuated your shape from chest to hips before opening up to wispy high slits that were only obvious when you walked or stood with more weight to one side. Demure if you stood straight, which you mostly did. Wasn’t your wedding after all. Your hair was down, smoothed down at the right, covering enough of your back to uphold the illusion of modesty. Unfortunately, as night approached, you had found yourself quite cold. The air conditioning had been turned high to accommodate for all the dancing bodies.

That wasn’t the trajectory of the night for you, though.

Instead of the dance floor, you and Jeon Jungkook were now somehow in deserted offshoot room with chairs on tables. Probably reserved for additional seating just in case any additional guests tried to squeeze in at the last minute. Certainly not reserved for a raunchy rendezvous.

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Scared?” you taunted, looking down at him.

His wrists were against the floor by his shoulders. You saw his fingers twitch, but he did nothing to move further.

“Ravage me already,” Jungkook exhaled. Hot and heavy and hiding desperation. “I can’t take this.”

You had been well-acquainted with him and a while now. You ran the tip of your pointed heel against his side. Jungkook shuddered. He didn’t move to touch you. You backed off. The real problem with all this was not the friendly terms you both had, but rather the fact that he had caught you in a rather dubious place some nights ago. Neither you nor him should have been there. In fact, you made it a point to travel far enough so you wouldn’t run into anyone, which you presumed was also the exact reason Jungkook ended up in the same place.

You squatted down, tilting your head at him in a predatory way.

The skirt of your dress pooled over his abdomen.

As you came close to Jungkook’s level, you heard his breathing shallow.

You took a short moment to collect your dress accordingly before dropping to one knee. And then the other. Straddling him, but not quite touching. Your fingertips touched the ground. He smelled like faint musky spice. You lowered over him, until your hands were just under his upper arms.

Looked down.

Jungkook stared at you from below, trapped in your shadow.

“You really did see me at the BDSM club that night,” you murmured. “Didn’t you?”

You raised your right hand and closed it around his left wrist, pinning it to the ground. He sucked in a tight breath, the gravity of the situation seemingly sinking in although it didn’t seem like he was rushing to stop you.

“Your ass looked so fucking good,” he whispered in the dark. “I knew it was you.”

You bent your left elbow, descending to his face.

“Someone will find us.”

At your reminder, he bit his lower lip in that fuck-me-harder kind of way. Then you felt movement. His right hand snaked between you and him. Your eyes flickered down. His dress shirt was fastened all the way to his neck. He looked sharp. Conventionally handsome. The only things he couldn’t hide was his facial piercings and the tattoos on his hand. Hand tattoos were a big faux pas to most. You liked a rule-breaker though. Unfortunately. Jungkook’s deft fingers traced the pressed collar of his shirt.

You watched him undo the first pearlescent button.

Then the second.

Your lips parted to warn him to stop, but the third was already coming undone and you could hear the desire in his erratic breath drifting upwards. Then it was eyes-to-eyes, devouring you with false innocence, and you opened your mouth to trace your lips with the tip of your tongue, taunting him with the glistening void.

“Fuck…” he whispered, trembling under you.

And then you stopped his hand by fully pressing your body against his chest, your clothed breasts against his naked pecs. Flitted your tongue over his lip rings, tasting his moan before hearing it. He turned his head, trying to chase it, but you feathered kisses over his cheek, gripping his left wrist as you licked his ear, hearing the whine of your name tickling yours.

“P-Please…”

You avoided him that night at that club, hoping he hadn’t recognized you, causing every subsequent interaction making it painfully clear to you that he had indeed seen you strutting your stuff in black latex while teasing strangers with your leather crop. Surprisingly, not in the way of trying to use such information against you, which was what you expected, but rather in the way the tempted drive the tempters insane. In imploring looks that only you could know. In too many chances of being too close in proximity. You don’t know how he did it, but now for some reason everyone was delicately suggesting to you to, perhaps, give him a chance. It only strengthened your want to teach him a lesson. You savored the rising panic in his voice as you bit the curve of his ear and toyed with him with your tongue. His trapped hand turned and you felt his palm mold to your lower ribs, sliding up. You bit down. He gasped, biting back a moan as his fingertips ghosted the curve of your breasts.

“Ah…. D-Don’t…” Whimper so close to his heart that only you could hear it. “My e-ear is… is sensitive, a-ah…”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his earlobe. His earrings were warming from your breath and saliva.

“Is that why you have so many piercings, huh?”

You made sure he could feel your lips move as you purred filthy nothings.

“What a pain slut you are.”

This time he truly moaned, his hips rising, and then abruptly cut himself off to avoid rising volume.

“D-Don’t…”

You sank down. Pressed against him, and even though the layers you could feel his erection throb, his entire body shivering when your weight dispersed over his lower body. His fingertips traced the dip in between your breasts. Your tongue circled over his ear once more before kissing up to his temple, the fingers of your other hand creeping up the side of his neck, and then you made out with Jeon Jungkook, right there on the floor with his groan vibrating the inside of your throat as you slowly thrusted your tongue into his lips. He did his best to suck and you always pulled away at the last second, using one finger to trace the muscle of his neck down to his collarbones.

You broke the kiss.

His lips were glossy and flushed.

“Please… Don’t stop,” he begged, squeezing your breast. “Don’t stop…”

The inaudible music continued to hum in the background.

You placed two fingers on his chin and pushed his head back, giving you access to his throat. For a brief moment, you considered making your mark, but instead you trailed your tongue down, down, painting possessive saliva onto his warm skin. His body rose. You let go of his wrist to pull open the sides of his shirt, realizing he was undoing his vest at the same time as his chest became fully exposed to the air, his dark nipples hard. You flicked your tongue against them, an involuntary ripple seizing his torso at the heated contact. Licked all over, enjoying the scent and taste of his skin. He silenced a cry as you bit down.

“H-Harder…”

You rose slightly, grazing your tongue against his skin before doing so.

“Be quiet.”

And then you roughly pinched his other nipple.

His arm flew up and he screamed behind clenched jaw, his hips lifting from the floor and his erection colliding with the inside of your thigh. You let out a light hum, sliding up his hard thighs. Your dress was already bunching around your waist. With a sweep of your skirt, your barely-there panties came into view. His attentive eyes immediately went down to the matching skin-toned thong barely covering your pussy, tricking him for just a moment, and then you saw the disappointment flutter into a slight frown.

“Did you expect me to be naked?” you mused.

He tried to cover himself with indifference. “No.” His needy gaze and raging boner gave him away.

You smiled.

And held the front of your skirt out of the way, rocking your hips forward to rub your panties against his clothed cock. Jungkook gasped, staring back at your relaxed expression with wide eyes, unsure where to look. You put a little more force into it, increasing the friction and molding his hardness to the soft dip between your legs, and you saw his eyelids flutter, his dark eyes rolling back, a contained moan escaping his chest.

You talked down to him, because you could tell he liked it.

“You thought I wouldn’t have panties and I would just ride you in a public place with no remorse or shame?”

Tension began to show through his muscles. He had one arm on his forehead and the other against the black-and-white tile floor, using subtle leverage to grind against you. He wasn’t obstructing his vision though, still very obviously staring at your thighs, the dip towards your pussy, watching the hem of your panties press into your skin with each movement.

“I… oh, fuck, I don’t k-know…” He panted, his shadowed eyes roaming back to your face. “Maybe.”

You laid your free hand on the waistband of his slacks, tracing his belt. You watched him hold his breath, his chest tight and oh-so-delectable. Slowly, you hooked your fingers under his belt. Gripped it, and changed the angle of your thrusting so that the head of his cock was rubbing against the radiating heat of your pussy, giving him a better view of your thin panties digging into your slit.

You saw his teeth sink into his lower lip.

“F-Fuck…”

His eyes slid shut and he moaned your name, sensual and deep and far too practiced for it to be a closed secret, his hips pushing back up against you, trying to get more and unable to do so. Frustration. Need. Craving. All bleeding into his expression. Against better judgement, you could feel it too, the irresistible pull of barely enough, the desire to tease turning into wetness between your legs, slowly but surely perfuming the air with your sweet, musky arousal.

Jungkook opened his eyes and stared up at you, imploring softly.

“P-Please…”

His arm lifted from his forehead and his other hand raised, fingertips stroking your thighs while using his shoulder blades for leverage. Forceful and precise. You let go of his belt and traced the knuckles of one of his hands, feeling the restrained strength in his touch. He sank his fingers into your thighs, gasping, pressing the back of his head onto the floor and arching his back. His open shirt. His exposed muscular chest. His tan skin faintly glistening with sweat. His throat begging for a bite.

You raked your nails down his abs, forcing Jungkook to lustfully grown to the ceiling.

You smirked.

“Get up.”

With minimal effort, Jungkook lifted his torso off the ground, frowning at you for asking him to be reasonable. His palms pressed into your thighs, ensuring that you continued to straddle him even though you had no intention of moving. In fact, you drew your knees together, pinning him in between your thighs. A few black strands had dislodged from their places and draped over his furrowed brows.

“Was that so difficult?” you murmured with lowered lashes, walking your nails up his chest.

His hands were sliding up towards your hips under your skirt. “Yeah.” He squeezed your ass with his strong grip while staring into your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress for hours.”

“Hm.”

You gave him an unimpressed look as you felt his fingertips glide down. He pulled outwards ever-so-slightly. From below, out of sight, your pussy lips parted with a wet sucking sound.

Jungkook moaned against your cheek, pressing his naked chest against your clothed breasts.

“Come on… Please…”

You hand had migrated to his side, steadily scratching his lower back.

“Very reckless and dangerous of you.”

He glanced at you with those half-moon eyes filled with stars of longing.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me to be,” Jungkook whispered hotly. “Brushing up against me by accident when I already told you that you look too damn hot. Teasing me every time I look down by showing off your legs even more.” His mouth brushed against the side of yours. You could faintly feel his lip rings. “You’re mean.”

You sat on top of his still-hard cock and purred, “I don’t recall doing such things,” before lightly bouncing on top of it.

He gasped and you sucked away his exhale, pulling back before he could kiss you.

“Let me,” he breathed out.

His hands came up to cradle your back as you arched your spine and then you sighed out, his soft kisses fanning over your décolletage, tucking his tongue between your breasts and licking upwards, his eyelids fluttering in bliss from the taste of your perfumed skin.

“Please, let me…”

Your arms around his neck. You had not intended to fuck Jeon Jungkook tonight but, then again, that was easy to think when he hadn’t looked at you with those perfectly desperate eyes yet. Nor had he yet pushed the top of your ass down to collide with his hard dick still fighting his pants, implying just how well you would fit together. Until right now that is. You smiled, leaning back into his warmth.

“At least button your shirt so you don’t startle the hotel staff with your sexy body.”

His ears flushed bright red. You shot him an amused look as he fumbled about.

“And what if there was a camera in here, hm? Recording your depravity,” you mused, appreciating the view.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled to his chest. His ears remained red.

“I see. But if I compliment you, you become embarrassed.”

Jungkook avoided your gaze. “N-No…”

You hooked a finger under his chin and yanked him back up, confronting those big, dark brown orbs. He looked taken aback, almost afraid of what you would say next.

“I can’t wait to have you under me,” you whispered. “I’ll make you show me how talented you are at begging.”

He moaned into your mouth as you kissed him deeply, pulling him into your possessive embrace.

-

continued in get on the floor, m | jjk

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[mwahsol]

Jewelry with initials

Description: You and Paige are in a semi-private relationship, as she's doing an interview the interviewer notices a certain ring on Paige's hand. The ring on Paige's hand is the one you usually wear with your initials on it. When the interviewer asks Paige about the ring, she hints about your relationship.

“So Paige I couldn't help but notice that there's a certain ring on your hand that has an initial of someone very familiar.”

“I mean what can I say it's a nice ring.”

‘Does the ring belong to a specific teammate that may or may not wear the number 12?’

‘Yo not too much, but yeah it's her ring. I wanted to bring a little something of hers with me because she couldn't come with me so it'll do for now.”

“Aww that's so cute seeing your close bond.”

After hearing that Paige can feel her face heating up and the smirk she's been trying to hide is slipping through as she answers, “Yeah for sure, but imma see her in a week so when she gets here she can give me my chain back.”

As soon as those words slipped out of her mouth the interviewer had to get all the information she could, “Oh she has something of yours too? Who's idea was it to swap items so you both could have something?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle remembering how she was almost ready to beg you to just come to Seattle with her, being too impatient to wait a bit to hold you again.

“Baby I’m going to see you in probably less than a week. I just need to visit my mom for a bit.” Even though she understands she can't help but be clingy towards you, I mean how could she not she follows you around like a puppy most of the time not ever wanting to be too far from you. “I know mama I’m just gonna miss you.” As you see Paige pouting on your bed you can't help but walk up to her, you settle in between her thighs and hug her around her shoulders while she wraps her arms around your waist and buries her head in your chest. To make her feel a little better you come up with a cute small idea, “How about I give you something of mine that you can wear so in a way I’ll be there hm? How does that sound love?’ Her head instantly shoots up so you can see the excitement in her eyes making you giggle a little. “Really? Can I pick it out?” She's too cute, “Of course you can.”

“Ok but if I get something of yours then you have to wear something of mine.’ Even though that wasn't part of your original plan you couldn't help but blush at the fact that she wants you to have something so you won't miss her too much. “I wouldn't be opposed to that”

As she gets up and looks through your jewelry box she sees the ring you wear almost all the time, except when you're playing or at practice, “Can I get this one babe?’ You knew how the public knew that ring was specifically yours. It had your initials on it and you know how much the public loves Paige, you know they're more than likely to ask her about it if they notice, and if they don't then all of the fans will. “Are you sure P? I don't want to make you comfortable if they start asking questions about it,” her heart swells up with adoration seeing how much you care and think about her first. “I’m sure, private not secret remember. I’d be happy if they asked me about you. I won't get into too much detail obviously but I can drop a few hints here and there but only if you're comfortable with it mama.” God, she knows how to make you blush, as you look down a giggle a little getting a bit shy you say, “Of course, I am, just wanted to make sure with you first.”

Paige can't help but admire how even after almost two years she still has this effect on you. “Ok, since I got your ring, how do you feel about wearing my gold chain with my initial on it so we kinda match.” You can see her little smirk knowing how much you love that necklace and can't help but say yes to getting the opportunity to wear it again. “Sounds perfect.”

“Nah it was hers but I added a little but that's it,” the interviewer and soon the audience will be able to see how giddy she was just to talk about you.

“Alright Paige, thank you for talking with us. Good luck and hopefully you see y/n soon,” she couldn't help but laugh towards the ending seeing how Paige was so happy just to hear your name.

“Ay thank you, have a good rest of your day.”

What Paige didn't notice is that while she was being asked about you and remembering the day you traded pieces, she was playing with your ring and smiling so hard that people would rewatch the interview and repost it everywhere talking about how your guy's relationship was definitely more than platonic.

I'm slowly releasing things please bare with me y'all, law is kicking my ass and my job is NOT helping. I promise I'm trying to rerelease my old work and somewhat write new ones. LOVE YALL THO <3

Kiss the sun 🌞

[starcurtain]

A Look at Ratio and Aventurine... and Ratio/Aventurine

I was morally obligated to use this picture.

Anyway, I got an ask about my understanding of Ratio and Aventurine's relationship both in canon and as a ship that I have been holding on to for a while now because... phew, there's like... a lot to talk about there... But I felt I should at least give it a try, so here is my attempt to comment on the intersection of two of Star Rail's most complicated personalities. Long post is longgggg; you have been warned.

First, Aventurine's canon relationship to Ratio:

In the interest of not hitting tumblr's image limit, let's just throw out some of the information we have in one go:

It's pretty complimentary. (Yet somehow...)

The implication of the infamous "Keeping Up with Star Rail" video is that Ratio understands Aventurine better than anyone else, and Aventurine knows this. At the very least, putting all shipping aside, Ratio is the person who can explain Aventurine's behaviors best. He's the person Aventurine chooses do so. This suggests significantly more knowledge of each other's lives than the game first led us to believe.

Other people (read as: my GOAT Owlbert) perceive respect from Aventurine to Ratio, and although I read them as a bit sarcastic, the 2.1 mission logs not only repeatedly confirm that Aventurine views Ratio as smart and reliable, but that Ratio is reliable "as always," again indicating a longer and closer history of collaboration than we get to actively see in game. The devs were working hard to tell us "Penacony isn't Ratiorine's first rodeo," which is interesting--given Topaz's voiceline recommending the Trailblazer avoid working with Aventurine whenever possible, we're led to believe through 2.0 and 2.1 that not many people will willingly work with Aventurine more than once, let alone many times.

While going through psychological scrutiny from the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come his Harmony-infused self, the "Future" Aventurine suggests that Ratio and Aventurine are quite similar, and that Aventurine puts a surprising amount of trust in Ratio, to be willing to hinge such a dangerous plan on something as untested as Ratio's ability to act. At the very least, Aventurine's own psyche is pondering on Ratio and whether or not their connection has any emotional meaning.

But despite all this evidence suggesting Ratio and Aventurine spend significantly more time with each other than we get to see in game, Aventurine's own thoughts cast strong doubt on whether he and Ratio are actually close.

Aventurine's "About Dr. Ratio" voice line suggests that Aventurine believes Ratio does not particularly like him. He seems to think that Ratio would prefer to stay away from IPC operations where possible, and it's "unfortunate" for Ratio to be stuck with Aventurine as a conversation partner. He's tolerated, rather than enjoyed. His overall impression seems to be that Ratio mostly views them as distant coworkers.

When the "Future" Aventurine suggests Ratio did not betray Aventurine willingly, actual Aventurine immediately pushes back:

(Personally I'm on the fence about whether this was real doubt or just a ploy to continue sussing out Sunday; see my other post about this scene for some more thoughts.)

But if we take this statement to be played straight, it implies that Aventurine doesn't fully believe Ratio will side with him, even (maybe especially) in dire circumstances. If this statement is real doubt, then despite considering Ratio the person who best understands him, despite building an entire life or death gamble around Ratio's loyalty... Aventurine still doesn't think Ratio even likes him.

Aventurine's not stupid or blind, so theoretically he should be able to read the situation better than that. But actually, there's plenty of evidence both in the game and outside it to suggest that Aventurine is not the most accurate judge of his own relationships to others and is a down-right terrible judge of his own worth as a person.

"Future" Aventurine suggests that one of Aventurine's deep inner flaws--the truths that he rejects about himself--is a massive inferiority complex. This is backed up well by the mission text, where Aventurine's thoughts about himself spiral into self-harm, and the scene in the maze, where "Future" Aventurine taunts our Aventurine with the unforgettable fact that his entire life was only worth pennies:

There's also pretty consistent self-deprecation, with both "Future" and real Aventurine noting several times that he's a pathetic mess of a person that other people don't trust or like.

The overall impression 2.0-2.1 left me with is that Aventurine is perfectly capable of respecting and caring for others, but virtually incapable of accepting other people genuinely respecting and caring for him.

Part of this seems to stem from the directly-stated sense that he's a failure whose only worth is in transactional exchanges, using and being used by others (there's so many layers to this--internalized racism even), but I also suspect that much of his inability to accept genuine connection from others is defensive behavior.

Aventurine's true self, Kakavasha, is deeply hidden away, like the ghost of the child that manifests from his Harmony delusion in the Dreamscape. Although Aventurine clings to that person, claiming that he has "never changed," he actively coats over his beliefs, his kindness, and his authenticity with the mask of a "cavalier gambler," with glitz and glamor and showy distractions. No one gets to see Kakavasha. No one gets to know him, because being buried deep in the dirt is the only way to remain untouchable, and fiercely keeping one's distance is the only safe bet. (For both Kakavasha and any fools who would doom themselves by daring to care for him.)

So: Canon is telling us that Ratio is one of, if not the, closest people in the world to Aventurine. But canon is also telling us that that still means absolutely nothing at all, because Aventurine won't let himself be close to anyone living.

Aventurine's senses of self-worth, trust, attachment, and safety have been warped so badly by ongoing and untreated trauma and mental health issues that, at least until the end of 2.1, I just don't think he was capable of even accepting genuine friendship from Ratio, let alone anything more.

(Interesting side note here: Ratio is actually one of the people Aventurine calls "my friend" the least. He only says it directly to Ratio a single time in all of their lines of dialogue across 2.0 and 2.1, and even then, does so only when right outside Sunday's door, while almost certainly being spied upon by the Family. Anyone who knows how often "my friend" is peppered into Aventurine's dialogue otherwise should know that the absence of the phrase is actually pretty telling. It almost feels like canon Aventurine's not even sure he can call Ratio his friend, at least to Ratio's face.)

Which makes Ratio's canon relationship to Aventurine quite sad and ironic:

From start to finish, Ratio canonically esteems Aventurine more highly than almost any other character in the game. I'm not even talking about shipping when I say that there is no character Ratio is closer to in the entire game.

At present, Ratio has only four voice lines about other characters, and of those four, Aventurine's is the only one that isn't someone from the Genius Society. The only one. Ratio's voice lines are also notably, uh, not very complimentary. Herta is "talented but not helpful to others" and "sees no one as her equal" (read as: she's self-absorbed). Screwllum is a "monarch, rather than a genius" (with the vague implications of being a tyrant), and Ruan Mei is overly ambitious and "fooling everyone."

Meanwhile, Aventurine is "our man" (who is "our" Ratio? who?) whose success "can't all be chalked up to luck," implying that part of Aventurine's success must come from skill. Ratio notes that Aventurine questions his own ability... but as far as Ratio's evaluation goes, he seems to doubt that Aventurine will ever experience a downfall. For someone who thinks 99% of the people he meets are mediocre failures scrambling around in the filth of existence, to be recognized as skilled and unlikely to fail is quite obviously glowing praise.

Then, of course, there are numerous moments that echo Aventurine's hints, implying that Ratio spends significantly more time with Aventurine than we see on-screen, that he knows Aventurine extremely well, and, although he tries (vainly) to pretend he isn't, he's clearly quite concerned with what Aventurine thinks of him.

Especially this last one. "No wonder that gambler likes you so much" is pretty intentional on the devs' part, confirming that Ratio and Aventurine are having off-screen conversations we players are not privy to, which obviously would indicate a closer relationship than the in-game cutscenes could cover.

Then, Trailblazer has the option to flat out ask Ratio to "rate" Aventurine. (Star Rail ship bait is not even subtle.)

At first, this line might read as all over the place:

"The bosses say we're partners but I wouldn't say that" -> Read as: Ratio wants people to know how their relationship is classified but doesn't want to admit to being actually invested.

"I see myself as the teacher to everyone I meet" -> Read as: Ratio at least pretends that he doesn't view anyone as his equal; everyone is either above him--geniuses--or below him--students.

"Aventurine is not that bad of a student" -> High praise; even Ratio can't pretend Aventurine's untalented.

"Actually, Aventurine's probably in metaphysical danger" -> Read as: Ratio is aware of the "void" Aventurine is experiencing and his mental struggles.

The ultimate takeaway of Ratio's "rating" actually says more about Ratio than Aventurine. When it comes down to it, Ratio's choice to answer this question for the Trailblazer instead of dismiss it tells us that Ratio has spent time quantifying and trying to define his relationship with Aventurine, is willing to at least discuss that relationship with other people (when we have no evidence he ever discusses any other personal/non-academic matters with anyone), and that Ratio pays attention to Aventurine's mental states.

Canon Ratio is not beating the allegations, I'm afraid.

But actually, I think the biggest tell about Ratio's canon relationship to Aventurine is that Ratio's behavior completely changes the moment Aventurine appears in the game.

In every single one of Ratio's other appearances, two facts are hammered home again and again:

First, Ratio hates interacting with fools and "noisy" people. He wears his plaster bust so that he doesn't even have to see them. Canonically, we're informed by both March 7th and Argenti that Ratio brought and was wearing his headpiece in Penacony. Curiously though...

The players never see it throughout 2.X--probably because 90% of Ratio's scenes are with Aventurine, and Ratio is never shown wearing his bust on screen with Aventurine--even in their very first meeting in the Final Victor lightcone. Aventurine clearly knows of the bust, but despite Ratio verbally going on and on about how Aventurine is the most "flashy" and "devoid of logic" person Ratio knows... the devs deliberately send their message: Ratio has chosen not to cut himself off from Aventurine.

Aventurine can be more "clamorous" than a screaming peacock, but Ratio will still not put up walls against him. This isn't accidental. The devs had every opportunity in the world to go the opposite route and make jokes about Ratio refusing to take the bust off in Aventurine's obnoxious presence; instead they decided that Ratio apparently has a glaring, Aventurine-shaped exception to his "I don't want to perceive you fools or be perceived by you" life rule.

This "willing to tolerate shenanigans only if Aventurine is involved" behavior continues basically throughout all of Penacony's plot. In 2.3 for example, if you turn around and talk to Ratio again on the Radiant Feldspar, he flat out says:

But there's no actual explanation for why he's there in the first place. He mentions he was assigned to watch over "the IPC's ambassadors," which theoretically should apply to Jade and Topaz, yet we never see him interacting with them in any capacity. He's never even shown in the same room as Jade or Topaz, and he's not shown doing any other form of business for the IPC on the Feldspar either. Theoretically, he could have been on the Feldspar to meet regarding the Divergent Universe... except Screwllum wasn't there yet, and Ratio doesn't mention a single word about the Divergent Universe to the Trailblazer.

The only person Ratio talks about in his dialogue on the Feldspar is Aventurine, and the only non-Trailblazer he talks to in 2.3 at all is also Aventurine, replying to him and only him in the group chat.

He looked like he might give it a shot to try to befriend Boothill and Argenti at the end of 2.3... but immediately changes his mind and leaves without saying a word to them.

It's not really a stretch to suggest that the only reasonable excuse for Ratio to attend the party on the Feldspar was if he was there for Aventurine, a behavior that he himself notes is out of character. ("A waste of time" he says, as he stands there anyway.)

But, second and even more importantly: Ratio's single most defining character trait is that he believes people need to pick themselves up. The entire point of his debut appearance in the game was to present his philosophy that if the powerful or privileged intervene to continually "save" the mediocre, ordinary people will never learn for themselves or get the chance to grow. It is in times of desperation, he says, that fools exceed their limits and reach greatness.

This is why, in 1.6, he insisted on Asta and the Trailblazer being the ones to solve the attacks happening on the space station, without relying on Screwllum or the other geniuses. Although Ratio did actively intervene a little (using the phase flame to save the researchers from death), he did so only from behind the scenes, where his actual help would not be noticed by those affected and where it had no impact on their decision-making or their struggles to solve the mystery.

He let Asta and the Trailblazer panic. He let them flounder. He even deliberately misled them at points, claiming that Duke Inferno must have kidnapped the researchers (when it was actually Ratio himself who re-routed them).

Ultimately, Ratio let Asta and the Trailblazer grow from their experiences.

This is also why he lets the Trailblazer go blazing in to fight Ruan Mei's faux emanator of the propagation, despite knowing that Trailblazer was not actually strong enough to win. Ratio watched and was ready to intervene... but in the end he did not, because it was the Trailblazer's fight to lose.

Ratio's most defining character trait is that he believes standing back and observing is the true kindness, rather than inserting oneself and denying people their autonomy or opportunities to grow.

Buttttt... then there's Aventurine, and suddenly the story is completely different.

Suddenly, Ratio isn't an observer but becomes essential to the plan. He's even walking around making big claims about being the manager of the task, flexing all of his C+ acting ability to actively carry out their mutual ploy.

In 2.3, he claims he was just there to watch, and his Penacony sticker asserts he's only "a supporting character"--yet we have never seen Ratio take a more active role in the entire game. Unlike with the Trailblazer in 1.6, he's not primarily watching events unfold from shadowy corners. He's in Penacony as Aventurine's active partner in crime.

And, even more telling--he later jeopardizes their entire mission just to ask if Aventurine needs help.

What? Huh? The character who is famous for the voice line "You look distressed. Is something troubling you? If so, you can figure it out for yourself" is suddenly offering his assistance entirely unprompted?

The guy whose motto might as well be:

Is suddenly out here throwing his own core philosophy out the window to solve Penacony's mystery for Aventurine and save him from himself in Aventurine's hour of greatest need?

A lot of people get hung up on the second half of Ratio's letter, the part about staying alive, which of course is very sweet. But I think the second half causes people to forget that the first part of Ratio's letter is, quite literally, the answer to Penacony's mystery.

Ratio gave Aventurine the answer.

This is like if your professor just gave you and you alone the score key to the final exam and then turned around to insist he "doesn't play favorites."

Of course, Aventurine is brilliant and didn't need Ratio's answer about dormancy, which makes the fact that Ratio went out of the way to give it to him even more odd. Ratio despises unnecessary repetition. If he wasn't dead worried, he would never have given Aventurine an answer that Aventurine had the power to find on his own.

And, as far as canon tells us, Ratio has never done this for anyone else.

The difference is night and day. It's literally the Gordon Ramsay meme, with everyone else in the entire game being the "fucking donkeys" to Aventurine's "Oh dear. Gorgeous."

So: Even if we entirely put aside shipping, if we look strictly at what we're given in canon:

Ratio treats Aventurine with more respect than he treats most other characters in the game.

He involves himself in Aventurine's struggles in a way that he flat out refuses to do for anyone else.

He compromises his own beliefs purely out of concern for Aventurine.

So, at least as far as we've been shown in canon, it is accurate to state that Aventurine is the closest character to Ratio--and unlike Aventurine (king of self-gaslighting), Ratio isn't even good at acting like he doesn't care.

Frankly, the whole thing is a little sad. Ratio's behavior is so blatantly out of character that a smart person like Aventurine should easily be able to determine it is genuine, but Aventurine's personal hang-ups and ongoing trauma make it difficult for him to even see that authenticity, let alone put faith in it. Even in canon, Ratio is mostly unable to help himself when it comes to Aventurine, which is especially unfortunate given how badly skewed Aventurine's perception of himself and others is by the start of Penacony's story.

PHEW! I finally made it through canon content!

Now there's just... everything else... 🫠

Well, to be honest, I don't think I could ever manage to put all my thoughts about this ship into one post. Probably not even fifty posts.

So rather than trying to say everything there is to say about Ratiorine, what I want to focus on is how fantastically these two characters just fit together. Like puzzle pieces that need to be mirror opposites in order to link, these two characters parallel each other while also perfectly filling in each other's voids. It's some of the best character pair writing I've seen in a long time (though I'm still sort of convinced it was at least 50% sheer luck on Hoyo's part), and my perspective on their ship can really be tied to my underlying perception of Ratio and Aventurine's characters as remarkably similar individuals:

It's obvious that Aventurine is not a healthy or well-adjusted adult man, but like... neither is Ratio.

Both of these characters are "not quite right" marginalized people who, at least in my interpretation, have essentially given up on even faking normality and are now just vaguely play acting their way through being functioning members of a universe that is entirely unequipped to accept them for who they are. In a world full of cyborg cowboys and people with wings growing from their heads, the game still manages to somehow convince us that Aventurine and Ratio are odd ones out.

Kakavasha can't even exist in the dystopian capitalist hellscape of the IPC's machinations. "Aventurine" isn't even a real person, just a never-ending performance, a slick, devil-may-care persona without a single ounce of substance.

Ratio, meanwhile, is a world of one, rejected from the only place he thought he could find validation and acceptance but unable to lower himself to fit in anywhere else.

Aventurine is so bad at making genuine connections that he turns everyday conversations into gambles because he doesn't believe people will care enough to keep talking to him without tangible incentive.

Ratio's insistence on treating everyone as students, not as equals, also means he has an excuse to never emotionally engage with anyone he meets. (This is not at all a textbook method of intentional avoidance to prevent any chance of social rejection. Not at all.)

At the end of the day, Aventurine and Ratio both come across as desperately lonely, and so caught up in their own situations that they really don't have the ability to climb out of that hole on their own.

Preventing them from even being able to maintain any form of relationship is also the fact that neither one of them can even find justification. Neither one of them has a reasonable answer to the question "Why am I alive?" anymore, because Aventurine's reason died on Sigonia and Ratio's reason died with an IPC invitation instead of a Genius Society letter. Though their differing perspectives have led them on opposite paths pursuing their own answers to that ultimate question of "Why should I keep living?" (Aventurine was headed toward giving up before the end of Penacony, while Ratio has invented an immeasurable, impossible goal to distract himself from feeling purposeless), both of them are pretty much miserably unfulfilled in their current lives.

They're also both violently allergic to emotional vulnerability and to having any of their flaws or true desires actually be perceived. Both of them put up insanely high walls. Aventurine pushes boundaries with everyone he meets to provoke their hatred in advance, before they can come to disdain him for his "real" flaws. He acts out harmful racist stereotypes to use others' preconceptions for advantage, manipulating every situation he's in--incidentally affirming the stereotypes against his people by doing so.

Ratio puts a physical wall of plaster between himself and others, but the plaster bust actually doesn't have anything on the mental and emotional gymnastics he's engaged in to justify his isolation from the world, doing everything in his power to convince himself that he's isolated by choice, that it's perfectly logical for Veritas Ratio to have nowhere to truly belong, no one to truly belong with. He's so mundane after all. Of course the geniuses don't want him, that's just commonsense. But everyone else is so... different, so foolish, so illogical... It just wouldn't be reasonable of him to try to become one of them either, to be their friend instead of their distant educator. (You know, if you never try to integrate with others, then they can't reject you. Ratio has learned his lesson.)

Somehow, Aventurine and Ratio are two of the most competent and successful people in Star Rail's entire universe and simultaneously also two of the most misfit, reject, dysfunctional messes in the game. Like... Blade has a better support network than Aventurine and Ratio combined. The 7000-pound murderous mech with a disabled, genetically-modified war veteran who never got to live a normal human life hiding inside it is more capable of making friends than Aventurine and Dr. Ratio.

Which is why I love that the devs decided to make their canon backstory: "Some absolute treasures in the IPC and the Intelligentsia Guild had the galaxy-brained idea of pairing Ratio and Aventurine as strategic partners." The game's writing really said: "These two characters are so socially stunted, they have to be assigned a relationship like it's homework."

They may not have it all figured out yet, but the fans see the design: Now that Ratio and Aventurine have each other, they're not alone anymore. I have never seen two characters better fit the "Is anyone going to match my freak?" meme only for the actual answer to be "Yes."

Ratio is "plays chess with himself" levels of loner weird? No problem--Aventurine is "Wanna take bets on who's going to die today?" weirder. Ratio wears a plaster bust to ward off idiots? Aventurine transforms into a monster on command, which is pretty much guaranteed to achieve the same effect.

Ratio wasn't chosen by Nous? That's fine, Aventurine's one job as a "chosen one" was to save his people and now they're all dead. Nobody can keep up with Ratio in conversation? Watch a single comment from Aventurine turn him into a fumbling mess on live television.

Ratio's inability to relate to the experiences and development of any peers his own age have left him extremely isolated and with a permanently scarred sense of self-worth? Wow, I wonder if Aventurine knows exactly what that feels like.

They just... fit.

And, changing focus a little here at the end: While I personally think that recovery from trauma requires internal motivation and self-kindness foremost, I also think that Ratio and Aventurine's relationship should be considered from the perspective of how they help to fill each other's gaps.

Unlike any connection at the Genius Society who will always evoke unpleasant memories of Nous's rejection, Aventurine isn't going to make Ratio feel intellectually inferior. Aventurine has nothing but good things to say about Ratio's intelligence, and it's even apparent that Ratio felt comfortable enough to at least mention his Genius Society woes to Aventurine, something he explicitly does not do with anyone else.

Even when it comes to social interactions, Aventurine isn't going to make Ratio feel inadequate, because honestly? Aventurine's almost as bad at them as Ratio. Aventurine is much better at faking it socially, but when it actually counts? When he's trying to be real with others? A solid 70% of the people who meet Aventurine still end up wanting to strangle him. The guy tried to apologize for threatening to detonate the Trailblazer like a bomb by buying them a model train...

Then there's this:

Aventurine is the only character explicitly called Ratio's equal in game, and more than just treating him respectfully as an equal, Aventurine also exhibits one extreme appeal that no one else in game has ever shown to Ratio: Aventurine makes Ratio feel needed. For Aventurine, Ratio is not a forgettable after-thought as he is to Herta and most of the other geniuses. He's not just "some weird guy who scolds me about school" like he is to the Trailblazer. Ratio's intellect and skill were integral to Aventurine's plan from step one to the very end. Ratio has a place in Aventurine's plots. For a character who directly assesses worth by how beneficial a person can be to others, the fact that Aventurine can make Ratio feel wanted and valued probably produced some of the strongest personal fulfillment Ratio has had in years.

On the opposite side, Ratio's in a unique position. Out of every relevant character in Aventurine's story, Ratio is the only one who has nothing to lose by choosing Kakavasha over "Aventurine." Ratio doesn't profit off Aventurine or take any expensive gifts from him, like the Trailblazer does. He doesn't need Aventurine's luck for anything at all. He'd be able to work for the IPC even if Aventurine wasn't in it. Ratio certainly doesn't want the glitz and glamour of a shallow gambling hustler persona. His work doesn't require Aventurine's continued involvement like Topaz's and Jade's does. He'd probably prefer not to know any Stonehearts at all, thank you for asking.

Outside of deliberate-acting insults about Sigonians for Sunday's sake, we're not told that Ratio has any connections to--and therefore has no preconceived biases against--Sigonians. Being a person who values self-determination and a refusal to live in mediocrity above all else, he would have nothing but esteem for how far Aventurine has managed to come despite the harsh circumstances of his life. Ratio probably wouldn't even think Aventurine's belief in Gaiathra is that strange; one of Ratio's doctorates is actually in theology.

Unlike literally everyone else in the universe who needs "Aventurine," we have every indication that Ratio's respect and admiration will only grow when he finally gets to meet "Kakavasha."

Loneliness, rejection, betrayal, a lack of understanding from others--all of these can leave wounds that only genuine, deep bonds with others can heal.

On death's doorway, in the darkest shadow, when Aventurine had to make the choice between passing on to be with the family that loved him and choosing to return to a reality without them... Ratio's letter was there, telling Aventurine the exact thing he needed to hear to choose life: Someone is waiting for you to come home.

If the resounding rejection of Star Rail's Nihility is belief in humanity's power to make meaning in our own lives through our connections to others, then the ultimate message of Ratio and Aventurine's arc in Penacony is that no one needs to be alone. The world is not as empty as you fear.

And that is a message that Ratio and Aventurine can learn best through each other.

(I just... love them so much...)

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Meet and greet 📫⚽️ pt.2

Alexia Putellas x reader

pt. 1

warning : fluffy 💭💗

summary :

After exchanging numbers at the meet-and-greet, you and Alexia finally meet for coffee, and what starts as a casual chat turns into something deeper.

The coffee shop Alexia suggested was tucked away in a quiet part of Barcelona, away from the usual crowds. When you walked inside, the warm scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries filled the air, making you feel instantly at ease. But no amount of calming ambiance could quiet the butterflies in your stomach.

You were early, fifteen minutes early, to be exact. The nerves had gotten the best of you, and you had left home far too soon, anxious about the fact that you were meeting THE Alexia Putellas for coffee. As you sat at a small table by the window, you fidgeted with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to steady your racing heart.

This was real. Alexia had texted you yesterday to confirm the meet-up, and now, you were actually going to sit down with her. Not as a fan, not as someone in the stands, but as someone she wanted to get to know better. That thought alone sent a surge of excitement through you.

Just then, the door chimed, and you looked up. Your breath caught as Alexia walked in, wearing a simple but stylish outfit, jeans and a fitted black sweater, her hair loosely tied back. She looked effortlessly stunning, just as she did on the pitch. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and then she smiled, that warm, familiar smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hola” she greeted, walking over to your table. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

You shook your head quickly, standing up to greet her. “No, not at all. I got here a bit early.”

Alexia chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling as she sat down across from you. “Same. I just took a detour around the block to kill some time. I didn’t want to seem too eager.”

You laughed at her confession, feeling a wave of relief that she was just as human and down-to-earth as you had hoped. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

Once she settled in, you both ordered your drinks, Alexia took a black coffee, while you went with your usual. As you waited for the coffees to arrive, there was a brief moment of silence, not awkward, but filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. You could feel her watching you, her gaze soft but focused.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” Alexia said, her voice genuine. “It’s not often I get to meet people like you. Outside of football, I mean.”

“People like me?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

She smiled, glancing down at her hands for a moment before looking back at you. “Yeah, people who see me beyond just a footballer. I could tell when we met that you really care about the game, and… I don’t know, I felt like we clicked.”

Her honesty caught you off guard. You had always admired her from a distance, but hearing that she had felt some sort of connection as well was something you hadn’t expected. “I’ve always admired you. Not just because you’re an incredible player, but because of who you are off the field too. You’re a leader, and it’s inspiring.”

Alexia’s cheeks tinted slightly pink at your words, and she smiled in a way that felt almost shy. “Thank you. That really means a lot coming from you.”

Before you could respond, the server arrived with your drinks, setting them down in front of you. You wrapped your hands around your cup, the warmth calming your nerves as you both settled into the conversation.

“So, tell me,” Alexia said, leaning forward slightly. “How did you get into football? You mentioned at the meet-and-greet that you’ve been watching us for a while.”

You smiled, thinking back to when your love for the sport began. “It started when I was a kid. I grew up playing football with my friends in the neighborhood. But it wasn’t until I watched Barça’s women’s team play for the first time that I really fell in love with it. And, well… you were a big part of that.”

Alexia chuckled softly, her eyes brightening. “I’m honored. That’s amazing to hear. I love knowing that we’ve been able to inspire people like you.”

You spent the next hour talking about everything. Football, travel, life outside of the sport. The conversation flowed effortlessly, as if you’d known each other for far longer than just a couple of meetings. Alexia listened intently whenever you spoke, asking questions and sharing stories of her own. It was easy to forget that you were sitting across from one of the best footballers in the world.

But every now and then, a small reminder would hit you, a flicker in her eyes, the way she smiled, or when she’d laugh at something you said. The ease with which you two connected felt surreal.

At one point, Alexia glanced down at her phone, checking the time, and sighed softly. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a team meeting in a bit.”

You nodded, though a part of you wished the afternoon could stretch on forever. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

She hesitated for a moment, then looked back up at you, her eyes soft. “But… I’d really like to do this again, if you’re up for it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the invitation. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

You looked up at her, your face flushing with warmth, and Alexia gave you a small, playful smile. “See you soon" she said, standing up and giving you one last lingering look before she left.

As you sat there, a smile crept onto your face. You had come here expecting to get to know your football hero a little better, but now it felt like you were on the brink of something more. Something real.

Alexia Putellas wasn’t just your champion anymore. She was becoming a part of your life in ways you’d never imagined. And you couldn’t wait to see where it led next.

💕 @lovewomensfootball @wososapologist 💕

[crushmeeren]

thoughts on the bnha guys grabbing/pulling your hair? it just sounds so hot

keep up the work crush ♥️ everything you touch turns into a masterpiece

Hi anonnie friend! Your comment is so kind and when people send me stuff like this it encourages me to keep writing, I appreciate you more than you know! I hope this fulfills the fantasy. (ˆ ̳ , ̫ , ̳ˆ)

⋆ ft. katsuki, eijirou, shouto⋆ ⋆ﾟ꒰ FEM READER ꒱ ⋆ﾟ

master list link

Katsuki, without a doubt, would pull your hair. He’d be the man to fuck you from behind, ass in the air and face shoved into the mattress. He’d spank the hell out of you when you try to stifle your moans in the sheets. He’d chastise you, playful yet mean until your fingers curl into fists.

Doesn’t matter if your hair is down, in a braid, in a bun, whatever style you have it in, that man is forcefully lacing his fingers through it or wrapping it around his hand and yanking you up until your fingertips are all that support your weight. Your neck would be bent at an awkward angle, scalp burning and tingling but the pain would only electrify the blood in your veins and makes your pussy flutter.

Katsuki would snap his hips even harsher than before until you’re crying out his name with abandon, pure sinful noise crawling out of your throat.

The position would bully his cock into you just right each time and it’d be soon after that you find yourself resisting his pull, trying to escape the overwhelming build of your oncoming orgasm. You’d need anything to hold onto for leverage, but he wouldn’t give even an inch. He’d click his tongue and tug harder, a breathy laugh leaving him as he watches you struggle.

Your breath would get caught in your chest when he pushes inside you so roughly you’d face plant if not for the death grip in your hair.

“Katsuki!” You’d gasp brokenly. “Fuck, please please don’t stop.” Your scalp would start to throb at this point and your cheeks would be burning and hot to the touch.

“Fuckin’ pussy is suffocatin’ me baby, you’re gonna cum aren’t ya?” He’d be unbearably smug when he teases you and you’d want to bitch back but you’d have no time to reply because the coil in your belly would release and all your muscles would lock up as you cum.

Your mouth would drop open in a silent scream and Katsuki would give you a throaty moan and speed up the rhythm of his hips if only to drag out your pleasure and work you through it.

Safe to say Katsuki would really love pulling your hair.

Eijirou’s the kind of man who enjoys yanking on your hair when you’re sucking on his cock. When he thinks about how he can control the way you move and the speed at which your head bobs, he gets shivers. Granted, he’s often gentle in the beginning, when you first push his soft tip between your lips and creep down his thick shaft until you’ve almost swallowed him entirely.

He’ll delicately lace his long fingers through the hair at the base of your skull, a barely there pressure to guide you.

He’d make soft sounds of encouragement when you start to really move, fingers curled around the base because you can’t possibly fit all of him into your mouth without working up to it first. He’d watch your features pinch with concentration as your jaw started to ache, sucking obscenely when you pull back and swirl your tongue around the head.

He’d be so sweet and kind it’d rot your teeth, cooing at you while he lets you play into the illusion that you’re in control and you’d fall for it every. single. time.

At some point though you’d get tired of doing the work and you’d whine around his cock in frustration. Eijirou would laugh softly in return. He’d know what you want without words.

Then Eijirou would tighten his grip in your hair until the pain is pulsating and tangible underneath his commanding hands. He’d hold you in place and roll his hips again and again until you can comfortably take most of him as he fucks your mouth like a cock sleeve.

You’d squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging into his thighs but ultimately you’d love the way Eijirou uses your throat to make himself feel good. It’d make your pussy drool and your thighs clench together until he’d be gasping your name and jerking back to rest his cock head on your tongue.

You’d open your mouth and lock your half lidded gaze with his as stripes of his cum coat your tongue and hit the back of your throat. It’d be too easy to swallow it all and the sweet grin Eijirou would shoot you afterwards would be more than worth the sore throat you’re sure is to come.

Lucky for you the man is an overgrown puppy, eager to keep going and make you feel just as good if not even better.

This time though, you’d pull on his hair.

Shouto would specifically fixate on pulling your hair when he’s got you laid out on your back. When he’d be in between your thighs and fitting his cock snugly into your pussy.

Shouto would fuck you in such an undemanding but intense way. He’d get a thrill out of forcing you to keep eye contact with him as he brings you closer and closer to cumming. He’d love the way your lips part to gasp his name when he curls his hips a certain way. Or when your eyes would get so wide and shine with an almost panicked look to them when the pleasure gets too close to overwhelming.

Mostly, he’d pull your hair when you toss your head to the side or squeeze your eyes shut. Shouto would sneak his hand underneath your head, cradling the back of your skull before fisting a handful of your hair and tugging until your throat stretched painfully.

“If you look away from me I won’t let you cum,” he’d murmur in warning, a piercing cold trickling onto your scalp when his hand frosts over. You’d nod if you could but he keeps you motionless. Shouto watches you closely when you bite your lip in lieu of an answer. The reality is you know he’d make good on that promise if you didn’t listen and you aren’t taking any chances.

Shouto would sneak a hand down and press on the underside of your knee, bending it until your thigh is close to touching your chest, your other leg hanging loosely around his hip.

The look he’d give you then could never be called anything other than heated. His half lidded stare would be unashamed and his mouth would drop halfway open as he memorized your expression. He’d easily make you feel naked and vulnerable underneath the weight of it but it’d send you to the edge.

Shouto would lean down until your lips barely touched, waiting until your pussy clenches in response. “That’s it baby, you feel amazing. You’re about to make me cum.” His praise will get you every time and then you’d be cumming, desperately trying to keep your eyes open as you do so.

He’d follow you after a few thrusts and finally he’d release his iron clad grip on your hair, burying his face in your throat and scratch your scalp gently in apology. Your head would throb but your limbs would be jelly and you’d admit that you fucking love when he pulls your hair.

[ashwhowrites]

Could you possibly do a part 2 of the pick me, choose me, love me fic that you did for Eddie x reader

I had a few people wanting a part 2 so I hope this will be a great ending for everyone!

Pick me, choose me, love me part 2

Y/N yawned as she opened her eyes. She was confused at first but then remembered where she was and why. She felt her stomach sink as she thought about Eddie. It killed her to know her best friend betrayed her and she felt sick at the thought that he knew how she felt for months and never said a thing.

She blinked away her tears as she felt a body moving next to her. She looked over her shoulder, letting out a small laugh as Steve's face was buried in the pillows. She rolled over to face him, closing her eyes to try to get more sleep.

Steve started groaning so she opened her eyes. She smiled when his barely open eyes looked at her. He gave her a tired smile, his hair all over the place as he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer.

"Morning," he said, his voice low and deep from just waking up. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I did. Thanks for letting me crash here," she said, a sad smile on her face. "Guess I should start figuring out what the hell I'm going to do."

"I know what you need to do first," he said, slowly sitting up. The sheet moved and exposed his hairy chest as he smiled over at her.

"What's that?" She asked, trying to keep her eyes respectful.

"Breakfast" he whispered. He laughed as she pushed his shoulder.

"Just when I thought you were going to be helpful!" She teased. She got out of bed and groaned. "Fuck, I don't have clothes or anything."

"I'll drive you home and you can grab a few things. We'll go to breakfast and plan what you want to do next." Steve offered, and Y/N smiled down at him.

"Thank you, Steve. For all of this and helping."

Steve slipped out of bed and walked over to pull her into a hug.

~

Y/N sighed as they walked up to her door, Eddie's car was up front so she knew she was going to face him.

"You can do this. Just go straight to your room and grab what you need." Steve encouraged. She nodded and unlocked the door.

Steve followed behind her as they walked in. Y/N held her breath as she walked into the living room, Eddie and Kathy were cuddled on the couch watching TV. Upon seeing her, Eddie stood up shocked. Kathy grumbled as her body slumped against the couch.

"Y/N?"

"I'm just here to grab a few things and I'm gone." She snapped, rolling her eyes when she looked at Kathy. She walked to her room and Steve stayed behind. Y/N knew Eddie picked Kathy but it pained her to see that after the huge blowout, he was still right by her side.

"Eddie, Kathy" Steve greeted

"Playing the knight and shining armor, Harrington? I mean how long has she been running to you and she still has no feelings for you!" Eddie smirked

"Let's see," Steve pretended to think, "I think the first time was when you got completely drunk and told her that sometimes you have dreams about marrying her. Oh! Then a minute later, your tongue was down a girl's throat! That was maybe freshmen year? So um since then!" Steve said as he snapped his fingers. "I don't need her to have feelings for me to care about her. It doesn't give me a purpose to be a cocky son of a bitch like you."

Eddie's smirk dropped and he felt anger rush through him. "I've always cared about her. Her having a crush on me didn't change any way that I treated her!"

"That's true," Steve said as he stepped closer. "It's her that changed the way you treated Y/N." He whispered, his eyes looking over Eddie's shoulder to Kathy.

"You're pathetic, Harrington" Eddie growled, "she has never looked twice in your direction and you think that'll change because she's hurting? You'll just be a rebound. You'll never be me."

"You think I want to be you?" Steve laughed, "She runs away from you and comes straight to me. She comes to me for comfort, for love, for support. You fucked up, man. If she wants a rebound, I'll give her a rebound. I'll give her every damn reason to never speak to you again. You got Kathy, you're not the winner here."

"You'd take advantage of her and fuck her?" Eddie growled, shoving Steve's body.

"Be careful there Eddie, sounds like you might be jealous," Steve winked. He loved edging Eddie on. "I'd never take advantage of her, I'm nothing like you."

"Steve, I'm ready to go," Y/N said as she walked out with a bag.

"Yeah, me too," Steve said

"Y/N, can we please talk?" Eddie asked, ignoring the pain he felt when she stood next to Steve and held his arm for comfort. She used to hold his arm when she needed comfort.

Y/N wanted to say yes, but seeing Kathy on her old couch reminded her nothing was going to change and she'd keep getting hurt.

"Nothing we need to say. Once I figure out where I'm going to stay, I'll be here to pack everything up. Enjoy your life, Eddie." She said sadly, tugging on Steve's arm.

Eddie watched as they walked out, a different feeling swarming around his stomach.

~

"I think if I moved a few blocks down, it should still be in my price range," Y/N said, cutting up her eggs.

"Do you really want to deal with that? And you'll have to find a roommate." Steve explained, then shoved a mouthful of waffles in his mouth.

"What else can I do? Staying with Eddie is not an option. He'll probably have Kathy move in so I don't think he'll give me the place."

"Live with me," Steve shrugged

Y/N choked on her water, coughing as she set down her cup.

"You don't want me living with you. I'm going to be a mess with all my emotions and you deserve a break some days," she joked, but a sad reality to her words.

"I'll never need a break from you. You've been staying at my place for years when you need it. The only difference is that it's your place now too." Steve explained

"I don't know. What about when you want girls around? You don't need a sobbing girl across the hall." Y/N argued.

"I want you there," Steve said as he reached over and held her hand. "Give it a chance before you go out and spend all your money. It's a free trial!" Steve joked

He smiled when she let out a laugh. "Okay, fine. I'll be your trail roommate!"

~~~

It didn't take long for Y/N and Steve to spend every moment together. She always felt happiest around Steve and she forgot how good it felt. He always had her smiling and laughing, and it was refreshing.

After a week, Y/N forced herself back to work. She wasn't sure how it would go now that she and Eddie weren't talking. Or at least she wasn't, he still called every day. She was worried he would be sitting at the bar like he always did, she wasn't sure if she could handle seeing him.

"What do I even say? Can I ignore him? Or do I have to sit there and serve him drinks like he didn't break my heart!" Y/N ranted as she got herself ready for work. Steve sat on her newly claimed bed, admiring her as she brushed through her hair frantically.

"Would you feel more at ease if I came with you?" Steve asked, "If he gets out of line, I'll cut in."

Y/N smiled at him through the mirror, "You'd do that for me? I'm sure there's a better way to spend your Friday night."

"I'd do anything for you, doll." He smiled

~

"So, how long are you going to wait until you tell her the truth?" Robin asked, playing with the small umbrella in her drink.

Robin and Steve were sitting at the bar, keeping Y/N company throughout her shift. The bar was busy and packed so she was able to keep her mind off Eddie. And it helped that he still hadn't shown.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, Robin smirked as his eyes stayed on Y/N as she walked through the bar.

"Can you stop staring for a second and talk to me?" Robin joked, hitting Steve's arm.

Steve blinked and looked at Robin, "happy?"

"Yes, and you know exactly what I mean. You can't torture yourself by never telling her you are in love with her." Robin said she could see the emotions changing in Steve's eyes.

"I know and I will tell her. But she's still hurting right now and throwing that on her would be inappropriate. I want her to heal."

"No, you want her to be over Eddie." Robin corrected

"You're a pain in the ass," Steve groaned

"Drinks?" Y/N asked as she leaned over the bar to grab Steve's beer. He coughed as her cleavage poured out of the tiny tank top the bar made her wear.

Robin snickered and Steve was quick to kick her with his foot.

"For you," Y/N smiled as she placed the beer on Steve's napkin, he went to grab it and his fingers gently touched hers. Y/N couldn't help but let her fingers linger before she pulled away. Snapping back into reality as Robin coughed.

"Another one for you, Rob?" Y/N asked politely

"I'm good, gorgeous." Robin winked

Y/N winked back and went to help other customers.

"Do you have to flirt with her right in front of me?" Steve teased

"Let the show begin," Robin said with a smirk as she nodded her head towards the front. Steve looked to the door and there Eddie was walking in.

Steve glared flames into Eddie as he walked further into the bar and took a seat on the other side. Steve smiled when she walked right past Eddie and came to him.

"What do I do? I'm panicking" Y/N whispered, trying her best not to look over her shoulder.

"Want me to ask him to leave?" Steve asked, already standing up

"No!" Y/N said, "I don't need you guys fighting. It's my problem, I need to be an adult and just face him."

"I'll be right here if you need me. Just call me over," Steve said as he sat back down. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she said

Robin watched as she left. "He seems pissed. You really get under his skin, don't you?" she asked

"He doesn't like that she realized she doesn't need him," Steve shrugged as he sipped on his beer

~

"Is he your new bodyguard or does he just follow you around like a love-sick puppy?" Eddie scoffed

"What do you want to drink?" Y/N asked, ignoring his comment as she grabbed a glass

"You might not be talking to me right now, but I'm still your best friend and we can work this out," Eddie explained

"Are you going to break up with her?"

"Why does that have to be the only outcome?"

"Not understanding why tells me there's nothing worth working out. If you were my best friend you wouldn't have hurt me while you knew I have feelings for you. It took me too damn long to see that you don't care about me as much as you say you do. You picked Kathy, you get to live with that choice. And when you wake up and finally realize you picked a fake bitch over the girl who actually loves you, don't you even think about me." She spat, slamming down his glass of beer.

She felt proud as she turned around and walked over to Steve

Eddie gripped his glass as he fumed watching her laughing with Steve.

~~~

A few weeks passed and things were changing. The more time Y/N spent with the Steve, the less she thought of Eddie. She was moving on from him and slowly falling into Steve.

She realized it all on a random Sunday. Steve had his friends over for the football game, everyone was cheering and having a good time. Y/N didn't really watch football but she was dressed in one of Steve's jerseys, sitting next to him on the couch. Her legs were sprawled out on his lap, and his large left hand was softly tracing shapes on her bare skin. His eyes were focused on the TV, his mouth running as he talked with his friends. He was occupied by everything around him, but his touch never left her.

There was a knock on the door and Steve got up to answer it

"Hey Y/N," Robin greeted as she walked in with more beer

"Hey girl," Y/N smiled, she stood up so Robin could take her spot. The couch was full and Y/N prepared to head off to her room.

Steve sat down and cracked open a beer, within seconds he was lost in the game. But no matter how occupied he was, he would always know if she was missing.

"Whatcha doing over there? Come sit," Steve laughed as Y/N stood in the hallway

"Robin needs a spot and this is your friend time. I can hang in my room, don't worry about me!" Y/N shrugged

"I can grab a stool from the kitchen!" Robin offered, going to stand up but Steve pushed her back down.

"Nonsense, there is room for both my girls, come here," Steve said as he waved her over

Y/N slowly walked over, she leaned down to whisper in Steve's ear

"I don't want to be rude and make all your friends move," Y/N looked around the couch, all the boys zoned in on the TV and she didn't want to disturb that.

Steve didn't say anything, waiting until she stood up. Once she did, he turned her around and grabbed her hips, throwing her right down on his lap. She squealed in surprise.

Steve wrapped one arm around her and moved up to whisper in her ear,

"This okay?"

The feeling of his hard body against her back, the raspiness in his whisper, his breath tickling her ear, and the way his hand rested on the inside of her thigh made her think of Steve in ways she never had.

"Yeah, it's okay," she said, her voice cracking as she squirmed. Her eyes were on the TV but her mind was busy imagining Steve's hard body in different scenarios.

Ever since then, a crush on Steve formed and kept getting out of control.

~~~

More weeks passed and Y/N was a mess for Steve. She tried to keep it under control, cussing herself out for crushing on all the guys she moved in with. She knew how bad it ended last time and did not want to lose Steve too.

But he made it so hard

It was his birthday and he wanted to go clubbing. So now Y/N was slipping on her tightest dress, with her best heels, and perfecting her hair and makeup.

"Hey, are you re-" Steve cut himself off as his jaw dropped. He stared at her as she finished her lipstick. She stood up and turned around to face him. She shivered at the way he looked her up and down, once again making controlling her crush harder to do.

"Yes, let's go!" she rushed out, speeding past him so she could feel herself breathe again.

They were at the club for a few hours, a few drinks, and a lot of dances. They weren't drunk, but their liquid courage seemed to make them more free with each other. Y/N would never be grinding on Steve's body if she was fully sober. And Steve wouldn't be sucking on her neck if he was fully sober. But the heat between them was too much to ignore, the sexual tension needed to be acted upon, or neither would be able to move on.

So lost in lust, neither remembered how they got home. But it didn't matter as they pushed through their front door with their lips locked. They made out as they walked to Steve's room, pushing open his door. Steve pulled away as they walked towards his bed, she stopped when her legs hit the mattress.

"Is this what you want?" He asked, his chest moving rapidly as he breathed hard. She admired his red lips, loving the way she could see just how hard they were kissing. Then she looked into his eyes, so dark and swimming with lust. She wished she was looking at herself through his eyes because she must have looked beautiful by the way he couldn't look away.

"Make me feel good, birthday boy," she whispered, a smirk on her lips as he moaned. She gasped when he pushed her body against the bed and climbed on top of her.

His mouth was on hers as his hands moved under her dress. She moaned as he teased her cunt over her thin underwear. His long fingers slid up and down, his mouth sucking away her breath as she panted underneath him.

Neither wanted to spend time with foreplay, both early tearing each other's clothes off. He was painfully hard and she had never felt so wet in her life. She was running her fingers through his hairy chest and her other hand scratching down his back. His head buried in her neck as he pushed himself inside of her.

He started slow, memorizing how she felt wrapped around him. He had been dreaming of this for years and he didn't want to rush anything. But the way she moaned, begging him for more, and whispering dirty words in his ear made him want to lose himself inside of her.

"Steve please, I can handle it," she begged. He felt amazing don't get her wrong, but she wanted him to fuck her like an animal.

"I've wanted this for so long, I want to feel everything," he said against her lips, his forehead softly pressed against hers. She smiled at his words, feeling her heart burst.

"I promise this won't be the only time. Show me how desperately you want this, let yourself go," she said, reaching up to hold his cheek

He turned his head to kiss her palm

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he said

The second she nodded, his mouth attacked her chest. She moaned out as he bit down on her nipple, tugging it was his teeth as he drilled his cock inside of her.

"Fuck yes," she moaned, smiling as she felt pleasure running all throughout her body. He was long and thick, feeling like heaven inside her as he fucked her fast.

"You feel amazing, baby," He moaned

His bed was smacking the wall

His balls were smacking against her skin

Her moans were turning into screams

"Make me cum, Steve. Make me cum," she whined, throwing her head back

"Gladly" he smirked, and he slid himself out of her. Giving her no time to whine in protest as he flipped her around. She clawed at his pillows as he pushed her hips up, her ass in the air.

She gasped in pleasure as he slipped himself back inside of her, keeping a rapid pace as he moved his right hand down to her clit. She felt her eyes roll in the back of her head as he swirled his fingers against her clit, adding to the pleasure that was building in her stomach.

"Yes, yes, yes" she chanted like a prayer as she felt herself getting close. Then he slipped out of her again and she wanted to cry. But then she felt his wet tongue pushed inside of her.

She cried into the pillows as he tongue fucked her and kept his fingers rubbing circles on her clit. She didn't have time to warn him, her thighs shook and she felt everything snap.

Steve moaned as he felt her cum soak his face. He happily ate her cum, humming at her sweet taste. He groaned as he felt his cock twitch, he pulled back and pushed himself back inside her wet cunt.

She yelped at the overstimulation, crying into the sheets as he chased his orgasm.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum so hard" he moaned

"Fucking," thrust "Gorgeous," thrust, "best" thrust, "sex of," thrust, "my life,"

"Oh my god" Y/N whined as she felt Steve cumming inside of her. She could feel his warm cum painting her walls, every drop inside of him, her cunt milking him until he was empty.

His sweaty body collapsed against her back. He panted as he slowly stood up with shaky legs. She rolled her body over, a blissful smile on her face. Her eyes were heavy as she looked at him through her lashes, his sweaty and toned body standing over her.

He looked down at her in awe

She wiggled her finger to call him closer, he listened and leaned down. She smiled as she leaned up and softly kissed his lips.

~

The next morning Steve was in the kitchen making breakfast, his chest bare and a pair of sweatpants low on his hips. When he moved a certain way he could feel the scratches on his back and he'd hiss at the sting.

He was lost in memory when he heard a knock on the door. He turned off the stove and walked over to the door. He opened it and was surprised to see Eddie.

"I need to talk to Y/N," he demanded

"Hello to you too Eddie, and I don't think that is a good idea," Steve explained, ready to shut the door but Eddie stopped the door with his hand

"I don't care what you think, I need to talk to her," Eddie argued

"Well, she's not here so bye," Steve again tried to close the door but Eddie wasn't having any of it.

"I feel like I can barely walk, Steve. Jesus chr-EDDIE!" Y/N froze as she walked out of the bedroom. Her eyes locked between Eddie and Steve, both men looking mad as ever, but for different reasons.

Eddie felt his heart race as she stumbled as she walked, her words, and the dark marks on her neck. Eddie didn't take long to connect the dots; all he saw was red.

"YOU FUCKER!" Eddie screamed, taking Steve down to the floor. Y/n screamed in panic as Eddie and Steve began to brawl on the ground in front of her.

"EDDIE GET OFF!" Y/N screamed, grabbing his arm and shoving him away from Steve. Eddie stood on his feet, glaring as she helped Steve stand up. She frowned at the little blood that fell from Steve's nose.

"What the hell is your problem!" Y/N spat, turning around as her glare landed on Eddie

"He's my fucking problem," Eddie hissed, pointing his finger at Steve as he seethed in anger. "I knew all along that fucker liked you. Sitting in the corner, being a shoulder for you to cry on so he can make moves on you!"

"Why do you care so much? It's not like Y/N is your girlfriend, Eddie. I'm not in the wrong for going after what I want. You've got your girlfriend to focus on so leave us alone" Steve spat

"Kathy and I broke up"

Y/N whipped her head to look at Eddie, pure shock on her face

"What?" Y/N asked

Eddie looked at Y/N, softly grabbing her hand. Steve held himself back from tearing Eddie's hand off.

"I miss you," he said, his eyes staring deep into Y/N's. "I realized everything too late, I know that. But you changed my life and I'm never going to get over losing you. I should have listened when you warned me and I regret nothing more than picking her over you. I'm jealous, I'll be honest. The idea of you and him," Eddie said as he nodded his head towards Steve with a pained look, "breaks my heart. I thought I was so angry about it because I wanted to protect you, but I know that's not why."

"Eddie, what are you saying?" Y/N gulped

"I'm saying that I'm jealous and angry about Steve because I have feelings for you. I think I always have, it just took so damn long to realize it. I love you and I'm sorry for all the pain I put you through. I want you to come home, and I want to work this out. I want you."

Steve could feel his heart-shattering in his chest with every word. It hurt to see the look in Y/N's eyes. It was everything she wanted to hear ever since she fell for him. Eddie confessed he was in love with her, and Steve had no idea where that left him.

"Eddie I-I" Y/N stuttered, she was honestly at a loss for words

"Just say you love me too," Eddie begged, pushing his forehead against hers, he held her face in place. His rough hands on her delicate cheeks

Steve had to look away, the water filling his eyes as he tried to hold back his tears

"I love you too," she whispered

Steve bit down on his lip as hard as he could, silencing his sobs as his body shook. He did everything for her, he treated her the way she deserved, and he still wasn't going to get the girl.

"But I'm not in love with you anymore"

Her words made both boys freeze

Y/N stepped back, taking Eddie's hands off of her.

"What?" Eddie whispered, a pained look in his eyes as she kept stepping back

"I spent years wanting to hear you say that, but I've never felt loved by you. But Steve," she said, walking over to him. She softly grabbed his hand, "he shows me how much he loves me every day"

"I understand," Eddie choked out

Steve and Y/N watched as Eddie left, the door closing behind him

"So, you've uh liked me that long?" Y/N asked, a small smile on her face as she turned to look at Steve

"Just a bit," he shrugged

Y/N stood in front of him, dropping his hand to reach up and wipe away his tears

"I like you too, you know just a bit," she joked, loving the way he smiled and laughed

"I was preparing to lose you" Steve sighed

Y/N nodded and cupped his cheek, she leaned in and kissed his lips. "You won't. I pick you"

@dreamerjj @lotrefcp @daisy-munson @buckybarnessweetheart @munsongirl97 @mugloversonly @duncanhillscoffeecups

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[sceletaflores]

any nasty down bad breeding kink art musings love of my life?

viciously yanked me out of my mini challengers rut with this one because yes. yes i do have some thoughts on that.

for some reason the first thing that came to mind was virgin!art....in a universe where he somehow didn't get laid before stanford lol

like auurgggghhh virgin!art and his deep seated breeding kink. it's literally ingrained in him even before he has sex for the first time.

you're his first real girlfriend, met when you needed a tutor in accounting and art's professor suggested him.

the two of you have been dating for two months and he already knows that he loves you despite what patrick says about "playing the field a little man, you're not married to the chick."

but the thing is that art would marry you. he'd up and marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted. he doesn’t care how crazy it sounds.

he loves you and he wants you to be his first.

maybe he wasn't entirely expecting it when you laid on your back on the mattress of his dorm, peering up at him through your lashes as you announced that you were "ready to take our relationship to the next level..."

he was hard before you finished talking.

art could barely think straight, his body reacting faster than his mind. he swallowed hard, trying to steady his hands, which had started trembling the moment you laid back on the navy blue comforter of his bed.

“are you...are you sure?" his voice came out more breathless than he intended, his brain scrambling to keep up despite all the blood rushing to his dick.

your gentle nod, paired with a soft smile that made his heart stutter in his chest was all it took for him to lose any lingering doubts.

he crawled up the mattress, leaning down to kiss you with more tenderness than urgency, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape his chest.

he fumbled his way through fingering you, his hands shaking with nerves even though you've done this part countless times.

it wasn't until the two of you shed all clothes, art settling himself between your legs before you were speaking, thighs twitching to close around his hips.

"you'll have to pull out, i'm off the pill."

fuck.

art's heard of that before, pulling out. usually the punchline of some jokes the guys like to tell in the locker room, or from patrick recapping his own hook-up stories.

the dirtiness of it makes his cheeks burn, and he hopes to god you can't see the embarrassing red blush he knows is there.

he takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve as he presses the leaking head of his dick to your slick hole.

"okay." his voice sounded pained, his hold on your hip probably a little too tight as he held his throbbing dick steady and nudged his hips forward until just the tip slipped inside your fluttering hole.

"oh fuck."

art’s brain short-circuits for a moment, his entire body freezing as the tight heat of you grips the head of his dick. he sucks in a shaky breath, trying to keep his cool, but every nerve in his body is screaming at him to move, to take more. to bury himself so deep he wouldn’t know where he ends and you begin.

he lets out a low groan, fingers digging into your skin, knuckles turning white with it. he wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it would feel, like his entire life had been leading up to this exact moment.

"jesus...you're so—" he can’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

"art," your hips shift beneath him, making him jolt forward, sinking just a little deeper inside you. his mind goes blank, a vast space of nothingness but the tight heat wrapped around his dick.

there's only you, your soft skin, your quiet gasps, the feeling of being wrapped in the most sinful warmth.

for a while art gets lost in the feeling. in the way you pant into his open mouth, to overwhelmed to kiss him properly. in the way your hands grip his shoulders harder with every inch he gives you. in the way you pussy shakes around him like it can hardly wait any longer.

but soon enough, art knows he's getting close, that he probably needs to pull out soon. but you're just so soft and you smell so good and your pussy is sucking his dick in so wet and warm like it never wants him to leave again.

"i can't," he grits out against your collarbone, shaking his head frantically. "i can't do it."

"don't stop," you whine, manicured nails digging into the toned muscle of his shoulders, "don't stop, baby. fuck, give it to me harder, harder please-ah!"

art screws his eyes shut as tightly as he can, brows pinched together as he presses his forehead against the sweaty skin of your shoulder. to ground himself. his hips speed up to punch out more high whines of his name from your slick lips.

there's an odd feeling working it's way through his body as he ponders his options, a wrongness flashing in the back of his mind each time he reminds himself of pulling out to spill over your stomach.

despite the fact that he's never done this before, his gut tells him no.

you deserve his come inside you, painted along your insides as he claims you for the first time.

"i can't pull out," he whines through clenched teeth, big hands tightening their hold on your waist. his voice is pinched and high in a way it's never been before, desperation leaking through his tone.

your lips fall open on a gasp, your head shaking back and forth dazedly, but he feels the way you clench around him. the way your pussy tightens up like it's trying to milk the load directly out of his aching balls.

"fuck! please don't make me baby," he begs, self restraint snapping in two as he buries his face in your neck. "lemme come in you, it'll be okay. we'll be fine, nothing gonna happen if it's only this once."

"no..." you moan, "art don't, gotta pull out..." but your hips start rising of the bed to meet his thrusts, the dirty smack of skin on skin filling his tiny single. you're dripping around him, coating his dick with a slick layer of shiny wetness.

"i can't," art repeats breathlessly, dick twitching inside you warningly.

"i need it…need you, need to come in you so fucking bad," his voice is strained and cracking, hips trembling with the effort, but you’re so tight around him, every squeeze pulling him deeper.

it's too much and not enough all at once—the heat, the wetness, the overwhelming need. it has pure kerosene burning in his veins.

"art," your legs stay wrapped snug around his hips, ankles locked over his lower back. "m'close, gonna come, fuck! i'm coming—!"

so is art. the added squeeze of you're pussy coming around shattering the last of his resolve and sending him careening him over the edge.

"fuck," your name falls from his lips in a tight groan as he unloads inside of you. flooding your pussy with warm come as his hips keep up the punishing pace he set.

art doesn't stop thrusting even as he comes so hard his vision whites out. he can't stop, like you've got some sort of magnetic field that keeps pulling him in over and over and over.

your too-loud moans and cries dissolving into sharp keens and gasps as he fucks you into over-stimulation, his hips pumping in in in as the image of his come getting fucked deeper and deeper inside of you plays on a loop in his mind.

when his arms finally give out and he collapses on top of you in a sweaty heap of limbs, your arms immediately come up to wrap around his shoulders. a pleased hum rumbling through your chest as you scratch your nails along his scalp soothingly, smug smile hidden in the sweaty halo of his hair.

art's out like a light in five minutes, falls asleep right there with his head resting on your bare-chest and his dick kept safe inside you.

patrick buys a plan-b for art the next morning when he's too nervous to face the cashier at walgreens.