#been practically crying for an entire hour at this point

[sweetromanova]

Claw & Order: Part Two🐾

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is being accused of grand theft feline. The evidence? A very smug tabby. The problem? She kinda loves him now.

A/N: part three and four to follow👀

Chapter Two

“HEY! YOU- YOU- CAT-THIEF!” Natasha looked up.

You were storming down the stairs of your building like you’d been lying in wait, fists clenched, murder in your eyes, a crumpled flyer flapping like a war banner in one hand. You pointed at her with all the rage of someone who had been personally victimised by every member of SHIELD.

“I knew it.” You shouted, practically vibrating. “I knew someone stole my cat- YOU stole my cat!”

Natasha raised a brow. “Excuse me-“

“You kidnapped him! You cat-napped him! An Avenger CAT NAPPED MY CAT?! How righteous.” Your voice was borderline hysterical now, rising with every word. “You lured him with your fancy assassin snacks and your deceptively soft clothes and he fell for it like a TRAITOR!”

Liho meowed, completely unfazed.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?” You snapped, jabbing the flyer toward her face. “This photo has been up in every coffee shop and bodega within twenty blocks!”

“I didn’t see it.” Natasha said evenly, trying to not escalate the situation. “He showed up at the tower and I thought he was a stray.”

“Oh yeah? Just conveniently stray enough to wander past all the fancy Stark tech and security guards and make himself comfortable on your designer duvet?

Natasha blinked. “He… has good taste.”

“HE HAS A MICROCHIP!”

“I didn’t scan him.” This was going no where, Natasha thought. “Look I fed him tuna once. Maybe twice.”

“TUNA?!”

“It was organic.”

“You seduced my cat!”

Natasha stared. “…I’m sorry. I what?”

“You seduced him with room service and shiny toys and now he thinks he’s too good for my IKEA furniture!”

Natasha glanced down at the carrier, where Liho was poking his paw through the mesh, entirely unbothered by your escalating volume.

“I didn’t plan this. I didn’t steal him. He just kept coming back.”

“Oh, right.” You scoffed, sarcasm dripping. “Like some furry little Mission Impossible agent, scaling compound walls and disabling Stark defenses to get a snack from a redacted Russian spy? That’s your defense?”

“…He’s very agile.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You better be glad I don’t press charges.”

“I already brought him back.” Natasha pointed out.

“Too late! The damage is done! I’ve been crying into a $12 pint of oat milk ice cream for three days! Three! I thought he was in a gutter!”

Natasha said nothing. She could’ve explained, maybe. Apologized, awkwardly. But you were on a roll now, hands flailing as you listed her crimes.

“Do you know how many times I circled this neighborhood? How many hours I spent crouching in alleyways calling him like a sad ex at 2am? You stole my cat, you tuna-wielding homewrecker!”

“…That’s new.” Liho chirped like he found that accurate.

“I’m taking him back.” You snapped, reaching for the carrier. “And you- you can go back to your lonely, emotionally repressed murder-bed without him.”

Natasha didn’t fight you.

You took one last glance of anger at her and turned, muttering angrily under your breath as you stormed away.

Natasha watched you go. Under her breath, she whispered. “You’re welcome.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

There was something about the post-mission debrief that always felt like therapy with too many snacks. Except this time, no one had been on a mission. And Natasha was very much not planning to talk about feelings. Or cats. Or the fact that her apartment now felt weirdly quiet.

She sipped her drink slowly, eyes fixed on the news silently scrolling across the TV. Clint dropped onto the couch beside her with a grunt.

“You good?” He asked, reaching for a bowl of popcorn like it hadn’t been someone else’s hand.

“Fine.”

“Sure.” He said, unconvinced. “You’ve been brooding harder than usual. Even for you.”

“I am not brooding.”

“You’re brooding in HD.”

Sam strolled in from the kitchen, grinning. “Is this about the cat?”

Clint perked up. “Wait- what cat?”

Wanda entered right behind him, looking way too pleased with herself. “Oh.” She said sweetly, grabbing a sparkling water. “You mean Liho? The one Natasha definitely didn’t steal?”

Natasha exhaled slowly. “I didn’t steal him.”

Wanda flopped onto the other couch and crossed her legs. “Sure. He just ‘appeared’ in your room. Every day. For a week.”

Sam grinned. “With his own blanket and feeding schedule.”

Clint’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, you adopted a cat?!”

“I didn’t adopt him.” Natasha muttered. “He adopted me. And I gave him back.”

Wanda sipped her drink. “After the yelling.”

“What yelling?” Clint was nearly vibrating now. “Who yelled at you?!”

“Can I just say I’m never telling you anything again Witch?!” Natasha looked up, deadpan. “His original owner found me, in the street as I tried to return him. Yelled at me for ‘seducing her cat with premium tuna and fancy furniture.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Clint exploded. He doubled over on the couch, practically weeping with laughter. Sam dropped his drink. Wanda didn’t even try to hide her smirk.

“Oh my god.” Clint wheezed.

“No!” Sam shouted. “NO WAY! She really gave it to you? To your face?!”

“She accused me of ‘weaponising tuna against her.’”

Clint was now on the floor.

Wanda raised a brow. “…Did you?”

Natasha blinked. “It was organic.”

More howling.

Clint was trying to breathe. “You- you- an international assassin got publicly shamed for catnapping via affection. This is better than the Budapest file.”

Sam wiped his eyes. “Please tell me there’s security footage.”

“There’s probably footage from some security camera.”Wanda said smugly. “FRIDAY?”

“Would you like it on the main screen?”

“No!” Natasha snapped.

“Yes.” The team chorused, she was never living this down.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Natasha lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was quiet, no soft grumbles, no light breathing or purring.

She’d already cleaned the corner where his toy mouse used to be, washed the blanket, closed the window Liho used to sit in.

She hadn’t realised how used to the soft weight of him she’d become. The purring, the judging stares when she didn’t finish her food.

She exhaled.

“…I am not a cat-seducing menace.”

No one answered.

Except, maybe, the empty spot at the foot of her bed.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

It was a couple days later and the morning had started like any other, mildly chaotic. Clint had stolen Wanda’s yogurt bowl, Steve was pretending not to notice and Sam was arguing with FRIDAY about music choices in the gym.

“Something’s going on downstairs.” Tony commented, looking at the security alert on his phone.

“Something as in nothing or something as in I’ve got to suit up?” Sam questioned, praying for the first part.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Some crazy woman shouting about a cat.”

Clint didn’t miss how Natasha’s tensed.

“Maybe we should ask Friday.” He suggested, still staring at the redhead that was looking everywhere but him.

“I mean sure, if you care so much.” Tony shrugged, clueless to the growing tension. “Friday, what’s the situation in the lobby?”

“It appears a civilian in the lobby is demanding to speak with Agent Romanoff. They’re… emotionally distressed and accusing you of cat theft. Again.”

Wanda dropped her spoon into her cereal.

Clint spun in his chair. “No. Way.”

“I don’t have the cat!” Natasha exclaimed.

“Wait- What Cat?” Tony was left ignored as the redhead stormed downstairs.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You were already yelling by the time security hesitantly opened the doors.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

The receptionist blinked. “I- Can I help-“

“Don’t play dumb, I know she’s here! Natasha Romanoff! Red hair, dead eyes, probably smells like tuna and theft!”

You held up the flyer, crumpled, tear-streaked, freshly re-printed.

“Milo’s gone. Gone! And do you know what that means?” You shouted, spinning toward a confused security guard. “It means someone took him. And there’s only one person insane and manipulative enough to do that! THE CAT-SNATCHING, TUNA-BRIBING ASSASSIN HERSELF.”

There was a long pause as your words echoed through the lobby.

Then the elevator dinged.

Natasha stepped out and stopped. “…What the hell is happening?”

You turned slowly, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched like this was round two of a grudge match no one else was ready for.

“You.” You hissed, voice shaking. “You took him again.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “What—”

“Don’t play innocent. He was fine until you got your emotionally stunted hands all over him. Now he’s vanished. Again. Like a tiny, furry double agent with a jetpack.”

Natasha opened her mouth. Closed it.

Behind her, Sam whispered. “Should we be calling, like, a professional?”

Clint leaned over the balcony. “Let them fight.”

You stomped closer, tears barely contained. “He slept in my laundry basket. He batted my toothbrush under the fridge! We cuddled! I thought he was safe and then I come home and he’s just gone and there’s only one person who’s ever made him leave before- you!”

“I didn’t take him.” Natasha said, quietly but firmly.

“You didn’t not take him either!”

Natasha stepped forward, voice low. “Do you really think I’d take him after everything? After what you said to me on the street?”

You faltered.

The weight of everything slammed into you, panic, sleep deprivation, guilt, missing fur and empty corners and all the soft little rituals that had vanished with him.

“I-“

“I don’t have your cat. I returned him the second I found out he was missing.” Natasha explained. “So I’m sorry he’s gone but I didn’t take him.”

“But-“

“Are you sure he’s missing?”

“I’m sure. He doesn’t do this, ever. We don’t have much but…” You faltered, tears springing in your eyes. “We don’t have much but we have each other and he’s never left for this long.”

Natasha hesitated.

“I just want him back.” You whispered, suddenly feeling just so so tired.

For a second, just one heartbeat, Natasha’s expression cracked, worry flickering through her cool mask.

“…Let me help.”

You looked up at her, startled. “What?”

“Let me help you find him.”

You blinked. “But… I- I shouted at you.”

Natasha sighed. “You did and maybe I deserved some things you said.”

“Not the tuna thing.” You muttered.

“No, definitely not the tuna thing.” She said. “I fed him. I didn’t brainwash him.”

“He chose you over me.”

“He chose whoever had snacks. Don’t take it personally.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

She held out her hand. “Let me help.”

You hesitated… then nodded.

Somewhere above you, Sam whispered. “So is this a rom-com now or what?”

Clint was already placing a new bet in the group chat.

[vernonverse]

forever and ever and ever

— the morning after bsf!soonyoung drunkenly confesses to you.

ⓘ paring. soonyoung x f!reader. genre | tags: friends to lovers, drabble, fake texts, fluff, mini-series. warnings. alcohol consumption, lots of crying, kissing. word count. 2.6k+. → read part one here.

━ This is part of my series 500 follower special. Technically not mandatory reading but for it to fully make sense, I’d recommend checking out part one first.

ʚ A/N: This one doesn't have texts, it's just written parts.

The bar is loud, dimly lit, and sticky with the kind of Friday night energy that promises bad decisions and regretful stories.  

You know there’s a baseball game going on because Soonyoung told you earlier, long before he poured his heart out to you, practically buzzing with excitement through the phone as he explained that everyone was heading to this bar to watch it together. He even invited you, but since you were supposed to work late, you declined, not expecting your evening to shift so suddenly or to find yourself walking into the exact place you said no to just hours earlier, just to pick your best friend up.

You push the door open, not sure exactly what you’re walking into, and you spot Mingyu immediately—all 187 centimeters of him waving frantically at you from across the room. Next to him, Joshua sips from his glass, entirely unbothered, offering you a lazy wave and smile.

The place is absolutely packed. Bodies squeezed shoulder to shoulder, voices raised over the blaring commentary from the TVs, the clatter of glasses behind the bar barely audible beneath it all. The air is clouded with the scent of fried food, beer, and something vaguely woody from someone’s cologne nearby.

You spot Seokmin and Seungkwan sandwiched between a couple of dudes close to the biggest TV in the bar, both of them in matching jerseys, looking like they’ve been there for hours, cheeks flushed from a combination of beer and yelling, arms flailing as they half-celebrate, half-coach the team from afar like the players on the screen can hear them.

The rest of the boys are scattered around the bar. Some near the pool table, others by the bar counter, a few more huddled around the TV. You spot each one easily, laughing, drinking, caught up in the noise of the place.

All of them… except the one you were actually looking for.

“Y/N!” you hear someone call out over the noise, your name slicing through the low hum of conversation and music. 

You turn your head to the left corner, finding Joshua pointing at the lump of sparkly tiger print collapsed on the table right between Jeonghan and Chan. 

Kwon Soonyoung.

“Ain’t no fucking way,” you murmur to yourself, eyes wide in disbelief.

You weave your way through the crowded bar, brushing past elbows and half-finished drinks, offering Seungcheol and Wonwoo a small, polite smile as you pass by them. Seungcheol nods in greeting, and Wonwoo flashes you a knowing smirk, but you don't slow down to talk to them. 

Soonyoung’s head rests on the table, arms crossed, eyes shut. He looks peaceful, though completely unbothered by the music, the TV and the loud sound of voices. Sleeping like an angel. A very intoxicated, overly dramatic angel.

Jeonghan rises from his chair without a word, his expression the perfect mix of sympathy and amusement. He gives your shoulder a firm, almost solemn pot, like a soldier sending another off to war, and leans in just enough to mutter, “Good luck,” before disappearing into the crowd with the casual ease of someone who knows exactly what kind of chaos you’re walking into. 

Chan follows right after him, and you are left alone, staring down at Soonyoung and his sparkly, tiger-print disaster of a state, wondering how your night had managed to take this turn.

“Soonie,” you say softly, nudging his shoulder as you sink into the seat beside him.

He groans, barely lifting his head from the table. “Go away, Chan, I’m in mourning,” he mumbles, voice muffled against his folded arms. 

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head before asking, “For what, honey?”

Soonyoung pops his head up so fast he almost hits your chin. 

“Y/N?!” he exclaims, eyes wide and glitter catching in the light like he’s part raccoon, part pure alcohol incarnate. 

“Hey, tiger boy,” you smile at him. “Calm down before you give yourself whiplash, will you?”

His eyes widen in horror, then immediately scrunch like he’s about to cry again. 

“Oh noooo,” he whines, dragging the last syllable as he buries his face in your arm. “I wasn’t ready. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. I had a dance planned.”

You blink, startled. “A dance?”

Soonyoung groans louder against the sleeve of your jacket. “I was gonna get backup dancers and everything. Jihoon said no but I think I could’ve convinced him…”

You try to hold back your laugh, but it escapes anyway as you brush a strand of hair off his forehead. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You say that now,” he sniffs, “but just wait. The choreography was gonna slay.”

“Oh, coming from you, I believe it,” you say, running your fingers gently through his hair.

The movement seems to breathe life back into him. His shoulders relax, his grip on your arm softens, and he lets out a content little sigh that’s half dramatic, half heartfelt.

“You get me,” he mumbles, leaning fully into your side like a sleepy child. “You really get me.”

You chuckle, brushing a few stray strands of glitter-coated hair from the back of his head. “Unfortunately for both of us, I do.”

Soonyoung looks up at you again, eyes glassy and sincere. 

“I love you,” he says, suddenly quiet. “I didn’t mean to tell you like that. But I do. I love you so much it makes me stupid. Which is saying something, because I was already halfway there.”

His voice cracks at the end, trembling with everything he’s held in for far too long. And then he’s crying again. Not loud or messy, just soft tears running down his cheeks, ones that make his eyes look even smaller than they are, lips wobbling as the truth spills out of like it’s been waiting for this exact moment to break free. 

Your chest tightens. “Soonyoung…”

“I meant every word, Y/N. I wanna be yours. I want you to be mine. And not just when I’m drunk and pathetic like this. I mean always. Forever and ever and ever.”

You can only stare, heart caught somewhere between aching and soaring. His voice wavers, but his eyes don’t. They stay locked on yours, shining with tears and conviction and that unmistakable Soonyoung kind of love as a goofy smile appears on his face. 

Then he adds with a teary laugh, “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”

You hold his face between your hands, wiping away the tears streaming down his face. “I love you too, idiot,” you whisper, and lean down to kiss his cheekbone.

Soonyoung freezes, eyes wide, like he’s trying to reboot. Then slowly, a smile spread across his face, crooked and amazed. 

“Wait,” he says, blinking the tears away. “Did we just get engaged?”

You laugh. “Let’s start with sobering you up first, Romeo.”

“Okay,” he nods enthusiastically, wobbling slightly as you help him up. “But I want matching rings eventually.”

“Eventually.”

Soonyoung now leans against your car like it’s the only thing holding him up, which, to be fair, it is.

You stand in front of him, arms crossed, trying not to smile at the way his tiger-print shirt is halfway tucked in and his cheeks are flushed a warm, rosy pink from the drinks, embarrassment long gone now.

In fact, it was so far gone that during the long minutes you spent trying to convince him it was time to go home, Soonyoung had managed to climb on top of a table, declare to you, and the entire bar, that he was very much in love with you, and then proceed to propose.

Twice.

The first time was with a cocktail napkin he had folded into a ring. The second time, he forgot the words halfway through, cried a little, and then asked if anyone had a real one he could borrow. The crowd cheered, encouraging him. You wanted to disappear into the floor. 

Now standing in the parking lot, just the two of you, Soonyoung blinks up at you with wide, sincere eyes, so full of hope it makes your chest tighten. 

“Y/N,” he says solemnly, swaying just a little. His eyes are wide, glassy, and a little desperate. “Kiss me.” 

It’s not a question. It’s not even really a request. It’s a plea, whispered into the space between you like it’s the only thing holding him up, besides your car. Like kissing you might fix everything that’s ever been wrong with his world. 

That’s exactly what you feel about him. But you’re not doing that right now. 

“You’re drunk, Soonyoung.”

“I’m in love.”

“You’re also very drunk.”

He steps close, or more accurately, he stumbles forward like gravity is personally invested in his love life. You reach out and steady him, your hands curling gently around his arms to keep him upright.

Soonyoung leans into your touch instantly, like your grip is the only thing pinning him to the ground. His eyes search yours, wide and open and impossibly vulnerable.

“So what?” he says, pouting. “I know what I’m saying. I’ve never been more sure of anything. In fact…” He pauses, eyes narrowing in dramatic determination. “I might be too sober.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So now you need more alcohol to kiss me?”

“No, wait—no. I didn’t mean it like that.” Soonyoung frowns, frustrated. “I mean, I want to kiss you right now. Please? Just one? Tiny little kiss? Like—” He holds up two fingers, squinting between them. “Like this small. Honestly, you might not even notice.”

“Soonie,” you say gently, pressing a hand to his chest to steady him more, “you’re gonna want to remember it.”

“I will remember it,” he insists. “I remember everything when it comes to you. Like your birthday. Your MBTI. Your blood type. And how you take your coffee. And that time you wore those SpongeBob and Patrick socks thinking they were a pair but they weren’t.”

You blink, caught off guard by the memory. 

“You said it didn’t matter because they were best friends anyway.” He smiles faintly, a little proud, a little wrecked. “See? I remember the little things. Because you matter that much to me.”

You bite your lip, trying to ignore the way your heart’s doing backflips in your chest. “Still no.”

He slumps dramatically against the car’s bonnet. “This is the worst night of my life.”

“You literally just confessed to your long-time crush and she came to pick you up like a cheesy hallmark rom-com. You’re doing fine.”

“But there’s no kiss.”

You laugh, shake your head, and brush his bangs away from his forehead. “You’ll get your kiss, Soonyoung. But not like this.”

He squints at you. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you nod.

He closes his eyes, content. “Okay. But when I’m sober, I’m kissing you so hard, you’re gonna think I was drunk again.”

You grin. “I look forward to it.”

You’re in Soonyoung’s kitchen and you hear a thud from the hallway that leads to his bedroom, flowed by the softest, most pitiful groan. 

You peek around the corner to find him staggering into the living room like a man at war with his own apartment walls.

His hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction gravity allows it. One sock is missing entirely, the other hanging half-off his foot like it’s given up. And, of course, he’s still wearing that ridiculous tiger-print shirt from last night, the collar stretched, glitter clinging stubbornly to the fabric and his skin. 

Soonyoung blinks at you blearily, like he can’t believe he just woke up to you in his kitchen, then breaks into a crooked grin. 

“Morning,” he croaks, voice still rough with sleep. “Am I dead? Or do you just look this good in the afterlife?”

“Oh, you’re very much alive,” you say, holding out a glass of water and some painkillers. 

He tilts his head to the side slightly and grimaces immediately like it weighs a hundred pounds. “Barely, actually.”

Soonyoung lifts the chair from the kitchen table as calmly as possible, as if the possibility of dragging it would cause a near-death experience to his brain. You set the glass on the table next to him, and he eyes you warily. 

“Did I… do anything stupid last night?”

You smirk, sitting next to him. “Define stupid.”

His entire face goes pale. “Oh no.”

“You told me you were in love with me like a hundred times. Then did once again while standing on a bar table with people cheering you on.”

He groans again, long and dramatic, before dropping his head against the table with a heavy thud, burying his face in his arms, falling right back into the exact same position you found him in last night at the bar. 

“Oh my god.”

“You also proposed.”

“I DID WHAT?!” 

“Twice,” you add, a teasing tone in your voice. “Second time was slurred and had a few tears, but still legally binding, I think.”

He peeks at you with one eye, his ears and neck bright red. “You said no to the kiss.”

You smile. Of course that is the only thing he remembers. “Because you were drunk, Soonyoung.”

“So I get another chance?”

You pause, leaning against the back of the chair. “Depends. You still feel the same way, or was it just the alcohol speaking?”

Soonyoung sits up quickly, cradling the water like a lifeline. He reaches out to grab your hand and you let him intertwine his fingers with yours.

“Y/N… I wasn’t drunk when I fell for you. That’s been happening for half my life. The drinks just… took the filter off and gave me the courage.”

You bite your lower lip, cheeks heating up. 

“I still mean everything I said,” he adds softly. “I love your laugh. Your face. Even the way you get mad at me when I’m being stupid on purpose. I love you.”

You don’t say anything at first. You just sit there, looking at him, really looking.

At the way his eyes, still puffy from crying so much last night, flick up to meet yours with a kind of quiet desperation. Hopeful but terrified. At the way he’s trying not to breathe too loud, like the sound might scare you away. At the way his hand twitches between you on the table, like it’s aching to reach out, to grab your face and kiss you breathless, but doesn’t want to push your boundaries. 

Because he’s Soonyoung. And as much as he loves loudly, this—you—he’s afraid to break.

So you make it easy for him. 

You lean in. Slowly. 

He freezes. Eyes wide, mouth parted just slightly like he’s not sure if this is really happening.

And then you kiss him. Softly. Just once, testing the water, tasting the moment, letting him feel the answer he was too scared to ask for out loud.

When you pull back, he’s staring at you like you just put the stars in the sky. And that’s when it hits you: he has always looked at you like that. You were just too caught up in your own mess, your own fears, to see it.

“Holy shit,” Soonyoung whispers, breath catching. His eyes shimmer with something that looks a lot like awe, like he still can’t believe you’re real. “You kissed me.”

“So…” you whisper. “Still want that kiss?”

He blinks. “You mean that wasn’t it???”

You laugh, grabbing the collar of his ridiculous tiger shirt and pulling him back in.

“No,” you murmur against his lips. “That was the preview.”

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[emelinstriker]

bro i'm actually fuckin crying

i was having anxiety the entire night over more random people from the other blog pulling up in my inbox and harassing me over shit i've already explained, but i woke up to like 4 messages and all rather wholesome and aren't accusing me

the fact that i haven't cried a single fuckin time the past 1-2 weeks of me knowing about this bullshit and just bottled it all up- and it just all comes all crashing the fuck down after seeing the sudden overwhelming support of people that actually read and understand context

it's literally only 6am here and i'm bawling my eyes out

i love every single one of you who isn't blindly jumping in on the fuckin hate train i wasn't even supposed to know about :'D

will be responding to them once i'm back in my room after school! fghfndghdfg already read through them tho, but i gotta go in a bit and can't type it all out hgfdgnfdhgnhdfg

[xaviever]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ଓ overstim with him!

including. xavier, zayne, sylus, & caleb.

summary. scenarios where one or both of you are overstimulated during sex. ˃𖥦˂

cw. (afab!reader) 🔞 mdni. softdom!zayne. kinda sub!sylus. patheticdom?caleb. overstimulation, obvi. breeding (xav & caleb), dumbification (zayne), xavier says ily in it. use of baby, sweetheart, princess, & dear.

ᢉ𐭩 xavier!

this is nothing new. xavier is often overwhelmed by his need for you. his impressive stamina and unbridled desire are a wicked combo, leaving you in for long, long nights when his restraint snaps. he’s had you against the door when you first arrived home, on the couch, kitchen counter, in the shower; now, finally, in bed on your side, slowly and deeply kissing each corner of your insides like some lecherous love letter.

“xav- baby, s’too much,” your voice sounds scratchy and foreign from the amount of strain over the last few hours. in response, your thigh is hiked up further, flush against his sweaty chest for a better angle. "fuckfuck, my god, xavier!"

“made to take me…” his lips find their way to your ear, sucking on the lobe as he rambles, unbelievably pussydrunk and obsessed with the repeated slosh your combined releases have created. he keeps his voice as steady and soft as he can while not losing his pace, fucking as deep inside you as your body allows.

“you’re molded to me, baby. mmf, made to be pumped f-full of my cum. you were made for me.”

all of your senses feel on fire, completely overloaded from your evening of being folded into impossible positions again and again. xavier is nothing if not insatiable when it comes to claiming you, his hunger for you, your presence, your attention, your sweet cunt taking him to the hilt like it was destined for his cock.

he's as sensitive as you are now, gasping each thrust, almost whimpering, "just one more, p-please. aah, you can do it. i feel you, mmfuck. i know you're close..."

you nod dopily, consumed by the way your numbness dissipates, body buzzing as you somehow find the will to cum again. your arm moves back to cage his head against yours, and he fucks you both through the haziness, his moans and your broken cries a symphony in the night. he cums hard, and so much, an insane amount after emptying himself inside you all night. the two of you lay entangled in one another, both too sore and thoughtless to even fathom moving.

"i love you so much. so much..." xavier professes into your shoulder, pressing clammy kisses to every part of your neck he can reach in silent worship before drifting off in your aftershocks together.

ᢉ𐭩 zayne!

you can't even speak. zayne’s fingers and tongue have been working you skillfully for so long, too long. he's memorized everything about your body. how you like your clit sucked, when and how to point and flatten his tongue. he knows all your sweet spots, the exact angle, pace, intensity needed for you to cum the hardest, see stars and make you dumb the easiest. of course, he'd never degrade you and call you such, though there's something so riveting about having you brainless under him, entirely overcome by his expertise in your pleasure.

you're cumming all over his hand for nth time with a weak cry, shivering as he holds your hip down to the bed so he can properly fuck you through the waves, not stopping until he feels you've given him every last drop once more. big tears roll down the sides of your cheeks, which he immediately responds to, bringing the hand holding you down up your body to your face and sweetly caressing.

"you've been so good for me. i'm proud of you, my perfect girl."

his pruny fingers slip from you with no resistance. zayne coos at you hearing your tired whines, softly maneuvering you while he shushes and mutters reflexive praises. you’re okay, safe, he’s going to take care of you. he always does. before you can register it your legs are spread widely apart, zayne’s practiced caution evident in how delicately he handles you.

"i believe you can take a bit more for me, no?" he strokes himself unhurriedly, all while thumbing your clit, keeping you stimulated still. he still appears relatively composed above you, one of his only giveaways being the stuttering of his breath, barely controlled lust seeping through him.

zayne enters you steadily, always being gracious enough to let you adjust to his girth. "hah... she's been waiting for me. i can tell." your messy cunt welcomes him warmly, his heavy tip opening you up in a way his fingers could not. it has you reanimating, thighs shooting up to clench around his hips. you spasm, the ghost of an orgasm making you seize around him and ripping the air from both of your lungs.

he sighs out at the feeling of his full length bottomed out inside you, admiring you pliant and glowing under him. “i... ha-have to hear you, dear.” the same fingers that were previously stretching your cunt softly push past your pouty lips. he splays them all over your tongue, forcing the sounds you'd been too delirious to let out escape while he begins fucking into you like a promise.

“mmh, say my name. i know you can.”

ᢉ𐭩 sylus!

you just wanted sylus to feel good, like he so often makes you feel. ...and if you maybe got a little power hungry and ended up addicted to the way he falls apart, holding him down, coaxing him into letting you make him cum over and over, on your seventh "one more" of the night... well, that is not a crime.

in all actuality, though, sylus does not need much convincing. he's not one to oppose you, naturally. however, the second you got commanding, a small switch flipped in his brain and he couldn't save face, couldn't stay above his innate call to submit to you. he's unsure why he'd ever fight it now. sylus is enraptured by your hedonism tonight, reduced from his usual weighty presence to something only you can unlock within him. something yours.

"you know you've got such a pretty dick, baby," you purr, flicking your wrist as you jerk him off with a casual pace, one that's become less bearable after multiple releases. "so big, pink and drippy for me. for me, right, sy?"

the prettiest moans fall from his lips when his head lolls against his headboard, barely deciphering what you've said but knowing to agree, anyway. he nods lazily, peering down at you through clouded, low eyes. his brows are knit in the most desperate expression you've ever seen from him, zeroed in on you. sylus gasps in a big breath after you squeeze him at the base, trying to get more of those beautiful sounds from him.

"yes. yes, sweetheart, y-youu, ffuuck-" he drawls, feeling on the precipice of cumming once more with every slight movement of yours. "yours. aagh! haah, fuck, a-all of me. everything."

his words go straight to your pussy, pulsing from your neglect. having him fill you to the brim sounds amazing, hearing him be this submissive under you? you moan a little at your own imagination. sylus continues to whine, grounding you here as you conclude before you satiate your need, you have to hear him cum one more time. just one more. he can take it.

your hand speeds up wordlessly, already knowing how close he is from the way he twitches, so beautiful and sensitive. "kitten, please." he sounds so sultry begging for you, his voice pitching with need, a frequency only for your ears. you're addicted to this side of him. "i want...w-want to cum for you again."

ᢉ𐭩 caleb!

“sh-shit, you- aangh, p-” caleb’s head feels impossibly heavy as he allows it to fall back against the couch cushion. any attempt at a plea falls shorter with each rhythmic bounce of your hips.

you'd jumped him as soon as he settled into your home from his visit, taking initiative and sinking yourself down on him at the first opportunity. he should've known he was in for it with how easily he slipped inside you, like you prepped without him. this was premeditated. the drag of your walls around him, hot and wet and unrelenting, you were fucking him like he owed you something.

“pips! princeeess, ffuck, please. you’re milkin’ me for all i’m worth, haah-” he’s cut off by his own breathy moan. you don’t stop, not even for a second. if caleb really couldn’t take it he’d safeword or lift you with his evol, yet he only has the brainpower to hiccup and whine under you as you use his dick to your heart’s content.

his hands squeeze your hips for relief, kneading your soft skin for any kind of purchase. you lean down, your fucked out moans vibrate against his neck as you nestle your mouth there. you instinctively sink your teeth into him, pulling something lewd, broken from his throat that even he was a little appalled by.

he doesn't think he's ever cum this much in succession. caleb is already very easy, often fighting hard to not cum from the smallest of your intimacies. you can imagine how hard it is to stay lucid when he has no choice but to cum for you over and over again.

the two of you sound like a couple of pornstars, producing some of the most depraved noises you've ever heard come out of each other, and the constant plap! plap! plap! resounding in your living room.

"need you. cum- nghh, cum in me again," you moan a little animalistically as you rise, facing caleb again to speak. you grab his face, smushing it to make him focus, wanting him to hear your words. "want all of you, c-caleb. pleease."

pitiful as he is, caleb whines at your words, the noise jarbled from your grip on his face. he's throbbing painfully at the admission of your need, hands getting rougher, faster, gathering his remaining coherence to make you scream and chase this release as much as you were. your hands fall, gripping his chest for stability, and caleb groans, dipping his forehead down to rest against yours.

"fuck, baby. got me shootin' blanks and you still want 'em. filthy girl."

— authors note. just couldn’t stop thinking abt this one sub!sylus fic i read… all this came from that lolol. rbs are appreciated!

[azzibueckers5]

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss. 

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called. 

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode. 

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been. 

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation. 

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.” 

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug. 

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond. 

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time. 

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call. 

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name. 

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic. 

paige stares. 

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her. 

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly. 

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?” 

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms. 

what.  

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse. 

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient. 

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks. 

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed. 

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms. 

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased. 

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased. 

paige loves her so much. 

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else. 

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face. 

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful. 

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut. 

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both? 

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.” 

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression. 

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.” 

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.” 

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy. 

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct. 

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.” 

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night. 

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?” 

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit. 

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor. 

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact. 

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face. 

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen. 

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact. 

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her. 

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional. 

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it. 

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit. 

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and. 

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out  “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue. 

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her. 

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head. 

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset. 

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge. 

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning. 

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range. 

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release. 

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure. 

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.” 

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.” 

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss. 

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down. 

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm. 

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question. 

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.  

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something. 

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers. 

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself. 

“fuck, azzi.” 

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes. 

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ. 

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer. 

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her. 

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate. 

holy fucking shit. 

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe. 

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon. 

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples. 

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat. 

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her. 

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot. 

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest. 

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head. 

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that. 

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen. 

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction. 

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth. 

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work. 

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her. 

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin. 

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses. 

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard. 

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful. 

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled. 

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones. 

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will. 

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s. 

she doubts it. 

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light. 

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.” 

and. well. paige is wet again. 

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.” 

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why. 

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face. 

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.” 

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest. 

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?”  and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever. 

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly. 

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.” 

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.” 

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde. 

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence. 

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out. 

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome. 

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written. 

they are so having sex again before they get up. 

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.” 

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts.  “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up. 

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter. 

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.” “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time. 

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity. 

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing. 

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em. 

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen. 

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points. 

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground. 

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up. 

nothing seems broken, which is good. 

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care. 

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her. 

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing. 

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying. 

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion. 

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning. 

and ohmygod. 

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her. 

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop. 

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself. 

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning. 

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably. 

azzi is going to murder her. 

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch. 

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall. 

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation. 

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato. 

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face. 

awesome awesome awesome. 

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool. 

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet. 

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world. 

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away. 

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk. 

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention. 

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series. 

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms. 

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.” 

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite. 

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish. 

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one. 

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Can you write a slur of Dick Grayson, where he’s so desperate to make you come and that means he won’t come first, and when you ask him to go faster he struggles cause he doesn’t want to fail you. He knows if he goes faster he’d come, but he WANTS you to come first. 🦋

You got it!💙 also I guess this should be the time to say that i am a-okay with anons claiming an emoji!

First

Dick Grayson x Fem! Reader

Smut!! Premature ejaculation, pet names, cum eating, oral (f receiving), overstimulation

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl,” Dick’s voice is so whiney, so full of uncontained lust, that it nearly sounds childish. His face is flushed to the point of looking like a tomato, his kisses so warm along your neck that they feel borderline feverish. Along your body are his hands, brushing oh so gently across every inch of skin.

“Want it faster…” you cry softly, arms snaking around Dick’s neck to pull him just that little bit closer. The pair of you have been at this for a while with two sets of legs tangled in sheets that will need to be placed in the wash by the morning. He was already buried as deeply as possible into your cunt, the warm, red tip of his hardened cock leaking pre-cum constantly. And, as much as you loved the slow grind of his pubic bone and hair against your sensitive clit, you needed something more… active.

As you speak, though, Dick nearly feels himself stop breathing. His balls were already drawn up so close to his body, his orgasm practically within sight. Richard was never one to leave you wanting and needy during sex, but his entire body is just so tired. The mission he’d returned from merely an hour ago was brutal, leaving him with achy muscles and tender bruises. “You want it faster, beautiful?” he finds himself asking before he could even consider his own capeabilities at the moment. 

When you nod, hair damp and sweat-slicked to your skin, he doesn’t hesitate.

Within moments, his hips are slotting perfectly into yours as fast as his body will allow without protesting. The slapping of skin on skin is erotic, especially when mixed with your breathy moans and Dick’s soft, tired whines. Every time your bodies meet, skin sticks together like glue from the sheer amount of sweat clinging to the pair of you.

The feeling of his thick and heavy cock dragging through your pulsing walls is intense, causing another wave of arousal to drip right down between your plump cheeks and onto the sheets. His balls are covered in it, too- slapping against your skin with every forward thrust. 

Dick is panting now, his breath coming in hot gusts against your neck as he tries desperately to hold himself back from the edge. Each thrust becomes more erratic, more strained, as if he's physically fighting against his own body's urges. "F-fuck, baby, you feel s-so good..." he whines, voice cracking with desperation.

His grip on your hips tightens, fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. He's not being gentle anymore, too lost in his own pursuit to chase his pleasure. Sweat drips down his temples and back, muscles trembling with exertion as he drives into you with abandon.

"I... I can't... can't hold it much longer, sugar," he gasps out, head dropping to your shoulder as he grinds his teeth. "Tell me... tell me what to do, beautiful. Help me... help me last..."

His movements are starting to slow, each thrust taking more effort than the last. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin is replaced by the wet squelch of your combined arousal and the harsh pants of his breathing. He's trying so hard to keep going, to satisfy you, but his body is betraying him.

"Please... please don't let me cum yet," he whimpers, clinging to you like a lifeline as he grinds his hips weakly against yours. "I need... I need to feel you cum first. I can't... can't be selfish..."

His eyes are clenched shut, jaw tight and muscles locked up as he battles his impending orgasm with every ounce of his willpower. You can see the strain in the way his face is flushed a deep, mottled red and his handsome features are twisted up in concentration. He's right on the knife's edge, teetering between the blissful oblivion of climax and the desperate need to please you.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay baby, you're doing so good," you coo softly, one hand coming up to cup Dick's cheek and turn his face towards yours. Your eyes are filled with tender concern and loving encouragement as you gaze at him with unveiled adoration. "You don't have to hold back, handsome. I want to feel you..."

Your other hand slides down to grasp the firm globes of his ass, fingers sinking into the taut muscle as you urge him on. "Keep going, Dick. Keep fucking me just like this," you breathe against his lips, your voice a husky purr of desire. "I want to feel your cum."

You rock your hips up to meet his slowing thrusts, your slick inner walls clenching greedily around his throbbing shaft. "It's okay to be selfish, baby. So very okay," you murmur, your breath hot against his ear. "I want you to cum... I need you to cum inside me. Right now. Please, Dick..."

Your words seem to snap something inside of him. With a guttural groan that borders on a sob, he surrenders to the inevitable. His hips jerk forward one last time, burying his cock to the hilt inside your spasming cunt as his orgasm crashes over him like a tidal wave.

"Fuck! Ahhh... Ahhh, pretty girl!" he cries out, voice breaking on a choked moan of ecstasy. His body goes rigid above you, muscles locking up as pleasure whites out his mind. You feel the first hot spurt of his cum flooding your insides, his cock pulsing and twitching wildly as it pumps you full of his thick, virile seed.

He continues to grind against you, working his hips in small, aborted circles as he rides out the intense waves of his climax. Each clench of your cunt around his spurting cock milks him for every last drop of his release. He's never felt anything so incredible, so absolutely perfect, in his entire life.

"Oh god... oh god, sweetheart," he pants harshly, collapsing heavily against your chest as the last tremors of his orgasm roll through him. He's trembling and gasping, his skin flushed and slick with sweat as it sticks to your own.

"Aww, shhh, there you go sweetheart. That's my good boy," you praise softly, wrapping your arms around his heaving shoulders and holding him close as he comes down from his intense high. You stroke his damp hair lovingly, your fingers combing through the sweat-dampened locks as you press tender kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. 

"Shhh, it's okay. You did amazing, baby. I'm so proud of you," you murmur, rocking him gently in your embrace as he pants and shudders against your skin. 

As Dick's breathing slowly returns to normal, you feel him begin to stir against you. His head lifts from your chest, blue eyes blinking up at you with a mixture of sated contentment and rekindling hunger. A slow, sensual smile curves his kiss-swollen lips as he takes in your own blissed-out expression.

"Mmm, you taste amazing, beautiful girl," he rumbles, voice still slightly rough from his recent cries of rapture. His hands begin to wander your curves once more, palming the rounded globes of your ass and the soft swells of your breasts with appreciative squeezes. "I could just eat you up..."

And with that, he starts to slide down your body with clear intent. His lips blaze a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, across the tops of your heaving breasts, over the quivering flesh of your stomach. He doesn't stop until he's nestled between your spread thighs, his heated breath fanning over your dripping vagina.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice a low, reverent rumble against your sensitive flesh. "You're absolutely drenched... and it's all because of me." His tongue darts out, lapping slowly through your folds and savoring your tangy essence with a deep, approving groan. "Fuck, you taste incredible. I could feast on this sweet little cunt for hours..."

And with that declaration, he dives in, sealing his lips around your clit and suckling the sensitive nub with relish as he sets about his mission to bring you to your own shattering peak. His fingers delve into your soaked entrance, pumping steadily in and causing his cum to spill out slightly.

Dick feels your walls starting to flutter and clench around his fingers, your body tensing as your climax rapidly approaches. He doubles his efforts, sucking your clit hard and fast as he pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt at a furious pace. The obscene sound of your arousal fills the room, your juices dripping down his wrist as he finger-fucks you with wild abandon.

"That's it, pretty baby. Cum for me," he growls against your flesh, his voice vibrating deliciously against your over-sensitized nerves. "I want to feel this pretty pussy gush all over my face as you scream my name."

With a keening cry, you shatter. Your body goes rigid, back arching off the bed as a gush of your release splashes over Dick's chin and cheeks. He moans in approval, lapping and slurping at the flood of your essence coating his face as he works you through your intense orgasm. Your pussy spasms and convulses around his plunging fingers, trying to suck them in deeper as you ride out the crest of your pleasure.

But Dick doesn't let up. Even as you start to come down from your high, he maintains his relentless pace, fingers pumping and tongue swirling as if trying to wring every last drop of ecstasy from your quivering body. It's almost too much, the overstimulation bordering on painful as your nerves scream for respite.

"A-Dick! Oh god, it's too- too much!" you whimper, trying to push his head away as your hips buck and twist beneath him. But he's unyielding, grip tightening on your thighs to hold you in place as he continues his sensual assault on your most intimate area.

"Shhh, I know baby. I know it's intense," he soothes, voice a low rasp against your sensitive flesh. "But you're going to give me one more. One more for me, sweet girl."

You ended up staying there until he passed out from exhaustion, still buried between your thighs.

Masterlist

[pankowcrumbs]

Matchmaker X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

If you’d told me the highlight of my week would be Joseph Quinn playing Cupid at his own house party, I’d have laughed in your face. And yet, here I was standing in the middle of his very stylish flat in Camden, clutching a glass of wine, trying not to visibly stare at Will Poulter across the room.

“So,” Joseph said, suddenly appearing at my side like he’d apparated there. “Met Will yet?”

I gave him a sideways look. “You’ve mentioned him three times already and, no, I haven’t.”

“Well, let’s fix that, shall we?” he said far too eagerly.

“Joseph.”

“What?” he blinked, all faux innocence. “You’re both tall, absurdly charming, and enjoy sarcastic banter. It’s practically fate.”

I laughed into my wine glass. “You’re insufferable.”

“But adorable.”

“Debatable.”

He grinned and leaned in slightly. “Just… be open-minded, alright?”

I rolled my eyes, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. I’d known Joseph since our Stranger Things days. We’d clicked almost instantly he was like the chaotic older brother I never knew I needed. And when he invited me to this party, I thought it’d be a good excuse to catch up, drink wine, and wear something sparkly. I didn’t think he had matchmaking plans.

And yet… every time I turned around, there was Will. First by the drinks table. Then near the speakers. Then casually standing behind me in line for the loo. Coincidence? Maybe. But more likely, Joseph was subtly puppeteering our entire social orbit.

When I finally caught Will’s eye, he smiled and it wasn’t just a “hey, I’ve seen you around” kind of smile. It was warm. Soft. Like he already knew I’d laugh at his jokes and remember how he takes his tea.

“Hi,” he said, stepping over. “I feel like we’ve been orbiting each other all night.”

I let out a breath of laughter. “Was starting to think Joseph’s been playing Sims with us.”

He laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that made you want to say something funny again just to hear it. “Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s been giving me looks all evening. Like I’m missing something obvious.”

“Same.”

Will raised his glass. “To being pawns in Joseph Quinn’s dating chessboard.”

I clinked mine gently against his. “Cheers to that.”

We ended up finding a quiet-ish spot in Joseph’s tiny garden, away from the music and the steady rise of chaos inside. It was draped in fairy lights, a little bench nestled among a few overgrown plants. We sat down without even really thinking about it.

“So,” Will said, settling beside me, “what’s your connection to the puppet master?”

“I worked on Stranger Things with him,” I said. “Hair and makeup. We got on immediately. I think it’s because I kept telling him he looked like a Victorian poet who’d lost his pen.”

Will laughed, a proper, from-the-belly kind of laugh. “He does have tortured artist vibes.”

“Exactly,” I grinned. “What about you?”

“We just did a film warfare together. He’s one of the good ones.”

“He is,” I agreed softly, glancing back towards the house.

We fell into easy conversation after that like the kind you don’t realise is happening until you’ve been talking for half an hour and your wine glass is still half full. Will was funny. Like, genuinely funny. Not in a performative way, but in that effortless, observational way that made everything feel a bit lighter.

“I feel like I’ve seen you in a million things,” I said at one point. “And yet I’m still surprised every time you show up with a completely different look.”

He grinned. “Comes with the job. One minute I’m a Marvel hero, the next I’m in a gritty BBC drama crying in a rain-soaked alley.”

“Range,” I said, impressed. “Emotional squinting in the rain is a very specific skill.”

“I pride myself on it.”

The night wore on. People came and went. Joseph popped out at one point, glanced at us, and muttered “finally” under his breath before disappearing back inside.

“I feel like we should thank him,” Will said, smirking.

“Not yet. Don’t want to encourage him.”

Will turned slightly on the bench, his knee brushing mine. “Can I ask you something a bit forward?”

I tilted my head. “Sure.”

“Why are you single?”

It wasn’t said with arrogance. It wasn’t even flirty. Just… curious. Like he genuinely wanted to understand.

I blinked. “I… honestly don’t know. Timing? Work’s been intense. I travel a lot. And maybe I just haven’t met someone who makes me want to rearrange my life.”

His gaze softened. “Fair.”

He paused. “Is it weird that I feel like I’ve known you longer than just tonight?”

“Not weird,” I said. “Just nice.”

We sat in the soft hum of the garden for a beat. Then he said, “Would you want to do this again sometime? Just… you and me? No Joseph meddling?”

I smiled. “I’d like that.”

A week later, we went for coffee at a tiny place near Hampstead Heath. It rained halfway through our walk, and we ducked under a tree, laughing like kids. Will took off his jacket and held it over us dramatically.

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” he said.

“No, but your jacket might be,” I laughed. “It’s getting soaked.”

He shrugged. “Worth it.”

And somehow, every moment after that just… flowed. Simple. Easy. Like we’d always been meant to find each other, we’d just needed a gentle shove from our mutual chaos goblin of a friend.

That night, Will texted me.

WILL: “Still can’t believe it took a house party and Joseph Quinn’s meddling to meet you.”

ME: “And to think, I almost didn’t go.”

WILL: “Thank God you did.”

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

Wouldn’t it be interesting if the yandere TEC boys met up with the reader as grown ups in the epilogue of the comic after the reader moved away from them to you know, get away from their stalking and in the worst turn of events, met them at the con again?

But I Know Will Meet Again Some Sunny Day

Summary: Yandere! Epilogue! TEC x reader

TW/CW: Yandere tendencies, obsessive tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, online harassment, trolling, implied exploitation, nasty all around

A/N: You’re insane if you decide to go to any nerdy space ever again/POS

Anyways, this was so awesome to do! Need more epilogue TEC as yanderes!

Reblogs are appreciated!

* Bill had the hardest time letting you go

* Even after moving to Wisconsin with his family, he still thought about you every second of the day

* Closing his eyes, he’s be reminded of your face, and he hated it. Spent long nights staring at the ceiling, wondering about what went wrong and how he can fix it

* Was he too clingy? Too pushy? Too distant? Did he not show his emotions enough?!

* Eventually, he concludes to the simple answer: It was not his fault, it was yours. You simply didn’t reciprocate anything he gave you, and he was the perfect partner for you

* However, he pushed them away in order to start his comic book shop business, and was grinding the hours for you. He never stop thinking about you once the day was over

* He spots you first at comic con. You were looking over the limited edition comic books put up for auction and god! He could tell it was you based on the way you laugh with the person running the booth

* Pushing people aside, Bill then just stood silently behind you, watching your every move, not caring people were giving him weird stares for basically standing in the middle of the con

* When you saw him, you could feel your entire body froze. It was like you were a teenager again, but this time, you were now dealing with an older version of your stalker

* Definitely ran in the opposite direction, and Bill was right on your tail. He won’t loose you like last time

* By some miracle (tragedy in your case) he got you into a corner

* He’s so pathetic. Sweating, close to crying, stumbling over his words…he’s just a mess seeing you

* Moving slightly away from his eye sight results in him gripping his shoulders and keeping you in place while he gives the creepiest monologue in your entire life (he’s been practicing it for a decade)

* If you let him, he’ll followed you for the rest of the con, like a pathetic puppy. Doesn’t matter if you have the money or not, he’ll get you whatever you want

* It’s creepy honestly, but at least you get some free stuff out of it

* (What you don’t hear is his grumbling. He’s complaining about “Fantards ruin everything” and “You only need me. I’m the man of this relationship, I can take care of you.” Can hear a couple of words, but it’s almost vague)

* Please distract him. Point him to an auction panel and pay for the next plane ticket and get the FUCK out of there

* Sure, he’ll destroy his hotel room. You bled him dry, and now he has to call his bitch of a mom to buy him a ticket!

* No worry. He able to find your name in Facebook! Least he can online stalk you before his next big move

* Josh was honestly writing smutty fanfics about you while in college. Let’s be honest

* He was so devastated that you moved away, and what’s worse is that these fanfics were sometimes handed in, so now the professor and the whole class knew about is infatuation with you!

* Worst of all? His parents forbade him from talking to you! That meant he couldn’t even contact you online! Ain’t that disappointing

* That doesn’t mean he was completely hopeless. At college, he’d use the WiFi to see if you were in Facebook and would stare at your photos for hours and hours at a time. If he’s on break, he may or may not have…relived himself looking at pictures of you.

* Even as a comic book editor, he gets caught up writing about you. You invade even in his dreams, dammit!

* His therapist tells him he’s too obsessed, but DAMMIT! He knew what you two was special

* So when he sees you having lunch during Comic-Con, he knows this is perfect timing!

* You noticed him tapping your shoulder and are immediately spooked

* He looks exactly the same, except his hair line’s receding. He’s breathing so heavily, you have to snap your fingers to get him back into reality.

* Once you do, it’s a vomit of words. He’s so excited to see you, how have you been, you look amazing!

* You nod quietly while searching for the nearest exit

* He’s pouring his heart out to you (talking about every single detail about you. It’s very graphic and some of these things you thought only belonged to you)

* You sneakily told Josh that you were going to go get him some lunch before booking to the exit

* Josh doesn’t seem to notice. He’s so entranced in his sonnet that he’s going to get a few stares because he’s now talking to himself

* He’s so disappointed when he realizes you left. However, thanks to his “”connections”” (barely any), he can see if your name will be blacklisted from the whole comic book industry (it won’t. People barely know his name)

* In the meantime, he’s creating fake accounts and using them to send long messages about “us”. It ranges from kind of sweet to horrifying.

* You had to get a new phone number from how bad the stalking has become…at least until he finds THAT one as well

* He’s persistent, I give him that.

* You would not step into Comic con whatsoever

* Pete’s rage of you moving away is all he can think about some nights. Couldn’t you see how perfect you two were made for each other?!

* Uses a punching bag, with a picture of you on it, and absolutely goes HAM on it. He’s not stopping until he’s exhausted (or the punching bag is knocked down)

* (Definitely takes the picture and uses it for…other things)

* Even working at Sick Mofo, he actively will look for women that look like you. In some weird revenge way.

* Looks at the scar he gave himself in your initials. It’s his only motivation some days honestly

* You probably were dragged by your friends to go to this event. It was pretty okay, actually! Especially taking pictures of cosplayers

* Then…you locked eyes with Pete.

* You don’t know what happened next. All you know was that you and Pete are in the parking lot, nowhere else to go

* He’s berating you. Talking about how “All you normies as the same” and “You don’t know how good you had it!”

* …Definitely kidnaps you. Drags you to the Sick Mofo van and drives you to his hotel room

* Once there, he knows what he must do. What? You thought he came empty handed? Nope.

* Somehow, this decade long dry spell has had resulted in Pete coming up with a basic “tool kit”

* Just imagining DIY brainwashing, and that’s Pete. He wants you to “remember all of the good times” you two had. Plays his favorite horror movies, yells at you, keeps you sleep deprived. The whole shebang honestly

* Wants to break you to the very last bone.

* If it works, then awesome! If not….well, he has room in his house for his (literal) cemetery girl. You’ll never leave his sight ever again <3

* Jerry got therapy. He realized how bad his obsession for you got, and needed help.

* And he did! Does yoga, focuses on himself, and even got a girlfriend who he loves! He never thought a life without you was possible, but this is living proof of that!

* Like I said, all of the stalking was online, so you probably aren’t aware on Jerry’s true nature

* You met him at con, and it was super nice to meet him and Mandi!

* With the promise of buying con food, you three sat down and actually had a nice chat. You and Mandi got along so well, especially with your interest in the car they drove in.

* Jerry was so happy two of his favorite people were getting along…except, that aching feeling….

* Why did he feel an ache in his chest when Mandi brushed her hand on your shoulder? Why did it feel so wrong calling you an “old friend” and not his partner? He knows you’re not his property, but still…

* Said your goodbyes and exchanged numbers. Least you two can be is Facebook Friends, right?

* Looking you up, you seem to be doing good in life. Good for you! (Though he wishes he was in your college graduation photo)

* He can’t focus on anything else for the rest of the week. Staying up all night, thinking about how you moved on so fast from him. Is that fair, when he was the one who let you lay your head on his shoulder while you cry about the trolls? What about when he introduced you to Magic: The Gathering?! Did you forget about those times??? Has it been that long since you remembered him?!

* May have opened up a new trolling account and may be using it to stalk you….

* Sending you nasty messages that he’s been holding for so long; they’re so venom filled and it would make Patrick Bateman tell Jerry to tone it down

* He’s loosing sleep over this. He’s not showing up to the tournaments, has been ignoring Mandi (she left him without him realizing) and has become a shut in

* At this point, he’s surrounded by Monster Energy drinks, stale fast food, and the computer light on his face

* Made 5 new accounts to constantly harass you with, while using his public Facebook to compliment you and your accomplishments

* …it’s all your fault. You caused him to spiral like this, and he’ll make sure you pay for turning him like this

* Unless you want him, of course! Then all is forgiving, darling

[klausysworld]

Hi!!! I love your work sm and I love how you capture Klaus!

I was wondering if you could do a smut where reader is sitting on Klaus’s lap and hes just fingering her and reader is begging him to stop because she feels like she’s about to squirt but he’s just encouraging her to let it out 🫶 it’s okay if you can’t!!

Just a Warm Up

Klaus hummed faintly, a smirk of amusement on his face as he curled his fingers for the thousandth time.

Y/N has been sobbing for over an hour, her body shaking like a leaf when he halted his movements before she could cum again.

"No..." She cried, her throat raw and strained. "Nik, please!" She begged, her entire body sticking to his clothes.

"Shh, sh." He hushed her, the smirk on his mouth obvious without even looking. "You're my good girl, aren't you? And good girls don't complain." He teased; mocked.

Y/N was getting closer and closer to snapping, to screaming at him and taking what she wants whether that be pushing his trousers down and riding his dick, holding his wrist still and fucking his hand or fucking her own hand.

It was driving her to insanity.

Her body was sweating buckets, her skin slippery and her limbs so tense yet relaxed at the same time. It didn't make any sense. All she knew was that she was losing it and her body couldn't take it.

"Klaus, I can't." She whispered, her face wet with tears.

His eyes narrowed and he turned her face up, looking at her properly and pecking her forehead. "Come now babygirl, you can and you know it." He encouraged, his tone a little softer now as he kissed a tear off her cheek.

In the same breath three fingers delved back into her, his thumb back on her tortured clit. "Oh god!" She practically wailed but Klaus only rolled his eyes, far too entertained.

"Yes sweetheart I know." He mumbled with a smirk and rocked his wrist back and forth slowly, too slowly. Every inch of her body wanted to move to chase the feeling she desperately craved but she forced herself to stay still, Klaus would stop again if she misbehaved.

Klaus only smiled to himself at the sight of her brows pulled together in concentration. He sighed quietly to himself, shifting slightly and letting his jeans stretch over his aroused cock as he kept toying with her.

Riling her up like this was one of his favourite things in the world, watching how needy and whiny she got. He could feel how tight her sweet pussy was getting on his fingers again, as though she were imagining milking his cock instead.

He knew as soon as she made that sound that she was ready again, the begging was simultaneous.

"Please, Klaus please I can't-" She sobbed, her hands holding onto him so tense and yet somehow so weakly as she seemed unable to form a proper grip.

"You know that you can." He dismissed easily, his fingers curling again and making her cry. When he didn't stop at the point she expected her hips joined him against her control. Finally able to chase it.

"Oh god" She screamed, her head going back prompting Klaus to capture a fistful of her hair and keep her in place.

"Such a beautiful sight, aren't you love?" He murmured, his voice thick like honey, "Is my sweet girl gonna cum for me?"

Y/N only let out a tearful noise and shook. "Klaus..." She gasped and he hummed.

"Soak me, love." He purred.

She felt as though she were about to die and enter a universe of pure ecstasy. Her jaw fell open and her moans choked down as she screamed out again.

Klaus only grinned at the burst of warmth that went all over his jeans.

His fingers kept going until she couldn't take it, her body completely limp in his lap as she whimpered and whined, begging no more despite her pussy still leaking down her thighs.

Eventually he only held her to him, looking down at her as she continued to tremble.

"Poor baby" He cooed softly though the amusement was not lost. "You know me well enough to know that delightful little scene was only a warm up, my love."

(Sorry it’s only short guys 😔 My time management isn’t working)

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹ ♡ . EASILY CONVINCED.

₊˚⊹ ♡ . RED K!CLARK X READER

₊˚⊹ ♡ . you want to leave him, but there's one thing keeping you there

₊˚⊹ ♡ . MDNI 18+ | word count — 2.8k | warnings — established toxic relationship, Clark does not care about your feelings at any point at all, manipulation, crying, oral (m. recieving), finger sucking, unprotected p in v, name-calling, hair-pulling

When Clark strolled into your shared Metropolis apartment, it was already after dark. The moonlight streaming in through the window glinted off the smooth marble countertop and illuminated you, already waiting in the shared kitchen for him to arrive home. Your arms were folded over your chest, eyebrows furrowed lightly. You were finally going to have the conversation you’d been needing to have with him for the past few months.

You thought if you came to Metropolis with him, stayed by his side rather than letting him run off on his own, things would get better. That isolation wouldn’t be good for him, and your presence would sway him to take off the ring and return to Smallville. It hadn’t. Sometimes it seemed like it worsened with the passing days—the going out and staying out for hours, sometimes overnight, being mouthy and rude, or just downright insulting. And you saw the way he looked at women passing on the street sometimes. It felt like being stabbed, though you’d given up on reprimanding him a while back. Now, though?

You’d come to the long overdue conclusion that this simply wasn’t the same Clark anymore, wasn’t your Clark. He wasn’t the guy that insisted on fixing your car when it made him late for school that day, or the guy that practically ran to your parents’ house to fix their fence when it broke, or the guy that kissed you like your face was something precious between his hands and fucked you like you actually meant something to him.

As Clark closed the front door behind him, your eyes caught on the obnoxiously large crimson ring still nestled on his giant hand. That old Clark was gone. Maybe one day he’d come back on his own, but for now? You wanted to go home. You wanted your life back.

You cleared your throat, and Clark raised his eyebrows as he regarded you standing there, waiting for him. “It’s late.”

He gives a halfway nod, lips quirking up into a smile, “It gets busier the later it gets. I should’ve stayed, really.”

By it he means that stupid club on the corner downtown. All pulsing blue lights and girls in the tiniest skirts you’ve ever seen. You’ve always tried to push its very existence out of your brain, and an involuntary shiver wracks your arms as you’re afflicted by thoughts of what he gets up to there.

“Well, I ate already.” Your arms tightened around you, silently cursing yourself for always fumbling when it came to things like this.

Clark hums in response, barely paying attention as he tugs his jacket off and tosses it onto the back of the chair. His keys clatter against the counter with a metallic clang, and he’s visibly already thinking about something else entirely.

You take a deep breath, “I wanna talk to you.”

“Y'are talking to me. Right now.” He flashes his pearly teeth, the little points peeking over his perfect bottom lip.

You shake your head, your eyes flicking away from him and instead focusing on the wall, or maybe the fridge. That was always how he got you—it was the same smile, the same twinkle in those blue eyes. It took all your willpower to stay grounded and remind yourself that no matter how bad you wished he was, he wasn’t your Clark. Your resolve trembled every time you looked at him.

“No, I mean talk to you about us.”

He rolls his eyes, “Not this again.” There he was. Dismissive and careless, which was all he’d been the last few months when he wasn’t just being blatantly mean.

“Listen! Yes, this again, you never let me finish!”

“I let you finish plenty. Wasn’t it…three times, last weekend?” He wanders over to the fridge, tugging the door open placidly. He looks over to you for a few moments, only long enough to see the way your jaw tightens as your face warms despite yourself.

“That’s not—I was trying to—” You huff, throwing your hands half-heartedly in the air as you struggle to articulate yourself. Like you always did, which Clark knew. “You know what I meant.”

Just as the last word left your lips, he slammed the fridge door. So hard the wall behind it rattled. "Can't this wait til' after I get somethin' to eat? 'M starved after tonight." He huffed out a laugh cause he knew what he was doing, leaving your imagination to run wild about what he'd got up to.

Though your bottom lip quivered a little bit, you shook your head. "No, you're a selfish dick. If I waited for you to want to talk to me, I'd be waiting forever."

Clark was across the kitchen and in your personal space in less than half a second, making you gasp. You tried to back up as he towered over you, but you bumped into the corner—he had you caged up against it. You avoided his eyes, though you couldn't escape his smell with how close he was. Delicious despite his bad behavior—oak barrels and gentle shampoo and sunlight. Your head swam as you took it in, you couldn't fight it when he grabbed your face, forcing it upwards. He craned your neck back to look at him, and his gaze was amused, lips tilted slightly upwards.

"My dick is a lot of things. Selfish is not one. You'd know, huh? There's only one greedy bitch here."

You were shaking like a leaf, and the squeak you let out was pathetic. "You know how I feel about the b-word."

Clark laughed loudly. "How you feel, and how you feel," his tone of voice lilted suggestively as his hand dipped down to the front of your shorts. "Are two very different things."

He paused for a half second, so you'd have time to say no, but it was mocking—he knew you wouldn't stop him. That made the seconds that stretched between you taunting, a total mockery of what you'd been trying to do, the corpse of your dead resolve practically half-buried already as you stood with baited breath, waiting for him to slip his hand where you wanted it.

As his hand went between your thighs, he grinned. “You’re real predictable, y’know that?” His fingers slid through your folds easily from how drenched they were. When he pulled his fingers from your panties, a glistening strand of your arousal clung onto them, and he shoved it in your face. Raising his eyebrows, “and you keep trying to act like you want me to be different. Liar.”

Your lip quivered from the misconstrued truth in his words, the way he could always use that against you. It wasn’t your fucking fault your boyfriend’s voice got you all hot, he was literally the most perfect man in the world, even when he was like this—that didn’t mean you wanted him to stay this way. The late-night whispers between the two of you as you laid on his barn couch back in Smallville, about a house and a family, were more important to you than the sex you seemingly couldn’t stop having. But why couldn’t you stop having it?

Clark shoved his fingers in your mouth, making you clean your own wetness off of them, and he intentionally shoved them back far enough to make you gag lightly. You hated the disappointment that bloomed in your belly when you realized he wasn’t going to relieve you further with his hand, he was just making a point. Your eyes burned.

"You owe me! I was ready to have a perfectly nice night an' settle in—you're the one who had to start somethin'." He rolled his eyes. "You're always doing this, y'know. Not very fair to me, is it?"

Your eyes watered and, though you were fighting furiously to keep it in, a little sniffle escaped you. The sound made Clark's eyes snap to you, just in time to watch the first tear slip down your cheek. The grin that spread across his face was sickening.

"C'mon. On your knees."

You hesitated for a moment, just long enough to make him punctate it with, "now."

The last of your resolve was officially gone and buried as you sunk to your knees, which met the cold tile underneath you, and looked up at him. Clark raised his eyebrows, prompting you with a nod, and your fingers found his belt and began undoing it. You fumbled with it a little, hands shaky through your crying.

When you raised a hand to wipe the tears from your face, Clark swatted it away. “Makes it extra wet, y’know that.” He reasoned with a charming smile.

You ignored him and finally got his belt undone, and his cock sprung out of the confines of his boxers already stiff. That only rubbed it in more—every insult and mockery he threw your way only made him harder, and your tears were just the nail in the coffin.

No matter how upset you were, it was muscle memory to take him as far back into your throat as you could, though you struggled. You gagged around it, saliva bubbling from the corners of your mouth. He was right, and the longer you went, your tears from both Clark’s mocking and how harshly you were gagging mixed with your spit and left his cock slick, your mouth sliding around it too easily. Your hand wrapped around the base so you could cover more of it, and his head fell back a little as you twisted your fist around his shaft at the same time your tongue swirled over his tip. The sigh he let out was contented, and he ran his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck.

For a half second, you pretended it was Clark—your Clark. The guy who had held your hair back for you and rubbed your scalp soothingly when you had his dick in your mouth, doing his best to reward you for every good feeling you ‘gifted’ him, which was how he saw it.

The illusion was shattered when the fingers in your hair tightened sharply, making you yelp at the sudden pain. Clark groaned as your pained sounds vibrated around his cock, and he held your head in place as he started sliding in and out quicker, fucking your face at a more demanding pace than you’d been able to handle yourself. You gagged every time his tip hit the back of your throat, and Clark was letting the grunts and moans fall from his lips freely as you gagged, whined, and swallowed desperately around him.

“I like your mouth so much better when I do this. Not all that other shit.” He groaned. “Ah, fuck, ‘m gonna—”

Before he could finish his sentence, or cum down your throat, Clark was yanking you off of him by your hair. You let out a surprised yelp, but he was already snatching you up and tossing you over his shoulder like you were weightless. His shiny, throbbing cock still hung out of his blue jeans as he carried you to the back of the apartment and to your shared bedroom. He bumped your head on the doorframe as he brought you inside and ignored the noise you made, before tossing you down on the bed.

You sat there numbly, defeated, face streaked with tears and drool and precum, as Clark shrugged off his clothes and bared his inhumanly defined body to you. The moonlight coming in through the massive bedroom window—which wasn’t covered by the curtains, so you were sure some news helicopter would get a real eyeful of the habit Clark had developed to avoid a break-up—hit his chest in a way that made his tanned skin glow. Your mouth watered a little at the sight of him, something you’d truly never get used to, as if you needed more spit on your fucking face.

Clark wordlessly snapped his fingers at you as he knelt on the bed, and you moved obediently to hook your fingers in the waistband of your shorts and tug them and your panties down in one motion. Clark finished the job when he got impatient and made quick work of your thin sleep shirt, leaving it in two pieces by the foot of the bed.

He moved you like a doll, on all fours in front of him, fingers digging into your skin as he positioned you the way he wanted. The scream you let out when he sheathed inside you in one smooth motion—too big to fully bottom out, instead abusing your cervix immediately and giving you zero time to adjust—was muffled by his giant hand shoving your face into his pillow. That scent invaded your nose again, familiar and musky and clean, and you focused on it to distract yourself from the sting, gritting your teeth as you waited to adjust. Whines and yelps fell from your lips and were swallowed by the plush cotton, Clark still palming the back of your head to keep it there.

His pace was selfish and unforgiving, and though he was sliding in and out of you with no rhythm and no regard for how you felt, that didn’t stop the way your body began going limp, your pained squeaks turning into desperate moans and whimpers. “Nghh—ah, ah,” and you were sure Clark could hear it, no matter how drowned out it was by the wet, explicit skin-on-skin noises that filled the room.

He let your face up for a minute, and you gasped for breath.

“Feelin’ better now that you’re all full? Y’know—you’re always goin’ on and on—y’say you’re ‘not happy’” he did a high-pitched voice, mocking you, and you keened in response as he kept pumping inside of you, “I think what you mean to say is empty. Cause you’re all smiles when you're like this—real happy, right?”

Your only response was a low whine, and he smacked your ass hard. You jolted and yelped from the pain, but couldn’t move away from the second loud slap he landed against your cheek. He was holding you too tightly in place.

“Answer me.” Clark prompted, though his amused tone concealed an underlying threat as his hand still hovered over the globe of your ass, which was already blooming with red.

“Nngh—yes.” You cried out, but he clucked his tongue at you, ramming into you particularly hard to punctuate it. Your eyes rolled back.

“Yes what?”

“H-happy—‘m happy, thank you.” Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks from the way he was punishing your cunt.

You could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “there ya go!” Though, of course, nothing nice. He never fucking said anything nice. Said you hadn’t earned it, no matter what you did.

“Aah, shit—” His hips stuttered a little bit, and he let out a breath through gritted teeth. You clenched around him harshly and he groaned in response, your own release was creeping up on you.

“I dunno if you—argh—deserve my cum. Not today. Y’just cause problems.”

The pleading whine you let out was high-pitched and pathetic, the pillow wet with your still-flowing tears and the idea of him pulling out right now was torturous to you. He could’ve threatened to kill you and it would’ve been a less horrific idea.

“Please… please, Clark, please.” You babbled like a broken record, borderline incoherent through the snot and tears and broken moans. He was drilling your pussy, which was still squeezing him like a vice, and he laughed at your begging.

“One day I’ll stop bein' so nice, y’know?” Was the last thing Clark said before he came inside of you with a low, delicious groan, hips slamming into yours harshly as he fucked you through his orgasm. Your whole body shook with the force of it, limp and spasming, though he held you up easily. Your own release washed over you, and you finally let out a desperate, ecstatic cry as you were rewarded with the white-hot pleasure. The two of you were one, actually together for a few moments as you both reveled in the pleasure, something you didn't get from him anymore. Something you desperately missed, and your face screwed up at the familiar feeling.

It was over as quickly as it happened.

After Clark pulled out, he had the decency to arrange your limbs into some semblance of a laying position for you, since you were far too gone to do it. Your whole body felt like syrup. He laid your head on your own pillow, which made you miss the familiar smell of his, and tugged the covers over you. You didn't think you could speak if you wanted to, or remember your own name—or think of anything but him.

Clark rolled back over, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He was perfectly composed, though your chest still heaved as you tried to catch your breath. Shakily, you took a few slow, deep ones. There was a fuzzy warmth tugging at the edges of your brain and your chest. Like there always was after he was done with you.

“I love you.” You mumbled as your eyes drifted shut.

Clark’s answer was matter-of-fact, so close to being neutral if it wasn’t for the smugness that crept in.

“I know.”

[covenofagatha]

Two professors and a student (Part 7)

Word count: 3100

Warnings: overstimulation, scissoring, strap-on, sex toys, use of safeword, smut, fluff at the end, degradation and praise, crying, aftercare

A/N: this is for everyone who requested major overstimulation lol also I think this will probably be the last chapter in this story unless i'm randomly in the mood to write more. hope everyone enjoys!

It feels like it’s been an hour before they come back into the bedroom, where you are tied up and completely at their mercy, but you know that realistically, it hasn’t been that long. 

What you do know is that you’ve cum four more times, despite your hardest efforts to stave off each orgasm; trying to fight the build up because you don’t know how many more you can take. 

Each time, your entire body seizes up and you let out a loud whine, hips moving furiously without your consent. You can feel the wetness literally leaking out of your hole and your clit is starting to hurt. You’ve tried desperately to untie your hands yourself but each time you’ve gotten close, you’re sent into another orgasm from the direct stimulation and it undoes all your progress. 

The door opens right as number five is weakly washing over you and both Agatha and Rio smirk at your thoroughly ruined state. 

“Please, please, it’s too much!” You cry, tears fully running down your face at this point. 

Rio tuts and slowly makes her way over to you, tracing a line up your sweaty thigh and her light touch makes you practically keel over. “Look at her, Agatha, she was begging to cum and now she wants to stop.” 

You sob, your entire body trembling. 

“Do you think she’s learned her lesson?” Agatha asks Rio, and it’s like you aren’t even in the room. 

Rio thinks for a moment and then reaches down and unties your legs so the vibrator is no longer being forced against you. You immediately scooch away from it and it feels like you can finally breathe, although you can still feel your pussy tingling, phantom vibrations still racking through your worn-out body. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” Agatha asks, cupping your cheek and rubbing the tears away. She makes quick work of untying your hands as well. You nod, completely and utterly spent. 

Rio chuckles darkly and you know whatever she’s about to say is going to be wicked. “I don’t know, Aggie, I think she has at least one more in her.” Your eyes widen and your mouth drops, but your heart jumps despite yourself. You still desperately want their hands on you. 

Agatha pretends to think hard for a minute. “You know, Rio, if you think about it, we denied her twice today. I think it’s only fair that we make up for that now. What do you think, baby?” 

But your breaths come out sharply. “I don’t know if I can, I don’t know if I can take any more.” You know that they are going to be the deaths of you. 

Rio coos mockingly and runs a finger through your folds, eyes lighting up when your hips buck involuntarily. “You sure about that, doll?” 

“If it gets too much, just say ‘cake,’” Agatha reassures softly, reminding you of the safeword you had picked out, and bends down to peck at your lips. “You want to be a good girl for us though, don’t you? Let us give you two more.” 

You nod, already feeling your pussy leaking at the thought, betraying you. “Okay,” you whisper hoarsely. Agatha moves down the bed to where Rio is standing, facing your open legs, and taps her finger to her chin. 

“Look at how pretty that pussy is, Rio,” Agatha says, and Rio hums in agreement. “Mama wants to feel it.” Hearing her call herself that makes you clench around nothing but your brows furrow in confusion: she’s already felt you, what does she mean? 

But then Agatha hikes up her dress and slides her underwear off before crawling on the bed over to you. She pushes open your legs, angles one up, and puts one of hers over your hip. Your heart skips a beat. Surely she isn’t–

And then she grinds down and her cunt slides against yours and an embarrassing loud noise rips out of your mouth. 

“God, baby, your pussy is so perfect, feels so good,” Agatha moans, moving slowly at first. You can feel everything and it is killing you in the best way. Her wetness slick against your skin, her folds, her clit, it’s so much. 

And then Rio positions herself behind you, lifting you up so you can rest your head against her stomach and watch Agatha ride you. 

You whine and try to roll against the older woman too, the need for pleasure steadily climbing back inside you even though you thought it wouldn’t, but Rio reaches down with one hand and holds your hips down. 

“Let her take what she needs, doll,” Rio says into your ear. Agatha groans on top of you and you can feel more of her wetness gushing out, only making it easier for her to move. 

The direct stimulation is a lot, even more so now, after you’ve cum so many times, but you can’t deny how good it’s feeling. 

And then Rio wraps her other hand around your throat, gently squeezing the sides, and your back arches, forcing your clit up against Agatha’s on a particularly hard rut and it makes you moan so deeply you feel it in your chest. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant, not even comprehending the words coming out of your mouth, the slight pressure on your throat making you dizzy, Agatha’s bare cunt against yours making you feel a way you’ve never felt before. Tears are falling from your eyes again and they blur your vision but you quickly swipe at them so you can watch Agatha moving up and down. 

Her rhythm is starting to get sloppy and you can see a flush on her upper chest spreading to her neck. Her hair is messy and she tosses it over her shoulder, making you clench around nothing. 

“Sweetheart, you feel so good, you’re going to make me cum,” Agatha pants, hips stuttering and jerking, trying to keep up a pace but failing. 

You can also feel the tug in your lower stomach, the same feeling you’ve now already felt seven times today. Rio squeezes your throat one last time and that’s it. 

Whimpering is the only thing you can do as the wave crashes over you weakly, and Agatha shudders on top of you as she also cums with small gasps. 

She slumps forward, catching herself with her arms on either side of your body, and leans down to capture your lips in a long kiss. Her hair falls around your face and it tickles.

“You doing okay, baby?” She whispers against you and you smile and nod, completely blissed out. All the thoughts in your head disappeared around orgasm number four and now there’s only these two women and you in the whole world. 

“Is it my turn now?” Rio asks from above you, interrupting whatever moment you and Agatha were having. Agatha tilts her head up to smirk at her partner and kisses her too, hard and filthy. When Agatha slips her tongue into Rio’s mouth, you genuinely have to bite back a moan.

And then Rio clasps her cheeks and it’s like they’re trying to eat each other’s faces and for some reason, it reignites the fire in your stomach. You undulate your hips ever so slightly, the movement against nothing somehow bringing you closer to the edge. 

You start breathing heavily, still working your hips, and you can hear the smacking sounds of their lips, their little moans. You can see their teeth knock against each other, their tongues tangling. It’s one of the hottest things you've ever witnessed and when Rio groans as Agatha sucks on her lip, you orgasm again. 

It’s small, just a tremor, but there’s no denying what it is. 

You can hear Rio chuckle as they both look down at you and you can feel your face heating up. 

“Did you just cum from watching us make out?” Rio asks, amusement curling around her tone. 

You try to look anywhere else to escape their smirks but you give in. “Maybe,” you mutter. “Can that count as my second one?” 

Agatha tosses her head back and barks out a laugh. “Oh, no, baby. That was just an extra. It’s Rio’s turn now.” 

The younger woman crawls backwards and your head drops down to the bed. You feel like you’re floating and you can vaguely hear her rummaging around behind you. 

Agatha brushes your hair and lightly strokes your cheek while you wait and even that little touch makes you wince. Your entire body feels so wrung out but also so sensitive. 

And then Rio steps back into frame with a harness and a strap-on and you heave out a breath. You don’t even have the strength to formulate a sentence and instead you just babble something incoherently.  

“You don’t have to,” Rio says, concern evident in her voice, but you shake your head. 

“M’okay, I can do it,” you insist, still slurring, and she gently pulls you by your ankles so your hips are at the edge of the bed and she’s standing between your legs. 

She rubs her cock up and down your slit, pressing the tip against your clit, and you let out a guttural sound and your body involuntarily jerks. “You’re just so desperate for us, aren’t you? Willing to take whatever we give you because you’re such a good girl for us, right?” 

You nod, unable to speak when she slides the tip into you. It goes in easily with how wet you are and your mouth falls open. The stretch is so good it’s almost painful and you gasp out your breaths. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Agatha purrs. “Tap me if it’s too much.” And she slowly slips two fingers into your mouth. You groan and begin sucking on them while Rio begins to push into your cunt. You bite down on Agatha from the feeling just enough for her to hiss but then she starts to match Rio’s leisurely thrusts. 

Having the double stimulation from Rio’s cock and Agatha’s fingers in sync has on you a different planet. 

“All this because you just had to misbehave,” Rio tsks, fucking into you harder but just as slow. “Again. You’d think you’d learn your lesson after the first time.” 

You make a muffled cry as she circles your clit with a featherlight touch and your hips buck. 

“Maybe she likes this,” Agatha says thoughtfully. “Acting out because she knows what’ll happen. Because she wants this to happen.”

Rio chuckles, beginning to pick up her pace and Agatha shoves her fingers deeper into your mouth, making you gag. You are so ruined that all you can do is just lie there and take it. 

“One or two orgasms isn’t enough for our baby doll,” Rio taunts and snaps her hips harshly, a muted cry clawing its way out of your mouth around Agatha’s fingers. “She’s insatiable. That’s why she pushes us until we have no choice but to give her what she wants.” 

“You hear that, sweetheart?” Agatha says, voice dripping with sugar. “This is what you wanted.” Her fingernails scrape against your tongue and you nod furiously, tears pouring out of your eyes. 

Rio presses harder on your clit and you mewl, your entire body squirming and lurching forward with the impact of her thrusts. 

“You look so pretty like this doll, like our little plaything,” Rio says hotly and you can hear the exertion in her voice. “Aggie’s fingers in your mouth, my cock in your cunt. God, wanna take a picture and frame it. Our desperate little girl is being ruined.” 

Moans of agreement enthusiastically leave your mouth and Agatha smirks above you.

“Look at her being shameless about it,” she says, amusement lacing her tone. “She can’t even deny how badly she wants us.” 

Rio shoves one of your legs up and holds it with her hand so she can get in deeper and you yelp when her cock feels like it’s hitting your cervix and then her other hand digs into your waist so hard you know you’re going to have marks. But the sting momentarily clears the fog in your head and you flick your tongue at Agatha’s fingers that are still fucking your mouth. 

Despite having cum so many times already, you can feel that pressure building up in you again. It feels like you’re going to pass out, but you stop trying to fight it and let your body slowly be taken towards the edge. 

“God, Rio, I think we’ve fucked all the thoughts out of her head,” Agatha laughs, your eyes dazing over as you start to surrender. “Our best student can’t even form a sentence now cause we’re fucking her so good.” Rio huffs and pounds into you even harder and Agatha’s fingers curl against your tongue. 

You start to garble around Agatha, trying to tell them that you’re getting close, but you’re not sure they actually understand you. You can barely tell what you’re trying to say.

But Rio smirks, so maybe she does. “Imagine if we kept her on edge and didn’t let her cum, Aggie,” she says evilly and you can see the interest on Agatha’s face. But your eyes widen more than they ever have and you frantically shake your head. “I think our doll is trying to say something.” 

Agatha simpers and pulls her fingers out of your mouth with a wet pop and wipes your saliva all over your face. 

“Well?” She demands expectantly. “Do you want us to do that? You said you didn’t think you could take more, so we don’t have to give it to you.”

Taking a deep breath of air, the words come pouring out of your mouth. “No, no, please, I can take it, please make me cum, I need it, need to cum.” 

Rio smirks and keeps up her same bruising pace and Agatha reaches down and pinches at your nipples roughly. You practically howl at the combination of pleasure and pain and it sends you straight over the edge. 

You don’t even know how many times you’ve cum at this point. 

But you know that you can’t take any more after this and you look forward to being able to calm down. 

Except Rio just keeps fucking you. The glint in her eye tells you she wants to see how much more you can take, but your body aches. Agatha’s hands tug and roll your nipples and it’s too much. 

“Cake,” you gasp and they both instantly stop. Rio gently pulls out of you and you wince at the empty feeling. Agatha strokes your hair while you take deep breaths and try to calm your shaking body. 

Rio grabs a blanket from the chair and wraps it around you while they position themselves around you, arms stroking up and down your body. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Agatha asks softly. You make a soft sound of affirmation and rest your head against her chest. “You did so well for us, baby. You’re such a perfect girl.” She peppers kisses all over your face and your heart swells. 

“Hey, why don’t we get you in the bath?” Rio suggests. “Let’s get you all nice and warm and cleaned up.” You nod and they slowly help you stand on your trembling legs and walk you over to the bathroom. 

They sit you on the toilet seat while the water gets hot, mumbling sweet praises and brushing your hair soothingly. 

“Careful, baby,” Agatha warns, both of them taking one of your arms to help guide you down into the tub. You sigh happily at the warm water on your skin and Agatha delicately runs a washcloth over your skin while Rio washes your hair. 

“You took that so well,” Rio says, uncharacteristically gentle, but there’s something about it that makes you swoon. “We’re so proud of you, doll. You’re always such an angel for us.” You mumble out a thank you, still not having the strength to speak yet. 

They let you soak in the tub for a bit until the water gets cold and you start shivering. Agatha pulls you out while Rio dries you off. They help you step into pajamas that you’ve been keeping at their house. 

“Does that make up for this entire week?” Rio jokes and you splutter out a laugh. 

“Yes, more than enough,” you say, your voice still a little raspy. While all you wanted was some attention from your two favorite women, you had no idea that it would lead to this. 

But there’s no denying that they made up for the lost time. 

“Do you need anything to eat or drink?” Agatha says. You say no, but she goes and gets you some gatorade and peanut butter crackers anyway. The food and drink makes you feel instantly better and you have a surge of renewed energy.

Instead of leading you to their bed, which is soaked with your cum and sweat and probably tears, they take you down the hall into the guest room. You keep eating and sipping on the gatorade while they quickly take off the duvet. 

“We can turn on the TV if you want,” Rio offers, pulling back the sheets and motioning for you to slide in them. The silk is soft against your skin but all you want is them. 

You pat the spaces next to you and they chuckle and obey. “Can we just cuddle?” You ask, voice small. 

“Of course, baby,” Agatha purrs and her and Rio both wrap their arms around you so you’re cozier than you’ve ever been. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nod against her chest. “Yeah, that was perfect. I’m okay. I really like you guys.” And then you stiffen at opening up like that. There is no indication that they want more than sex with you and you just went and said that. 

But then Rio kisses your earlobe. “We really like you too, doll.” 

You squirm happily between them. “So we can keep doing this?” 

“Of course, baby. Maybe tomorrow we can go out to a nice dinner. Like a date,” Agatha says and you swear you could burst right now. 

“I’d like that,” you admit quietly, smiling to yourself. 

Agatha cups your cheek and presses a chaste kiss to your lips and Rio does the same after. 

“Now get some sleep, baby,” Agatha says. “You really need it.” 

Chuckling slightly at how true her words are, you drift off in no time, feeling more content than ever with the possibilities of a future with them yet to come.

[aliendes]

SVT Reaction to yelling at you for the first time/saying something hurtful pt. 2

a/n: ok here is pt. 2! i got a ton of asks/comments asking for a pt. 2 and honestly I kinda hate this. its totally unedited, as usual, and I really don't feel like I gave all of them justice. some of them feel kinda rushed, but anywayssssss, send me your others requests for SVT while I'm on this writing kick... hehehe.

w/c: 8,000~ sheeeeeesh

warnings: angsssssssssst, like a lot of angst, female reader (for a couple of the boys), pet names (good girl), hurt/comfort, mentions of previous slap and bruising, just overall angsty as per usual. no smut but this blog is 19+ MDNI as always.

Seungcheol (S.coups)

Just like Seungcheol promised, he stayed up against the wall by your bedroom door all night. He tried his best to fight sleep but eventually, his exhaustion got the better of him and he fell asleep sitting up, head dipped down so his chin touched his chest. 

When you finally decided you’d locked him out long enough, sometime in the middle of the night, you quietly exited your bedroom to find him in this state. A wave of guilt rushed through you at seeing him like this. He was probably exhausted from non-stop practice, and you knew he shouldn’t be sleeping in positions like this, his physiotherapist would probably kill him. But you also knew that you were incredibly hurt by his words and until he properly apologized you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that guilty. 

Instead of waking him up, you walked out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. But the small noises of clinking glass and running water woke your boyfriend up from his slumber. Stumbling into the kitchen, one fist rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and the other massaging his knee, he found you standing there sipping from your glass, eyes red and swollen from crying. 

“Baby…” his voice was rough, you could tell he had been crying too and it made your heart clench. He took a few steps towards you and you didn’t resist, letting him get close. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” Seungcheol reached both his hands out to you but didn’t dare touch until he got your permission. That permission came in the form of you setting your glass down on the counter and opening your arms for him to fall into. 

The relief he felt was immense as he sunk into your embrace. “I’m so, so sorry baby,” he was sobbing without realizing it, soaking the front of your sleep shirt with salty tears, “I didn’t mean it, you know how much I love you and I c-can’t believe I s-said something like that to you.”

You hugged him closer as your own tears started to fall again. “It’s ok Cheol, I forgive you.” You whispered into his hair as you held him. His embrace was warm and felt like home and of course, you forgave him, he meant what he said, and you were his entire world, as he was yours. “I love you so much, Cheollie.”

“I love you, too, baby, please never leave me.”

Jeonghan 

It’s been three days and Jeonghan is losing his absolute mind. He has never gone more than a single day without some form of communication with you, and if your sister Nayeon hadn’t texted him yesterday to let him know you are in fact fine, he would’ve probably filed a police report by now.

He’s sent probably hundreds of texts and he calls you at least a few times a day. Each and every one has gone unanswered and Jeonghan just doesn’t know what to do with himself at this point. 

He had just gotten home from practice, as he was sent home early by Seungcheol, stating he ‘needed to take a breather’ after sulking around the practice room for hours on end. When he dropped his keys on the kitchen island he startled at the sight of you standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot.

“Lovey?” Jeonghan asked as you turned around to look at him. He sounded as if he didn’t really believe his eyes and thought maybe he was hallucinating you standing in your shared kitchen. “You - you’re home?”

You gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded twice before turning back around to finish whatever you were cooking. It smelled delicious and Jeonghan suddenly couldn’t remember the last time he ate. But that didn’t matter right now. You’re home.

“Baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean any of that, you know that right?” He asked, desperately, as he moved closer to you, reaching out like he wanted to give you a back hug. Any other time he would’ve been clinging to you as you cooked, but now he hesitated. Were you still upset? Of course, you were, how could he ever think you wouldn’t hate his guts after what he did. “Lovey, please… please look at me.” Jeonghan was on the verge of tears now, thoughts spiraling to all the worst-case scenarios. It was his sniffles that finally made you turn to face him, tears already falling from your own eyes.

“Hannie…” your voice was quiet and choked, and the look of exhaustion on your face broke Jeonghan’s heart even further. 

“Baby… can I please hold you? Please?” The tears were flowing freely now, he didn’t even bother to stop them. When you shyly nodded he wasted no time in scooping you up in his arms and placing you on the kitchen countertop, arms wrapped around your middle as he sobbed into your chest. You weren’t faring much better, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and you cried into his soft hair. “Please, pl-please don’t leave me. Please, lovey, I was so, so worried. I don’t know what to do without you, an-and I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.”

“I know, Hannie. I know.”

“N-no, please. Let me make it up to you. I mean it, I don’t know what came over me, and I will spend forever making things right again.” All you could do was hold your boyfriend and nod, knowing that he would indeed keep this promise. 

Joshua

“Y/N! Wait!” Joshua snapped back to reality right away, watching as you rushed down the sidewalk back toward your workplace. He shut his car off quickly before grabbing his keys and phone and rushing out after you. “Y/N!”

He caught up to you quickly, you being much shorter than him, in a few long strides. He grabbed your elbow lightly, not allowing you to walk any further. “Baby, I know you’re upset. Fuck, I’m so sorry, but do not rush off, it’s not safe.”

You halted your steps but didn’t turn around to face your boyfriend. Tears were threatening to fall, but you held them back as you waited for him to continue. 

“F-fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry, I have no idea what just came over me. You are not a slut, and I don’t believe anything that just came out of my mouth, please baby, please believe me.” His grip loosened on your arm once he was sure you weren’t going to run again. “I know you’re mad, but please get back in the car, we can go home and you can scream at me all you want. But I want to make sure you’re safe.”

You finally turn to face Joshua as the tears started to fall. There weren’t too many people around, but it was enough to make your face heat with embarrassment, making Joshua’s heart shatter. On top of hurting you with his words you were embarrassed and it was all his fault. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged gently, offering you his hand, which you reluctantly take. “Let’s talk about it on the way home.” You nodded and followed him back towards the car, allowing him to open the door for you and click your seatbelt into place before taking his place behind the wheel again. 

You wiped your tears with the sleeve of your sweater as Joshua began to drive. You mumbled something softly that Josh didn’t quite pick up. “Say that again, baby?” He looked over at you with soft eyes, waiting for you to repeat yourself.

“He’s gay.”

Joshua took a moment to realize what you were talking about before it clicked. Your coworker. The gay one who just got engaged to his fiance. Their wedding is this summer and you’ve been talking about it non-stop since he asked you to be in the wedding party. Joshua felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

“Shit. Sweetheart, I knew that. Fucking hell I’m an idiot. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.” He ran one hand over his face, blinking rapidly to try and hold back his own tears of embarrassment now, not letting them fall so he could get you both home safe.

You wouldn’t look at him the rest of the ride home, but when you got home that night Joshua groveled and babied you until you forgave him for his shitty words. 

Jun

The next day, Jun kept the promise he made in the last voicemail he sent. He was on the first flight home after his schedules and the entire flight back to Korea he was wracking his brain with what he was going to say to fix this, if he even could fix this. The thought was tearing him apart. He did his best to sleep on the plane, but he couldn’t get his mind to stop picturing the worst case scenarios of you leaving him when he got home.

Once he was finally standing outside your shared apartment door, bouquet in hand, he knocked quickly three times, despite having the passcode. If you needed space, he was going to give that to you, his feelings be damned.

After a moment you opened the door, surprised to see your boyfriend holding a rather large bouquet of flowers, though you guess he did tell you he was coming home today in his voicemails. You almost felt guilty for making him come home a few days earlier than he should have, but that thought quickly evaporates when you remembered his words from last night.

“Why are you here?” You ask, not allowing him to pass you and enter your apartment, despite him also living there. You could tell Jun had been crying, you could tell he was miserable, and while you felt a pang of heartache for your usually loving boyfriend, you couldn’t help but feel some sort of satisfaction that he had been up all night crying just like you had. 

Junhui frowned at your words, but pushed the flowers towards you gently. “These are for you… and Y/N, please. I’m so sorry…” He was wearing the most forlorn look on his face as he stared down at his feet. 

You took pity on your boyfriend and took the flowers, turning on your heel to bring them into the kitchen, leaving the door open so he could finally come in. As you set the bouquet down on the countertop, you turned back to the doorway, watching as your boyfriend stayed standing outside, still staring at his feet. 

“Well, are you just gonna stand there, or come in?” You asked snippily.

Jun looked up at you, large doe eyes watering with unshed tears, before nodding and entering the apartment and softly closing the door behind him. He still couldn’t bare to look at your face and the remnants of dried tear tracks and puffy cheeks. He felt immeasurable guilt for the things he said last night and how he made you feel. So he continued staring down at the floor out of respect for you.

“Y/N, I hope you know I didn’t mean any of those things I said last night. I love you and your family so, so much. There is nowhere in this world I would rather be than with you, in your arms, making you the happiest person on the planet. I love your family, and one day I know they’ll be my family, too, so, of course, I love them, of course, I will do whatever it takes to make them happy too, because-” Jun let out a soft ‘oof’ when you collided with his chest, stunned for a moment before he gently closed his arms around your middle, resting his cheek on your soft hair. “I love you more than all the stars in the sky.”

You were sniffling now and Jun could tell you were on the verge of full-blown sobbing when you said with a watery voice, “And I love you more than all the fish in the sea.”

Soonyoung

When Soonyoung entered your darkened apartment, there was silence, and that scared him more than the noises you made when you ran out of the practice room. With his thoughts spiraling to all the worst-case scenarios of what could be happening, he quickly searched through your shared space, checking all the rooms and bathrooms to figure out where you were hiding. 

When he reached the guest bedroom, he heard it. A small sniffle and a gasp for air. Without thinking he launched himself onto the guest bed, thinking he’d find you, but you weren’t there. Looking around again, he finally spotted you, squished in between the corner wall and the old dresser you two had put in here last year. Your head was between your knees and you were attempting to take deep breaths, but he could tell it was futile. 

Rushing over to you he dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain in his knee caps as he did so, and reached out to put his hands on your shoulders. Your head shot up as if you hadn’t heard all the commotion before and stared up at your boyfriend with a red, puffy face, streaming with tears. The sight broke Soonyoung’s heart even further, but he needed to help you through this first and foremost. 

“Baby, I need you to breathe, ok? Can you do that for me?” You shook your head no, an action that he mirrored, “I know you’re upset, and you should be, but right now I’m more worried about your breathing. Ok, deep breath…” Soonyoung took an exaggerated deep breath in which you were reluctant to mirror, “C’mon baby, please breathe with me.” You could tell from your boyfriend’s tone that he was actually starting to get scared and in turn that scared you, so you followed along with his instructions. “There you go, good girl, again…”

After a few minutes of following Soonyoung’s deep breathing, your own started to even out, satisfying your boyfriend enough for him to properly sit down and pull you into his lap, cradling you like you were the most precious thing to him in that moment. As you started to move to get out of his embrace, his arms tightened slightly around you as he murmured into your hair, “Please… please baby, please don’t leave me.”

His panicked tone set you on edge again, having thought you were both calmed down from before, but clearly he needed this now. 

“Please…” he was sobbing into your hair, your shoulder, just trying to be as close to you as possible, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry, please, please don’t leave.” He was begging now.

“Soon…” You whispered, taking one cheek in your hand and raising his face to meet your eyes. You could see the anguish there, he really thought you were about to leave him for good. “Soon, I’m not leaving. I’m just really upset with you, you said some cruel things to me.”

Soonyoung cleared his throat slightly, but the tears kept running, “And you should be! I was horrible, baby, and I’m so fucking sorry. I was in my head about practice and nothing going right today.”

“I can see that Soonyoung, but it doesn’t give you the right to treat me that way.”

“You’re right, I’m not making excuses. I was wrong, and if you’ll let me I will make it up to you, and prove to you it wont happen again. I love you so much, and all I want is to cherish you.”

You slid your hand down his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, until you wrapped both your arms around him, squeezing him tightly, which he returned without a second thought. “And I love you, too, Soonie.”

Wonwoo

Wonwoo had been knocking on your friend’s door for the last five minutes, he knew you were in there. You told him last night where you were going, but you hadn’t answered any of his calls or texts all night, finally prompting him to drive over here himself and make sure you were alright.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Sunmi answered the door wearing a robe with her hair up in a towel. It was clear she had just showered and she looked like she was about to tear Wonwoo a new one, until she saw the crazed look in his eyes. 

“Wonwoo? What are you doing at my door at,” she looked behind her at her microwave clock, “6:53 am? Is it Y/N?” Now she was starting to panic, wondering why your boyfriend is at her apartment looking like he just went through hell and back.

“She’s not here?” Wonwoo’s eyes widened, “What do you mean she’s not here? She didn’t come over last night?” Sunmi shook her head, not understanding what Wonwoo meant. She talked to you yesterday, but made no plans to come over. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!” Wonwoo ran both his hands through his hair and turned on his heel, running down the hallway of Sunmi’s apartment building. “Call me if she shows up, please!” He yelled over his shoulder, and all Sunmi could do was nod before he disappeared down the corridor. 

Now, Wonwoo was actually panicking. How could he let you go last night? What if something horrible happened to you? What if- he needed to find you. Now. 

Wonwoo started calling all of your friends, your brother, even his friends, to see if you were with any of them, only to be met with the same answer: No, they hadn’t seen or heard from you. Wonwoo walked through the streets near your shared apartment, every scenario of what could have happened to you running through his mind. The picture of you sitting somewhere, cold and sad with your duffle bag absolutely sends him spiraling. He’s calling your phone over and over, sending texts that are becoming more crazed as time goes on. 

Wonwoo is nearly home, resigned to finally calling your mother and the police, when he gets the text. 

From: Y/N  i’m home

Fuck. He shoved his phone in his pocket and started sprinting the rest of the way home, not taking even a moment to catch his breath before he’s bursting through the front door, finding you with your face in your hands, sitting on the couch of your shared living room. 

“Y/N, oh my God, Y/N…” Wonwoo dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching out and smoothing his hands over your shoulders, needing to feel that you were real, “Y/N are you ok? What happened, where were you?” Wonwoo we crying from relief at this point, trying, and failing to hold back his sobs. 

You sniffled again and finally pulled your head from your palms, looking at your boyfriend, who looked absolutely pitiful. You would’ve chuckled if the situation wasn’t so serious. His glasses were askew on his face, his bedhead sticking out in different places, and tears running down his face, making his eyes red and puffy. He looked like he fared no better than you last night and the thought made you feel better somehow. 

Wonwoo was still looking up at you expectantly, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. “I was in the subway station.” Wonwoo furrowed his brow and reached out to grab your hands, you let him, knowing what he was doing.

“Your hands are freezing, Y/N.” Wonwoo reached up, brushing his knuckles lightly over your reddened cheek, “Shit. You’re burning up. You stayed down at the station? All night?”

You nodded, closing your eyes at the sensation of his cooler hand against your warm skin. 

Without asking, Wonwoo stood up and scooped you into his arms, bringing you to your shared bedroom and settling you comfortably on the mattress. He stripped your coat and shoes off before wrapping you in the warm duvet. He left momentarily to grab some medicines from the bathroom and make some hot tea. When he returned, you were curled in on yourself, sniffling and coughing from the cold Wonwoo presumed you had. 

Setting the tea and meds on the nightstand, he took a seat on the bed near your huddled form and rubbed his hand up and down what he assumed was your back. “I’m really sorry, you know. Like… I’m such an asshole. I didn’t even realize what I said until Cheol told me I was being a dick. Which I was.”

You let out a slight chuckle at that, which made Wonwoo smile. Maybe all wasn’t lost. His eyes softened as he watched you cough again. “I’m so, so sorry, love. You are my entire world and I’m so sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t true last night. I’m sorry you felt like you needed to get away from me and it got you sick.” A few more tears fell as he finished, “I hope you know I’m not letting you out of my sight until you're better. This is all my fault and I’m going to show you how much you mean to me if it’s the last thing I do.”

Wonwoo leaned over you, hugging you the best he could in your prone position. You turned onto your back slightly, reaching up and wrapping your arms loosely around your boyfriend's neck, hugging him back, and leaning your face into the crook of his neck. He placed light kisses all over the side of your face as he whispered into your ear, “I love you so much, Y/N. Always.”

Jihoon

Jihoon stayed in his studio that night, not having the balls to face you. Though he did send a few texts, updating you on what he was doing, asking if you were alright, and checking in throughout the night. All of which went unanswered.

When morning came, Jihoon couldn’t sit still any longer. He hardly got any work done throughout the night, which was the entire reason for your fight, which only made him feel even more guilty. So after he powered down his computer and locked up his studio, he headed down to the cafe to grab breakfast and coffees for you before heading home.

When he unlocked the front door and walked into shared apartment, he was shocked to see you still awake, working on something on your laptop as you sat on the floor of the living room, back against the sofa. If the bags under your eyes told Jihoon anything, it’s that you didn’t get any sleep either. He winced at the thought of you up and working all night, though he figured he deserved to feel the heavy guilt on his shoulders. 

When he approached you with a bag of food and coffee, you finally looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. You could tell he felt miserable, his hair was sticking out in every direction as if he had run his hands through it all night, his glasses were smudged from his fingers pushing them up over and over, and he had what looked suspiciously like dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Jihoon set the bag and coffee down on the table before taking a seat next to you, his eyes never leaving your form.

“I brought breakfast.” Was the only thing he could think to say. Jihoon felt like such as idiot. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.”

You scoffed at that, looking away from him and back to your laptop. “Of course you didn’t. Apparently you don’t think I work very hard in the first place.” You slammed your laptop closed with a little too much force, making Jihoon jump slightly. He winced at his own words, going and fucking up again.

“Y/N…” he started, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, “I am so… so, so fucking sorry. I know how hard you work. I let my stress get the better of me and that is not an excuse. I fucked up. I know I did.”

“Yeah… you did, Jihoon. Coffee and breakfast isn’t going to fix this.”

“No, I know. I just wanted to make sure you ate, since you never let me know last night if you had dinner.” Jihoon put his head in his hands. “I have no idea why I said those things when you are the hardest working person I fucking know. I can’t take it back, but I will continue apologizing for it for as long as you’ll let me.”

You sighed, you knew Jihoon didn’t mean what he said. That didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. But you could also see how sorry he was. Hell, the fact that he was home this early in the morning was testament to that. Deciding that you had forgiven him, but not wanting to make it too easy on him, you reached over the coffee table, grabbing the bag of pastries. 

“If it means I get breakfast every morning, I guess I can forgive you.” Jihoon looked up at you, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Seokmin

Seokmin had been at the dorms for approximately 20 minutes when he just couldn’t take it anymore. You had texted him to let him know to give you some space, and that you could talk tomorrow, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. He knew he fucked up bad, especially once he got to the dorms and Jeonghan had asked him what happened. When he explained it to his hyung, Jeonghan has scoffed and chewed him out for being such a dumbass, before he finally showed Seokmin that the website he was looking at was a fanmade troll website. 

Seokmin had never felt so guilty, so horrible in his entire life. You, the love of his life, his literal sunshine on a cloudy day, was hurt because of something he did, something he said, and he was really spiraling thinking about it. 

Without thinking too hard about it, he grabbed his things and left the dorm, ignoring Mingyu’s questioning shouts behind him. 

Seokmin ran all the way to your shared apartment, which wasn’t all that far from the dorms, but far enough that when he reached your front door he was winded. Pressing the passcode to the door, he fumbled a few times before he finally got it right and burst through the door.

He found you lying under the covers of your shared bed, quietly sobbing, and his heart shattered at the sight. “Baby….?”

You startled and sat up in bed, letting the duvet fall around you, not expecting Seokmin to be back so soon. “Seok?” Your voice was scratchy and it made Seokmin feel even worse. At this point, he wasn’t sure how much worse he could feel, but he knew he deserved every last ounce of the guilt he was feeling. 

“Fuck.. I’m so, so sorry, baby.” Seokmin stumbled his way over to the bed before resting both palms on in, not wanting to join you on the bed if he wasn’t wanted. “I couldn’t - I couldn’t stay at the dorms, I can’t be away from you right now. Fuck! I’m so stupid, I’m so, so fucking stupid!” He cried, not bothering to stop the tears now that you were in front of him.

Your face crumpled and your tears fell again, not wanting to see your usually upbeat boyfriend so distraught, despite him of being deserving of it. “Seok, it wasn’t real…”

“I know, I know, sweetheart. I’m such a dumbass for confronting you like that. I will never, ever forgive myself for the things I said to you. For making you feel like… like this.” He gestured at you wildly, not knowing fully how to convey his thoughts. “I… I talked with Jeonghan-hyung when I got to the dorms, he chewed me out,” Seokmin looked sheepish as he continued, “he showed me it was fake… baby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, Seok… I understand, I would probably have reacted poorly too if I was-”

Seokmin violently shook his head, “No, no please, Y/N. Don’t let me off the hook that easily. How I reacted was wrong, so fucking wrong, and you don’t deserve that. Especially not from me. Please, please let me show you how sorry I am. I will prove to you that you are safe here, with me, and I will never, ever let my temper get the best of my like that again.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you opened your arms for your boyfriend to fall into. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he tackled you back onto the soft pillows, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your eyes, everywhere he could reach, making you giggle. “Ok… ok, Seok. I believe you.”

He pulled away slightly to look into your eyes, his big brown orbs sparkled back at you, and all he could say in response was, “Thank you, baby.”

Mingyu

When you got to your brother’s house, Joshua immediately sat you down and made you explain everything. Through tears you explained how Mingyu had accused you and yelled at you, and how you were so confused at the text messages because you swear you didn’t send them to him. 

Joshua was livid, he was seeing red when he called Soonyoung over to his apartment and made him also explain what had happened. Through all your revelations it was discovered that you actually had sent those texts to Soonyoung, only you were drunk, and you thought Soonyoung was Mingyu. Apparently it happened last weekend when you were out with your friends for a bachelorette party and as stupid as you felt, as guilty as you felt for putting Soonyoung and now Mingyu is such an odd predicament, Mingyu was still out of line for the way he spoke to you and accused you.

Joshua helped you ice your back after Soonyoung left, wincing when you showed him the bruise that was forming there. It only fueled his anger further, making his decision to call Mingyu over final. Once Joshua had you comfortable in the guest bed, he called Mingyu to see what exactly was going through is head. 

Once he explained what had actually happened, Mingyu was in tears, sobbing to him over the phone, hiccuping and making it hard for Joshua to understand anything he was saying. Joshua asked Mingyu to come over but to stay quiet, as you were napping after the emotional afternoon you just had. Mingyu agreed and showed up not even 15 minutes later.

Joshua and Mingyu had a long discussion about how Mingyu should be treating you, with your boyfriend silently crying throughout the whole thing. Neither of them realized that you were in fact awake, and listening just around the corner from the living room. When Joshua and Mingyu were done talking, you came around the corner and immediately went and sat in Mingyu’s lap, hugging tightly around his neck. Mingyu was stunned for a second, but wrapped his strong arms around you just as tightly.

“Baby…” he whispered into your hair as he watched Joshua get up and leave the living room with a slight smile on his face. “I’m so sorry for reacting the way I did.”

“It’s fine, Gyu,” you sniffled as you pulled back to look him in the eyes, “It was all a stupid misunderstanding and I’m sorry, too, for sending those texts.”

“Hey, baby, no - don’t apologize. You thought you were texting me. It’s me who should be apologizing for how I treated you. And I am. I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” Mingyu cupped your cheek in his large hand, thumb running over the apple of your cheek to catch your tears. “You are my entire world.”

“I forgive you, Gyu.” You whisper as you lean down to kiss your pouty boyfriend. 

Minghao

Steeling himself, Minghao took a deep breath and walked back out into the kitchen. He knew that he needed to own up to how he just treated you, but honestly all he could think about the moment he sees you hyperventilating on the kitchen floor, is making sure you were safe. Pushing the fight and his need for apologies to thge back of his mind, he sunk down to his knees in front of you, putting one hand on your shoulder and the other on your cheek, bringing your face up to look at him.

“Y/N, look at me…” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. You shook your head violently, trying to get away from him, “Hey. Hey hey, baby, it’s ok, you’re ok, we’re ok. I just need you to breathe Y/N.” Your boyfriend did his best to take some deep breaths, gently nudging your cheek again so you would look up into his eyes. You look so small and scared and even though his heart was breaking, he knew you needed him right now. “Deep breath, there you go. Good girl. Tell me five things you can see.”

You hiccupped when you tried to take a deep breath and Minghao made exaggerated motions with his chest to show you how to breathe. Once your breathing evened out a bit you started to mumble, looking anywhere that wasn’t him. “T-t-table… a- a mug.” You pointed weakly to the kitchen counter. Minghao didn’t need to look, didn’t care if you were right, just needed you to keep talking. 

You looked down at his hands, “Ring,” his eyes softened when you mentioned the team ring on his pinky and grabbed at his wrist. “Y-you.” 

“Who, Y/N?”

“H-Hao.”

“One more.”

You took another shaky breath in and looked around, “The p-plant.” You motioned with your eyes to the pothos plant sitting just above the kitchen sink. 

“Good. I’m right here, baby. I got you.” Minghao whispered as he moved to sit down right next to you, letting you hold onto his wrist still, he gently picked you up and moved you so you were situated on his lap. “Now, four things you can touch.”

You rested your head against his shoulder as you started to calm down. “Your hair,” you whispered as you ran your fingers through his long hair. “Your sweater,” you mumbled as your hand reached the soft material of his sweater. “My jeans,” you said as you shifted in Minghao’s lap and he chuckled softly knowing how much you hated wearing denim at home. 

“One more, baby.” He whispered softly into your ear. 

“Heartbeat…” you murmured quietly as your hand rested against his chest. Before he could continue with your calming techniques you cut him off. “I’m fine, Hao.” He wasn’t sure if he believed you, but he couldn’t hear the tremble in your voice anymore, so he chose to just hold you tightly.

After a moment of silence, Minghao whispered in your ear. “I am so, so incredibly sorry, my love. I’ve been stressed lately, and seeing you so stressed just freaked me out.” His voice was so soft like he was trying not to startle you. You nodded against his neck and he could feel the wetness from your remaining tears gathering near his collarbone. “I hate seeing you hurt, and I can’t believe I’m the one who hurt you this time.”

“You didn’t…” you trailed off, pulling back to look your boyfriend in the eye. He gave you a look that told you that was a lie, so you added, “I mean, not initially. Sometimes I just…. Get this way and I don’t know how to fix it.” You looked down at your hand still resting on Minghao’s chest and sniffled.

“That’s okay, my love. That’s why I’m here. I shouldn’t have yelled, I should’ve helped you in whatever way I could, and I am so sorry that I didn’t do that.”

You looked back up at his big brown orbs, noticing the wetness there. Minghao rarely cried, especially not in front of others, so without hesitation you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his hair. “I forgive you.”

“I promise you are safe with me.”

Seungkwan

When 3 a.m. hit Seungkwan couldn’t keep his cool any longer. He refused to go to sleep without speaking to you, regardless of how mean he was to you earlier, he wasn’t going to break the promise the both of you had made to each other. 

He had called you several times by now, but at this point, your phone was off. Either that or you blocked him, but he was refusing to believe that just yet. 

Grabbing his coat and keys, he made his way out of your apartment complex and started walking towards your best friend Minji’s house. It wasn’t too far from your shared place, and Seungkwan figured that would be the best place to start his search. 

While he walked he continued to try and call you in hopes that your phone would be on, or you unblocked him, he supposed, but each time it went straight to voicemail. As he rounded the corner to Minji’s complex, he saw a slumped-over figure sitting on the edge of a flower planter, and immediately he knew it was you.

You sat there, in the dark, slouched over with your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. You were clearly shivering, having only been in your work clothes and light coat, only stockings covering your bare legs under your pencil skirt. Without hesitation Seungkwan ran over to you and crouched down so he was in your line of sight.

“Y/N?” His voice was so small and timid, so much unlike the tone he used with you on the phone earlier that it made you look up at him. His heart broke when he saw you were crying, probably had been crying his whole time and it truly made him hate himself in that moment. “Hey, baby,” he whispered, a light smile gracing his beautiful features when your eyes met his, “What are you doing out here all alone?”

“Seungkwan… why are you here?”

“I was worried about you. You didn’t come home…”

You scoffed and turned your head to look anywhere but at him. “You told me not to.” His heart sank to his feet at your words. Because yes, that is exactly what he told you earlier. 

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what came over me, you know I can lose my temper sometimes, but… but that is no excuse!” He reached out and grabbed both your hands in his, wincing at how cold they were. “Baby, you’re going to get sick, please let me take you home?”

“Now you’re concerned? Earlier you didn’t want anything to do with me, but now you’re worried?” You scoffed again, pulling your hands from his grasp. 

“Sweetheart, please. You can yell and scream at me all you want when you’re home, and safe, and warm, okay?” Seungkwan looked up at you with pleading eyes and you finally, finally graced him with your gaze. It was hard, and sad, but at least you were looking at him. He tried his best for a smile again, but it came across more as a grimace as he watched your body shake from the cold. “Please, Y/N. I didn’t mean what I said earlier, it was said out of anger, but I’m not angry anymore. I’m worried about you. Please, let me take care of you and make up for my words.”

You looked at him now, really looked at him. His hair was mussed, his cheeks were red and puffy, and you could tell he hadn’t slept. “You haven’t slept?” You voiced your thoughts and he shook his head immediately. 

“We made a promise,” Seungkwan said softly, reaching for your hands again. This time you let him take them, “We never go to bed upset.”

The corner of your mouth quirked as you allowed your boyfriend to pull you up from the ledge you were sitting on, and wrapped his arms around you, pushing his face into your hair, kissing your ear before whispering, “I will never break that promise.”

Vernon

Vernon had been sulking all day, not just from his ruined lyrics, but from the way he had spoken to you this morning. Why did he have to take his anger out on you? It wasn’t even your fault, it was the cat’s fault, really. But getting mad at the cat wasn’t going to solve anything. No, if he wanted to fix this he needed to take responsibility for his actions.

He had left you alone all day, not wanting to bother you at work, but as soon as the clock reached 5:05 p.m., he called you, knowing you’d probably be on your way down from your office, heading to the bus stop. You picked up on the third ring.

“What do you want, Vern.” Your tone was sharp and he figured he definitely deserved it.

“Hey…” he started dumbly, “Can you - can you please come home?” His voice was tiny, so different from how it sounded earlier. It was like he was a pleading child asking for his mother to come home. It tugged at your heart strings hearing your usually confident boyfriend sound so small. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, voice still clipped. 

“Of course, Y/N. Actually, where are you? I’ll come get you.” Immediately Vernon was up and grabbing his keys and wallet. 

“I’m just outside work at the bus stop. You don’t-”

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” He didn’t give you a chance to finish your sentence, determined to make up for whatever he could. “Please, babe, let me do this.”

“Ok, Vernon.” You said as you hung up and waited at the bus stop for your boyfriend. He pulled up exactly 9 minutes later, having broken at least a few traffic laws to get to you. 

As soon as you got into the passenger seat of his car, he awkwardly leaned over the center console to wrap his arms around you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You reached up your hands to lay over his arms, not wanting to ignore the comfort he was offering, not when you needed it so bad. 

You both stayed like that for a moment before Vernon finally pulled away, only to see you trying your damndest to fight the tears that were threatening to fall. “Oh, baby.” He whispered, reaching out and wiping the tears from your cheeks as they started to fall, “Please don’t cry, I’m not worth your tears. I’m so fucking sorry, you have no idea.”

You nodded your head and bit your lip, but Vernon was having none of it as he gently pried your bottom lip from your teeth with his thumb. “Don’t let me off the hook, what I said was awful. I was awful.”

“I understand, Vern.” You whispered, tears still falling, as you reached out to grab his hand. “I’m sorry I left the water out, I-”

Vernon shook his head, eyes closing as he felt another punch of guilt to his gut at what you were about to say. “Nope. No, don’t apologize. Not your fault, not even a little.”

“But-”

“Nope. Let’s go home and I’m going to show you exactly how sorry I am, babe.” You looked at him as he slowly sat back comfortably in the driver’s seat, not letting go of your hand, and started to drive. “You aren’t allowed to lift a finger for the rest of the day. And I don’t want to hear any apologies from you. I’m the sorry one.”

Chan

Chan listened to your quiet sobs for what felt like hours but realistically had only been about 30 minutes. He never left his spot right outside your bedroom door, not even to grab ice for his steadily bruising cheek. He didn’t care about the pain, he deserved it and more for what he had said to you.

Chan would spend the rest of his life groveling and making up for those words if you’d let him. He knows how wrong they were, how awful they sounded coming from someone who is supposed to love and protect you. Protect you from shit like that, but instead, he’s the one spewing it. 

After another few minutes, Chan couldn’t take it anymore and crawled over the the door, rasping his knuckles on the wood frame a few times. “Y/N?” he asked over your sobs. You quieted for a moment, letting Chan know you heard him, at least. “Y/N, I am so fucking sorry.” Chan finally let his tears fall, full force, as he continued to apologize. “J-just, please, let me in so I can make sure you’re okay, p-please.” He begged, still lightly knocking his knuckles onto the door. 

It took a few moments of silence before he heard the lock click. Immediately he was scrambling to stand up and open the door. He was expecting you to be standing there waiting to possibly slap him again, but instead, he stumbled over your hunched form on the floor, right next to the door. Catching himself before he could face plant, he quickly crouched down so he was at eye level with you.

“Baby…” his voice was distraught at the sight of you hunched over and sobbing. Sobbing because of him, his words. It broke his heart all over again. “Will you p-please come sit with me?” He asked, holding his hand out in offer for you to take. You stared at it for a moment before giving in and settling your hand in his, allowing him to pull you to standing. 

You didn’t look him in the eye, instead looking down at the floor as he led you over to the edge of the mattress and sat down. He wanted to pull you into his lap, but decided against it, opting instead to keep holding you hand as he spoke. 

“Y/N, I don’t even know how to explain myself. I can’t explain myself. What I said was so fucked up, that I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgive me. I wouldn’t blame you if you slap me again and leave me forever.” He sounded so distraught that you finally looked up at him, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sight of his bruised face.

He looked at you surprised, only to realize you were tearing up again at the sight of his face. “No, no Y/N, you didn’t hurt me, I swear. I deserved this, in fact, I deserve more,” he pleaded with you, not wanting you to feel guilty for the slap. “I promise, baby, I’m fine.”

You weren’t sure you totally believed him, but you nodded anyway, not really knowing what to say. 

“Can I please, please hold you? I know I don’t have the right, but-”

Before Chan could finish his sentence you had your arms around his neck. You could tell he was truly sorry for what he said. That didn’t mean you were going to forgive him right away, or possibly at all, for the awful way he treated you. But right now you both needed a little comfort before you had a serious discussion. You weren’t going to deny yourself of that, so you sunk into his arms as they wrapped around you, burying your face in his neck. 

“I don’t want to say I forgive you, Chan because I don’t know if I do, but I’m not leaving. I love you, Chan, and I know you didn’t really mean it.”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he mumbled into your hair, “But I’m going to keep apologizing for the rest of our lives if you let me.”

[heartyluv]

Hii I wanted to make a request!! I love your work. I’ve been following it the past few days, and you’ve practically been my distraction during finals. As I’m going through finals right now, I’d like to make a request that is vaguely connecter to exams.

As someone who has been struggling with ADHD her entire life, I find it extremely taxing to focus. These past few days, I’ve studied for hours only to recieve the most average results due to my inability to focus. I end up fiddling with random items on my desk, playing with water from a faucet, zoning out without even realising it, etc, and I’ve had full on mental breakdowns because of it. Thus, I was thinking, is it okay for me to request a Sylus and Caleb fic where reader, overwhelmed by her inability to focus, flops down into their arms and bursts into tears? It doesn’t have to be about studying for an exam— it can be about anything. And additionally (if I may), what if reader mentions to them (especially Sylus) “Now I understand why you don’t want me to get involved in your affairs. I can’t even focus.”

Thank you for your time!

Note: Oh my luv, I’m more than glad to write this for you. I hope this makes you feel better, even if it’s just a little. Know that you’re absolutely amazing and that beautiful mind of yours is just as perfect. Thank you so much for being here. I luv you and I’m incredibly proud of you! I believe in you so much.

Creds to @/cafekitsune for the dividers!

Warning: A little bit of self deprecation, but Sylus and Caleb make it all better.

Caleb

You were supposed to be packed and ready to move out a week ago. Instead, your important items were unpacked and in disarray, your miscellaneous items are all over the place, and you didn’t have it in you to fix any of it.

Every time you picked up a box to start filling it up, you found yourself opting for your phone instead, saying that you just needed a small break. Five minutes of scrolling turned to an hour and an hour turned into you not touching anything else for the rest of the day. You felt defeated, incapable of finding a solution. It made you feel weak.

You and your boyfriend made the decision to move in together and Caleb was handling everything. Being the loving man he was, he didn’t care that you needed more time. He wanted you to make sure you were absolutely ready. He was ready to pay to get your stuff over to him and to send you food everyday so that you could focus on packing instead of trying to feed yourself. All you had to do was put your shit in boxes and you couldn’t even do that.

It was another repeat of this behavior today, but this time, it was so overwhelming that you couldn’t stop crying. It really struck your emotions when you were trying to see what you were keeping and what you were throwing out, but then you got to the point where you wanted to get rid of it all. You wanted to throw out your things, all the plushies Caleb ever won for you, the hoodies he gave you—basically anything that you didn’t already have ready to go, you wanted it gone completely. That was how frustrated you were with yourself and your lack of focus.

When the reality of what you were thinking settled in after you gave yourself a millisecond to calm down, your body legitimately shut down. You fell on your bed in a heap of tears, sobs racking your body.

You were so out of it that you didn’t hear your door being unlocked and open. You didn’t hear Caleb walk into your apartment calling for you. It was only when he called your name in worry when he found you in your room, that the realization of his presence washed over you.

“Baby?” he exclaimed with concern, stepping over the empty and half filled boxes.

You looked up in exhaustion, your eyes red and nose stuffy. Warm tears fell down your cheeks when he sat down next to you, scooping you up. You threw yourself into his strong arms, crying into his neck while he soothed you. His gentle cologne and natural scent calmed your brain in a way you haven’t had in what felt like a long time.

“Talk to me, pretty,” he cooed, kissing your head. “You weren’t answering my calls all day, so I got worried and came to you. What’s going on?”

“I’m so overwhelmed, Caleb,” you choked out, shaking your head from both embarrassment and vulnerability. “I can’t focus, I can’t finish one thing…All I do is leave everything incomplete. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know why it’s so hard…”

“You lean on me, that’s what you do,” he said firmly, his tone laced with love and determination. “You never have to do a thing on your own when you have me.”

“You’ve been doing everything already, and I can’t even do this?” you scoff, your chest tight with emotion. “How can I move in with you, be a good, supporting, and dependable girlfriend when I can’t even pack a fucking box without zoning out..?”

He pulls back to look at you, genuine distress and pain on his face. He hates that you’re talking about yourself like this, that you view yourself like this. He doesn’t care what you struggle with, would never care how much you felt like you had to figure anything out without his help. He would always be your rock, ready to take on all your burdens if you needed him to.

“Then we’ll get it done together.” He holds your face in his hands and you brace one of yours on his wrist, biting your lip from nervousness. “There is nothing that you can’t bring to me, pretty girl. Stop belittling and undermining yourself, because you will always be stronger than you think. I’ll forever be by your side to enforce that mindset, do you understand?”

You nod, your lip quivering because you feel the need to cry again. He brings you close, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Right now,” he whispers, rubbing your back. “I want you to rest and we’ll start handling everything over the next few days. Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect,” you mumble. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this..”

“Don’t even. You have nothing to apologize for.” You close your eyes, feeling the weight of your sadness settle on your bones, making you sleepy.

“I just need you to remember that I am here. I will always be here. Whenever it gets hard, look to me and I’ll show you how easy it can be when we do it together.”

Sylus

You pinched the bridge between your nose when you heard your laptop ping with a new notification.

Another email?

Your job had been more demanding than usual lately and you were finding it hard to keep up. Typically, your workload was fair, but you had times where it would get like this—where no matter how you planned to complete something in a certain amount of time, the expectations kept piling and piling.

When it got stressful, you found it incredibly difficult to focus on the important tasks at hand. You’d respond to emails later than intended, you couldn’t retain the information you were reading even if you looked it over more than three times, and you couldn’t stick with the work at all in the first place.

Instead of doing what you needed to, you found yourself just staring at the screen for long periods of time or trying to find something to give your mind a break, only to never return to what you were supposed to.

You’d click your pen over and over and start to waste your post-it notes by doodling random things. You couldn’t do it anymore and the longer you waited, your work only grew.

As you sat at on the floor, the coffee table covered in incomplete paperwork, another message came through. In fact, it was three. And what were you doing instead of keeping up? You were watching the damn TV. And at this point, you couldn’t do it anymore.

Your head fell in your hands, wet tears gliding down your arms as you felt a headache bloom in your temples. Your inability to focus was costing you, but you couldn’t correct it, no matter how hard you tried.

As your heavy heart beat rapidly in your body, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see Sylus looking down at you with his perfect brows furrowed in confusion. He must’ve just finished his work call. At least he was getting things done, you thought briefly.

“Are you overworking yourself again, sweetie?” He gently grips you and the small amount of pressure grounds you, just a little.

“The opposite,” you push out past your tears. “I can’t focus on anything. I haven’t been able to get one thing completed…It all just keeps coming, Sy…”

His ruby red eyes look over you like he’s scanning your body for all the things that are troubling his kitten so that he can eradicate it. He holds his hand out, tilting his head to tell you to stand and come to him.

When your soft hand glides against his large one, he helps you stand.

“I wish you didn’t punish yourself for being human,” he says softly, bringing you close to his hard body. “Perhaps you need to focus on yourself for a little while before you try to give your all to something that can wait.”

He sits on the couch, gesturing for you to climb into his lap. You inhale deeply, feeling the desire to cry spark in you again and can’t control the sob that juts out as you straddle him. He holds your jaw in his hand, using his thumb to brush away your tears.

“I envy and loathe that brain of yours sometimes.” He smiles at you, simply admiring the woman before him.

You press yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his neck. The more you think of what you need to do, the more the tears flow. He wraps you tightly in his arms, knowing that his weight and strength are one of the only things that can make you feel like you’re still you.

“All the times I wanted to help you with your business and your work,” you sniffle. “Now I understand why you tell me no. I get why you always hesitate. If I can’t focus on my own work, how could you ever be able to depend on me? I’d be a liability instead of an efficient addition…”

“Stop.” He leaves no room for argument. “Your value to me will never be based on anything related to something as unimportant and trivial as work. I don’t tell you no because I believe you’re incapable. I tell you no because your safety, peace of mind, and happiness, will never be compromised for the things that I need to do or the things I need handled.”

When you squeeze him tighter, he reciprocates, kissing your neck as you melt into him.

“I just want to do my best.” The salty tears that linger fall onto his shirt, but he’d catch every single one in his hands if it meant he could absorb the things that bring you distress.

You continue. “But how can I when I can’t bring myself to stay on task, Sy? Why do I have to be in my own way?”

“Your best is always delivered because it is being done by you. Nothing you do is mediocre. It never could be.” It’s quiet for a few seconds as he gathers the right words to say.

“You treat yourself as if you’re a superhero instead of a person who needs to make sure that she’s just as catered to as the work she’s doing. Remove yourself from the confines of these unrealistic expectations and lean into the reality. That you are significantly more important than any email,” he kisses your jaw. “Than any task. Than anything that does not serve you in the moment.”

Your breath settles as you digest his words, letting his affirmations seep into your very being. You know he’s right, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you’ve failed yourself. But if you listen to him, perhaps you can dig yourself out that hole and keep yourself out of it.

“Let me help you come back to who you are, kitten.” His deep voice rumbles, making you shiver. “You were never intended to do it by yourself.”

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋆.˚☕︎

miya atsumu x f!reader

you always considered atsumu to be a fairly guarded person — that is, until you hear him crying in the bathroom after a particularly abysmal day.

part three of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

The third time Atsumu served the volleyball into the net, his coach called him into the office.

"I'm worried about you," he told the twenty-two year old, pacing behind his large mahogany desk. "You're showing up late, you're not present during practice — you're making mistakes no member of my starting lineup should be making this close to the start of the season. What the hell's going on?"

Atsumu's jaw flexed at the question, his knee bouncing repeatedly from the barely contained anger thrumming through his veins. This chair was too small, his coach's office too stuffy. He was not, under any circumstances, ready to talk about this.

"Dunno." Atsumu sniffed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. What explanation could he give? That he was dumped at the end of last school year? That he was driven out of his friend group, forced to move out, and was now living with a girl who, however kind, probably thought he had some kind of undiagnosed mood disorder?

No, he couldn't admit to any of that. It felt too private, too juvenile to say to a man who, this time last year, believed he had the potential to go pro. Instead, Atsumu kept his eyes trained on the ground and said most palatable lie he could come up with.

"I just haven't been gettin' good sleep lately, is all."

His coach folded his arms across his chest.

"That's all it is, then? Your sleep?" he asked, clearly not buying the excuse, but respectful enough not to push his player's boundaries. Atsumu nodded. "Well in that case, maybe a couple weeks on mental health leave will give you enough time to catch up on your sleep."

"Mental health leave — ?" Atsumu blanched, gripping the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turned white. "Yer bein' serious?"

"Do I look like I'm pulling your leg here?" his coach snapped. "I need you to be present on that court come January, and that ain't gonna happen unless you work out whatever the hell is going on in your head."

Atsumu couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But what about the rest of off-season?"

"You'll stick to your strength training and conditioning plan, same as the rest of the team. But you'll be excused from all practices and scrimmages until November."

He might as well have shot Atsumu in the stomach. Four weeks. No volleyball. Atsumu couldn't even remember the last time he was off the court for that long. Was it middle school?

Upon seeing the anguish on Atsumu's face, his coach said, "Look, Miya. Recovery is a part of off-season, too. There's no shame in that. Take your break, deal with whatever it is you need to deal with, and come back with your head screwed on straight. Understood?"

And that was that.

Atsumu stabbed his straw into the lid of an iced vanilla latte later that afternoon, the university coffee shop buzzing with students, professors, and visiting families. He'd hoped the music blasting through his AirPods was enough to drown out the sounds of them yapping. But it certainly wasn't enough to drown out the sound of his own thoughts.

How dare his coach pluck him out of practice like that — like he was a bad piece of fruit about to rot the entire stand? No one on the university men's volleyball team had put in more hours than he had. Hell, this team needed him more than anyone else on that court. But the second he was no longer useful to them?

Discarded. Dumped. Put on mental health leave.

The label left Atsumu's blood boiling.

"Erm, excuse me?" a voice squeaked out from his right. "Excuse me?"

Atsumu ripped out an AirPod. "What?"

The young student flinched at the scowl on Atsumu's face. She couldn't have been older than eighteen.

Pointing towards the condiment station behind him, she said, "You're blocking the napkins."

"Oh." The young volleyball player's shoulders slumped, heat rising into his cheeks. "My bad."

He stepped aside so she could swipe a few from the dispenser, heart hammering in his ears as he told himself to calm the fuck down. He was never really good at that, tempering his anger. Dealing with it in a way that left him and the people around him unscathed. No matter how hard he tried, it always remained a hair's breadth out of his control.

But before he could open his mouth to apologize, the student asked, "Sorry if this is totally weird of me, but...could I get your autograph?"

He was taken aback by the question. Her eyes shyly darted from his face to the iced coffee in her hands.

"You're Miya Atsumu, right? The setter on the men's volleyball team?"

"I — yea, yea I am," he stammered, face now flushed with embarrassment. "And while I'm, uh, flattered, now's not really a good time — "

"It's just that my friends and I are such big fans," she gushed, glancing over her shoulder at the group of girls giggling together in the corner. Were they...taking pictures of him?

He hooked an index finger behind the collar of his hoodie and tugged, suddenly claustrophobic.

"We tried congratulating you on your championship win last season, but you disabled your DMs on Instagram," she continued, speaking to him as if they were old friends. "You also haven't posted anything recently. Is everything okay?"

"That's really none of yer business — "

"Is it because you and Akemi broke up?" she asked innocently. The name shot him right between the ribs. "I saw she's been posting photos with her new boyfriend. You two were friends, right?"

Atsumu could feel his throat constricting. "I — "

"It's too bad, honestly," she said, a giggle escaping her lips as she reached out to touch his arm. "You're really cute. Maybe if you give me your autograph, I can give you my number in return — "

Her words died upon seeing the look on Atsumu's face.

Because if there was one thing he could not stand, it was a fan who didn't know her place.

"Like I said," he muttered. Tone flat. Eyes empty. "It's really none of yer damn business."

She immediately retracted her hand from his forearm.

It was drizzling by the time Atsumu shoved open the door to the coffee shop, the aghast looks on his fan club's faces twisting into his chest like a knife drawing blood. He was used to the attention that volleyball had granted him, had reveled in it at one point. Now, it just made him feel small. Violated. Stripped of his own personal space.

Is it because you and Akemi broke up? I saw she's been posting photos with her new boyfriend...

Unwanted memories began to flood his mind. The smell of alcohol on her breath. The guttural bass of the music, thrumming through the house.

You two were friends, right?

Her lipstick on his teeth. His hand beneath her shirt. The sick, sour feeling of bile at the back of Atsumu's throat.

It's too bad, honestly.

Atsumu slammed the front door to the apartment ten minutes later, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He shucked off his hoodie and threw it onto the couch, chest heaving. As if things couldn't get any worse, he realized he'd left his latte at the coffee shop.

Great, he thought, scrubbing his hair out in frustration. Real fuckin' fantastic.

He flipped on the faucet in the narrow bathroom connecting both of your rooms, splashing cool water on his face in attempt to calm himself down. But his heart felt like it was about to collapse in on itself. He hated how that night still made him feel — hated how Akemi still managed to dictate every single aspect of his godforsaken life. Where he lived. Who he was friends with. Whether or not he could play the sport he loved.

It's not fair, he told himself, over and over and over again. As if doing so would undo the past year of life. It's not fuckin' fair...

He shut the faucet off, squeezed his eyes shut, and tilted his head towards the ceiling. He willed himself not to cry, but the tears were already prickling the corners of his vision.

God. His shoulders shuddered, a sob escaping him.

It was going to be a long night.

After your shift at the university bookstore, you teetered across campus in a clunky pair of rain boots, an umbrella in one hand and a recyclable drink carrier in the other.

You'd stopped by the coffee shop on your way home, purchasing a matcha for yourself and an iced vanilla latte for Atsumu — his favorite, you'd observed over the past couple of weeks. Midterms were right around the corner, and while Atsumu was more likely concerned about the upcoming volleyball season than his exams, you needed all the study fuel you could get.

It was bizarre, living with an athlete who played televised games and boasted over thirty thousand followers on Instagram. You weren't big into college athletics — so to you, Atsumu was nothing more than your prickly roommate with the occasional sweet side. But to the rest of the world, he was Miya Atsumu.

Setter on the men's volleyball team. Top prospect for the professional volleyball draft. And, according to a couple Reddit threads, a total heartthrob. (Haruka's finding, not yours.)

After wiping your boots on the door mat and propping your umbrella up to dry, you let yourself into your tiny apartment and nearly tripped over Atsumu's pair of Asics.

Cursing under your breath, you kicked them off to the side and yanked your own shoes off — all while balancing the stupid drink carrier in one hand.

"Atsumu!" you huffed, storming into the kitchen. "I told you to stop putting your shoes directly in front of the door! I swear, I'm going to break a tooth one day — "

You stopped once you'd heard it.

The soft, steady sound of crying coming from behind the kitchen wall. The sound was completely foreign to you, yet recognizable enough to make your stomach drop.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

You immediately placed your drinks in the refrigerator and padded over to your bedroom, Atsumu's muffled cries slipping beneath the crack under the bathroom door. His sobs were jagged, panicky. Almost as if he were gasping for air. Your heart broke ever so slightly at the sound of them.

You debated turning on your heel and leaving him be. After all, Atsumu didn't seem like the type to want to cry in front of anyone, much less the roommate he'd just met a few months ago.

But another, softer part of you willed yourself to stay, willed yourself to reach out with a tentative fist and rap twice against the closed door.

"Atsumu?" you called to him, your voice quiet. Gentle. "Atsumu, are you okay?"

Your roommate's cries came to a sudden halt. The seconds seemed to drag on for minutes before he responded.

"Do I sound okay?" He sniffled, his voice a mere croak. You tried not to roll your eyes at his sarcasm. "I thought yer shift didn't end 'til seven."

"It's five on Wednesdays," you admitted behind a grimace. "Sorry to interrupt your cry sesh. Do you need me to leave?"

"What? No, ya don't have to leave." From the inside of the bathroom, Atsumu leaned his head against the bathroom cabinets and laughed miserably. "Geez, Y/N. Can't ya let a guy cry in peace?"

You mashed your lips together. "Is that what you want?"

A second passed. Two. Then, hesitantly, Atsumu said, "Can ya grab me some tissues, actually? I ran out of toilet paper."

You joined him in the bathroom two minutes later with a fresh box of tissues and a glass of water, nudging aside wads of toilet paper to make space for you to sit. Atsumu had propped himself up against the bathroom vanity, his t-shirt stained with tears, his eyes bloodshot. You sat cross-legged beside him on your fuzzy pink bathmat and offered him the box.

"How was yer shift?" he asked after blowing his nose. You leaned over to drag the waste basket a little closer.

"Good. I got into a heated debate with a professor about why bookstores don't use the Dewey Decimal system."

Atsumu snorted. "Did ya win?"

"Course I did,” you smiled, picking up the wads of toilet paper one-by-one. "How was practice?"

He locked his fingers together and stretched his arms out towards the ceiling, triceps flexing against his cotton t-shirt.

"I left early."

"Why? I thought you were always the last one to leave."

"I know." He released an exasperated sigh. "My coach...he pulled me out in the middle of practice and put me on 'mental health leave' for a whole month. Basically said I was no use to the team if I couldn't play well."

Your expression fell at the dejection in his words, the way he averted his gaze. As if he was admitting to you that he'd failed.

"Oh, Atsumu," you said, resting a hand on his forearm. "I'm so sorry. Did you have any idea he was going to do that?"

His lips twitched downwards, eyes glossing over with tears.

"I mean, I knew I wasn't playin' my best, but I didn't think I was that useless." Wincing, he added, "I may have also chewed out an annoyin' fan who asked me questions about my ex."

"Damn," you said, blinking back in surprise. "You're that popular?"

At this, Atsumu barked out a laugh. "Ya really don't watch sports, don’t ya?"

"I live under a rock, apparently."

"It's okay." He rested his hand atop of yours and gave your fingers an affirming squeeze. "I kinda like how ya have no idea who I am."

"I know a little bit," you argued. "I know that you shared a womb — and that you leave your smelly gym socks on the floor. I know how you like your coffee and eggs, and I know you use my body wash because you think it smells nice."

Atsumu snapped his hand back in betrayal. "I do not."

"I also know that you lie."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I may have used it once or twice."

You shook your head at his half-baked confession. "So maybe I don't know everything about you. But I know enough." Pressing your lips together, you added, "Maybe you could color in the rest for me?"

"...the rest," he repeated flatly. You nodded.

"Only if you want to. We can also just sit here and brood."

He peered down at you — at your kind, thoughtful expression — and felt a tug at his heart. Where would he even begin?

"Well, my ex-girlfriend is the whole reason I'm livin' with ya in the first place," he sniffled. "We started datin' my sophomore year of college, and she was my first serious relationship."

You nodded quietly, never breaking his gaze. He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued.

"I don't even know why I dated her in the first place. We fought all the time. I'd slam doors, she'd throw shit. I always accused her of cheatin' on me, but I didn't think she would actually do it.” The words had tumbled out of him before he could stop them. "It happened towards the end of last year, at a fraternity party." His throat bobbed. "It was also with one of my closest friends."

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, it all made sense. The immediate move-in. The weekly groceries from Osamu. The distant look on Atsumu's face — as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. No matter how bad things got, you deserved better.” And, before you could stop yourself, “Your ex-girlfriend is a bitch."

Atsumu winced. "I thought she was the love of my life."

"Well, the love of your life is a bitch," you clarified. "Your friend, too. Who does that? Are they together? Do you need me to egg their cars?"

A shaky laugh tumbled out of him at the deranged image of you, egg carton in-hand, pelting their cars.

"You wouldn't."

"You're right. Eggs are way too expensive for that.”

"The worst part of it is, they looked so fuckin' happy together." Atsumu ran a calloused hand down his face, trying to incinerate the mental image of them in his mind. "I couldn't stand seein' them around the frat house, so I moved. But I couldn’t even bring myself to do all the typical shit people do when they break up with their girlfriends."

"And what do typical people normally do when they break up with their girlfriends?"

"I dunno. Drink. Date around."

"Well, I can only imagine how disappointed you must be, being denied an STD like that."

Atsumu was full-on laughing at this point. "Ya can be really judgmental sometimes, ya know that?"

"Sorry," you said, although your belly warmed at the way the light returned to his eyes. You liked making him laugh like this. "All I meant was that not all people turn to alcohol and rebounds after a breakup."

"Yeah? What have you done in the past?" Upon seeing your perplexed expression, Atsumu said, "Come on. There's no way someone as pretty as you has never had a boyfriend before."

Your face grew hot from the indirect compliment, but you pushed it down as far as you could and tried to answer the question at-hand.

"You're not wrong. I was seeing someone my freshman year of college, but after we split, I...took up dance classes."

Your roommate blinked, trying to process this new information.

"Ya mean to tell me ya could dance this whole time?"

"I'm not great at it, but I hold my own." Sheepishly, you added, "Maybe you don't know everything about me, either.”

"S'pose I don't," Atsumu hummed, reaching for his glass of water and downing it in one go. You watched him tilt his head back, your gaze unintentionally tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his Adam's apple. "Maybe we outta change that."

Silence lapsed over the both of you like a gentle tide — a wordless acknowledgement of the friendship that had developed so naturally between you. You might not have known everything about each other, but judging by the sincerity on Atsumu's face, you knew there would be plenty of time for that.

You stretched out your legs so they were parallel to his. "So what are you going to do on your leave of absence?"

"Dunno," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Probably go the gym. Cry myself to sleep."

"No," you drawled, nudging his knee with your own. "Why don't we start by watching a movie tonight? Your pick."

"Ya don't have any studying to do?"

"I do," you admitted. "But I'm pretty drained after my shift. That professor really talked my ear off." A soft groan escaped your lips as you stood. "We can order takeout, if you like — oh, and there’s an iced vanilla latte for you in the fridge.”

Atsumu was taken aback. "Ya brought me one?"

"Two pumps of syrup, just how you like it." Pausing, you added, "I even asked for skim milk. You know, so you don’t blow up the toilet like last time."

“Ya heard that?!”

“I smelled it! I lit all the candles in the apartment because of it.” You bit back your smile as you said, “You’re lucky I didn’t burn the place down.”

Before Atsumu could pick his jaw up off the floor, you were already out the door, laughter bouncing off the apartment walls like sunbeams off a pane of glass.

He didn't understand how you did that so easily — how you always seemed to know what he needed, how you remembered the things he liked without being told. In just a few short minutes, you had sidestepped the walls he had carefully constructed around himself, gaining full access to his tethered heart.

It was unnerving. Terrifying, even. It made Atsumu feel seen for the first time in months.

You didn’t deserve that. No matter how bad things got, you deserved better.

He hadn’t realized he’d let you get that close.

And that — that was the scariest part of all.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

[babyflorencee]

Little Spoon

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The bedroom is bathed in a soft golden light, the kind that makes everything look honeyed and surreal, like a memory you don’t ever want to forget. The window is cracked open just enough for the summer night breeze to slip through, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of passing cars. The sheets smell like vanilla and clean linen, and Harry—faint traces of cologne, whiskey, and something sweet from the fruity drinks he kept stealing from Y/n at the party.

Harry's sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets, his dark curls a mess against the pillows. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, and his smile—wide and lazy—hasn’t left his face since they got home. Harry giggles, out of nowhere, shaking his head against the pillow.

“What’s so funny?” Y/n asks, still standing by the bathroom sink, brushing her hair.

“You,” Harry sighs dramatically, turning on his side to face Y/n. “You’re so far away, and I dunno why. Why are you over there?”

“I’m just getting ready for bed.”

“Don’t care,” he pouts. “Need you here.”

Harry flops back onto his back, letting out an exaggerated sigh, as he throws an arm dramatically over his eyes. “It feels like it's been forever. You’re taking forever. I'm so lonely in this big, cold bed without you. I'm practically wasting away from loneliness.”

Y/n rolls her eyes with a smirk, setting her brush down. “It's been like five minutes.”

“Feels like hours,” he mumbles dramatically, rolling onto his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. “Missed you so much. ‘S not fair. I’m all alone. So cold, and so lonely. I might not make it.”

Y/n laughs softly, taking her time as she applies lotion to her legs. “You’re so dramatic.”

“M’not,” he whines. “You don’t even care about me.”

Y/n peeks at Harry through the mirror and finds him pouting, arms crossed over the pillow. He wiggles closer to her side of the bed, reaching a hand out, fingers stretching toward her. “Come back. Please? You’ve been gone for, like… like… years.”

“Have not.”

“You have.” Harry groans, flopping onto his back. “I could die. Right here. In this bed. Just… perish.”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head. “Wow. What a tragic ending.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, voice muffled against the pillow. Then he gasps dramatically, eyes wide. “Baby. Babe. What if I die and you can never kiss me again?”

“Oh my god,” she snorts.

“No, really! That would be so sad. Like, Romeo and Juliet sad. Like, the saddest thing ever.” His bottom lip trembles, but it’s exaggerated, too much to be real.

Y/n bites her lip, suppressing a smile. “I’m pretty sure you’re not dying.”

“Can’t be too sure,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Only one way to save me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A kiss,” he whispers dramatically, peeking at her through his lashes. “Just one. To revive me.”

Y/n crosses her arms. “So you’re sleeping beauty now?”

Harry grins, goofy and wide. “Yeah. I'm the prince, and I need a kiss, princess.”

Y/n shakes her head, pretending to ignore him as she moves on to moisturizing her arms.

Harry gasps, offended. “Wow, you’re just heartless.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” He shifts, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “I’m just a poor boy. Cold and alone. With no kisses and no one to love.”

Y/n gives him a pointed look. “You are so drunk.”

“No, m’not,” he giggles. “I’m just wanting some love”

“That’s for sure.”

“I know you like it,” Harry says smugly, his voice slurring slightly.

Y/n doesn’t answer right away, just smirks and turns back to the mirror.

Harry lets out a groan. “Why are you still over there? What could possibly be more important than loving me?”

“My skincare.”

Harry gasps again. “Skincare over Harry?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been shot. “M'gonna cry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I might.”

Y/n rolls her eyes but takes her time finishing up. Harry watches her the entire time, big green eyes sleepy and lovesick, his smile dopey. When Y/n finally turns off the bathroom light and crawls into bed, Harry immediately latches onto her, pulling her into his arms.

But then, as quickly as he moves, he stops. Stiffens. Shies away.

Y/n raises a brow. “What's wrong?”

Harry buries his face in the pillow. “Nothin’.”

She leans in, brushing a hand through his curls. “What is it?”

Harry mumbles again, but it’s completely inaudible.

Y/n smirks, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t catch that.”

Harry groans, dragging the pillow over his head. “S’Nothin’. Now leave me alone and go to sleep.”

“No, tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me, or I’ll go back to the bathroom.”

Harry gasps, horrified. “You wouldn’t.”

Y/n moves like she’s about to get up. Causing Harry to panic, grabbing onto her arm. “Wait! Wait, okay! Just—stay. Please.”

Y/n smirks, victorious. “Then tell me.”

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, and then, in the softest voice, he murmurs, “I wanna be the little spoon tonight.”

Y/n's heart clenches. She lets out a wide smile, tucking her arms around his waist and pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re so cute.”

Harry groans, his face burning, but he still melts into her embrace, his fingers curling over hers, pulling her closer. “M’not cute.”

Y/n presses another kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger. “The cutest.”

“No, take it back,” he whines, voice muffled as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

“Nope.”

Harry groans again but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he pushes back against her body, fitting as perfectly into her arms as he could, causing the heat of his body to settle against hers, as if he were made for this. Harry exhales deeply and contently, as his fingers traced absentminded shapes against her forearm.

The city outside hums, as the breeze whispers through the curtains. Harry mumbles something that sounds like “I love you” but Y/n doesn’t ask him to repeat it. She just smiles, pressing one last kiss to his curls before they both drift into sleep, tangled together in the quiet hum of the night.

But then Harry wiggles again, turning in her arms just enough to face her, his eyes fluttering open with a drowsy smile. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey,” she whispers back, brushing some of his curls out of his eyes.

“I’m so happy right now,” Harry murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re so warm. And you smell so good, too.”

Y/n laughs softly. “You’re so drunk.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Harry giggles, tightening his arms around her. “But I still mean it. I love you. Like… so much. And I wanna stay like this forever.”

Y/n feels her heart swell, warmth spreading through her chest. She cups his face, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead, then his nose.

Harry giggles, scrunching it up. “That tickles.”

Y/n grins, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You’re adorable.”

“Stop,” Harry whines, hiding his face into her neck but still laughing. “I’m supposed to be, like, cool or whatever.”

Y/n runs her fingers through his curls, pressing one more kiss to his nose. “You’re perfect.”

He hums, his grip on her tightening, voice soft and dreamy. “M'gonna marry you someday.”

Y/n smiles against his skin, her own cheeks heating. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he sighs. “Best idea I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, hugging him closer. “I think so too.”

And with that, Harry finally drifts off, the happiest, most content little spoon in the world.