#but also i learned a lot so...learning by doing...sounds stupid but it is the best way to learn something

[kaddyssammlung]

Happy Easter :)

[adore-gregor]

the way i think about learning and education changed sm compared to when I was younger

[tariah23]

Man….. :(

[yenhan]

TF141 & International student neighbor on the verge of a crisis

Next - Masterlist

a/n: f!reader

Synopsis: a tiny, itty bitty breakdown.

You didn’t cry when you moved into your flat. A few tears spilled when the kettle refused to boil, and the radiator wheezed like it was dying, but that hardly counted. You weren’t this close to a soul-shattering mental breakdown in four different languages and two whole personalities. Nope. That was just being a successful woman, completely in control of her life. You lived in a flat that could be described as vintage, or one good gust from collapsing, as your best friend kindly put it when you called. It had four walls, a roof, and the washing machine only flooded the kitchen every other week. It wasn’t the worst deal in the world. At least you didn't have spiders building their little lego-web houses on the ceiling. That would be disgusting.

However, you spent your first night on the couch wrapped in every hoodie you owned, scrolling through your phone with the Wi-Fi from the library nearby that cut out if you breathed wrong, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into.

The move to England had been impulsive, at least that’s what your parents said. “You’re barely out of high school, sweetheart. Isn't it too soon?” But you wanted to prove you could do it; be independent, get a degree, build a career. Whatever that meant. You didn’t know yet. Those stupid tik toks about girlbossing your way through life didn’t help much, either. Classes were hard. Work was harder. You cleaned tables at a café full of old ladies who judged your every move, then crammed lectures and assignments into your evenings, falling asleep to the sound of cats screeching in the alley outside your window.

And then there were your neighbors.

The first time you saw them, your eyeballs nearly popped out. Four men who looked like they’d walked out of an action movie trailer. Broad shoulders, broader chests, paired with alertness that made you sit up straighter when they walked by. Pavlov's a bitch. One of them wore a beanie and had a beard that probably intimidated children. Or made them laugh, it depends on who you ask. You bet he worked as Santa Claus during Christmas time, that beard would do wonders. One limped slightly but moved like he’d break into a sprint at the slightest excuse, he also had a nasty scar on his head. One always had his baseball hat up and gentle eyes. And the last one… he wore sunglasses even on cloudy days and didn’t speak unless he was being sentenced to death. You nicknamed them The Lads before you even learned their names. It was honestly a really bad attempt at copying the British accent, a silly little inside joke meant only for yourself.

It was the limp that pulled you into their circle. Soap. His real name was Johnny, but everyone called him that. Something had happened to him. Not a car crash kind of injury, and surely not a oops-I-got-a-paper-cut issue. Something else. A kind of hurt that reeked of bloodshed and gunfire. He looked so cheerful despite it all... you envied his lack of self-restraint. He helped you carry a box of books up the stairs when you dropped it.

"You don’t look like a librarian." You tried to break the ice.

He grinned. “Cheers, lass. Ye don’t look like yer old enough to be living alone.”

“Rude,” you replied, winded. “But fair.” You became something like their mascot after that. Or a stray pup they all silently agreed to look after.

Price knocked on your door the night your power went out. Just handed you a flashlight and an extra blanket and left, didn’t even wait for a thank you. Gaz noticed your bike had a flat and fixed it without a word. Ghost, well, Ghost scared you a little. A lot. But you never said it to his face. It wouldn't be polite, would it?

You weren’t supposed to become attached to them. They were four grown men with lives and a bond so deep you couldn’t begin to understand. And you? You were just the girl next door. Sweet, a little clueless, a little cheeky, and hanging on by a thread.

You were tired all the time. Tired of pretending you were having the time of your life when really, you felt like you were slowly crumbling. Like the version of yourself that had boarded that plane so full of hope and plans had somehow gotten lost between Heathrow and the broken laundromat on the corner. How could you tell your mum you were regretting everything? How could you face your brother and say that the big sister he looked up to was just a loser? The weather was hell 365 days out of 365, if someone offered you another fish and chips dish you'd crash out, and you were likely forgetting all of the damned languages you spoke because of the humidity eating your brain cells.

Wasn't youth supposed to be the best time of your life? This was the part where you found yourself and laughed and made memories you’d cherish forever... Seriously, what the heck were you doing? You felt cold and alone. Ate one-pound meals at the measly convenience store run by Aunt Wang and listened to her ranting in Mandarin Chinese. What an exciting existence. How dignified.

Until the night you cried in the stairwell. You’d just finished a shift where someone called you incompetent because you didn’t know what a “flat white” was supposed to taste like. Your exam results had come back worse than expected. And your period had started early, like the universe had decided to kick you where the sun doesn't shine while you were already down. Bollocks, Simon's voice rang in your mind. You were curled up by the railing, the hoodie laid over your knees, when the door opened. Boots. Heavy ones. Speaking of the devil, Ghost’s voice scared the shit out of you. “Bad day?”

You sniffled, eyeing him up and down. “No, just peachy. Rainbows and all that.”

“Bollocks." He countered timely. You giggled. It was ridiculous and extremely easy to make your day better. Any of them could with just a snap of fingers. "I'm telling Price y'were here cryin' like a baby."

"Oh, shut it. I'll have you know some of us have beating hearts in our ribcage, Mr. Creep-a-lot."

"Oi, yer fifteen years too young t'make fun o'me."

Perhaps you did have one good thing in your hands, wasting it would be a shame.

[prythiansprincess]

brother's bsf! mattheo who you've had a crush on for years.

but he's only ever seen you as theo's little sister (or so he says).

it doesn't matter that you and theo are only a year apart. your older brother is extremely protective of you and so are the rest of his friends — especially mattheo.

you grew up around the boys, which was a blessing and a curse in and of itself. on one hand, you grew super close to mattheo, but on the other hand, he's seen you through your awkward braces and pigtails phase.

lately though, brother's bsf! mattheo starts to notice you. really notice you.

suddenly, you didn't seem so little to him anymore.

but over the years, your infatuation with your brother's best friend calmed to attraction instead. you've come to accept that while mattheo would always be your first crush, that's all it would really ever amount to. a harmless little childhood crush.

thanks to theo, you hadn't gotten much of a chance to date when you were younger, but now that you were starting uni with the rest of the boys, you were determined to push those silly little feelings for mattheo away and start putting yourself out there.

granted, you had a lot to learn given your sheltered upbringing.

boys had taken a liking to you. why wouldn't they? you're pretty, you're smart, and you're the perfect combination of sweet and sassy, but you were also extremely naïve.

brother's bsf! mattheo had to protect you.

it was his responsibility.

theo trusted him to keep an eye on you. so he did.

・❥・ brother's bsf! mattheo glares at any boy that dares to look at you.

・❥・ brother's bsf! mattheo revs his motorcycle and comes in hot when he sees anyone talking to you, handing you the pink helmet he keeps on him at all times without a single word.

・❥・ brother's bsf! mattheo gives you rides to your dorm and takes you out for ice cream after a particularly hard exam.

it's clear that mattheo has a soft spot for you. no matter how vehemently he denies it.

until the night that everything changed.

it was a chilly friday evening when you happily skipped out of your dorm building, eager to attend your first frat party.

the cute boy in your history class asked you to come with him and you immediately said yes despite not knowing what to expect. it seemed fun and exciting and a little bit dangerous.

as luck would have it, you ran into none other than mattheo on your way out. his sleek black motorcycle was parked on the curb, smoke wafting from his lips as he took a lazy drag of his cigarette. leaning against his bike, mattheo raised a brow as you strutted onto the sidewalk.

"where do you think you're going, nott?"

"to a party, matty."

"with who?"

"a friend."

mattheo narrows his eyes at you. "I know all your friends and they're busy tonight. so which friend is it?"

you sigh in frustration. "just a friend from class. god, you sound like theo right now."

"you're not going anywhere wearing that."

"what's wrong with my dress?"

you smoothed down the front of your red minidress self-consciously, shying away from mattheo's intense gaze. his chocolate brown eyes scanned your body, the heat of his stare dragging along your skin.

"for starters, that dress barely covers anything and knowing you, you'll be cold within the first few minutes."

"I'll be fine, mattheo. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

mattheo crosses his arms, huffing at your statement. "so you told theo where you're headed off to tonight?"

you shrugged. "what my brother doesn't know won't hurt him."

"yes, but he might hurt anyone stupid enough to ogle you in that dress. as will I. maybe I should tell him what his baby sister is up to. better yet, maybe I should come with you to this party, hm?"

"no please," you pleaded. "I just want one night where I'm not being treated like a little kid. can you give me that, matty? please?"

you flashed your best puppy dog eyes at him, knowing that he couldn't possibly resist when you asked so nicely.

mattheo considers it for a moment before sighing in defeat. "fine, princess. but text me when you get there and call me when you're home. don't even think about turning your location off or else I'll send a brigade after you."

"yes sir."

"good girl."

before brother's bsf! mattheo could think better of it, you kiss his cheek and promise to call him later that night.

brother's bsf! mattheo watches you strut away in your tight little dress with a soft smile on his face, fully knowing that you had him wrapped around your finger.

by the time you arrive at the party, it's in full swing. music is blaring, drinks are flowing, and the frat house is packed to the brim with people.

you send a quick text to mattheo to let him know you've arrived before spotting aiden.

clearly, your date was already a few drinks in. he greets you with a lingering hug before handing you a red cup. "cheers, y/n."

"cheers," you respond, clinking your cup against his and taking a generous swig. the liquor burns your throat and aiden chuckles as you try to hide your wincing.

still, it does the job.

you loosen up after a few sips. aiden introduces you to his friends and you smile politely, trying not to squirm out of his hold as he pulls you in by the waist.

it's fine, he's just keeping you close in such a packed crowd. he doesn't mean any harm by it.

at least that's what you told yourself.

until aiden tries to make a move on you in the middle of the dance floor. you already told him that you didn't want to dance, but he insisted.

you could smell the liquor on his breath as he grabbed your hips, moving them along to the rhythm of the song. you tried to put some distance between you, but aiden didn't seem deterred by it. in fact, his wandering hands slide down to your lower back until they're planted firmly on your ass. you attempted to pry them away, but he slurred "relax" into your ear before giving your ass a squeeze.

that was the tipping point for you.

with all your strength, you shoved aiden off while he cursed after you. the lights were blinding as you made your way through the crowd, fleeing to the bathroom.

you had brother's bsf! mattheo's number dialed before you even closed the door.

surprisingly, he picks up on the first ring.

"hi matty, are you — are you busy right now?"

"I'm with the boys. how'd the party go, princess?"

"um, I'm still here and I just really want to go home."

you hear shuffling on the other end. presumably mattheo finding somewhere more private to speak with you. "I thought your friend was your ride home?"

"well, aiden's drunk and he's been getting a little handsy the whole night so I don't really feel safe going home with him."

"what?" mattheo hisses. "you didn't tell me you were with a guy. I never would've let you go off alone with some random prick."

"please don't be mad, matty. I just wanted to have fun without worring about my brother hovering over my shoulder. don't tell theo, please. I'll — I'll figure it out. I'll find another ride."

"like hell you are! drop your location. the boys and I are coming."

"no, please. I don't want this to be a whole thing. if theo finds out, he'll never let me out of his sight again."

you could feel mattheo grappling with the situation. part of him wanted to tell his best mate, but all he truly cared about was getting to you as quickly as he could. after a few moments, he sighs. "fine, I won't tell your brother, but I'm still coming to get you. stay where you are, princess and don't hang up the phone. I'm on my way, okay?"

"you really don't have to —"

the argument dies in your throat when you hear the sound of mattheo's motorcycle starting up. he wasn't going to let you talk him out of this. mattheo was coming, whether you wanted him to or not.

"too late. be a good girl and stay on the line with me, sweetheart. I'm coming for you."

brother's bsf! mattheo pays no mind to the boys as they joke about him meeting up with a booty call.

the only thing that matters to him is getting to you.

brother's bsf! mattheo weaves through campus, revving and racing his motorcycle as fast as it can possibly go.

it's too noisy to talk while he rides, but he stays on the line anyways, listening through one earphone as you quietly hum to help calm yourself. mattheo smiles to himself. it's one of his favorite quirk of yours. half of the time, you don't even notice you're doing it. but he does. he notices everything about you.

mere minutes have passed since you first called him, but it feels like an eternity to mattheo when he finally pulls up to the decrepit frat house at the edge of campus.

mattheo parks his motorcycle on the curb, glaring at the prying eyes trained on him. it's not every day that the mattheo riddle, resident bad boy pulls up to a party looking like he's absolutely ready to kill someone with his bare hands.

he has half a mind to burst into the bloody house and pummel that stupid prick for daring to touch you, but the sight of you approaching stops him cold.

you look flustered and fearful, lower lip trembling as you spill out into the sidewalk. mattheo instantly sees red. he vows to make that motherfucker pay for this.

"where is he?"

"mattheo —"

"where. the. fuck. is. he?"

"probably somewhere inside drunk off his arse. I don't know and I don't care. can we please just go?"

despite his anger, you don't balk from him. in fact, you've got both hands pressed firmly against his chest to hold him back.

brother's bsf! mattheo grips your hips, your noses pressing together as he carefully inspects you. making sure you were alright is the only thing keeping him from committing violence.

"tell me where he is."

though mattheo's words are tinged with fury, his tone remains soft and sweet. his voice is nothing but a whisper because even at his angriest, mattheo would never raise his voice at you.

“give me a name, sweetheart. just give me his name."

"it's fine, matty. he's not worth the trouble."

“he left you alone, at a party where you don’t know anyone, got too drunk even though he knows he’s your ride home and got handsy with you even though you weren’t into it. give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fuck him up right now?”

“I can handle him later. can we please just go home? I'm tired and I just want to be in bed now.”

the cold air makes you shiver as you mentally curse yourself for picking such a skimpy outfit when hours ago you felt foolishly confident in your dress.

brother's bsf! mattheo softens when he sees you trembling. without a word, he takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. the scent of amber and cinnamon envelopes you all at once, lulling you into a calmer state.

"okay, princess. let me take you home."

once mattheo secures the baby pink helmet over your head, he tells you to hang on tight before taking off.

you hug his midsection, resting your chin on his shoulder as mattheo drives slow through the sprawling campus. the streets are empty, but he drags out the ride, wanting to spend as much time with you as possible.

at the strike of midnight, the two of you finally reach your dorm.

although you insist that you're fine, brother's bsf! mattheo walks you all the way up to your door.

the fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you shift your weight form one foot to the other, suddenly feeling shy.

"thanks for picking me up, matty."

"of course, y/n. you know I'd do anything if you're the one asking."

you smile, trying your hardest to hide the blush on your cheeks. "I hope I didn't ruin your night."

mattheo shrugs. "not at all. before you called, I was watching berkshire stuff marshmallows down his throat while the boys cheered him on. trust me, you weren't interrupting anything important."

"still. I appreciate you coming to my rescue and not ratting me out to my brother."

mattheo smiles. "it's our little secret, princess."

the double meaning of the words causes tension between you and the pull that you've always felt towards mattheo feels stronger than ever, tugging you closer.

maybe tonight is the night that you finally feel brave enough to fall.

"goodnight, matty."

brother's bsf! mattheo watches as you get on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek like you always do. except this time, you lean in for a proper kiss.

as soon as mattheo's lips touch yours, you feel your entire body erupt like fireworks. it's everything you imagined it to be and more. his lips are soft against yours, supple and inviting. the kiss takes him by surprise, but once he realizes what's happening, he groans into your mouth, the sound of it filled with need.

dazed and confused, you look up as mattheo pulls away, his big brown eyes scanning your face. "we shouldn't do this, princess."

despite his words, mattheo's hand rests itself on your hip, his thumb brushing gentle circles against your exposed skin. you gulp as he stares at you, your lips brushing, your bodies gravitating towards each other no matter how hard you try to fight the pull.

"is it because of my brother?"

"no," mattheo growls. "we shouldn't do this because I don't know if I'll be able to stop once we start."

"I don't want you to stop, mattheo."

as soon as the words leave your lips, mattheo is kissing you again, and this time, he isn't holding back. you cling onto his shirt as he kisses you hard, the force of it hitting you all at once. his fingers dig into your hips as you bend at the waist, desperately kissing back.

his head is reeling and his heart is pounding. mattheo is drowning in your taste, your touch, your smell. you're every drug rolled into one; seductive and sinful. he's addicted and he can't get enough.

brother's bsf! mattheo doesn't want to pull away. he wants to stay here and live in this moment forever, but he knows that if he does, he'll end up taking everything.

foreheads pressed together, mattheo leans in for one last kiss. this one is sweet and gentle, enough to satiate him for the moment.

"sleep tight, princess. I'll see you in the morning."

"see you in the morning, matty."

brother's bsf! mattheo can't help but take one last look at you, a soft smile on his face when he sees your flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips.

in that moment, he knows he's fucked. you're his best mate's little sister. he shouldn't have kissed you. he shouldn't feel this way for you. he should've stopped before it was too late, but you were both way past that now.

now that he's had you, he won't want anything else. it's you he'll always crave. it's you he'll always long for. and he doesn't give a fuck what it takes to get you.

brother's bsf! mattheo won't stop until you're his and his alone. *✧･ﾟ:*

[harringtonfeels]

teach (part ii of touch)

3.9k | New relationship (friends to lovers) | Shy, inexperienced Reader | Smut with undertones of fluff

Notes: This is a continuation of my one shot touch. You don't have to read touch first, but I do think it's more fun that way.

Reader just wants to blow Steve, if he'll just let her already.

Dating Steve is so natural it's like breathing. It's never awkward the way new relationships tend to be. There are none of those growing pains like you've experienced in past relationships. And if you should say so yourself, you make a pretty good team. You segue easily from holding hands at the diner, to making fun of each other over stupid stuff, to abandoning the movie on the TV screen to make out on your couch.

A big part of it is how thoughtful you both are, and how intimately you already know each other. Steve always double-checks your boundaries, always makes sure you know you can tell him if there's something bothering you, or if you've changed your mind. He's so gentle with you, sometimes so gentle you feel the need to remind him that it's okay to be a little assertive.

Steve is a lot of things. Your goofy best friend, a charming boyfriend, and an enthusiastic lover. He's never selfish, and he's certainly never cruel. Sometimes, you have to focus really hard to remind yourself of that. Especially in moments like these. Because, if you didn't know better, you'd say he's driving you crazy on purpose.

You lean up into a sitting position, your tee shirt falling back down and covering your abdomen. "Steve," you all but whine, reaching out for him. He's shirtless, and his skin is damp with sweat, but you don't mind.

"What?" he laughs. He cups your cheek with his hand as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, then your nose.

Rolling your eyes, you press your free hand to his chest and push him back, firmly but carefully. His lips are too distracting - you'll have to keep him off of you if you want to accomplish anything.

"Why won't you let me?" You've been learning recently how to do the girlfriend thing with a little more… finesse. That includes pouting - at least, when there's something you want. And you're also learning that Steve is a little bit of a sucker for some puppy dog eyes.

"Let you what?" He sounds distracted, and maybe a bit amused, while diving in for another kiss.

Your hand moves swiftly and with purpose down his chest, dropping straight to the button of his Levi's and tugging him in closer. You're still new to this - much newer to it than Steve is. But that doesn't mean you aren't sure of yourself, and it certainly doesn't mean you don't know what you want.

However, while you're angling for something new, he appears to be on a bit of a mission himself.

"Don't worry about that, honey." His tone is chipper, and then his mouth is on yours, and his hands are on your thighs, and your brain is empty.

Steve is a very generous boyfriend, in more ways than one. For your first time, he makes sure everything's just right. The music, the mood, the venue - even the lighting.

He's more prepared than you've ever seen him before. He's bought a pack of condoms to keep in your nightstand, and a bottle of lube as well. You're not exactly old-fashioned, but it's nice that you didn't have to look the lady in the pharmacy checkout line in the eye while buying it yourself.

He makes you cum on his fingers and his mouth first, reddened lips glistening with your slick, and if you were excited to have sex before, now you're aching for it. He never has a hard time getting you interested, but you weren't expecting to feel so satisfied before you've even gotten started.

When he asks if you're ready, you are - absolutely. You palm him through his briefs and moan into his mouth at the feel of him, hard and heavy in your hand.

"Oh, honey," he groans, easing you back down into the pillows, and you can't help but whine a little as he slides his briefs down, freeing his cock.

It's not the first time you've ever seen a penis, but it's the first time you've ever seen Steve's, and with him, everything feels like the first time. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, the shaft hard and ready, tip flushed a dark pink.

"Steve," you sigh, and he kisses you firmly, lovingly, cradling the back of your neck with his big hand.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease, and then his free hand descends on you, rubbing slick circles around your swollen clit. You know there's something you wanted to ask for, but when your hips buck against his hand, still sensitive from your orgasm, you can't remember what you wanted until he swipes the head of his cock through your folds. You feel him twitch against you, and it's intoxicating, the thought that you drive him as crazy as he does you, that you can feel how hard he's working to exercise some restraint. How hard he's trying to make this perfect.

Your grip on his bicep tightens, and by then, you're so worked up, you're not about to ask him to stop just so you can blow him.

The line between emotional intimacy and sexual intimacy becomes blurrier over time. It's only been three weeks since he touched you the first time, but he's gotten really good at making you feel comfortable. You're also becoming more confident asking for what you need, slowly but surely.

Sometimes you don't know how to say what you mean without it sounding overly crass, and if you can't look him in the eye when you make certain requests, or if your cheeks burn with mild embarrassment - well, it's not like you can help it. But each time, he's so encouraging, helps you through it and never makes you feel ashamed to express yourself. As a matter of fact, you're starting to get the idea that he gets a little bit of a thrill from prompting you to be more direct, hearing you say things you never, ever would have said to him before you were dating.

You're getting a lot of practice asking him to modify his technique, or suggesting a new position. You're also getting better at communicating nonverbally, reading his body language and refining your own. For years, you've felt like you could read Steve like the back of your hand, and it felt like there was nothing left to learn. Oh, how wrong you were. There are so many things to want or need now that were never on the table before, and a million more questions to ask, so sometimes you can't imply the things you want to with your hands or your mouth, with a sigh or a moan. And it's moments like that where Steve seems to have the most fun.

The cheesy slasher flick Steve brought home from Family Video is frozen on the screen of his TV, and you're straddling his lap. Your camisole is abandoned on the floor, and a half-empty popcorn bucket and a couple of wine glasses are strewn across the coffee table. Steve's hand is tangled in your hair, his mouth parted with a sigh as you kiss him, nipping and sucking gently at the junction of his jaw and his neck.

"Oh, honey," he groans, other hand gripping your hip, pulling you a little more firmly against him.

The moan that spills from your lips would be embarrassing with anyone else, but the hard press of his erection between your thighs, separated only by a few layers of clothing, has you feeling so needy it's hard to care about much else. You fist the front of his shirt in your hand and yank him closer, kissing him so clumsily your teeth knock against his. Your hands graze the familiar landscape of his lower stomach, desperately working your way under his shirt, and then to the waistband of his jeans.

Breathlessly, you ask, "Can I?"

Steve's hips rut against yours, and his hand leaves your hair, cupping your cheek. He pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against yours, and his eyes are dark with desire. "Can you what?"

You hesitate, mouth feeling a little dry. How are you supposed to ask this without sounding like a frat boy? Steve has gone down on you like ten times now. Why is it so hard to work up the nerve to just tell him what you want when it comes to this?

Maybe it's because all the girls you went to school with talked about blowjobs like they were inconvenient - or worse, an obligation. Maybe you're afraid it'll make you look like a nymphomaniac if you admit you actually want to. Maybe it's because all the pressure is on you to perform properly, whereas with sex, you're working together. Or maybe it's just because you really, really want it to be good for him.

A couple beats pass, and you tell yourself it's just Steve. Why would it bother Steve for you to act like you want him? Finally, you sit back on your heels and bite your lip, fingers poised at the button of his jeans, and you ask, "Can I suck your dick?"

The first time you offered, he seemed to have gotten the memo, but he'd dismissed your request. The second time, you'd been too wrapped up in how good you felt to get the words out. You're not sure what you're expecting when you finally ask again. Part of you irrationally wonders if maybe that's something he doesn't like, or if he specifically doesn't want you to do it.

He hesitates, and you brace yourself for rejection as you take in the uncertainty in his eyes. Instead, he asks, "Are you sure you want to? You don't have to."

Brow furrowing, you say, "Why would I ask if I didn't want to?"

The way he's looking at you, it's like he's trying to decipher what's going on in your head. You haven't seen him so unsure in years, if ever. After a pause that lingers just slightly too long, he replies. "I just don't want you to think you have to do that to make me happy. I wouldn't be upset if you didn't."

You're starting to put it together what this is about. "Steve, I know you don't want me to feel obligated, but I want to. I want to make you feel good. I think about it a lot, actually."

He shifts his hips underneath you, and you gasp quietly at the sensation, the zipper of his jeans rubbing against you through your shorts. His lips tug upward at the corner. "Yeah?"

Nodding, you kiss him slowly, like you mean it. Your hands shake slightly as you begin undoing the button of his jeans.

He lifts you slightly where you perch on his knees as he raises his hips, allowing you to help him shimmy off his jeans. His hand finds your breast through your bra, and you arch slightly into his touch. "Have you done this before?"

You shake your head, a tinge of self-consciousness blooming in your belly. You're determined not to let that stop you. Eyes meeting his, eyelashes fluttering slightly, you murmur, "Can you teach me?"

Licking his lips, he nods and leans back in, pressing a kiss to your lips. Your gaze drops to the briefs still clinging to his hips, and your breath stutters at the sight of the thick outline of him pressing through the cotton. "I've got you, honey," he says, clearly mistaking your interest for intimidation. You smile at the softness of his voice. Sometimes, you still can't believe Steve is yours, that you have the privilege of having your first sexual relationship with someone who cares so deeply for you, who always puts you first.

You climb off of him and settle between his legs, shag carpet pressing into your knees. It's not exactly comfortable, and Steve must anticipate that, because he hands you one of the pillows beside him on the couch and helps you position it between your knees and the floor. Your heart is racing now; you can feel it throbbing in your pulse point.

"You'll let me know if you start feeling uncomfortable, yeah?" he asks, and his tone is serious and soft as he strokes your hair with one hand.

When you nod, he takes your hands in his gently and pulls them to his lap. You lean forward a little, hands settling on the tops of his thighs. Thinking back on how Steve touches you when he's trying to help get you in the mood, you rub his legs lightly, across the tops of his thighs, along the more sensitive skin on the insides of each of his legs. You try to acquaint yourself with every inch of his exposed skin before moving forward, and it might feel a little silly if you couldn't feel him getting more and more relaxed under your touch.

On a whim, you close your eyes and lower your head to press a chaste kiss to the inside of his knee, and you look up at him, hooking your fingers into the band of his boxers.

He inhales sharply, lips parting slightly, and he lifts his hips again, allowing you to remove his boxers. Once they're down to his ankles with his jeans, you slide both garments all the way off his body and dump them in a heap beside you. His cock is hard and flushed, nearly brushing his stomach, and while you're nervous, you can't help but sigh a little at the sight of it. You've spent weeks daydreaming about this, and you don't know why. You don't know why you've wanted this so badly, just that you do, and now you're finally here, and you don't even know where to start.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve takes one of your hands in his and guides it to his shaft, curling your fingers and palm ever so gently around the base of it. Your fingers almost wrap all the way around him, and you feel yourself growing wetter at the sight. You're not sure if his size is average, or if he's a little on the bigger side, but you know you think he looks really good, and you know he feels really good, too. The weight of him in your hand feels natural.

You start to move your hand over him, and he hisses, then closes his hand over yours, stilling your hand. "Not so firm." His voice is low and gentle, not chastising you but guiding you instead.

Cheeks burning, you loosen your grip a little and look up at him for confirmation.

"There you go," he hums. "It's sensitive, so you have to be gentle, especially since your hand is dry." You think back on the times you've tried to masturbate when you weren't wet enough yet, and that makes sense. "Try again."

You cock your head slightly to the side and watch as he lets go of your hand, and you slowly move your fist up and down his shaft. He twitches in your hand, growing a harder from your touch, and it makes you feel something like pride. Your motion is straight up and down, which feels a little uncomfortable with the position of your elbow and wrist, so you loosen your wrist and watch his eyes as you stroke him rhythmically, tugging him slightly to the side.

He groans and leans his head back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. "That's it, baby." His breath stutters, and he asks, "Doesn't that feel a better for your wrist?"

You hum your agreement and focus on maintaining your rhythm, leaning in a little closer. "Is it okay if I…?"

You're sure he'll make you say it out loud, but he doesn't, just nods, locking his eyes with yours. "Go ahead, honey, whenever you're ready."

After another few beats, you use your free hand to steady yourself, pressing it to his thigh and leaning your full weight into the cushion beneath your knees. Hesitantly, you lick a stripe up from the bottom of the head to the very tip, and he tenses, fingers finding the back of your head again. He's gentle, not pushing you closer but offering reassurance.

Feeling a little more confident, you take the head of him into your mouth. You read your friends' issues of Cosmo when you were younger, so you've retained some information on various blowjob techniques, but you're not sure if they're any good. When you wrap your lips around him, you attempt to hollow your cheeks and bob your head slightly, straining to look up at his face.

The hardest part seems to be the multitasking. You're still trying to work his shaft with your hand as you suck on the head, and when you try too hard to look at his face, too, you can feel your mouth filling with saliva. You try to swallow around him but struggle a bit, so you pull your mouth off of him with a pop and then swallow.

"Is that okay?" you ask, voice small, leaning back just a little to see him better.

His lips are red from biting them, and he nods, voice hoarse when he says, "Yeah, baby, you're doing so good."

Once you feel ready, you lean back in and wrap your lips around him again, and he inhales sharply when your back teeth graze the head. You pull away quickly. "I'm so sorry," you say quickly, mortified. You don't know much, but you do know you probably weren't supposed to do that.

"It's okay, it's okay," he insists. "Just gotta be careful with the teeth. You'll get it."

You frown a little and look at the head of him again, steeling yourself. When you take him into your mouth again, you take extra care to suck in your cheeks and open wide enough to keep from touching him with your teeth. After a few moments of practicing with the head, you swirl your tongue around the tip, and his hips stutter. You feel rather than see him grip the edge of the cushion, and his brow furrows.

"Oh, honey," he groans. "That feels so good."

After a few moments of licking different patterns on the tip, noting the reactions they draw from him, you begin bobbing your head a little further down, taking more and more of him with each movement. Soon, your lips are connecting with your hand, where you're stroking his shaft, and you focus on trying to get low enough that your fist only covers the base.

The first time he touches the back of your throat, you gag and pull away abruptly. Steve laughs lightly while you catch your breath, and he strokes your cheek, smiling sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you."

"It's okay," you reply, sounding a little strangled.

While you're looking up at him, you realize he's not looking at you like someone who just choked on his cock, or even like someone who's blowing him at all. Steve looks at you like you're the most important thing in the world.

Like he's in love with you.

"You don't have to take it all," he says encouragingly. "It's hard to do if you have a sensitive gag reflex."

"No, I'm doing it."

He laughs at your stubborn attitude, watching as you wrap your hand around him again. His eyes crinkle in the corners, and your heart swells with fondness.

"If you insist, baby, just don't hurt yourself. If you can't, you can still use your hand to cover the rest. Try to focus on breathing slow and deep through your nose. That should help."

You nod and roll your shoulders and neck, preparing to get back in the saddle. When you take him into your mouth again, you do like he said, and you focus more on your breathing than on fisting his cock with your hand. You'd like to do it all, but you remind yourself that you're just learning and maybe it's better to start with the basics and then do the extra stuff.

This time, when he nudges the back of your throat, you feel the urge to gag, but you stop yourself just in time, gripping his thigh with your hand.

"Oh my god," he groans, hand weaving into the hair at the nape of your neck. "That's it, baby. Keep going."

Before long, your nose is pressing into his pubic bone, and you're taking all of him in your mouth, all the way to the base. Your jaw is sore, but you don't care, because he's making such pretty sounds. When it becomes too much to handle, you pull back to just the tip and swirl your tongue around him, and his hips jerk forward at the sensation. He murmurs sweet nothings, tells you how well you're doing, how good you feel. And when you work your way back to taking him to the hilt, he whimpers.

Pressing your thighs together to alleviate the ache, you begin bobbing your head with more fervor. You're not sure you've ever been so wet in your life, and you want him so badly it feels like you might die. You want to make him cum with your mouth, but you want him inside you, too, and you're overwhelmed by a resounding chorus of need need need inside your mind.

"Baby, babe," he babbles, and when you meet his eyes, he looks like overtaken by pleasure. You can feel the desperation behind his gaze. "I'm - I'm so close."

You moan around his cock, squeezing your thighs together again. You're absolutely soaked. He's never sounded so good as he does right now, and then he says your name like it's both a plea and a prayer.

You can't take it anymore. You pick up the pace, and it hurts - oh, God, your jaw aches - but you don't care.

"I'm gonna cum," he warns, and you've never heard some sound so feverish. "Baby, I'm—Please. Need to feel you."

Your head swims with desire. You've never heard Steve beg before. How are you supposed to cope with that?

You pull off of him, panting, eyes watering with exertion, and Steve hauls you to your feet, looking to you for permission to remove your shorts. When he unzips them, they drop to your ankles, and you step out of them easily. He pulls you onto his lap, and you're on his mouth just as quickly, kissing him breathless.

His cock nudges against your underwear, and you sigh, rolling your hips against his.

"Can I—" He licks his lips, and when you look into his eyes, you can see he's feeling just as self-conscious as you did earlier. Butterflies explode in your stomach, and you take his face in your hands. You don't know what he's asking, and you wait for him to try again. Finally, he chokes out, "I wanna show you how much I love you - please."

You don't need to hear anymore. You don't know exactly what he wants, but you don't think you need to. There are a lot of things left for Steve to teach you, but trust isn't one of them. You know Steve will take care of you, will be gentle where he needs to be. So you kiss him softly, nod against his forehead. And when he stands, panting, you wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to bed.

[pitchsidestories]

What is this feeling ? (1) II Alexia Putellas x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1875

summary: Alexia tells herself you're to young for her, but her heart wants you.

author's note: hi everyone, enjoy the anticipated oneshot.💌

⏩ Part 2

You knew it from the look on her face. You knew before she even made a sound. You knew what was coming and you still were unprepared.

It felt like time had stopped, like you and her could only existed in this small dressing room.

“Listen…”, she said calmly.

In contrast to you, she didn’t seem nervous at all. Her face was unreadable and stern, like it usually was when she was out on the pitch with the captain’s armband on.

You bit your lip, bracing yourself.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Alexia didn’t miss a beat: “This won’t work.”

It took a lot from you to not let out a frustrated sigh.

“It’s the age gap, isn’t it?”

“I’m too old for you.”, Alexia confirmed, her face unmoved.

The room began to feel too tight suddenly.

You shook your head firmly, trying to shake the shock off: “No, that’s not true.”

“You’re too young. Better?”

It all felt like she was trying to make excuses. You were 22 and she was about to turn 31. Nine years weren’t that much. And you were both consenting adults.

The fact that Alexia didn't seem to see this filled you with frustration.

“I don’t care about the years between us.”, you said passionately, maybe also stubbornly.

The older player shook her head like there was no convincing her: “But I do.”

You frowned at her: “That’s your head, not your heart speaking.”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?”, she replied cooly.

“It does matter.”

“Y/n.”

Your name out of her mouth made you stall for a moment.

“Yes?”

“Don’t do that.”, she said plainly.

You cocked your head in confusion: “Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Finally, her voice softened.

“I look at you like I want to.”, you retorted.

Alexia rolled her eyes: “You’re a child.”

“Wrong, I’m an adult like you.”

“You just turned 22.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest. She already thought you were a child so you didn’t care if you looked like one too. “Still.”

“You’ll never stop until you get what you wanted, huh?”, Alexia asked with raised eyebrows.

“Right. I had the best teacher for that.”, you retaliated.

“Oh, you did?”

“Yes, I learned that from you.”

“I know that you meant me.”, Alexia said, rolling her eyes for a second time.

“But you already gave up so I should leave.”

You took one step towards the door, trying to pass her.

“You’re leaving?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”, you asked, lifting your head to directly look into her eyes.

Alexia was left speechless: “I…”

“Tell me what you want, Alexia.”, you demanded.

She looked away, shaking her head: “I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s a lie.”

Memories flooded to the surface, back to the moment when everything seemed possible, and the age difference still seemed unimportant. It all started at your birthday party, which you celebrated with your teammates. Every longer look and touch made both your hearts beat faster.

“No, Cata, there’s no way I’m doing that.”, you shook your head determined.

The young women and you were going all out tonight, and the alcohol made you all a bit reckless except for your team captain. She gazed at you with growing concern.

The goalkeeper grinned: “Do it.”

“Fine.”, you sighed.

Ona watched you in disbelief: “I can’t believe she’s really doing it.”

If there was a test of courage, you wanted to pass it no matter what. Whether on or off the pitch, you were known for being brave and sometimes even reckless.

“Look at Ale’s face.”, Cata chuckled, amused by the stern expression on the older midfielder's face.

Smirking, Jana remarked:” Absolutely priceless.”

“What are you doing?” Alexia's worried voice interrupted the adrenaline rush that had been triggered in you by the task.

“I...”, when you saw the worry lines on her forehead, you bit your lip guiltily. Under her watchful eyes, you suddenly felt very stupid and childish.

She growled:” Don’t ever do that again.”

“It was just a test of courage.”, you tried to play down the whole thing.

The blonde crossed both arms in front of her chest as she warned:” Keep me out of this."

“Can I get you a drink?”, you asked, changing the topic to something more light-hearted with a charming smile on your lips.

“No, are you even allowed to order yet?”, Alexia lifted an eyebrow.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her question: “We’re celebrating my 22nd birthday.”

“It was a joke.”, she revealed, and a shy grin lit up her face.

You returned her smile: “You’re really bad at jokes, captain.”

“I know.”, the midfielder admitted, nervously running a hand through her unbound hair.

Once you realised how nervous she was around you, it put you in a flirtatious mood: “But you look adorable while making them.”

The older woman’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Shut up.”, Alexia hissed, pretending not to be touched by your flattering words.

The blonde could deceive herself, but not you.

“Or what..?”, you boldly  answered her with a counter question.

The midfielder explained; her intense gaze gave the feeling that you were the only two people in the room, even though it was quite full: “You better not test your limits.”

On the other side of the room, the rest of your teammates had followed your conversation from a safe distance.

 “Oh, she’s overdoing it, girls.”, Salma observed anxiously.

Ona cleared her throat and declared fearlessly: “I’ll go and save her.”

You felt Onas presence next to you before you saw her. “Ona?”

“Hey, you can’t stay here all night.”, your teammate said, nodding towards the rest of your friends standing on the other side of the bar.

Alexia replied before you could: “I told her but she’s not listening.”

Her voice was flat, one note like she was bored by you.

Ona forced a light laugh: “Oh, you know her.”

You had enough of this talk. You wanted to get back to your friends and far away from Alexia.

“Yes, let’s go.”, you agreed with Ona.

“Please.”, the defender said, clearly relieved that you didn’t need any more persuasion.

You casually slid of the barstool next to Alexia but your heel got caught on the footrest and for a split second you lost your balance.

Alexias hands were on your body within the blink of an eye, one stabilising your waist and the other holding your hand.

“I’ll help you down.”, she announced but didn’t move.

You blinked at her, too stunned by the situation to realise that you were silently staring at each other instead of doing anything else.

Alexia finally took a step back, leading you down from your seat like a princess.

You pressed your lips together in the closest thing to a smile that you could manage: “Thanks.”

“You’re… welcome.”

Her words came out on two different breaths and she finally let go of you.

Cata wrapped on arm around your shoulder and dragged you away from Alexia: “Let the party continue.”

“Yes, time to party.”, you smiled through the memory of Alexias touch and her lips being too close to your own.

Salma grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the dance floor: “Come on then, no more waiting!”

Grateful for the distraction, you followed and moved your body to the rhythm of the music until a distinctive guitar sound resounded.

You paused with your eyes wide but as soon as you heard Taylors voice sing the lyrics to “22”, you let out a sigh.

“Who put on Taylor Swift?”, you yelled over the music.

“Me! Fitting, no?”, Mapi answered, beaming at you.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was horribly cliché so you shrugged: “Kind of.”

“Ingrid, I told you she’ll love it.”, Mapi said to her girlfriend. You were suddenly reminded of a golden retriever.

Ingrid nodded patiently: “You were right.”

“The only ones enjoying it even more are Lucy and Ona.”

You followed Mapis gaze towards your two teammates who were going all out on the dance floor and looking at each other like they were alone at this party.

In that moment you made a decision. You left the dance floor and went back to Alexia, who was still nursing her drink.

“Dance with me, Ale.”

The older woman raised the hands in defence: “I don’t dance.”

You asked her nonchalantly: “Why not?”

“I just don’t.”, Alexia tried to shrug it off until she noticed your disappointed look.

“Oh, okay.”, you nodded sadly.

The blonde couldn't bear to see you so sad on your birthday, so she gave in with a sigh:” Fine. One dance.”

“Wait, you’re serious?”, you lifted your chin in surprise. The look in her hazel eyes told you that your team captain really meant it. Undoubtedly.

“Yes, it’s your birthday after all.”, Alexia confirmed.

Her serious tone made you shiver in the otherwise hot room.

“Alright.”, you agreed, hoping she didn’t hear the slight nervousness in your voice.

Before it started, the DJ switched from a fast song to a slow one, which brought each couple on the dance floor closer to their partner.

“Oh, no.”, the midfielder muttered under her breath.

As you took the lead in your dance, you assured her: “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

Underneath your guidance, you could feel her heartbeat relax.

“Not too bad.”, Alexia admitted quietly.

At that exact moment, you had the feeling that the two of you were the only ones dancing.

With a smirk on your lips, you observed: “You like it.”

“I..”, she began anxiously and broke off, unable to translate the turmoil inside her into a coherent sentence.

You noticed her struggle and kindly interrupted the older woman:” You don’t have to say anything more.”

“Okay.”

The song had already been over for a few seconds, but Alexia was still holding you tightly in her arms.

Nobody apart from you and her best friend saw it.

Comradely, Mapi poked her captain's side, once she sat down next to her:” You’ve a crush on her.”

“I don’t.”, Alexia laughed.

The defender smiled at her: ”Sure, Ale.”

“That’s ridiculous.”, she huffed.

With a wise undertone, the younger woman responded: “It’s what it’s.”

“You can’t say that about everything.”, Alexia shook her head amusedly.

Mapi grinned at her counterpart: “Why not?”

“It’s not always what it’s.”, the midfielder explained earnestly, feeling like she was talking to a child rather than a grown-up woman.

Her good friend's belief in love was simply unshakeable. That's why the younger player's response didn't surprise Alexia at all, it was full of hope, something she thought she had lost when it came to love:” Maybe it’s more a question of what could be between you two?”

What was the feeling that arose in the midfielder when she looked at you?  Attraction, yes, but maybe deep down it was something more, something that terrified her. Loving family, friends and team-mates was one thing, but loving a person with all her heart was a brave step in her eyes. Was Alexia ready to open herself up to that? But what about the age difference between you?

So many questions which wanted to be answered.

gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/okboomer17/754477277102931968/alexia-labor-omnia-vincit-2022?source=share

[master-muffinn]

Bleach: sitting on their lap in public headcanons

With Ichigo, Renji, Grimmjow and Yoruichi. x reader

Ichigo:

 🍓 I feel like Ichigo would be more fine with you sitting on his lap in a semi-public place, like at the park, library, waiting for the bus/train outside the city or if you are out in the evening together.

 🍓 If it’s too many people around it would be too much and he doesn't like the stares and the whispering!

 🍓 Of course he wouldn't accept it until you have been together for a couple of months at the very least. And you will most likely be the one starting it. Ichigo will be blushing quite a lot in the beginning but be more comfortable after every time. 

 🍓 He would prefer to not do it infront of his friends either, because they probably would make fun of him and that would make him even more embarrassed, but as we know, Ichigo wouldn't exactly let it slide either. 

“Renji, you are just jealous because you are still single!” 

“HUH?! I’M NOT!!” 

 🍓 However Ichigo prefers to be home alone with you and cuddle together without staring, judging eyes. 

Renji:

 🍍 This boy has been watching way too many series and movies by now. Taking inspiration from different romance shows and adding it to your relationship so that he can be more romantic and be the best boyfriend there is! 

 🍍 I can see him being the one who straight out asks you about it when you two are watching movies together and then regret it because it sounded so stupid! 

 🍍 If you accept it, Renji will be so nervous and awkward and be blushing the whole time. He’ll be wondering if you can hear his fast going heartbeat through his chest. ‘Why does it look so easy in the movies???’ If you start talking about the movie later he will have no idea what youre are talking about.

 🍍 Renji would also be more fine with semi-public places while being awkward and blushing most of the time even after doing it for months. He would rather have you on his lap in privacy and cuddle. Then you can have all his attention and no one would disturb you. ;) 

 🍍 If you were sitting on Renji's lap in a semi-public place and his friends would see you two like that, teasing would have a great effect on Renji at that moment.

“SHUT UP ICHIGO!! NOBODY ASKED FOR YOUR OPTION!!” 

“Geez Renji, y/n will go deaf if you scream like that”

Grimmjow:

 😾 This boy is a little complicated. You sitting on his lap is both prideful and embarrassing. He wants you to sit on his lap in the public and show off his amazing s/o and that they are obviously taken. But at the same time he’ll want you all by himself ALONE with no prying eyes. 

 😾 It’s the same with Grimmjow, you’ll have to be the one to start sitting down on his lap first, after that he’ll be the one who will grab you the most. He’ll find your physical affection very comfortable and calming. 

😾 Romance and relationship in general is something he is lacking, which is something he gets to experience and learn more and more with you. In the beginning he probably wouldn't be too fine to be lovey dovey in public, then it would be embarrassing. But the longer you are together the more pride and love he takes in you and your relationship so later on you can basically sit on his lap whenever you want and wherever you want, unless he’s out and fighting or training. Grimmjow will be happy either way and he won't take peoples crap either!

Yoruichi:

🐾 Yoruichi is literally a cat. She has been sitting on your lap in her cat form long before you have been in a relationship. So of course it’s no big deal! 

🐾 It doesn't really matter when or where, as long as she gets your attention and affection, but don’t forget to let her sit in your arms too! Yoruichi loves both and people who staring doesn't affect her. 

“Y/n what we do is none of other people’s business, just ignore them okay?”

🐾 Yoruichi wouldn't mind sitting with you in front of her friends either. Kiskue and the others wouldn't judge. Everyone in that shop is so used to your relationship by now. 

🐾 But don’t forget that Yoruichi also has a lot of energy and likes to mess with people and prank them, so watch out! Like that time when she was sitting in Byakuya's garden with you in her lap and was making out with you in front of him just to get a reaction. Byakuya was not happy.

“You are a disgrace���Leave immediately!”

“What? Are you uncomfortable? Or just jealous, hmm?” 

“...Bankai, senbonzakura..”

Thank you for reading! If liked, please reblog! 💖 Have a good day!

Post made by @master-muffinn

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Fae King ////// Flawed Love

All too often there are the stories of fae who despise humans, coming to love a single human who negates everything they've believed. But what about a fae who doesn't hate humans? In fact, he adores them having a whole wing of the castle dedicated to the transmogrified humans he so lovingly collects protects. Samaritans, scholars, and kind people alike lived to chat and entertain the immortal king.

But the Fae King likes to wander. To look at the ever-changing human populace with admiration. He's learned by now that his humans at home are just as entertaining as the ones he sees on the outside. That he shouldn't snatch every human who interests him a little, especially when he's been doing so well (he's on a streak of 5 decades!) There's just one human he's willing to break his hard-earned streak for.

"Ew who would bring their kids to this stinky place!?"

"My Dad, (Y/n) he's also the one who owns the cabin we're going to."

"Well, it better have some AC or I'll be having words with him!"

You, the absolute opposite of the kindhearted tree-hugging protagonist are the hardened city-kid with an eternal sneer. Many who know you will question if you'd kick a puppy that was too loud or not cute enough...and the answer is that you wouldn't because it’d dirty your seasonal Birkin boots. And somehow the human-loving Fae is obsessed.

"Your majesty this is the human you've been drooling over?"

"Yes! Aren't they lovely?"

"They're something."

Fae King doesn't care if the group you're with burst out laughing when he proclaims his love. After he unintentionally terrorized them all with the oddly acting animals and the branches grabbing at them on their journey. It takes a lot for all they've been through to laugh in the face of being responsible. 

"Did you think I was joking? Is that why you're laughing?" 

"Nah man we're laughing because it's them you like!"

"Yeah, if you're a masochist who wants to die alone!"

Despite the usually jovial nature of the Fae King and general goodwill to humanity, he does have an especially morbid sense of justice. Along with his occasional forgetfulness as King of the Fae he was able to spell those he fought with thoughts alone. But that has nothing at all to do with this particular situation as he promises you he has no idea why your friends are still laughing.

"I promise my love, I have no idea why they keep laughing!"

"Its probably because you said something stupid."

" My Venus--"

"Ew and stop with the nicknames it makes you sound like an incel."

"Whats an incel?"

Because you are who you are the Fae King will know all he has to say for you to join him is jewels and diamonds. Never before has he been so willing to lie about what he could do for you if you gave him a sliver of your attention. It doesn’t get any better when you do catch him in a lie.

“Wait! (Y/n) please don’t leave me–!”

Slap

“You idiot! Did you think I’d stick around if you weren’t putting me up in the best hotel? Unbelievable.”

“My bedroom!”

“What?”

“The King’s Master Suite is three times the size of these rooms…will that make you happy?”

“Hmmm…but only for a night.”

“Yes! Thank the stars I’ll carry your bags up for you!”

“As you should. Now lead the way.”

“Gladly!”

Turns out the benevolent, human-loving Fae King is quite fond of your harsh treatment. More than willing to tear century-old curtains because you scrunched your nose at them. Letting you wear the crown on his head because you complimented him. Everyone is aghast at how far the Fae King is willing to go just for you.

“Your majesty, can I ask why you like…that human?”

“Why? Because I do of course!”

“But don’t you prefer the other humans you have? The ones with kind hearts and compassionate morals?”

“My love has their flaws but nothing gets in the way of true love!”

[spiceofvy]

Stray kids with a bunny gf in heat🫣

SKZ with a bunny reader in heat

a/n: i am really excited to post this, i wanted to dabble into hybrids for a long time! so thank you so much for that request!

cws: nsfw, no gendered terms but reader is heavily implied to be afab, bunny-hybrid!reader, heats/mating cycles, reader is nesting (changbin, hyunjin), dom skz (except for jisung) sub-ish!reader, bottom!reader, mentions of food/eating, lots of talk of sex drives

Chan: Your heat is his favorite time of the year. Gets all giddy and excited shortly before your heat hits. He is up for the challenge. His stamina matches yours during heat and he can freely fuck you stupid. Outside of your heat he always feels the need to hold himself back, as to not be too much for you, but during your heat, he takes what he needs and in turn gives you what you crave. So much demeaning praise, you are so good for him, so good but also so needy. Most likely to forget that the two of you need food and water in between the fucking, sue him. Because the sex definitely makes up for it.

Minho: He is very strict with you during your heat. He knows how harsh heats can be on your cute body and he will not let you starve yourself just so you can get fucked more. Stupid needy thing. You will eat. You will drink water. And you will sleep. No ifs or buts. Ties you up if you don't listen and keep on humping him. Doesn't have as much stamina but is more than willing to fuck you stupid on a toy or his fingers instead. All in all he is very strict with you but also super loving. He only wants your best after all.

Changbin: Such a sweet boy. He can't quite keep up with your sex drive but is super down to you just taking what you need from him when he gets tired. Sleepily gets you off with his hands or by letting you ride his thigh as he collects himself. And when he has the energy again he pushes you face back into the mattress and fucks you until your eyes roll back and you drool all over yourself. We love a versatile king. Also loves to feed you with sweets and praising you through every phase of your heat. Makes sure your nest is only filled with the softest pillows and the fluffiest blankets.

Hyunjin: He stays in control the whole time. No matter what happens. You are in such a vulnerable situation, you need someone to take care of you and your heat clouded mind. He is not scared to use toys to get you off, overstimulates you so your resting phase is longer after and he can provide you with food. If you feel comfortable leaving your nest he would also carry you to the bathtub and give you a deep clean. During your first heat he also tried to clean your nest a bit. But he quickly learned that bunnies can bite too. So now he swallows down his need to prepare a clean bed for you.

Jisung: Everytime your heat rolls around he tries to keep control of the situation but everytime he ends up laying on his back with you riding him like there is no tomorrow. Just lays there and whines almost as pitifully as you do while you use him to chase your next orgasm. Honestly, an outsider could think that this was heat too, just from the sound he makes. He sets alarms to remind the two of you to eat and drink some water. The food he prepared is not the healthiest but it does its job. Cuddles you the whole time and does not want to leave your side.

Felix: He is super close to being able to match your sex drive. Fucks you so well, caging your body with his as he takes you from behind. Whispering the filthiest praise into your ear. Petting your hair before pulling it roughly to hear your pretty little mewls. When you are finally tired he feeds you while rubbing your stomach. Massaging your tired muscles. Loves if you sleep on top of him, or something similarly close. Also, he doesn't care about how hot you get, you will not sleep without a blanket. Not on his watch. When you stir him awake again, because you got horny, he would totally make you grind on a pillow, before he takes mercy on you fucks you again.

Seungmin: He always plans out how your heats go beforehand. This may be unromantic or boring to some but it serves well. And makes sure that you are never dissatisfied. He knows his own body and drive very well, and after spending he couple of heats with you, he also has your waves figured out pretty good. He knows exactly when its enough for you to just be fucked with a toy or when you need his dick to turn you into a stupid mess. So he knows how to preserve his energy so he is ready for you during the height of your heat. He is also super protective of you, no one gets to be close to you. Not even a call from the outside world.

Jeongin: Not really a surprise, but he also matches your stamina perfectly. I would even go so far to say that his drive is even stronger than yours. He fucks you through the waves of your heat easily, just to then smile at you softly and feed you a perfectly nutritious meal. He keeps is dick deep inside you so you can feel sated during your sleep, and when you wake up horny, all you need to do is grind back against him to immediately get off again. He is probably the best heat partner out of all of them. But after your heat he does need 2-3 business days off to recover. But honestly, this just means that you can get some nice after-heat-cuddles.

[russellsppttemplates]

It is what it is (Lando Norris)

It takes Lando a while to notice how you always assume he has something else to do whenever you need his help

Note: english is not my first language. It's slightly angsty but has a good ending! ✨️ is this good, is this bad? I'm not too sure

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: alludes to the lack of quality time between a couple

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Look at you, beautiful girl", Lando twirled you as he stepped inside your bedroom, noticing you were getting ready, "are you going somewhere?".

"Yes, I have an appointment at my optometrist", you smiled, "Anna should be here soon to take me".

"Is it a joint appointment?", Lando squinted.

"No, you muppet", you giggled, "my optometrist needs some exams on my eyes, so I have to today because that's when the ophthalmologist is there and they recommended that I had someone take me there because they want to dilate my pupils and, depending on how it goes, my sight might be a little affected for a couple of hours", you offered, making sure you had everything you needed to take.

"You could've told me and I would've taken you", Lando added, accepting the kiss you placed on his lips.

"I thought you had a meeting this afternoon", you reasoned.

"I do, but I could have moved that around a little and fit everything into the schedule", he reasoned back.

"It's okay, don't worry about that", you mused, "That's Anna - bye, handsome!", you kissed his lips one last time before making your way out and downstairs to meet your friend.

The ride to the office wasn't long, you and Anna taking the time to catch up and learn about the new gossips she had to update on you.

"And how's Lando? I haven't seen him in a while", Anna stated after you sat in the empty waiting room waiting to be called.

"He's been busy lately - he has a meeting today with the team, they're also launching a new collection for Quadrant and they're investing a lot in the social media content, so he's been busy recording a lot of videos and stuff", you offered, never shy whenever it came to talk proudly about your boyfriend's achievements, "and we're also on the countdown for the season to begin, so there's training and meetings and all that".

"Sounds like a busy schedule, no wonder why I haven't seen him - I'm surprised you even see him at all", she joked, grabbing her phone once she remembered she had something to show you.

You were surprised yourself at every bit of time you were able to spend with Lando, as lately it had become near impossible to do so apart from sleeping in the same bed, and even that was rare as he was often travelling between Monaco and England on a weekly basis.

"Ms. Y/N Y/L/N?", the doctor called you before you stepped inside the exam room, starting with the procedures.

The check up itself didn't take long despite the twenty five minute wait for the drops to dilate your pupils, "Don't forget your sunglasses, Y/N!", the secretary reminded you before you stepped outside.

"Thank you, have a good afternoon", you smiled before tapping Anna's shoulder, "Give me your arm so I won't trip", you mumbled.

"Is your sight that bad? The doctor said it should be good enough", Anna worried as she was about to open the door.

"No, it's fine, but if I'm clumsy on any good day, imagine how probable it is for me to fall on some stupid step or raised cobblestone", you argued as you both chuckled, making your way to her car.

Before you went home, your friend stopped by the pharmacy to get you the relief eye drops you'd have to follow the medication regimen with for the next few days, stopping by your favourite bakery so you could enjoy some sweet pastries.

"Can you even read these prescriptions?", Anna asked as she read the regimen you had to comply with.

"Stop making fun of me, you say that as if I'm almost blind", you swatted her arm before reading - trying to - the words, "fucking hell, am I?".

"I can barely read them myself, Y/N! They're so tiny I don't know how they give these to eye patients! Is Lando going to be home soon? That way he can help you with this", she suggested.

"Can I even see the time? At least that", you mumbled as you looked at the large numbers on your phone, "he'll probably take a while still - I can set the alarms on my phone and I'll memorise the different drops", you tapped your head.

Once it was all settled and you assured Anna she was fine to go home and you'd be perfectly well on your own, you walked her to the door before going back to the living room as the sun was no longer shinning outside and you could lay down on the sofa.

The nap you were taking was cut short by the door being shut, making you rub your forehead before an alarm rang. Getting up to head to the bathroom where you kept the supplies, you found Lando taking his trainers off.

"Hi baby, how was your appointment?", he asked as he put the footwear away.

"It was good, need to go and apply my drops", you smiled, turning the light on and grabbing the right box of medication.

"Is that what the alarm was for? I thought we had gotten a new security system I was not aware of", Lando joked as he watched you wash your hands.

"Yes, these instructions are so small to read that Anna thought it would be best to have alarms so I wouldn't mess it up since it's still a little bit blurry", you mused.

"Do you want me to do it?", Lando offered.

"No, it's fine - I'll have to do this for the next 48 hours anyway, so I might as well get used to it", you stopped talking so you could apply them, almost holding your breath until the drops fell.

"My lovie", Lando whispered on your ear once he felt it was okay to approach you, hugging your mid section from behind and kissing your neck as you put your hands on top of his.

.

You were adding the finishing touches on the present wrapping, the shiny gold string fiddling between your fingers as you tried to tie a bow with it around the paper bag handle, when Lando stepped inside your home office.

"That's looking pretty", he mused as he handed you the tape you were looking for on your desk.

"Thank you", you offered before placing the sticky piece down, "the bag is quite plain and even though the present inside is what will get her attention, it should come in nice wrapping".

"Who is this for?", Lando asked.

"It's for Maya's birthday tonight", you smiled, admiring your work.

"Is that tonight? Fuck, this week has flown by", Lando cursed, "I can't make it - will you let her know, please? I'm sorry I can't go", Lando pouted, "if she has to pay for having made the reservation with me in it, let me know and I'll pay my part!".

"I had already told her I'd be going alone, so she made my reservation without a plus one", you mused, remembering the conversation that came around the time of booking the venue.

Lando was leaving late in the afternoon for a trip with Max, Ria and some of the Quadrant athletes, so like you predicted, he couldn't attend the dinner with you.

"Oh", Lando offered.

"Max told me about your plans and when Maya told me the date, I assumed you wouldn't be able to go", you explained with a tinge of sadness and conformity in your voice.

"Well, it seems you guessed right", Lando chuckled despite the uneasy feeling on his chest.

You seemed sad that he wouldn't be able to join you, but at the same time you didn't? Lando put the topic at the back of his mind for now, heading to the bedroom so he could pack the last minute things.

"I was thinking of wearing this dress", you said once you joined him inside a while later, taking the steamer out of your drawer and setting it up to get out any kinks and wrinkles.

"That one is one of my favourites on you, but then again, they all are, I think", Lando mused, kissing your cheek as you waited for the steamer to be up for use.

"Figured it would be a little cold out tonight, so I chose this one, and that coat over there", you pointed.

"You'll be the most beautiful in that room", your boyfriend complimented, pecking your lips before he let you continue your task.

A couple hours later, Lando found himself restless as he scrolled through the posts and stories of Maya's birthday dinner, "Ria", he called, "what would you think if your partner made plans without you because they figured you wouldn't be able to go anyway?".

Ria exchanged a look with Max and Tara before she spoke, "did they ask me if I could go?", she offered.

"They didn't, but truth be told it's not like you have given them much to believe that you could join them", Lando mumbled the last part.

"I think I'd be a more 'it is what it is' at the start if I saw that it was something out of their reach, but I'm not sure I'd put up with it if it was genuine disinterest from them", Ria explained.

"It's not disinterest! They're just busy and shit at organising their schedules", Lando groaned defensively.

"Okay, okay", Ria calmed the room down once Max squinted his eyes at his bestfriend, "then I guess they would have to make sure they do better", she shrugged, "is everything alright?".

"Yes, yes, sorry for snapping just then", Lando offered her a tight lipped smile.

Everyone carried on with what they were doing before the existencial question, Max seemingly as stuck on it as Lando, "is this an hypothetical thing or are we calling people by their names and working this out?", he whispered to Lando.

"It's fine, just a loose thought I had there", Lando grumbled.

.

Lina 🤎

Hi, Y/N!

You won't bother, don't worry - I think I miss having someone other than my boyfriend to talk to 😅

Would it be okay if you visited in the afternoon? Our morning routine is still a shitshow (literally and figuratively), so we would appreciate it if you came after her first nap, around two pm?

One of Lando's older couple friends had a baby a couple of weeks ago, and while you were dying to meet their baby boy as soon as he came earthside, you were respectful of their adjustment period so you waited for them to be up for visitors and were ready to comply with whatever schedule they offered.

"It smells nice in here", Lando commented as he stepped inside the kitchen, "what delicious food are you making and can I please have a bite?".

"I made a little tray for us, but the big one is to take for Lina and Theo - I can imagine they don't have much time for cooking, so food is welcomed by them", you smiled, setting the cheese grater down once the measurements were like the recipe stated.

"Are you going to visit today? I have some streaming with Max scheduled for this afternoon", Lando added.

"Lina told me that this afternoon was the only time they could handle some visits - you know how it is with new parents and newborns and all of that -, I didn't want to change their schedule when I have some flexibility with my schedule", you explained, "I'll give the little one a big kiss from you, then?".

"Well, in that case, I should give you two big kisses then - one for you", he kissed your lips once, "and then this one for the little one", he smiled before kissing you again.

You shared lunch in a semi comfortable silence, Lando telling you a bit about the stream they would be doing and you sharing some work updates from your end.

When Lando gets a text in the middle of watching Max send his virtual car to the curb, "who might that be that's brought such a big smile to your face?".

Lando checked the photo to make sure the baby's face was covered despite his friends having already posted him, tuning the phone to show the camera, "Y/N met our friends' baby boy for the first time", Lando gushed.

"That's the little nugget", Max cooed, "she looks very happy with a baby on her arms", he wiggled his eyebrows, "have you met him already?".

"No, I haven't yet! She could only go this afternoon and we had this so...", Lando tsked, admiring the picture one last time before setting the phone back down. The baby was perfectly nestled on your arms, hiding his face on your chest as you looked down at him with a big smile on your face.

Now that he thought about he, he hadn't seen such a big smile in quite some time, and he was really starting to believe he was the reason behind it. He was absent, more than usual and more than the standards of your relationship considering his job.

The air had shifted around you once you came back from meeting Lina's little boy and Lando could only pinpoint it to the subject he thought about earlier.

"Lan, did you hear what I said?", you asked as you showed him another picture of you touching your noise in the little boy's.

"It's just... are we okay, baby?", Lando questioned. Even though it seemed like he was the only one that felt there was something wrong - different at least -, surely you had noticed it too.

"What makes you say that?", you asked.

From the serious tone, your boyfriend mentally slapped himself. Whatever it was, he was on the wrong and you had indeed noticed it too.

"I've noticed you don't ask me for help with stuff like driving you somewhere or accompanying you to places, which is fine if you want to do things on your own, I'm not saying you can't have your own independence, you know I'm not controlling you in that way - obviously! Fuck, I'm rambling! What I mean is, I have been taking notice that you just assume that I'm not available, and your assumptions are not unfounded, and it makes you sad, and I myself am upset that it has reached this point", Lando stated.

"It's not great, I can tell you that, but we knew it would be like this, your schedule is not the regular nine to five - it is what it is, Lan", you argued.

"But it's not, not all the time anyway! I want you to know you can always count on me!", Lando stated, "Y/N, you are one of my priorities and I never want to let you down - I'm going to make sure that from now on I spend more time with you and that I'm by your side a lot more", he rubbed your palm, "damn, I was so stupid, I'm sorry, lovie".

"Lando, these things happen", you attempted, "now we can work on it".

"You can count on me for little and big things in life - you need to go to the post office? I'm there helping you put the letter in the box. Dinner with your friends? I'll find it in the schedule to go and I don't care who I have to tell no to!", he pointed his finger, "I never ever want you to feel like you don't belong in my life or like I don't want to be involved in yours, Y/N - I'm so so so sorry that it took me so long to notice it".

"It's in the past", you smiled, pecking his lips softly, "now, look at this cute little nugget, he's so cute, we have to go there another day so you can meet him, and I think Theo won't mind another traybake".

[sunnwila]

dimples

high school best friend! sam winchester x f! hunter! reader

⋆༺♱༻⋆

summary: sam winchester transferred to your high school in your junior year. he lasted all of five months there but in that time, you grew close enough for sleepovers. you reunite on the hunt years later... closer to his brother than he likes honestly. it's shocking that you can hunt for all of two minutes before he sees you take down a vamp.

warnings: some very mild angst, some fluff. jealous sammy and dimpled sammy. nerdy sammy. LOTS of back story i got carried away, sorry. some shit head big brother dean too. brief j*hn winchester mentions... idiots in love!

i love sam's dimples, what can i say.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

The first time you met Sam you were freshly seventeen in your junior year of high school. Sam was just a year below you, despite being seventeen himself (he was forced to stay back a year because of moving around so much. This severely irked him).

No one had the nerve to go up to the new kid, he was lanky and had a mean resting face that dared people to mess with him. You didn't have it either honestly, but luckily for you, you didn't need to because Sam had beat you to it.

"Is that Frankenstein?" he asked, pointing to the book in your hand. His locker was a couple across from yours, but the hallway was nearly empty. He shut his with a click before striding over to you with his head tilted in curiosity. You looked down to the book you had taken out, it was the assigned reading for your Honors Lit class, and you gripped it at the realization that he was talking to you.

"Uh. Yes," you stumbled over your words which made him quirk a half smile, his dimple peeking out at you. Suddenly the giant kid with a size too small shirt and shaggy brown hair seemed completely harmless. You smiled back and from that moment on you'd been inseparable.

Dean had teased Sam endlessly about his "girlfriend" when he would pick him up from school and see you lingering by his side on the stairs.

"Girl and friend, Dean. She's my friend who happens to also be a girl," he would correct annoyed as he slid into the passenger seat, inconspicuously looking back out the window at you.

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted with a chuckle and a glint in his eye.

Sam and you would pour over books, endlessly dissecting plot structure and sharing character analysis. He would geek out about whatever he was learning in history while you carefully listened and drew little cartoons of him while he babbled.

(His face would light up when he saw these drawings of himself, or sometimes it would be a panel of cartoon-him and cartoon-you doing something silly. Every time, he'd insist you sign them before carefully putting it in-between the pages in his book).

He'd purposely annoy you with arguments like who the best classic author was (he said Salinger, you said Steinbeck) and why Dally in the Outsiders was the best Greaser (you were quite fond of Ponyboy).

Sometimes you'd read in silence together, the white noise and the sound of his breathing enveloped you and you'd sometimes (a lot of times) get distracted peeking over your page to study his face and the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated.

Practically attached at the hip, you two would walk down the halls together, laughing about whatever stupid thing you could think of to get a peek at his dimples.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't harboring the teensiest crush on him.

What wasn't to love? His smile was the cutest. He was a full head taller than you, and then some. He loved to read all of the same books you did, and he was ever the gentleman, kind and reassuring. And he was funny! Most of the time you were in stitches when he would crack the rare joke (apart from his little sarcastic comments).

The only problem was that you didn't know a thing about him. All you knew was that he moved around a lot and had a brother. There was never a mention of his mother or father. The one time he had mentioned John was brief, and it was that he was kind of a hard ass because he was a Marine. The subject was quickly dropped in favor of Napolean and Napoleonic code, something he started reading about when he got bored in Pre-Calc the week prior.

You'd never gone to his house, but he would often come to yours, first to study, then to watch movies, then for dinner. Eventually he was spending weekends at your house. Your mother thought the two of you were dating. You had to shush her anytime she thought to bring it up with a sly smile at dinner. Sam wasn't stupid, he knew, but politely continued to eat with a faint blush on his cheeks, pretending he hadn't heard.

It irked you that you two could share so much of your time with each other, but you still knew so little about him. He knew everything there was to know about you. You'd only learned the little things, his favorite color (orange, the burnt siena kind), his favorite book (The Catcher in the Rye), how he liked his eggs in the morning (over medium, not too runny, but enough that he could dip his toast in it), and his favorite band (Alice in Chains). You took what you could get, and you never let it show, but it disappointed you that he didn't trust you to tell you. You were so vulnerable with him, did he think that you wouldn't understand?

One Friday he didn't come to school. You texted him a quick where r u??? before going into your shared chemistry class. You didn't hear from him the whole day and didn't see him again until that Tuesday. Worried sick, you pushed him for answers, especially for the black eye he was sporting. He dodged your questions and gave halfhearted attempts to change the subject until eventually he shut you out. He moved out of town a day later with no explanation. He had sent a goodbye text, but that was the last you heard from him.

For the next few years, you thought about Sam. All you'd had left of him was his Radiohead CD and an arbitrary green t shirt. You'd texted and texted but got no response.

When you'd graduated top of your class, you wished he was there. When you'd had no prom date, you wished he was there. When you were applying to schools you wished he was there.

When your mom got killed by a rugaru in your second semester of your freshman year of college, you'd wished he was there.

And like any hunter worth their salt, you dropped everything and began hunting the thing that killed her.

For a while you were chasing your own tail in circles. You came across other small hunters, but it wasn't until you'd met Bobby that you were finally able to track the thing down. All those years of your mom insisting on kick boxing and Jiu Jitsu classes were starting to make sense.

She'd been a retired hunter and a close friend of Bobby's. He told you that your father had been killed by a shifter a month before you were born, leaving your mother in ruins. Instead of aiming for revenge, she swore it off to keep you safe.

Fat load of good that did you.

Rugaru dead, you found yourself spending a lot of time with Bobby. You didn't go back to school, but you did start carrying your own weight around the scrapyard and helping with the hunter information hub.

That's how you met John Winchester. And evidently Dean.

When you first met them, you couldn't believe it. Were these the infamous Marine father and annoying brother Sam hardly spoke about back then? You couldn't believe it. You obviously hadn't known before that Sam's family were hunters, but things began shifting into place in your mind when you put two and two together.

He'd clam up when the subject of college was brought up, all the weekends he'd spend at your house, avoiding questions from your mother about where his family was and if he'd told them he was staying over. All the ominous talk about not wanting to go into the family business. Your heart swelled at the thought of seeing him again, only to deflate when Bobby had to explain that Sam wasn't in the life anymore. It was then you realized that all the time Sam spent with you, was to escape.

Pieces of you were glad Sam got out. His reluctance to mention his dad then made sense. But what stood out in your mind most often was his fiery blush when you told him that with the way he talked himself out of trouble all the time, he'd make a decent lawyer

Even three years later, you still thought about him. You missed him.

So you got to know the parts of Sam he hadn't shown you before.

Dean took to you almost immediately. He remembered you from that beat-down-town years ago and enjoyed annoying you just as much as his brother once had. When you got on your feet again and started hunting, you'd tagged along with John and Dean, eager to get out. When John got sick of lugging you around, calling you dead weight (not without a sneer and a scoff of disbelief from you) he sent you and Dean to small-fry jobs.

A month or two in, Dean and you found a rhythm. Find the monster of the week, do your homework, scramble to kill the thing, celebrate with a few beers and a night at a dive.

You hardly brought up Sam. It was a touchy subject. From the tidbits you'd gathered on drunk sappy nights with Dean, Sam had left without looking back. He'd run off to college and was determined to leave this life and his brother behind. Dean hadn't spoken to him in years. You weren't sure if you should tell him that it didn't sound like Sam to leave with no contact, but then again, he had done the same thing to you. You'd only been friends for five short months; you had no idea who he could've grown up to be.

John brought him up when he needed to point out how much better Sam was at research then you were, or really anything you did-- Sam was better. The pride in his voice mixed with the disappointed look in his eye encouraged you to keep your mouth shut. Usually, you'd just sit there and fume, you hadn't known the man long enough to spit something back, sufficing with muttered fuck you-s under your breath. You hadn't wanted to upset Dean, you knew how highly he thought of his father and had decided it wasn't worth it.

Fire would rise in your chest when you saw the pained look on Dean's face anytime his dad talked about Sam. In the months you'd gotten to know him, you became fiercely protective (something that made Dean wildly conflicted, he was the big brother/mama bear... having someone else dote on him was foreign, but strangely not unwelcome).

Usually, when John started on a tangent, you just removed yourself and lugged Dean with you. He kept the shouting up as you two stalked off to the Impala, or the Motel, or wherever he wasn't. It was around those times where he would send you two off on your own.

That's how you'd found yourselves in the Impala on the way back from a hunt in Raleigh. It took a week and a half to find a haunted doll hiding in someone's attic, but you'd managed to salt and burn it without much damage. Two years of hunting with Dean put you at a comfortable ease during a hunt and the two of you pretty much knew the ins and outs of each other, both as hunters and as friends.

On the way out of North Carolina, Dean decided to call John, to check in and see how his hunt in California was going. Fourteen missed calls later, Dean was worried. Bobby hadn't heard from him, and John wasn't necessarily a friendly hunter, so none of Bobby's hunter friends had seen or heard anything either.

The car was silent while he figured out what to do in his head. His resolve never faltered, his gaze trained on the road ahead.

"I think I should get Sam," he said.

"What?" The idea of seeing Sam for the first time in over five years almost made your heart stop. But you didn't want to be selfish. it wasn't fair to bring him back because of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Our dad's missing, Sam deserves to know," he had replied, knuckles tightening on the wheel.

"Dean, are you sure we should even bring him back in?" As much as you missed Sam, you respected him more.

"Our Dad is missing," he said with a tone of finality that shut you up. You'd have plenty of time to argue with him later, it wasn't worth it right now.

"I'll drop you off at Bobby's," he added.

"What?" you repeated, starting the fight you'd planned for later. There was no way you were sitting this out, you'd told him as much, but he wouldn't have anything of it. This was something he felt he didn't need to drag you into. You didn't even like his dad anyways, he had said. Which was true but hearing him say it felt like a slap in the face, as if you weren't allowed to want to help Dean, someone who had become family.

The car ride was silent after your argument. You'd gotten out of the Impala without a word, lingering to see if he might say something. When nothing followed, you stood there like an idiot for another second before a simple "Goodluck" fell from your mouth and you shut the passenger door on him. You'd turned and trudged into the ranch ahead, too stubborn to actually give a proper goodbye.

For days you wanted to cry. You hadn't heard anything from him, Bobby mentioned he had called when he got Sam, but nothing else. When you got over yourself, you realized that in Dean's stupid protective head he probably thought he was looking after you. Whatever he thought had made his dad disappear, he didn't want you to get hurt. That's what Bobby had said. You tried to not let it sting whenever you thought about him thinking you weren't capable or a good enough hunter.

A week passed when you heard about Jess. Still nothing from Dean or Sam. You hadn't known he was in a relationship, neither did Dean, by the way he spoke about him--at least, he had never mentioned anything. A twinge of regret pierced through your heart, and embarrassingly enough, disappointment. That stupid high school crush never really went away. But you'd only sort of gotten to know him, briefly, you had no claim on him.

You didn't call Dean to check on them. You didn't want to press, you were sure Sam didn't need that right now.

Another week passed with nothing from them, and you quickly got sick of sitting around all day and decided to go back out and hunt. Overthinking your relationship with the both of them wasn't doing you any good. Bobby was worried for you, but you'd amassed quite the skill since your mother died, your fighting skills far passed anything Dean could muster, and your aim was getting better as time went on.

You took a car from the yard--something you'd been tinkering with for the time you'd spent there--and packed a bag. Then the gear. And after a nice roast dinner you'd made for Bobby and yourself, you hit the road, following a lead on a djinn down in Tennesse.

And just like that, you had spent a year hunting on your own. Not necessarily with the same efficiency that you achieved when you were hunting with Dean, but you handled your own well enough. Hunts took a little longer, but then again, you were finally on your own, no crutch to fall back on. It was relieving as much as it was lonely. You missed sharing breakfast or lunch or dinner with Dean at a diner, laughing when he stuffed his face.

And the money thing was kinda hard. Dean handled the fake credit cards. You'd learned how to hustle pool and so instead of committing credit card fraud, you used good old-fashioned misogyny to win a couple hundred bucks from loser guys at bars.

It was one of these nights that you found yourself at the edge of a pool table, hustling a group of guys that had a little more to drink then they probably should've.

Five of them crowded around the other side of the table, four cheering on the fifth who was currently aiming for a striped ball in the corner pocket. You'd beat two of them already, but somehow the others couldn't believe that you, a woman, could not beat them. Let alone have the smarts to hustle them out of their money. It must be beginner's luck they chortled amongst each other.

The laughing stopped when you beat the fourth guy. And like clockwork, the fifth stood up to play. You had to roll your eyes. Did they even consider the fact that you were hustling them? You couldn't tell if they were more upset that they were losing their money or that it was a woman they were losing to.

Either way, pride got in their way. Another win, and you had over half a grand in your hand. You had to laugh.

"Good game, hon. You almost had me!" you shook your head in amusement.

"You bitch," the fifth man snarled. Two other men saddled up behind him, giving menacing stares.

They weren't so amused, apparently.

"Freaky, huh? I mean, are you sure you guys weren't going easy on me?" you couldn't help yourself as you pocketed the cash. You hoped the kitchen was still open, maybe you could get some mozzarella sticks to celebrate your win.

"You think you're funny?" One guy said.

"Oh no! A little girl like me? Funny? Can't be," you grinned. A small audience was forming as people began to take notice of the hostility radiating off of the men. You knew when to quit it, so you smiled extra sweet at them, an evil glint in your eye, before bending down to pick up your bag from the ground.

It was at this precise moment that a few things happened at once. First, the fifth guy (the ringleader if you will) stepped forward, no doubt, with the intent to scare you. You had anticipated this and popped up, ready to play dirty and kick his knees in, when another man from the audience stepped in with a deep "Hey!" You got a brief flash of leather, and, unable to stop what had already been put in motion, side swiped the fuck out of the man stepping up to your defense.

"Shit!" he cursed as he went down. Shocked and apologetic, you turned to help him up, barely catching a glimpse of your victim, when a heavy hand came crashing down on your shoulder and pulled you away roughly. Assuming it was one of the other pissed off guys, you turned and swung in the general direction of what you assumed to be your attacker's head.

A familiar "oof" came when you made contact with a cheekbone. Immediately your brows furrowed, your hand slackened and your heart dropped. It couldn't be.

Your mouth was too slow on the uptake and Dean beat you to it. Hauling himself up from the floor where you'd swiped him down and called your name in disbelief. Your eyes widened when you realized.

Your head whipped around to see Sam standing behind you holding his cheek, bewildered.

"Holy shit!" you looked between Dean and Sam, the angry men stood forgotten on the sidelines of the whole ordeal, unsure of what to do. You paid no mind as you looked back to Sam again, not convinced this wasn't a dream.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked as he pulled you in for a hug. You embraced him and shoved your face in his leather jacket.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you quipped, slapping his shoulder.

"Getting attacked by you, even though I was about to defend your ass!"

"My ass doesn't need any defending, thank you," you smiled.

"Right. You had it handled," he rolled his eyes. You slapped his shoulder again.

"Yeah, I did. I'm a way better fighter than you," you shrugged.

"You are not."

"Bobby thinks so."

"What?" That got him. Before you could unleash your witty reply, Sam cleared his throat behind you, turning both yours and Dean's attention to him. He wouldn't look at you at first, just made big expectant eyes at Dean.

"What?" he said, clueless. Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a soft smile on his face.

"Hi," he said, all sheepish.

"Hi!" You beamed and immediately pulled him in for a hug. He was at least three inches taller than the last time you'd hugged him. He smelled the same, though. Just the feeling of his heart beating against your cheek pulled you back to seventeen, pining after him and laughing in the echoing hallways.

"What are you-"

"Why are y-" you both cut each other off with an awkward chuckle as you pulled away.

"Sorry, you go," you smiled.

"No, no. You first," he gestured with his hand, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, dimples peeking out in amazement.

"Uh, before you two start, can we sit? I need a beer," Dean chimed in with a grimace. You rolled your eyes, Sam mirroring your expression before turning to the nearest booth.

When you guys settled, Sam across from you and Dean on your right, you ask your question again, "Why are you guys here?"

"Hunt, duh," Dean replied, taking a sip from his beer. You saw Sam's eyes widen in annoyance in Dean's direction.

"Oh. Right. Sammy, she's a hunter now," he explained. Your head spun back to face Sam.

"Wait, you didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he replied, half joking, half butthurt at being left out.

"Well, I assumed your brother told you," you shrugged, looking to your right and fixing Dean with a look.

"Sorry, but he would've gotten all worried and distracted. You know how he is," he busied himself with a ring on his finger, avoiding eye contact.

"You're an idiot," you said before turning back to Sam with a smile.

"So you're a hunter..." he trailed off.

"Yeah, have been for about... four and a half years now?" you sighed.

"Wow. And that's how you know my brother," he said, eyeing Dean.

"Yeah. Went hunting with him and John a few times. Then with Dean for like, what? Six months?" you turned to ask.

"Eight," he replied.

"Eight months I guess," you said turning back to Sam. He had an unreadable look on his face. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it looked like jealousy, but that couldn't be. He'd tensed up when you brought up John too, and by the clear lack of him around, you understood that they still hadn't found him. You didn't push the subject.

Sam's hands rested on the table in front of you, his fingers woven together and fidgeting. He didn't say anything for a while, just looked at you like you could disappear any moment. He seemed like he wanted to say something but refrained. Maybe for Dean's sake, maybe for his own. You wished he'd just say it.

After a moment he smiled, "Man, I can't believe it's you. I thought for sure you'd be a professor or something," he shook his head.

"A professor? Why?"

"Well, I was gonna say doctor, but you hated chemistry so much back then..." he trailed off. You laughed.

"Yeah, you're right," you wanted to reach out and touch his hand just to feel him. You still didn't believe he was right there in front of you, after all the years of wishing you could see him, hear his voice.

Dean spoke up then, "We're here about some disappearances."

"Me too. It's a vamp nest," you said without turning your head. You couldn't stop staring at Sam. He was looking down at his hands, so you drank him in without freaking him out. His hair had gotten longer; he kept his bangs though. The urge to trace the moles on his face made your fingers twitch and you had to squeeze them to remind yourself of where you were. Of who you were to him. His girlfriend had only died just last year.

"You're quick," Dean replied, "when'd you get here?"

"Mmmm, last Friday?"

"Huh," Sam chimed in, studying your face. Though he tried to mask his surprise at your efficiency in finding the monster in a short few days, his mouth gave it away, twitching in disbelief.

"Right, well, y'know where it is?" Dean sipped the last of his beer and motioned for another.

"Oh yeah, couple buildings down from here, was gonna head over after I gambled for my lunch money for tomorrow," you grinned. Sam laughed at this.

"Alright lemme finish this and let's go," Dean motioned.

"Are you hijacking my hunt?"

"You don't want help?" he tutted.

"Yeah, yeah," you swatted him away as he poked your arm. Sam watched this interaction closely, his jaw clenched. You only caught a glimpse of it before he steeled himself and his face went back to neutral.

Dean finished his beer in two big gulps and you and Sam followed him out and to your car.

"You fixed this thing up?" Dean gestured to your mustang.

"Mhmm, this is Cherry," you puffed up your chest in pride as the boys looked onto your cherry red muscle car.

"Creative," Sam quipped with a teasing smile. He peeked into the car, eager to see what you had in there. He wanted to take in as much about your new life as possible. He felt like he missed so much.

You popped your trunk, grabbing a machete and a book from your duffle.

"Hey, you still like this book?" you called out to Sam whose head was almost fully in your passenger side window. He shot himself up so fast, you were surprised he didn't hit his head. Sheepishly, he walked around to you where you held out your beaten copy of Frankenstein that the two of you had gushed over all those years ago. A laugh bubbled out of him, and you warmed at the sound.

"You still have this?" he reached out to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"Well, yeah. It's in your hand, isn't it?"

"Still a smartass then," he shook his head with a fond smile.

"Says you," you nudged his shoulder. Dean had wandered off to the Impala to grab their gear, so it was just the two of you alone. "You can have it," you said pushing the book closer to his chest. More fluttering in your stomach at the contact with his warm hands.

"No," he tried to argue but you shushed him.

"Seriously. I've read it so many times, I can recite whole pages, word for word." He laughed again at this, and you beamed.

"Fine. But I'm giving it back when I'm done."

"Sure, you are."

"I missed you," he said after a moment of silence. You looked up at him.

"I missed you too."

"I wanted to call so many times," he said.

"That's okay," you looked down and kicked at a pebble with the toe of your boot.

Both of you weren't sure what to say next. The Impala started with a roar in the distance, filling the silence between you two.

"I'm sorry about Jessica," you whispered. You didn't want to bring her up. You didn't know how Sam was doing; you hadn't ever talked about anything so vulnerable regarding his life with him before, but you needed him to know.

Before he could reply, Dean rolled up, window down and head sticking out his driver's side window.

"Alright, let's dust these fuckers, you comin'?"

"Right, yeah" you said, swinging the machete in your hand. Sam cleared his throat, eyeing your swinging before rounding the car and entering the passenger side. You sidled up to the trunk, tossing the weapon in with the others and swung around to the back, sat comfortably behind the brothers.

"How long you been huntin' again? Last I heard from Bobby you were hangin' around there," Dean asked as he sped off.

"Eh, year or so? I go back to Bobby's every coupla months though," you cracked your knuckles in the silence. Sam's head turned ever so slightly in your direction, you wouldn't have caught the motion if you weren't staring. He didn't say anything for the whole ride, but Dean did a whole lot of talking for the both of them, asking how you've been, commenting on the new machete, but never bringing up John.

When you got there, Dean assigned roles. You took the back entrance; he and Sam would take the front. You had a mean swing, and weren't worried, but Sam's eyebrows furrowed when Dean announced that you would be alone. He looked about to speak up, but you interrupted before he could say anything.

"I'm good. There's only like three of them in there, last I checked. I could do this alone if I wanted," you couldn't help the boast. Dean laughed and clapped his brother on the back.

"She ain't a little girl anymore," he strutted off (because yes Dean Winchester struts). Sam followed but not without a look of reluctance to you, "Be careful," he urged.

"I always am," you smiled before jogging to the back. You peered through the windows but saw nothing but shadows. It was pitch black out and there were no lights on inside. The back door opened without any force and you made your way inside, eyes scanning what looked to be the kitchen. You heard muffled footsteps to your right, but turned to see it was just Sam.

"Anything?"

"No, there's gotta be a basement," you replied. The two of you began searching for a door until you heard a grunt come from the room next to yours. There were a few more and what sounded like a punch landing. You and Sam ran to aid Dean in whatever he was dealing with when another vamp descended on you. You swung your machete around and nailed it in the arm. It hissed and swung its other arm at you, grabbing your shoulder.

In the mess of fighting, you caught a brief glance at Sam fighting his own vamp, it getting dangerously close to his neck at points.

You ripped from the vamp's grasp and kicked it down, knocking the wind out of it before swinging your machete around and slicing its head clean off. When you turned to see how the boys were doing, you were met with less success than yourself. Dean had gotten his weapon wrestled from him and thrown to the side.

You charged up to the vamp attacking him from behind and swung, but he moved at the last second and you cut through the air, nearly missing Dean's nose. His eyes widened before turning his attention back to the vampire, turning its attention on you, pissed.

Dean grabbed for his machete on the ground and charged, nicking its shoulder. You turned back to Sam who was far too preoccupied with watching your back that he was losing his battle. His arm was bleeding as he tried to fight off with his other good arm. As you made your way to help, the vamp kicked him across the floor, Sam slammed his head on the cabinets in the fall, and you winced. You turned back to Dean, who had his vamp cornered and was talking smack (because he always has to use that smart mouth). Seeing he was perfectly fine; you turned your attention back to your vampire.

Pissed, you took one swing to the unassuming man and his head thudded to the ground, rolling as you rushed over to Sam.

"Jesus," you said as you helped him up. He groaned. "Why the hell were you watching me?" you remarked, annoyed.

"I wasn't!" he defended, propped up against the cabinets behind him. Footsteps echoed behind you.

"Sammy what the hell!" Dean said behind you.

"He didn't bite you, did he?" you asked, brows furrowed and eyes scanning his body. You looked closer at the wound on his arm, and he hissed.

"No."

"No need to be pissy about it, c'mere," you hoisted yourself up and held out a hand for him to take. He grabbed it and used the leverage to pull himself up as well, not meeting your eyes.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," you scolded.

"Yeah, well I didn't," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"I dunno why you were so worried about me. I told you; I was fine. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied with a huff as he walked through the back door.

"That was it right?" you turned to Dean who had been silent for the time being.

"Yeah, those assholes came from the basement. I checked after I wasted the other vamp."

"Wasted?" you teased.

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes with a smile. You turned your attention ahead of you again and saw that Sam was much further ahead than before, so you jogged to keep up with him.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled.

"You have a huge gash on your arm, and you hit your head like a motherfucker," you deadpanned. Normally, this would crack at least a small smile from Sam, but he said nothing keeping his eyes trained ahead.

"Listen, I don't understand why you're upset with me," you tried again.

"I'm not upset with you," he reluctantly responded after a moment.

"Then what's up?" More silence. You saw him chewing on his cheek, contemplating what to say next. "C'mon, you're my best friend," you nudged his bad arm, and he winced. "Shit, sorry."

He turned to you with a look in his eye, scanning over your face before speaking, "I wasn't expecting you to be so close with Dean."

You almost laughed, but for Sam's sake you reeled it in. A smile creeps up on you, and you watch his face for a second before replying, "Are you jealous, Winchester?"

He shook his head in disbelief and a small laugh fell from his lips. You smiled, "I missed that laugh." Your cheeks flushed at the moment of vulnerability, and you hesitated to meet his gaze. He dipped his head, so you had no choice but to look up at the puppy dog look he was giving you as the two of you walked right up to the side of the Impala.

You both stopped, saying nothing. You weren't sure what to say. Sam didn't have anything to be jealous of. Dean was your family, sure, but Sam was this big, never ending, sense of warmth. You held on to that stupid crush for years. How could you explain that to him?

You looked at him and studied his face. His lips were pursed slightly and his eyes darted back and forth over your face. You wished so badly to reach out and touch him but refrained, reminding yourself for the umpteenth time that it wasn't your place. Sam still said nothing.

Dean finally reached the two of you, clearing his throat with raised eyebrows. Some sight the two of you must've been, Sam bloody and beaten, and you sheepish and wide eyed, turning from each other to look at Dean.

"Don't you two look cute," he remarked with a smirk, making Sam choke in surprise, his neck stiff with embarrassment. Your cheeks went red, and you squinted at Dean as if you could inflict physical pain through a look. He looked smug as he glanced between the two of you and the both of you took a step away from each other at the implication.

"I need a cigarette," you both said at the same time. Then, "You smoke?"

𖤐

not really proofread... sorry !

[sapphicmsmarvel]

"hey bitch, what's for dinner?"

Cassian dares his besties (eris, lucien and tarquin included) to ask their mates “hey bitch, what’s for dinner?” 

some are short. some medium. one large (for a headcanon type fic). Also this is mostly dialogue because I didn't want to keep repeating body motions (they shrug a lot, they cuddle a lot, etc, etc, etc). 

Azriel:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?” He really tried not to let his voice crack, but he couldn't help it. The idea of calling you something foul outside the bedroom is painful. 

“Based on the way your voice got quieter for that word, I'm going to assume this is a stupid dare from Cassian. And that you aren’t actually that stupid to talk to me like that.” You said as you continued to stir the pot of soup. 

“I’m so relieved you know me that well.” He couldn’t help his sigh. 

You snorted as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If I ever actually talk to you like that, take Truthteller and use it, cause it’s not me.” 

You let out another snort. “My big baby.” You said, taking your hand up and ruffling Azriel’s hair as he pressed kisses to your neck. 

Cassian:

He came in so confident too. But quickly was humbled. 

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?” 

“Wanna try that again?” He doesn’t get scared of much, but your calm tone in this moment will strike fear into his heart.

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head. 

“And what did we learn?” 

“Never say that stuff to my spouse and mate who I love very much?” He asked. 

“Mhm.” you hummed as he came up to hug you. “Speak to me like that again and I’m cutting your hair off.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Rhysand:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

He didn’t even get a chance to breathe after that sentence because you turned around with the knife in your hand. Seriously, what an idiot approaching you with that stupid shit while you’re cooking dinner. You’re hungry and holding a knife. 

You stabbed it into the countertop, it made a twang sound and shook from the force of you stabbing it. 

“The fuck did you just say to me?” 

“…” 

“Go on say it again since you wanna be all cocky.” You leaned against the counter with your arms crossed. 

“I love you.” Not much scared him, but his wife humbled the shit out of him. 

Your mouth made a flat line and your brows raised as you said, “Mhm.” 

“And I’ll do whatever you want for a month. Hell, the rest of our lives.”

“Mhm.” You ripped the knife out of the counter and then turned around and continued chopping vegetables. 

“Honey?”

“You know, I think I’ll invite Feyre and her wife over for dinner. They wouldn’t call me that.” You continued. 

“Baby,” he began and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Maybe I’ll invite Cassian and Azriel’s wives too, they’ll understand what it’s like to be married to the stupidest motherfucker we know.” 

He pressed a kiss to your clothes shoulder. 

“Are you done?”

“You have no idea the doghouse you’re in right now.” 

“Does it help if I told you that Cassian dared me.” 

You set the knife down and turned around in his arms. “You’re still an idiot.” You wound your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with baby hairs growing at the nape of his neck. 

“I know.” 

“Good,” you said and smacked his ass.

He yelped. 

Feyre:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“What crawled up your ass and died?” You asked. 

She couldn’t help but giggle. “I love that you humble me.” 

“Me and Rhys’ wife have a load on our hands considering you fools are best friends. You have got to stop influencing each other.” 

She hummed at the thought of her best friend and his wife. She put her arms around your waist and you leaned into her. “One day, we’re gonna snap and kill you.” She kissed the area between your neck and shoulder. “We have the best wives.”

“You got that right.” You reached around and smacked her ass. But you miscalculated and hit her hip. 

Morrigan:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“Nothing, slut. Bend over the table and spread your cheeks, if you think you can talk to me like that I’ll show you otherwise.” 

 You sat up from your spot on the couch looking at her with a “WTF” expression. 

The woman was too stunned to speak.  “It was a joke but now I’m horny.” 

You laughed, “into degradation are we?” 

“Didn’t think I was, but hey you learn something new everyday.” She shrugged, actually thankful for Cassian because now she could explore this new thing with her wife. 

Amren:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?” She opened the door to your shared home to yell. When she heard nothing but silence she was concerned, she could smell you, you were home. 

“Y/N?” She called. 

She walked into your living room from the entry hall to find you standing there. Staring at her with sad, wide eyes. 

“Love?” 

“….what’d i do?” Your voice wavered and she couldn’t take it. She pulled you into her arms and rocked you side to side. 

“If I ever speak to you like that, you better smack me across the fucking mouth.” Was all she said. “Why’d you say that?” You sniffed. You two pulled away from each other, only enough to lean your foreheads together. “Cassian got it in his big dumb brain that it was a good idea to say that to our mates.” She whispered and wiped your cheeks with her thumbs. 

“He’s an idiot.” You deadpanned. 

“I'm aware.” “And you’re an idiot for doing it.” 

“I deserve that.” Was all she said before she kissed you. 

Nesta:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

You were silent and she looked at you from her spot on the couch. You were staring at her wide eyed, your eyes began watering. 

“Y/N?”

“That really hurt my feelings, Nes.” You were about to cry. 

She shot off from her spot on the couch and crawled into the chair you were sitting in. She pulled you into her chest. 

“Oh baby.” She said, “it was a stupid fucking prank from Cassian.” She whispered at the top of your head, kissing your hair. 

“Tell that overgrown bitch of a bat to watch his back.” Your voice was muffled from her tits. 

“I will.” She scratched your head lightly. 

“Nes?”

“Yes, my love?”

“You ever speak to me like that again, I’ll make you wish you never met me.”

She let out a laugh like breath through her nose. “Okay, baby.” 

“Tears and all I’ll pummel you.” You declared and she kissed your head, rocking you back and forth. 

“I know.” 

Elain:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“I will grill your flowers if you talk to me like that again.”

She cackled like the witch she is. 

Lucien:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“Soap.”

“Soap?” 

“If you’re going to talk to me like that, you’re getting soap. Bitch.” You threw a jar of soap at him. “Go put that on spaghetti.” 

Eris:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

You whipped off your shoe and threw it at him. Feyre taught you that move. He didn’t duck, he just let it hit him because he knew his dumbass deserved it.  

Tarquin:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“My ass.” 

He loves that you match his freak, “I'm so relieved you didn’t think I was serious.” 

“You aren’t that stupid, plus, Azriel’s mate sent a missive because he tried it.” 

“Drinking with Cassian is the worst.”

“And yet, your dumbass still did it.” 

“The drinking or the dare?” “Both.” 

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part eight)

warnings ; there’s a lil heavy makeout in the beginning but that’s it!

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; writing this part was like holding a lit match too close to my own chest. yeah. this isn’t just them screaming at each other, this is legit every character trait we’ve been slow-burning from chapter one crashing together like live wires. she shuts down before people can get too close. he pokes at her sore spots because he doesn’t know how to say “i care” without making it sound like a challenge. they are both so bad at being vulnerable and somehow even worse at pretending they don’t feel anything. and yet they keep coming back to each other like it’s instinct. like it’s home AHAJSSJD

this part was so fun and so devastating to write. we’re deep in this shit now, but we’re getting close to the end and i’m not okay about it!! i love these disaster babies with my whole entire heart. they’re messy and sharp and human and so damn soft in the moments they don’t mean to be. i just want to wrap them in a blanket and force them to have one honest conversation (but also i’m here for the angst. always).

also, required listening for this part: “the archer” by tswift. y’all hate to see me coming.

and if you’re wondering how it ends… let’s just say whatever version of an ending they get is earned. something they’ll have to choose, again and again, even when it’s hard. see you in part 9 lovers!!!!

playlist here

series masterlist here

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here.

One minute you're wrapping up some corporate bullshit call in the Seoul office — all "projections" and "placements" and other words that make your degree worth something — and the next, you're pressed against the conference room door with Jungkook's mouth on yours like oxygen's going out of style.

The blinds are drawn. Lights off. Real classy setup you've got going. All you can hear is your own breathing, embarrassingly fast, and the whisper of his fingers playing with your blouse buttons like they're piano keys.

"You know," he mumbles against your jaw, voice low enough to make your stomach do that stupid fluttery thing, "you really shouldn't look at me like that during meetings."

You scoff, but it turns into something more pathetic when his lips find that spot on your neck. "I didn't look at you."

He makes this little amused sound that you can feel against your skin. "You did. Around the thirty-minute mark. Right after you tore the executive director a new one."

"I correct a lot of people," you say, trying to sound dismissive.

"Yeah, but you only bite your lip like that when you're trying not to smile at something I said."

You attempt an eye roll, but it's half-hearted at best because your hands are already grabbing fistfuls of his expensive shirt. You yank him closer and he doesn’t resist.

His thigh slides between yours as he pushes you harder against the door, his mouth still doing this maddening exploration of your throat like he's charting territory.

And fuck, this feels different.

It's not just the location. Not the risk of someone walking in, not the whole forbidden office hookup thing.

It's him. The way he's touching you isn't like the usual frantic, clothes-ripping urgency. It's deliberate, patient. Like he's already cataloged every spot that makes you gasp and he's just double-checking his research.

Yeah, his research is solid.

You press your palm against his chest. It's warm. Familiar. Infuriatingly pleasurable.

"This is a terrible idea," you whisper, even though your body is making absolutely zero effort to back up your words.

"You've been saying that every time," he murmurs back, his breath hot against your collarbone. "Still doesn't stop you."

You hate how right he is. But even more than that, you hate how you don't actually want to stop.

Your fingers drift up to his jaw, and for a second, one stupid second, you don't kiss him. You just look at him. Really look.

The soft flush spreading across his cheeks. That small, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth. The way his lashes flutter when he realizes you're staring.

You could say something cutting right now. Something to grab back whatever shred of control you're pretending to have. But you don't.

Because this isn't about control anymore, is it? This isn't about who's winning whatever fucked-up game you've been playing.

You kiss him again instead. Less like the mistake you keep telling yourself it is, more like the choice you're actually making.

And Jungkook makes this sound against your mouth, quiet, raw, like you just punched all the air from his lungs and then his hands are back on your hips, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he thinks you might bolt if he loosens his grip.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, "You're different lately."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to look more composed than you feel. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs. Smiles that infuriating soft smile that makes something in your chest tighten. "I don't know. I think you like me."

You kiss him again instead of answering, if only to shut him up. To avoid that look in his eyes, the one that says he's starting to read you like a fucking book. You're terrified of just how many pages he might turn if you let him.

You don't know who moves first, whether it's your hand grabbing his collar like it's a lifeline or his arm snaking tighter around your waist, but suddenly you're moving, stumbling together across the room like drunks.

The kiss changes. It's not gentle anymore. His mouth takes, then gives, then takes again, hungry and demanding like he's been thinking about this all day, like he's been sitting through meetings just waiting for the chance to press you against something solid and make you forget your own name.

Your back collides with the edge of the desk. Papers go flying, a pen clatters to the floor.

Jungkook lifts you like you weigh nothing, hands sliding under your thighs to hoist you up until you're perched on the cool surface, legs automatically spreading to make room for him. He leans in, chasing your mouth again, lips hot and insistent. His hands are everywhere at once, gripping your waist, sliding up, fingers slipping beneath the edge of your blouse until he finds exactly what he's looking for.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You gasp when his hand finds your chest through the flimsy barrier of your bra, your breath catching somewhere between your lungs and your mouth. The sound drags a groan from him, unfiltered against your lips.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you, heavy-lidded and breathless, chest rising and falling like he's run you ragged. "This desk's about to be my favorite piece of furniture."

You glare at him, but it lands about as effectively as a water balloon on concrete. "Don't be dramatic."

He smirks, hands still wandering beneath your blouse like they own the place. "I'm serious. Right here.. this desk. In this boring-ass office where everyone thinks you're made of ice."

"You're disgusting."

"And you're wet for me."

You open your mouth to bite back, but he's faster. His hands move with new purpose, dragging you closer to the edge of the desk until your knees bracket his hips, until you can feel every goddamn inch of him pressed against you.

His mouth traces a burning path along your jaw, then down your neck, words hot and damp against your skin.

"I want to fuck you right here," he breathes. "Don't care who hears. Let them hear."

Your nails dig little crescents into his shoulders as he sucks what's definitely going to be a mark into the hollow beneath your collarbone. You're trying (and failing spectacularly) not to show how badly you want exactly what he's offering. It’s bad enough that he even got you in the room, that you let him close the door. That you let your back hit it without protest, knowing full well how dangerous proximity to Jeon Jungkook is, how risky it is to give him even an inch, especially when he never stops at that.

Lately, everything he does has you folding faster than you can recover. A late-night knock and you’re letting him in. A quiet “you forgot to eat again” and suddenly you’re sitting across from him at some hidden booth, sharing food you swore you didn’t want. One hand at your lower back during a team dinner, and your breath’s hitching like he’s got a knife to your spine.

"You're unbelievable," you whisper, but your voice is already cracking at the edges, already betraying you.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"I know," he mutters, kissing you again, slower this time, like he's savoring something rare. "You love it."

You hate that he's right. You hate it even more when he presses you flat against the desk and looms over you like he's acquired the rights to your body, like he's not even asking permission anymore because he knows exactly how far you'll let him go.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be doing this.

The thought keeps circling your brain like some half-dead moth around a light — distant, insistent, ultimately pointless.

Because even as you lie back across the desk, skirt rucked up around your thighs, blouse hanging open, Jungkook standing between your legs with that knowing look darkening his eyes, you're still clinging to the illusion that you're calling the shots.

"I have a meeting," you murmur, the words barely making it past your lips as your hands press against his chest. Not to stop him, just to pretend you might. "In twenty minutes."

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. Instead, his fingers trail down the inside of your thigh, deliberate and unhurried, knuckles skimming across skin like he's mapping territory he already knows is his. Like the ending's already written.

"Oh?" he says, voice carrying that dangerous calm. "Then I guess we better not waste time."

"Jungkook—"

His fingers slip beneath your skirt in one fluid motion. You jolt, hips jerking on instinct, the air punched straight out of your lungs.

And just like that, your brain shorts out. Your spine curves off the desk, hands gripping the edge like it might save you, but it doesn't. Nothing does.

Your mind is still scrambling to keep up. You were just telling him to stop. You were just reminding him and yourself that you have a meeting. That this is reckless. That your life doesn't have room for moments like this.

But now his mouth is back on your neck, lips brushing that spot below your ear that makes everything else fade.

You're losing your grip.

The most dangerous part isn't his touch. It's the way it makes you forget — your job title, your packed schedule, your ironclad self-control. It's the way he doesn't even have to undress you to completely take you apart.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"God," you whisper, clinging to whatever scraps of language your brain can still produce, "you're a menace."

He hums against your throat, still touching you like he's got all day. "You keep calling me that. And yet..."

His fingers tease again. Your breath catches, hips lift barely and he smirks. “Seems like you're not exactly rushing to that meeting."

His fingers slide beneath your skirt with that infuriating confidence, brushing over the edge of your lace panties like he's savoring the moment before he unwraps something he knows is already his.

The teasing is unbearable. Calculated. Your thighs twitch under his touch, exhales coming in fragments as your head drops back against the desk. The ceiling blurs into nothing. His mouth is everywhere; your jaw, your throat, dragging slow kisses down your neck. His breath burns against your skin, his lips softer than they have any right to be, and every time he speaks, it cuts straight through you.

"Hmm, you smell like coconut today. New lotion?" he murmurs, thumb tracing circles on your hipbone.

You gasp when he touches you again, and he drinks in the sound like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair now. Your skirt is bunched around your waist. You're half-dressed, half-ruined, and not even pretending to give a shit about resistance anymore.

And then, just as your head tips back, lips parting on some broken, helpless sound, something shifts behind you.

You don't notice it at first. Neither does he. Too lost in the heat, in the tension, in the way his mouth is traveling lower.

But the faint creak of the door filters in too late, and by the time the sound registers, it's already wide open.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry—"

Daniel's voice. Loud. Hint of horrified.

Then there’s just the slam of the door as it shuts again with enough force to rattle the walls.

You freeze. Every muscle locks up like you've been hit with a stun gun. And Jungkook, still between your thighs, freezes with you.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The silence that follows is deafening. This is exactly what you knew was coming. The second you heard the door click open, the second Daniel’s voice cut through the stillness of the room like a blade, you knew. You knew you’d have to watch your career start to unravel in real time, thread by thread, under the weight of his stare. His few words said more than shouting would have. Said what the fuck are you doing, said I trusted you, said do you even realize how much is at stake? And all you could do was stand there with your blouse half-buttoned and your mouth still swollen, your pulse roaring in your ears as Jungkook looked just as guilty.

This wasn’t just a misstep. This was everything you built burning to dust at your feet. The part that makes your throat burn and your hands shake, is that you saw it coming. You did this anyway. You let him in. You let yourself want, and now here you are, standing in the wreckage of the version of you who never made mistakes like this.

You're still panting, your blouse hanging open, your hair a disaster, your skirt bunched around your waist like cheap curtains. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth, skin on fire.

Your shame burns hotter than all of it.

You shove him off you hard, like he's something toxic you just realized you've been letting touch you.

"What the hell," you breathe, pushing him back, yanking your skirt down with hands that won't stop shaking. "What the actual hell?"

"Hey—" Jungkook tries, reaching for you. "It's okay. It was just—"

"Don't." Your voice could cut glass, your eyes already stinging with that special cocktail of fury and humiliation. "Don't even breathe in my direction."

You button your blouse with clumsy fingers, hands fumbling like you've forgotten how clothes work as you scramble to reconstruct yourself. Your pulse is a freight train. Your heart's trying to punch through your ribcage. You can't even look at him.

What… the fuck were you doing?

Worse: what the fuck did Daniel just witness?

You barely finish working on your blouse before you're bolting through the door, your heels clicking an angry rhythm down the hallway. The air feels cold against your overheated skin as you move, your skirt still crooked, hair looking like you just survived a hurricane.

You spot Daniel ahead, practically sprinting for the elevators like he’s trying to erase what he saw by sheer distance.

"Daniel," you call, but he doesn't turn. “Daniel!"

He's already jamming the button, the silver doors lighting up in response.

You reach him just before they open, grabbing his arm with enough force to make your point. He freezes, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed forward like he's developed a sudden fascination with the elevator's inspection certificate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"It's not what it looks like," you say, voice low and desperate.

It's a lie so transparent it might as well be cellophane.

Daniel glances at you, his expression carved from corporate boardroom marble, that careful blankness they teach in management seminars but never put in the employee handbook. He tilts his head, offers you a smile so professional it could be used in the company's next PR disaster.

"Of course not," he says, tone flatter than week-old soda. "You don't owe me an explanation."

You stare at him, something closing around your throat. "Daniel—"

"I really do have somewhere to be," he cuts in with practiced politeness, eyes darting to the elevator like it's his personal rescue boat. "But... if you need to talk, I'm always happy to make time. CMO to subordinate."

The words hit you like a slap. Daniel’s always been the one person you could count on, even before the title made it official. Years of late nights and early calls and campaign launches that nearly killed you both. Drinks after client meetings. Inside jokes in the back of boardrooms. You’ve known him longer than anyone at the company, trusted him more than anyone in the industry. He’s seen you screw up before, seen you burnt out, but he never made you feel small for it.

That’s what makes this whole debacle even more pathetic. Because when he walked in on you, you didn’t need to see the shock in his face. Right now, you’re seeing recognition. You’re seeing the moment he remembered you’re the Chief Marketing Officer and he’s not, that you hold more power, more risk, more to lose. That shift, that quiet acknowledgment of difference, is what shatters you. If even Daniel looks at you differently now, if even he thinks you’ve compromised who you are for Jungkook, then maybe you really have.

You blink. He steps into the elevator.

Just before the doors slide shut, he gives you one last perfunctory nod. "Hope everything gets sorted. Have a good rest of your afternoon."

Then he's gone. You’re left standing in the hallway, heart hammering, shame screaming in your ears.

You can handle marketing disasters, media shitstorms, celebrity meltdowns. But this? This might be the one PR nightmare you never saw coming.

You don't even remember walking back through the office. You don't register the sideways glances, the way heads dip like prairie dogs sensing a hawk, or the sound of your heels cracking against the floor as if you're trying to break through it.

You're moving on autopilot. Fury and humiliation surging through your veins, threatening to boil over with every step.

Your body is trembling, skirt still twisted on your hips. Blouse looks like it spent the night on the floor, your lipstick smeared. You look like a cautionary tale from an HR seminar.

Your heart is pounding so hard it's starting to echo, a hollow thump thump thump like the countdown to something you can't stop.

When you reach the office, you don't hesitate. You don't pause or so much as think. You push the door open and slam it shut behind you hard enough to make your ears pop.

Jungkook's head snaps up. He's still standing by the desk, half-dressed, shirt buttoned wrong. He looks shell-shocked, caught, mouth open like he was practicing explanations that dried up on his tongue.

With a heaving chest, you stare at him, vision blurred at the edges with rage.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “What the fuck is wrong with you?" you snap, the words cracking across the room like summer lightning.

His eyebrows inch up, a slow-motion surrender. "What do you mean—"

"I told you I had a meeting." Your voice isn't loud, but it's sharp enough to draw blood. Panic edging every syllable. "I told you.. twenty minutes, Jungkook. You couldn't even give me that?"

He takes a step toward you, hands raised like you're some wild animal he's trying not to spook. "You wanted it too."

"Oh, don't you fucking dare," you hiss, slicing through his bullshit. "Don't spin this like you're not part of the problem."

He blinks, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you he's getting defensive. "Part of the problem? Do you hear yourself right now?"

But you're not listening. Not really.

Your brain is in freefall, spinning too fast to grab onto anything solid, cycling through every possible headline, every office whisper, every version of this getting out. Daniel's face keeps flashing through your mind like some corporate horror show on repeat.

You press your fingers to your temples, trying to breathe, trying to anchor yourself to something but it's like trying to grab smoke.

You've worked your entire fucking life for this. Clawed your way up from nothing. Built yourself into someone untouchable.

Now you're standing in an office, looking like you've been mauled, with your career-making brand campaign hanging by a thread, and Jeon Jungkook watching you like he can't decide whether to comfort you or make a break for the door.

You lower your hands. Look at him. Suddenly, your voice drops to something quieter. “I can't think when I'm around you."

The sentence hangs there, unfiltered, more honest than anything you've said in months.

When his expression softens, even slightly, you want to put your fist through a wall. The last thing you need right now is his understanding. Not from him. Not when you're barely holding yourself together.

His silence only twists the knife deeper.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ The longer he stands there, the more your panic multiplies, pressing into your chest like some invasive growth. You feel it everywhere — your throat, your lungs, your fingertips. The air in the room suddenly feels too thin, like the walls are inching closer with every breath.

Jungkook, still standing by that desk, watching you like you're some natural disaster he didn't prepare for, finally breaks the silence. “What are you even saying right now?" His voice hovers somewhere between confusion and disbelief. "You're acting like I'm the one who—"

"This needs to be over."

You say it too fast. Like yanking out stitches before they're ready. Like maybe if you're the one to say it first, you won't feel it.

He stares at you. Fully deadpans. "What?"

You can't look at him. You focus on the desk, the floor, the fucking ceiling tiles — anything else.

"This was a mistake," you say, voice steadier now, more controlled, though your hands are still betraying you at your sides. "All of it. Every time. I never should've—"

"Stop." His voice slices through the air, sharper than before. He moves now, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours like he's daring you to keep going.

"Don't do that," he says again, quieter but harder. "Don't pretend like none of it meant anything."

"It didn't." The lie flies out before you can catch it.

Damage is instant.

Jungkook's jaw tightens. His brows pull together, not in anger but pure disbelief. “You're really gonna stand there and say that?"

You cross your arms over your chest, nails digging half-moons into your skin. "I'm your brand executive. You are a global ambassador for Calvin Klein. And I just let my junior team member walk in on us in a fucking office hookup. Do you understand how monumentally fucked this is?"

He shakes his head. "So you're embarrassed."

You laugh, a sound like breaking glass. "I'm not just embarrassed, Jungkook. I'm responsible for an entire campaign that launches in less than a week. If anything tanks, if a single rumor gets out, it's not your name on the line, it's mine. My job. My reputation. My entire fucking career."

"And that's my fault?"

"I should never have touched you."

There's a pause. One second. Two. Three. You stop counting.

He blinks slowly, like he's trying to translate what you just said into something that makes sense. His mouth opens, then closes. Jungkook’s eyes drift away for the first time.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You keep going, voice rising with each word. Not out of cruelty, more so out of some desperate need to save yourself. “I've worked too fucking hard for this. I came from nothing. Do you understand that? Do you get what it means to watch everything you've spent your life building turn to ash?"

"I do," he says sharply. "More than you think."

You ignore him. You're in free fall now.

"This can't keep happening. I can't think when I'm around you, I can't focus, I'm bombing meetings, making shit decisions… this thing, whatever the hell it is, it's destroying me."

He steps closer, eyes drilling into yours, every muscle in his body coiled tight. "So your solution is to pretend it never happened?"

"It has to be," you say, something collapsing in your throat. "It has to be."

He stares at you like you've morphed into someone he doesn't recognize. Maybe you don't recognize yourself either.

Truth is, this isn't about your job or corporate image. It's fear of what he represents. Of how easily he's dismantling the fortress you've spent years building around yourself.

You watch it hit him too.

For a moment, he doesn't speak. There's no teasing in his eyes, no smug curve to his mouth, no flirtation threading through his words. It's just him. Standing in the middle of a room that suddenly feels like a coffin.

"I don't believe you," Jungkook says finally, tone holding on by the thinnest thread. "You can say whatever you want. You can lie to me, fine. But don't fucking lie to yourself."

"I'm not lying—"

"Yes, you are."

His gaze sharpens, just enough to make you flinch. "You want to end this because you're terrified. Because you finally feel something real, and you have no idea what to do with it."

You shake your head, biting down on that burning pressure behind your eyes. "Don't turn this into something it's not."

"It's already something."

"I don't want this to be a thing," you say, voice climbing toward hysteria. "This isn't anything. You were just—" Your breath catches in your throat. "You were just convenient. That's all."

He flinches. Actually fucking flinches, like you backhanded him across the face.

You push through it. If you don't say it now, you'll never say it. And if you don't kill this now, it'll burn you to the ground.

"We are done, Jungkook."

The finality in your voice echoes off the walls.

And for a second, the room is so quiet you can hear everything — the soft mechanical hum of the air vent, the ticking of some distant clock, the sound of your heart trying to punch its way out of your chest.

He doesn't chase after you. He doesn't call your name or grab your arm. He just stands there, frozen in place, watching in silence as the you bolt for the nearest exit, and the door clicks shut between you.

You don't slam it this time. You don't even risk a glance back.

You walk as fast as you can, teetering on a run. Like the ground beneath you might swallow you whole if you slow down. Down the hallway, through the maze of desks and glass partitions and stares, your heels crack against the floor like gunshots. Every face you pass blends into a smear of features, their eyes following you like security cameras. You don't look at anyone.

Your skin feels sunburned, breath ragged. You're coming apart thread by thread, your mask slipping like something you can't hold onto anymore. By the time you reach the elevator, your reflection in the metal doors is a stranger, clothes disheveled, hair a mess, jaw clenched so tight you can feel the pressure in your teeth.

When the doors open, you step inside without hesitation. The descent feels endless.

You blow through the lobby without acknowledging the receptionist's greeting, eyes locked straight ahead, vision tunneled to the only thing that matters: getting the fuck out.

The second the glass doors part and the cold Seoul air slaps your face, your lungs finally expand.

You keep walking until you're down the steps, far enough away that no one from the building can see the way your shoulders finally collapse. You're shaking, and then before you can stop it, you let out a visceral cry.

Not those delicate, camera-ready tears. A full, raw disintegration. Everything you've been choking down for months has clawed its way to the surface, and there's nothing left to do but let it tear you apart.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Your face is buried in your hands and you honestly couldn’t care less who sees.You don’t care if someone from your team walks past. Or if Daniel looks out the window. Or if Jungkook is standing at the top of the building, watching you come undone like a loose thread in the very campaign you built.

Powerhouse of the marketing world? Long gone. You’re not the woman who never flinches, never falters. You’re just some girl from Busan, crying alone on the sidewalk.

No strategy, no plan — just the crushing weight of everything you can’t undo.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next few days blur into a smear of silence and avoidance tactics. You bury yourself in work, becoming a ghost that haunts your office during daylight and hides in your hotel room after dark. Your calendar fills with back-to-back bullshit — strategy meetings, brand syncs, damage control sessions for other campaigns you’re working — but nothing feels as urgent as your desperate need to feel absolutely nothing.

You don't speak to Jungkook. You don't touch the texts he sends. You ignore Daniel's carefully worded check-in email, though you write and delete four different responses, each one more pathetic than the last.

Instead, you go through the motions. You approve designs, slash through edits with your red pen, bark orders at Seoul and New York and Paris, and pretend like you didn't just torch something that wasn't even supposed to exist.

But no matter how many tasks you pile onto your plate, the weight of it sits on your chest like a concrete block.

You spend your nights alone now. One of them (maybe the third since the fallout, or the fourth, who the hell knows anymore), you drag yourself down to the overpriced bar in your hotel lobby. It's all mood lighting and pretentious minimalism, nearly empty except for a couple of business types avoiding their hotel rooms.

You order a whiskey neat. Then another. And when you catch your reflection in the mirrored shelf behind the bottles, you almost laugh.

Hair yanked back in a clip, blazer still wrinkled from twelve hours of wear, lipstick faded, eyes hollow. You look like a fucking cliché. The kind of woman you used to silently judge. Alone at the bar, drinking at midnight. Looking like heartbreak in a two-thousand-dollar suit.

Christ. You're pathetic.

You drink anyway. At least for those few burning seconds, it drowns out everything else. The ghost of his mouth. The phantom weight of his hands. The way he looked at you like he could see all the way through your entire facade of a composed woman.

You told him it was over and you meant every word. So why does it still feel like he's everywhere?

His voice still echoes in your head. His scent clings to the edges of your memory.

You finish your drink. Order another. You don't want to think about him. You don't want to think about whatever it was you sacrificed or why being right feels so much like drowning.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

At some point, you know you can't hide from him anymore, or even from Daniel.

Daniel has been kind, careful, measured. His texts have devolved from breezy to brief, from sarcasm to silence. His emails read like they've been drafted by a corporate robot, stripped of his usual parentheses and smartass commentary. No exclamation points. No inside jokes. Just bullet points and attachments and those CC threads that feel like public executions.

You know that tone. It's the tone he reserves for clients who've crossed boundaries. For interns who can't hit deadlines. For moments exactly like this one.

Technically, you can’t blame him.

You've spent days either ducking behind your laptop screen or drowning in edits and reshoots, acting like if you just type fast enough, if you just look busy enough, you won't have to deal with the fact that he saw something he was never supposed to witness.

But Daniel's patient. He lets you spiral in your own personal hell until the spiral starts to look permanent.

And that's when he knocks.

It's mid-afternoon when he raps on your office door, then pushes it open without waiting for permission. He's holding a coffee in one hand and a folder in the other, his expression blank.

You look up from your laptop, startled, blinking at him like he's caught you with your hand in the company safe.

"Hey," he says in a neutral register. “Got a minute?"

You nod before your brain can catch up with the movement.

He walks in and closes the door behind him, setting the coffee down in front of you like some kind of peace offering.

The apology floods out of you in a torrent of words you never rehearsed. Your voice is already cracking before you even finish the first pathetic sentence. “I'm so sorry, Daniel. I don't even know where to start. That wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to see that. I—I should've known better, I do know better, I wasn't thinking, and now it's awkward and you're avoiding me and I completely understand if you hate me or if you think I'm some walking HR disaster, and—"

"Whoa, whoa," he says, holding up a hand. "Take a breath before you pass out."

You suck in air, shaky and thin. Your hands are death-gripping the edge of your desk, nails making some kind of indents in your palms.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“I don’t hate you,” Daniel says, but it lands harder than it should. Not gentle. Not forgiving… just tired.

He drops into the chair across from you like he’s run out of places to pace, like if he keeps standing, he might say something worse. His elbows dig into his knees, hands clasped together, and when he finally looks at you, it’s not anger exactly. It’s disappointment with teeth.

You take a breath. Ask the thing you’ve been trying not to ask since the door clicked shut behind him. “Are you going to report me?”

His eyes flick up. There’s no hesitation. “I was going to.”

It hits sharper than you expect. You try not to let it show.

“I had the whole thing written,” he says. “Typed. Saved. Detailed as hell. Everything from the moment I went into the room to the second I noticed his hands on your chest.”

You look down, too embarrassed to face his eyes, “So what stopped you?”

Daniel pauses before letting out a chortle that feels more bitter than anything, “You’ve kept some secrets for me too.”

Your head lifts slowly.

And you do know exactly what he’s talking about.

Years ago, early days of the company, before either of you had titles worth whispering, he’d hooked up with some intern in the copy room during work. The guy was closeted. Daniel has always been out. You had walked in. The story nearly made it out to HR, but you’d buried it. You’d “accidentally” deleted the hallway security footage. You’d vouched for him with your old boss, the man who looked down on you two every time you so much as farted. You never asked for anything in return.

He never forgot it.

“I didn’t forget what you did for me,” he says now, “But I also didn’t think I’d have to cash it in like this. Watching you risk everything for him like you don’t know better. You spent your whole life climbing just to throw yourself off the edge for some idiot.”

He shakes his head, something venomous creeping into the corner of his mouth. “You made me your accomplice the second you didn’t lock that door.”

“I’m so sorry,” The tears that threaten to spill from your eyes linger. You mean every ounce of that apology. Truly, cross your heart and hope to die.

“I’m not used to seeing you like this,” he continues, softer now, but no less direct. “You… the woman who eats deadlines for breakfast. Kinda thought you didn’t have time for that stuff. It rattled me. Because if you’re out here losing your shit over some pretty boy in overpriced underwear ads, what hope is there for the rest of us mortals?"

You laugh, or try to. It comes out sounding like something breaking.

He smiles. "That was me trying to lighten the mood. Was it terrible?"

"No," you say quietly, something hot and sharp behind your eyes. "It was perfect."

There's another really long pause. One that feels like an exhale instead of drowning. He taps a finger against the coffee cup he brought you. "Listen. I don't know the details, and I don't need to. But I've known you long enough. You don't make reckless choices. So if something happened, it wasn't nothing."

Your throat closes up. You don't trust yourself to say a word. He leans back in his chair, watching you with eyes that see too much. "Whatever this is, just... don't forget who you are, okay? You've survived worse than Jeon Jungkook."

Nodding slowly, you press your fingertips to your temple like you might hold back the headache building there. "I know. I just feel... insane."

"Well," Daniel says, rising from the chair with a soft grunt, "then I'll sit with you until you find your way back."

He squeezes your shoulder as he passes, then walks to the door.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

When Daniel finally leaves you alone with your thoughts, you realize just how fucking good you've gotten at avoiding Jungkook.

You know his schedule. You memorized it without even trying. You know which meetings he'll show up for and which ones he'll conveniently "miss." You know the sound of his voice through walls, the weight of his presence in a hallway, the subtle shift in atmospheric pressure when he's nearby, and you've become a goddamn expert at walking the other direction.

It's not just about keeping your sanity intact. It's about survival. About keeping your head down, wearing your title like body armor, and not letting him see the hairline fractures still spreading through everything.

You made peace with Daniel. You're slowly regaining your balance. You're getting through your inbox without your stomach dropping. You're back to being the boss, reviewing assets, dissecting launch strategy without your pulse going haywire.

You're almost whole.

But that peace lasts just about two whole milliseconds.

Because of fucking course, Jungkook finds you.

You're walking out of a meeting on the 17th floor, tablet still in hand, already mentally juggling the next three hours of corporate bullshit. You turn the corner to take the back stairs… and there he is.

Leaning against the glass like he owns the place, arms crossed, legs stretched out like he didn't help demolish your world.

His eyes lift when he sees you. And he doesn't smile. That somehow makes it a thousand times worse.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Nope," you mutter instantly, spinning on your heel like you're fleeing a crime scene, but he pushes off the wall and follows, moving with that purpose that makes your stomach drop.

"Wait," he says.

"No," you snap, refusing to even glance his way, your steps quickening to escape velocity. "Absolutely not. I just patched things up with Daniel, and I'm not about to torch that progress by getting caught in another clusterfuck with you—"

"Would you just stop?"

His voice slices down the corridor, not loud, but sharp enough to cut.

You do stop. You freeze mid-stride, shoulders going rigid, teeth clenched so tight you can feel your head pounding. You turn around with painful slowness, blinking back whatever emotion is threatening to surface.

He's right there, barely arm's length away. Close enough that you could touch him if you were stupid enough.

It’s infuriating how quickly your body remembers exactly what he feels like.

"I don't want to fight," he swallows, voice dropping to something softer. "I just—"

You hold up a hand like a traffic cop. "Don't."

"Can we just talk?"

"Jungkook," you hiss through your teeth, glancing over your shoulder to make sure there's no audience for this train wreck. "You're a walking disaster, and I don't have the time or sanity to keep spinning your name into fucking gold right now. So please… get out of my way."

He stares at you, something passing over his face that you can't decipher. He won’t budge, just looks at you like he's trying to read between lines you didn't even know you were writing.

You begin to walk away, yet this time, you allow yourself to look back at his wistful expression. That’s the whole problem, isn't it? No matter how many boundaries you draw in permanent marker, he always finds the one you forgot existed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You barely register the tug on your wrist before you're being dragged sideways, away from the glass hallway and through a side door, the cold stairwell swallowing you both like some concrete mouth. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound bouncing off the walls.

"What the hell are you doing?" you snap, yanking your arm back like it's burning. Your heels scrape against the stairs, those shitty fluorescent lights humming overhead. "Are you out of your mind?"

"You've been ignoring me," Jungkook says, his voice cutting through the stale air. "For days."

"Good," you shoot back, something you qualify as dust catching in your throat. "Maybe take the hint next time."

His jaw tightens, muscle jumping beneath his skin. "Why? Because Daniel walked in on something he didn't understand? He’s all good now you said it yourself that you guys patched things up."

"You don't get to talk about Daniel," you hiss, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "You don't know what I've had to fix."

He steps down the stairwell, arms spreading wide in frustration. "What is there to fix? We didn't murder someone, we were kissing!"

"That's not all it was and you know it!" Your voice splinters. It ricochets off the walls.

He freezes and so do you. Your heart hammers against your ribs, vision crystallizing with fury. His face is a locked door; tense, brow creased, eyes dark as bruises. But you keep going, because the rage is a living thing inside you now.

"You don't understand what's at stake for me," you say, quieter but brittle as glass. "You never have. You walk into a room and everyone parts for you. You smile and the world forgives you. But me? If I mess up, even once, they will never let me come back from it."

He's standing there like a statue, watching you like he can't decide if he should be angry or wounded.

"I clawed my way into this position," you whisper, the words scraping your throat. "And every single day, I have to prove I deserve it. That I'm not some girl from Busan who got lucky. That I'm not fragile. That I'm not just a pretty face with an expensive resume. I don't get the luxury of being messy, Jungkook. Not like you."

His expression shifts, a crack in the marble. "You think that's who I am?" he retorts, "You think I haven't had to fight for anything?"

"You're an idol," you snap, the word leaving your mouth like a bullet. "A loved one. Protected. Handled. You don't even manage your own schedule. There are three people for that."

The words land harder than you intended. You see it in the way his shoulders pull back, in the silence that falls like a guillotine. There's a pause so thick you could choke on it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Right," he says finally, bitterly. "Because everything I've worked for doesn't count. Got it."

You really didn't mean to go for the jugular like that.

He laughs once, "You think being an idol is easy? That it doesn't come with a thousand rules and eyes and expectations? You think I don't know what it feels like to lose sleep wondering if today's the day the internet turns on you?"

You press your spine against the cold wall, head tilted away, “This was never supposed to matter," you whisper.

"Yeah," he says. "But it did."

You look at him. You hate how true it rings. You hate the guilt gnawing at your insides. You hate that your first instinct is to soften, to reach for him, to take it all back.

At the end of the day, this is your career. This is everything. If it’s a race between CMO or Jungkook, that position is taking first place.

So instead, you just say, "I can't afford to let it matter."

The words float between you two. He laughs again, this sharp, jagged sound that slices through the stairwell like an axe. He steps closer, something burning behind his eyes now, voice rising not in volume but in something far more devastating — disappointment. “Right," he says, muscle working in his jaw. "Of course you can't. God forbid anything in your life matter more than power. Than control. Than your perfect fucking empire."

You turn to him, eyes narrowing to slits, pulse hammering in your throat. "Don't you dare—"

He keeps going, relentless. He's not shouting, but it feels like he is. "You know what your problem is? You only care about money. About image. You care more about looking powerful than being happy."

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms. "Excuse me?"

He takes another step closer, not touching you but near enough that your breath halts, near enough that the heat between your bodies feels like something alive.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"You didn't even want to see your parents," he challenges ,"You were back in Busan for three days, and you nearly drank yourself sick instead of facing them. You think I didn't notice that? You think I didn't see the way you flinched every time you talked about home?"

Your whole body goes still. The silence swallows everything — your breath, your thoughts, the distant hum of the building around you. It roars in your ears like an ocean you're drowning in.

Those words, when put together into a coherent sentence, describe exactly why you don’t let anyone in. Never have. You let people orbit. You let them see enough to feel close, but never the core. Never the part that still aches when you think about your mother’s voice on the phone, or the silence you perpetrated between you and your sister who used to be your best friend. You let people near the burn, but never close enough to touch the match. And yet somehow, impossibly, he’s already there. Past the fences, past the warning signs, past the places you thought were locked so tightly even you forgot where the keys were.

It doesn’t even sound cruel. It sounds like he knows. Like he’s seen that quiet, aching center of you and reached straight into it without permission. All you can do is stand there, aching pain caught in your throat, because the truth is you shut people out to keep yourself from bleeding. But it’s too late. He’s already inside. Now you have no idea how to stitch yourself back up around him.

Your voice, when it finally claws its way out, is carved from something furious. “How fucking dare you," you murmur, "How fucking dare you use that against me."

"I'm not using it against you," he fires back, "I'm telling you that this, whatever it is between us, matters. And you're the one running from it. You're the one pretending none of it touched you. So yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry because you make me feel like I'm nothing more than a risk. Like I'm something to hide. Something to be ashamed of."

"You don't get to talk to me about shame," you snap, whole body trembling with a rage that feels like it might tear you open. "You think just because you've been famous for a decade, you understand what it's like to be a woman in this industry? To fight for every room you're allowed to exist in, to be doubted and diminished and dismissed every time you breathe too loudly? Do you know how many men in this building would celebrate my downfall like it's a fucking holiday?"

His lips press into a bloodless line. "So?. At least then you'd be honest. At least then you wouldn't be hiding behind this mask like nothing ever reaches you."

"You want honesty?" you spit, stepping toward him now, close enough to count his eyelashes. "Here's honesty. I don't trust anyone. Not you. Not this. I have fought for every microscopic particle of my existence, and you walked in, half-naked and dripping arrogance, and decided you were entitled to all of it, like I owe you something because you want me. But I don't owe you a goddamn thing, Jungkook."

His eyes flare with something dangerous. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?" you demand, the question hanging between you like smoke. "Because it sure as hell isn't casual anymore. And I don't know what it is, and I don't have the time to figure it out, and I swear to God if you ever bring up my family again—"

He cuts you off, not with words, but with their absence. His jaw is clenched tight, hands balled into fists at his sides. There's color burning across his cheekbones, and something wild and wounded blazing behind his eyes.

You're both breathing like you've been running, standing so close you can feel the electricity crackling in the narrow gap between your bodies. It's not desire anymore, or lust. Not even that soft, aching hunger that comes with wanting.

This is something else entirely. This is two people who've gone too far, felt too much, unraveled completely. This is war with no boundaries.

You can hear your pulse in your ears. Not the steady rhythm of life, but a violent percussion thundering against the fragile walls of your composure. Each beat echoes the fault lines spreading through whatever remains of your defenses.

Your voice emerges from some deep place you seldom acknowledge, not trembling from fear, but vibrating with the particular rage that comes from having something sacred violated. From watching him reach into the darkest corners of your history and pull out the one thing you've spent years burying beneath ambition and achievement.

"If you ever," you begin, hands quivering with the effort of restraint, "ever bring up my family again, Jeon Jungkook—"

You eliminate what little distance remains between you, until your accusation brushes against the vulnerable hollow of his throat, until you're drowning in the maelstrom of his eyes, that peculiar blend of fury layered atop something deeper, something he's desperately trying to conceal beneath his anger.

"You're dead to me."

The silence crystallizes between you, sharp-edged and dangerous as broken mirrors.

"Even more than you are right now," you finish, voice barely audible yet somehow filling the stairwell with its venom.

Jungkook remains perfectly still, a statue carved from tension. Only his breath betrays him,, ragged and uneven, the exhale of someone who's been struck somewhere vital.

"Wow," he mutters finally, shaking his head with a terrible comprehension dawning. "That's what you think of me?"

You laugh sarcastically, "Don't act surprised. You've been pushing since day one. Testing limits. Undermining me in front of my team, flirting with Jennie in front of the entire industry, fucking me in conference rooms and pretending it didn't matter. So no, Jungkook, I don't owe you any soft version of myself. Not now. Not ever."

He's regarding you now with the disoriented gaze of someone who's woken up in unfamiliar territory, as though the map he's been following has suddenly revealed itself to be for another country entirely. Like perhaps he mistook your moments of vulnerability for surrender.

But you can't afford softness. Not when everything within you feels precariously balanced on the edge of collapse. Not when admitting the truth might dissolve whatever remains of your world.

"You're so scared of being known," he says, and the words emerge not as an accusation but as a revelation, quiet and devastating in their naked honesty. "So scared of letting anyone see you. Even me."

You scoff, armoring yourself against the terrifying accuracy of his observation. "Don't make this about feelings."

"It was always about feelings," he snaps,"You're just the only one too stubborn to admit it."

Your heart performs a strange, painful contortion, folding in on itself like origami made from something that was never meant to bend.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You want to say more. You want to scream until your voice shatters against the concrete walls. You want to curse him for every emotion he's excavated from the depths you've spent years paving over, for every second he stood there refusing to retreat, for every moment he made you believe that perhaps someone had finally seen past the constructed architecture of your public self to the trembling foundation beneath.

But if you part your lips now, the flood that follows might sweep away everything you've built.

So instead, you draw in a breath that feels more final. And you say, "I don't want to see you again unless it's for the fucking campaign."

Jungkook flinches. A microexpression of pain that ripples across his features like a stone disturbing still water, enough for you to register, to catalog, to store away in that dangerous archive of moments when his armor has slipped.

Then you pivot away, your heels striking a funeral march up the stairwell and out the door as you abandon him in the hollow space of your shared destruction.

You don't permit yourself the luxury of a backward glance.

You can't.

Because if you do, you might forgive him. And right now, you need the anger to win.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

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[roturo]

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎♡ BAD GIRL, GOOD GIRL !

he couldn't hide the crush he had for the good girl who's a bad girl to him ! ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎

contains: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, cunnilingus, masturbation (m), e2l, a lot of praise, overstimulation, fluff & angst if you squeeze your eyes, lore mention (really vague), based when gojo was still in school, multiple orgasms, gojo whimpers, nipple play, throat & tummy bump, creampie, oral m!receiving, a lot of the use 'fuck', kinda getting caught, really cute tbh.

A/N: this was supposed to be a request but... idk what happened tbh, i just created this story. 2.6k + felt lonely

You enjoyed this. Really. You know about the power you have over Gojo Satoru. And he’s childish, he won’t admit it. He will continue with his god complex and see you as a ‘pathetic girl without knowing you well.

And it’s fun. His gaze is so funny, the hypocrisy is funny. He would be talking with Suguru, judging you and how fast you’re getting into his and Suguru’s level. Is he afraid of you?

The worst fucking thing is how hard you get him. Maybe he has a degradation kink to bring him back to earth. But each time it gets harder to hide his clear erection inside his pants.

But he would never admit the admirations and maybe the tiny crush he has for you. You being the first time he saw a girl like this– and he might be afraid of you. Afraid of losing himself to some silly highschooler crush– When there’s more important things to focus on in this world, like… he could focus on the political and economic state of the world right now….?

“Gojo Satoru! Are you paying attention?” Sensei Yaga brought him back from his own imaginary debate. “Uh- Yeah, sensei. I’m paying attention.”

“Oh.. Is that so Gojo?” Oh well fuck. Here you go.  He sighed, saying your name in a whisper like if it’s some bad word full of anger- “Would you mind explaining what Sensei Yaga just said?” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fucking you with your face pressed against his bed and silencing your cries for him, while he pounds his cock from behind you into your poor vulnerable pussy he just ate out some minutes ago. 

“Why do you keep acting like some bad girl instead of behaving yourself and learn to be a good girl for me, hm? Learn how to treat your seniors right. How does that sound? Do you have an answer for that?”

Silence.

Sixth fuck. Why did he think it was okay to say that out loud? Does it sound kinky?

“...I– why- uh- Y-You don’t know me Gojo.” Convincible right? His nicknames didn’t affect you. “So shut up boy. Instead of telling me how to behave, why don’t– Ugh. Shut up.”

He would pretend and convince himself that the reddish color covering your face is an act of his imagination, and move his gaze to his best-friend Suguru, which has a mix of confusion and shock adorning his face. “What? Do I have something in my face?” Gojo asked, touching his left cheek with his hand on that side.

“Uh- No. I will… just pay attention to what Yaga is saying.”

He can’t fucking stop thinking about you.

Is this right? His hand sneaking down his abdomen towards the elastic of his sweatpants, just to enter and– FUCK! He shouldn’t be doing this while thinking about ‘someone he hates’ and want to put them in their place. His erect cock was really visible through his sweats, and all he could do was roll in his bed trying to take you off his mind- Being shirtless didn’t help that either,  his also erect nipples having fun with the friction he created while rolling on his bed. Great, not only it affected other areas of his body, but it also brought release to the problem he was trying to stop.

So he couldn’t stop himself. And his sinful right hand went down and inside his boxers to jerk off some tension down there (traitor)-- A whimper escaped his mouth once he teased his tip, already full of pre-cum thanks to stupid bed. His left hand traveled searching to cover his mouth to stop soundings coming out– Not trying to out himself, because it looked like this fucking walls were made of paper. But accidentally while doing so he touched his nipple, bringing out a loud and electric shock to his body.

Seventh? Ninth? Fuck. 

He quickly bit his lips, surely blood coming out of them because of how hard he was trying to stop himself, but he really needed to cum. Fuck- If you were here, he would ask for permission, he would beg to cum. He would do anything to just fucking cum inside your pussy.

And it’s so embarrassing, because of all the rumors of him in this small space for his kind, that he’s a playboy and gets pussy every weeknd– when he’s basically a virgin if he has never got his cock inside a woman's pussy. Does it still count as sex without it inside?

He didn’t have enough fucks in his vocabulary to count all the misfortunes he has in a week. How could he let his guard down? How the fuck the curse got him? But the worst (actually it’s like the best thing that happened in his life) is that you cared about his well-being and you offered to take care of him as fast as possible.

"You're hurt. Is it bad? Do you need the med-kit? Let me see-" He already treated himself, not wanting to be a bother for you– (he wants to) but thanks to his infinity it wasn’t so hard to, and it’s basically a paper cut, but ever since that happened, everyone’s been cautious. Well, at least the people who know.

"Don't bother, it's not serious. I've already tended to it."

"...Someone was able to get the better of you?"

Oh shit. Congratulations Satoru! You used another word to describe how unlucky you are! But did you have to mention him?

“Uh.. No- I mean- When training… y’know? It happens, even to the best” He sent you a wink, anxious to get over this topic and not get too focused on him, because really. It was just a paper cut for him. He called for you, bringing back your gaze to his eyes, did he always look this beautiful? “Uh.. Yeah?” You didn’t intend your voice to sound like that, but suddenly everything felt so hot, and was he so close to you before?

“Why did you want to take care of me? The last time I got the memo you hated me as much as you hate bugs.”

“I.. I don’t hate you Gojo. I just-” sigh.

“It’s okay, I understand if you want to gain Yaga’s confidence for… whatever reasons you have. I’m just impressed- that’s all. I’m very grateful it was you.”

…

“I like you Satoru. I’m scared I'll lose you- even though I don’t show it, I care about you” Oh nice. You don’t hate him, and he liked the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth. Could easily make him cum. It’s great you also care for him.

“Can’t blame you. I’m pretty awesome.” His quirky smirk showed in his face, earning no reaction from you. Oh.

Oh fuck. 

He really fucked it this time, didn’t he?

“Wait, are you fr?”

“There’s no way you just said ‘ef’ ‘ar’ Satoru.”

He didn’t care about your criticism now, not when you just made him the happiest man in the world and he lifted you with no problem, and got you in a position so you’re now above him, caging his legs.

With no words, he kissed you on the lips with a passion he has never shown. Not even while fighting. He loved the way your lips were perfect for him, how small you felt above him in his touch. As an automatic reaction you slowly started to rock your hips, earning a whimper from him. Which somehow turned you on more, your hands roamed his body until they landed on his chest. Index and middle finger keeping his nipples between- an unexpected thrust from him caught you by surprise and pressed your fingers back together, earning a whine from him. You were about to get your hands under his shirt, and discover this new ‘thing’ of Gojo’s, but-

“Oh my fucking god. WhatshappeningrightnowIthoughsomethingbadhappenedtoyouguys.”

Poor Suguru.

Both of you have been into very… ‘pretentious’ situations while interacting through the years. It stresses him out that it’s just.. well- pretentious. Because you never go to the next base, even after forgetting the bickering and rivalry through the years, (and the raging sexual tension from Gojo), he might finally have the courage to put aside his masquerade and open up about his wants and be vulnerable… At the act? After? During? 

Taking a deep breath and sighing, waiting for your answer, but all he receives is a stare. Which makes him even more anxious. He would prefer a slap, a cussing, fuck! even you laughing at him. But all he gets is a stare. Was it so stupid to say how much he liked you and that you should have sex with him?

He called out your name, bringing you back from your shock- “I- shit…  Wait a second, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.. what the hell?” The last question was barely heard, he was murmuring to himself and planning a hundred ways he could die without bringing down the sorcerer world with him. Is it good he confessed in your room?

“That’s the worst confession I’ve heard in a while y’know?...” He stopped his mental break-down, never believing he would blush for a girl. Not even the girl he has been crushing (and hating) through his teenage years.  “I like you too, like- for my whole life. But I didn’t think you would feel the same. I didn’t see it.”

“But I felt it.” His eyes traced your body until they reached the floor. It was weird seeing Gojo like this. Never in his 20 years of life thought he would be feeling weak and vulnerable to anyone. Not until he met you.

“Yeah- I can see it” You lazily pointed at his crotch. “You seriously have a problem… Do you like being humiliated and degraded?...  This isn’t the first time this happens, y’know?:..”

A whine escaped his mouth like a little child- “Ugh, it’s just… I really need you.”

You wasted no time when your lips glued to his. It was 10 P.M, everyone was asleep, but at this rate you didn’t care. If they ungratefully hear you and Satoru moaning, it was his fault for giving the first step this time.

He called out your name, making you break the kiss and start marking his neck. “Ah, fuck. Please mark me, I want everyone to know I’m yours.” You pushed him back so he’s now sitting on the sofa. Kneeling down for him while you continue marking him and hearing his beautiful noises. You were in between his legs, in front of his raging cock begging for release from the sweat pants. “Is this okay Satoru?”

A lot of little cute nods were made, his flushed cheeks making him look absolutely precious. “I need words baby, I don’t know what you want me to do…” You said while playing with the hem of his sweats.

“I want you to suck my cock and then fill you up… please.” Oh! He clearly answered his desires, making you form a smile while he bit his lips watching you undress him. “No underwear hm? You were waiting for this?” His cock was standing there tall and angry. The pale base with a pink needy tip leaking pre-cum from it. “I was risking my luck”

“Then you’re such a lucky man right now Satoru.” Your lips wrapped around his cock, and you slowly teased his tip with your tongue, making him whimper at the feeling. And you tried to deepthroat him- which caught him by surprise and his hand immediately went to find a place in your head, making a made-up ponytail with your hair for some support. (He was too lost in the pleasure to even know if he doing it right)

With the rest of his neglected cock, your hands traveled up to find his balls and start massaging them. Making Satoru to fucking loose control over his body once he saw the bump his cock caused in your throath- Moans turned into whines with tears, he had to pull up his shirt and bite on it to stop whining. Silent whimpers accompanying his tears while he looks at the beautiful girl between his legs. The sight made him cum faster than he expected, he swears he saw light and white noise was heard in his ears.

You happily showed your tongue to him before swallowing the salty liquid down your throat which earned a groan from Satoru.

“From outside you’re such a bad girl, but inside you’re a good girl f’me, aren’t ya?” You chuckled at his ‘drunk-dazed’ face, moving yourself so you’re on top of him again, his cock still hard against your core. “You don’t know me at all Satoru…”

You placed your arms around his neck, getting closer to him. “Not the way I wished. But you’re giving me the chance to be your man and get to know you, right?”

“Oh… Gojo... I’m looking for a real man, not for a man who pretends to be a man. Are you a real man, Satoru?”

“I’ll be whatever you want baby.” He says, ghosting your lips, making a brushing action with his nose and yours before finally giving in and kissing you again. This kiss was more needy, remembering every place from it. While your hands went insearch of his chest, the hold of your hips with his hands hardened when you ghostly brushed your finger through his nipples.  He thrusted upwards, looking for some friction between your core and his.

He was getting needier each passing second- and you noticed that once he grabbed the hems of your leggings and tore them apart. Murmuring about him buying you new ones continuously tearing apart your panties too. 

One of his fingers going through your folds, coming out wet, you shyly looked away when he inserted the finger on his mouth and moaned. “Sweet.”  His cocky personality was back when he sent you a wink. He looked being in control, to be honest.

With no warning, you placed yourself so his cock was aligned. And it kinda hurt because of how fucking big he is. But his reaction was priceless.

You were full of him already, cum coming out of you. “I-..I.. shit.” He couldn’t believe he just came from being inside you, overstimulation taking over him thanks to his second orgasm, but it just felt so right, he couldn’t stop himself from rocking your hips back and forth using his cum as lubricant.

His cock touched places your fingers could never reach, each thrust and movement felt so good. He called out your name in a whine, his head falling back and taking this opportunity so you could mark his neck more. “IloveyouIloveyousofuckin’muchprincess” He was the first to say those three words, bringing butterflies to your tummy after some time of confessing your feelings to the others. “You’remakin’mefeels’goodmygod.” His cries were because he couldn’t take it anymore, filling you up for a second time. And you swear you looked down and there was a clear bump in your tummy because of how full you were. Making itself more prominent each thrust Satoru gave you.

“Ohyeahbaby…Use me as your fuck toy- shit-i’m yours baby.” He never stopped praising you, not until you came and rested your slumpy body on top of his. Your breathings synchronizing with the other, his heartbeat was audible. His arms wrapped around you like a bear. “Satoru- I need to clean myself-” 

“I will clean you- Just… let’s stay some time more like this, please. I want to feel you.” His head rested on top of yours while he drew figures in your back with his fingers. “You’re so… perfect.” He said before giving a peck on your forehead.

“Satoru…?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Are you hard again?”

Millionth fuck.

[monstersflashlight]

The curse (part 6): the emails

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Demon x fem!reader || sfw

Demon POV

He tried to answer your question directly just to have it fail to send. With a bit of trial and error, he discovered there was some information he wasn’t allowed to give, such as his name, what he was or anything relating to the curse. Still, he could give you enough to give you a sense of what he was dealing with. You seemed okay with chatting with him even when he was virtually a stranger, which he didn’t like so much, but he was glad you were trusting enough to respond to him.

He didn’t know what he would have done if you had blocked him or how the fuck he could deal with that. Little text after little text, he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing, informing you, milking the loophole… He was simply just beyond excited to be able to talk to you outside of the four walls of the bookstore, even if it meant it was only half of a conversation through a screen.

He didn’t expect for it to be so easy to talk to you this way, chatting with you about nothing and everything for a few hours. You sent a picture of your cat that even made him smile. While he was sending you stupid messages, his heart felt like it was doing weird back-flips inside his chest.

The sole thought of you staring at the screen and smiling even once because of him outside of the bookstore… It made him get crazy ideas, such as being able to exit this cage he was trapped in to be outside, to be with you in a more real way, in the way you deserved… But he knew it might just be wishful thinking on his part.

Eventually, after a while, you sent him the one question he was dreading. The one question he didn’t know if he could answer without:

1) sounding insane,

2) making you run away,

or 3) both.

So, how and why did you find my contact?

He stared at his screen for a long time, typing and re-typing what he wanted to say. He rejected his message drafts at least four times before he finally got something that felt good enough, or at least he hoped it was before review. He sent it by mistake, not able to re-read it first like he did with the last thirty he typed.

That was probably a big mistake.

Reader’s POV

Since you received the first email, you’ve exchanged some more, the change of pace from your normal routine made it exciting and fun. It was weirdly entertaining to be chatting with somebody you didn’t know, almost like making friends on Tumblr back in the day.

After a couple of back and forths, you learned that he ran the bookshop whose email he wrote from, and weirdly enough, when you asked him where he was from, he answered “from hell,” which made you laugh out loud, earning some angry looks from your cat for disturbing his peace. Whoever this dude was, he was very funny and he was making your day a lot more interesting.

Eventually curiosity got the best of you. You sent an email asking about why he wanted to talk to you in the first place without really expecting a response, and you didn’t get one for a long time. Almost two hours passed before you got a new email with the bookstore’s name on it. Once a new message came in, though, you eagerly opened it, hoping to discover why he took interest in you.

This is going to sound crazy, but I know you. And you know me. We’ve been more than friends for a while and you just can’t remember me because of things I can’t put into words through an email. But we know each other, intimately. So if you could just… think hard about it so you can remember how well we know each other, that would be great. And then maybe we could reunite… intimately.

You stared at the message for a long time, almost tempted to not respond, but every time your eyes tracked over the words, you only got angrier and angrier. Also very confused. What in the ever-loving Christ was that answer? Who was this creep? Was he a stalker? Did you have a stalker? You knew you could simply block him and forget the weird conversation happened at all, but your brain was spiraling over the words. By the end of your spiral, you couldn’t help but send one last message:

I have no idea who you are, but it’s not okay to make fun of people by being a creep. I hope you have a nice life.

And then you blocked him.

You were still thinking about it a couple hours after you finished work. Fuck him and the way he made you smile. Fuck him for making a spark of hope for connection burn in your gut. Fuck him for laughing at you after being so nice, making that spark of something appear inside of you, just to crush it.

You were so uncomfortable in your own skin, it felt like the walls of your home-office were closing in around you, like you needed to get out. Therefore, you decided you needed to take a walk, maybe touch some grass. It wasn’t fun to be annoyed (and almost angry) by some random guy on the internet.

You grabbed your purse and keys, barely remembering to grab a jacket before you were out the door and stomping your way down the street. When you turned the corner, a new store caught your attention.

A new bookstore.

Yes! That’s what you needed. You walked that way as if your body already decided where you were going, something inside of you settling the second you decided you were going to enter that place.

You deserved a book, after all. Maybe some monster romance with extra spice to forget about that stupid dude on the computer. Yep, that was what you were going to do, buy yourself a new book and go back home where you could make some tea and enjoy some one-on-one time with yourself.

With new vigor in your step, you opened the door to the bookstore, the smell of old books hitting your nose before anything else. You took a deep breath in, and your remaining anger dissipated completely, calmness like no other washing over your body until you felt almost like you were floating on cloud nine. You walked in, caressing the spines of the books in your path as you settled in front of the romance section, but you didn’t hear anything before you soon felt a presence behind you.

A hand grabbed your shoulder, and you were roughly turned around, facing a demon in front of you as the rush of memories came crashing down on you as you let an incredibly loud and high-pitched scream.

Fuck.

The memories hit you like a tidal wave, and you stared up at him with unblinking eyes for a moment. “YOU SENT ME THE EMAILS!” You screamed at him as he stared back with a half-grin showing a hint of fangs.

But then you remembered how badly he approached the topic and you couldn’t avoid hitting his chest. He looked so confused that you could have laughed if it weren’t for the anger rapidly blooming inside of you again.

“You are the worst ever at explaining things!” You said, hitting him again as you remembered the stupid words he sent… intimately.

He didn’t dare respond, leaning down to claim your mouth in a kiss that tasted like longing and promises.