clownboy-yeehonk · 1 year ago
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Is it even Thanksgiving week if your extended family isn't giving you extreme agita
#woke up to an angry 5 paragraph essay of text messages#from my cousin because she was pissed about the trip to france#that i researched planned and invited her on#shes mad bc i was upset with her when she was nearly an hour late getting to the airport#bc she packed last second and left the house late#even though i told her how important leaving on time was to me bc it would cause me ungodly amounts of anxiety#and i was exhausted after our overnight flight and was cranky#which i apologized multiple times for bc i did feel bad for being tired and cranky#she never apologized for being late btw#and i got a fucking thesis statement of texts calling me rude dismissive and that she “didnt know who i thought i was talking to like that”#even though shes the one that complained about every. single. thing. all week#like she called everything we did and everywhere we ate a crappy tourist trap#and went on about how she didnt like the itinerary#which she had at the time we booked the goddamn trip#and i just feel so exhausted#and frustrated and hurt bc what am i gonna do#she sent a barrage of texts accusing me of being a shitty person for wanting to be on time and being tired our first day#and now she wont respond#so like what am i gonna do#shes my cousin and i love her but this is such a dick move and not a proper way to handle being upset#like its so immature!#i did all the work in terms of planning and researching and evrrything#for her to complain and be a snob about everything the whole time#AND now get yelled at at 8am sunday morning about how i didnt cater to her enough#like i had a great time anyway i cannot emphasize enough how much i loved the trip wven with her complaining#but like shes the unreasonable one here#i apologized profusely for being cranky and said i was also exhausted bc we were on the SAME OVERNIGHT FLIGHT I CAN BE TIRED TOO#and just bc i wasnt sulking all week like a child doesnt mean she didnt say or do anything to hurt my feelings#and even though objectively i know shes being unfair and angry and hurt right now#i feel really really really shitty and guilty and even if im right im still the one feeling like trash and crying rn
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meejijis · 8 months ago
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ah yes today is the day where one of my most hated manga moments of all time gets animated and I’m already just salty just thinking about it
#text#Yes this is about SK flowers. Yes I am still mad upset about what they’ve did to Jeanne.#As much as I enjoy seeing men onscreen being a Jeanne and renmei/men enjoyer hurts so much.#Always just questioning why takei went with this route. Not only just torturing ren and men but the fans who likes all 3#And it sucks cuz the sequels still hasn’t come to a conclusion and it’s been over what. 13-15 years??? Idk#I only care about the sequels to see if my favs get a happy ending or not. It’s so frustrating#Sometimes I think was this sequels just made just to milk money or takei didn’t felt too proud with SK overall and wants to#Like drive it to the ground and kill it. Idk man#Ppl also be saying Jeanne is takeis favorite character but I doubt it cuz look what he did to her lol#Used her as a plot device like 2 times and then throw her away once her purpose was done. It makes me dissatisfied honestly#And yeah I get it she’s a side character. Also takei can do whatever he wants it’s his own story and characters#But I still stand by my criticisms and negative feelings I hold lol. Anyways being delusional and having AUS is the way#Everyday I pretend Jeanne is happy and living happily with Ren. FOM yosuke and the others don’t exist lol#And don’t get me started on today’s new episode being BMS full appearance. I for one hate her imfao#And yes I’ve read RC and Marcos. Yes I understand she’s a misunderstood character AND she is#Being manipulated and groomed by yosuke. It’s literally yosukes fault he was the one that murdered Jeanne#And yeah I hate that character too with all my being lol. But that still doesn’t like excuse the actions BM did#To Jeanne IN HER FINAL MOMENTS before she got m worded. That still pissed me off on what she did to her. Fuck her lol#But yeah today’s episode. Yeah this is where SK flowers truly went downhill. The future? Who knows. I hope the sequels come back#Under like another new manga title. Can we just get to the FOM arc already
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someundefinedaesthetic · 1 year ago
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x
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itsallyscorner · 5 months ago
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At Fault | MV1
pairing: Max Verstappen x reader
summary: Max invites his ex to a gp and upsets you. Soft and stubborn Max, but he’s a cutie. A mix between angst and fluff, but mostly fluff towards the end. Lots of reader just ranting. Plus a little cameo from the Ferrari WAGs <3.
warnings: Does Kelly count as a warning? Kinda of toxic, I’m not really sure? But who actually likes seeing their boyfriend’s ex girlfriend??
author’s note: Italics are flashbacks! This turned out longer than expected, but I hope you guys like it! It’s also been a while since I’ve written fics, so it there are any errors pls ignore them😭
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The tension in the car was thick. So thick, Max believed he could cut it with a knife.
Your arms were crossed as you stared out the window while Max glanced at you wearily every other second. Thankfully, there were only three of you in the car. You and Max in the backseat, and the driver in front being separated by a divider. Though, Max was sure the driver was able to hear the current disagreement between you and him.
Max fidgeted with the lanyard of his paddock pass and stared at the side of your face. He knew he had upset you and honestly you had every right to be. You were biting the inside of your cheek in frustration trying to keep your emotions at bay. As much as you wanted to argue with Max about how you disagreed with his actions, he was due to race in a couple of hours and you didn’t want to add any more stress on his shoulders.
But Max wanted to talk about this now while you were both alone.
“Schatje, are you really mad?” Max asked quietly, leaning closer to you and trying to get you to face him. He truly didn’t mean to dampen your mood before the race. Most importantly, he didn’t like that he was the reason for you being upset. Your brows furrowed ever so slightly and a faint pout was on your lips, both indications that you were in fact not happy with him.
“Yes, Max, I am mad.” You answered, your voice trembling a bit. You had finally turned away from the window and were looking at him. Max felt a pang of guilt in his heart once he saw the look in your eyes. They weren’t glaring at him with the heat of anger, but they were soft and glossy, you were hurt—he hurt you.
Max cautiously reached out for your hand and tangled your fingers together, though your hand felt limp, like you didn’t want to hold his hand at all.
“I told you the truth.” Max said, leaning his head down trying to catch your eyes again. You took in a deep breath before turning to fully face him.
“Yes Max, you did and I absolutely appreciate it. I really do.” You began, grasping his hand between yours. “But that doesn’t make up for that fact that you’ve had this planned out for nearly a month and only told me thirty minutes ago!” You argued.
Thirty minutes ago, before your ride to the paddock can pick you guys up, Max had revealed that his ex-girlfriend, Kelly, and her daughter would be at the garage to watch the race. When you asked how they got passes to the garage, he shared that he had flown them out and provided them with passes for the weekend.
“So she’s been here all weekend?” You questioned him, arms crossed and a brow raised at him. The Italian heat felt even ten times worse as you grew frustrated with your boyfriend.
“Yeah, but they were at the Paddock Club, they’re going to watch the race from the garage though.” Max shrugged, as if it were not a big deal. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and grasped your hand in his free one.
You couldn’t help the feeling of insecurity seeping into your bones. Kelly was rich and gorgeous, she was a model, and you weren’t. You had a normal job that offered you stability, paid you good money, and you knew how to clean up nice. However, you were no where near her level of anything or any of the other WAGs at that.
“You’ve known this whole time that she was here?” You asked quietly, your brows furrowed at him. You hated that you kept asking him questions, it was like you were interrogating him.
Max looked down at you, confusion etched on his face, “I did, schatje. I flew them out and got them some paddock passes.” You acted before you could speak, and shook your head at him, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Your boyfriend was one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, however, many people took that as a sign to take advantage of him. While it took him longer to realize it, you noticed it instantly.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset though, I told you the truth, it’s not like I’m doing anything with her.” Max defended himself, his hands wildly moving around. “She reached out telling me that P missed me and wanted to come to a race, it’s not for her, it’s for Penelope.”
“I understand that Max and as harsh as this sounds, Penelope isn’t your responsibility. I get that you helped raise her, but you guys broke up, you don’t need to provide for her anymore.” You threw a hand in the air, emphasizing your point. “Kelly’s fully capable of flying herself out and buying tickets to a race weekend.”
“I was just being nice.” Max raised his voice, also growing frustrated with the situation.
“And she’s still using you!” You fumed, tears welled in the corner of your eyes. “How many times does she have to use you for you to realize it? You guys broke up and she still manages to get what she wants out of you! Do you know how embarrassing it is to walk in and see her there?” You tried to reason with him. While many of his fans didn’t approve of Kelly, you knew Twitter would have a field day clowning you when they find out Kelly was present in the garage. Social media was never always a nice place and you’ve learned to ignore it, but that didn’t mean it stopped the hate from happening.
Max ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
“This is ridiculous.” He muttered under his breath, you scoffed and leaned back into your seat, staring at the window again.
“Do you not trust me?” Max asked forcibly, staring at the side of your head again. You let out a defeated sigh and turn your head to look at him, “I do trust you, Max.”
Max’s shoulders slouched as he leaned on the seat sideways, his body fully turned to you.
“Then why do you not trust me with this?” He pushed, nudging your knee with his, trying to get an answer out of you. He knew he was at fault and he just wanted to make it right.
“I don’t trust her.” You simply answered, feeling done with the conversation. The car turned, nearing the entrance of the paddock. You sniffled as you untucked your hair from behind your ears, removing your sunglasses from the top of your head.
“You don’t have to worry about her, schatje. I want you not her, there’s a reason why we broke up.” Max reassured, trying to ease the tension between the two of you.
The car came to a halt, a knock came from the driver, indicating that you guys arrived at the paddock. Before you could leave, you turned to Max and said, “Yet, she’s still here.”
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
Entering the paddock was always a frenzy. The moment you stepped out the car, fans were quick to recognize you, knowing that one of their favorite drivers were right behind you. You slid your sunglasses on and smoothed out the white maxi dress you wore. Max followed in suit and flashed a smile at the fans.
Shouldering his bag, he held his hand out to you, “I know you’re upset, but can I please hold your hand?”
You nodded and entangled your fingers with his. The two of you began your walk into the paddock hand in hand, as fans screamed and waved at Max. He gave your hand a squeeze before guiding you guys to some of the barricades and signing a few things for the fans.
After you guys scanned your passes, Max led you guys to the Red Bull garage. However, you came to a halt. Max was quick to look back at you, “You okay?”
“Yeah—I’m gonna meet up with Alex and Rebecca, if that’s okay? We were planning on seeing each other before the race.” You tell him. A small pout formed on Max’s lips, “Oh, okay, I’ll drop you off.” He offered, still holding your hand.
You and the girls decided to meet up at the Paddock Club. In front of the entrance, Max stood in front of you.
“You’ll come to the garage to watch, right? I need you there.” He asked quietly, so that people passing by cannot hear your conversation.
You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be there before you’re in the car.”
Max mirrored your actions, “Okay, I love you.” He pulled you in by the waist and pressed a kiss onto your forehead. You squeezed his waist in response, “I love you too.”
Max watched as you entered the building, huffing to himself, while he watched you walk further and further into the building.
Placing your sunglasses above your head, you scan the room until you see one of the girls, Alex was the first to spot you, standing in her spot and waving at you to come over.
“Coucou mon amour!” She greeted you, (Hello, my love!) immediately wrapping you in a hug. You squeal as she squeezed you, “Helloo!” You giggled. You go to greet Rebecca, who is immediately giving you a knowing look. Being the older one amongst the three of you, she was often looked up to as the older sister.
She wrapped an arm around you and smoothed your back, “What’s wrong?” She asked while you got situated in the chair beside her.
You shook your head, “It’s just Max.”
Rebecca grabbed the bottle of champagne on the table and poured some into a flute glass. She offered you the glass, “Thank you, I needed this.”
She smiled watching you take a long sip from the glass, “Oh honey, I know.”
Alex pouted and nudged your foot with hers, “What happened with Max?”
“He invited Kelly to watch the race at the garage today.” You bluntly shared, slumping yourself in your chair.
Rebecca’s eyes widened, “Shut up.”
You raised a brow at her, “Oh, I didn’t even get to the kicker yet.”
Alex’s brows raised, “Which is?”
“He flew her out—he fucking flew her out and gave her tickets for the entire weekend.” You revealed through gritted teeth, still being aware of your surroundings. Rebecca cursed under her breath as Alex took your glass and refilled it with champagne.
Grabbing the glass, you continued, “She’s literally been here all weekend and he only told me this morning. I just don’t get it, they broke up, I don’t know why he’s still so concerned about her.” You took another long sip of champagne,
“What was the reason why?” Rebecca asked you.
“Apparently Penelope missed him—which I can believe, but did he really have to do all the providing when she can financially support herself? I get that he was trying to be nice, but still.” You grunt, fiddling with your glass.
Alex comfortingly rubbed your arm, “No, I get it, if Charles did the same thing with his ex, I’d also be upset.”
“I literally told him that she’s using him once again.” You threw your hands up. “If he wants her to be there so much, he might as well just get back with her. Like—am I crazy for losing my mind at the fact they were in contact with each other, even if it wasn’t in a romantic sense?”
Rebecca shook her head, “No, your feelings are absolutely valid. You’re just concerned and it obviously caught you off guard. He shouldn’t have been texting his ex in the first place.”
You groaned and held your head in your hands, “I hate feeling like this, it makes me question if he actually wants to be with me or not.”
Rebecca held her finger up, “I’m gonna stop you right there.” Placing her hand on your shoulder she says, “Max might be acting very stupid right now, but one thing I know for sure is that Max loves you and absolutely adores you. Without a doubt.”
Alex nodded, agreeing with Rebecca, “Like have you seen the way he looks at you? He literally worships the ground you walk on. I’m sure he’s beating himself up right now for doing what he did.”
“He loves you, (y/n), everyone who’s seen you guys together knows it. I don’t think he’d put himself in this kind of position on purpose, you’ve got that man wrapped around your finger, babe.” Rebecca reassured you, throwing her arm around your shoulder and pulling you into another hug.
“Come on cheer up, who cares if she’s in the garage today? You’re the one he’s gonna be going home with tonight.” You laughed shaking your head at her teasing.
“Hey! Tonight and every single night!” Alex pointed out raising her glass at you.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
Two hours. It’s been two hours since Max has dropped you off at the Paddock Club and he still hasn’t heard back from you. He’s been distracted all day. During a meeting with Christian and some of the engineers, he couldn’t help but constantly check for a text from you, earning himself a scolding from the team principal. Checo and a couple of people from the team tried talking to him, but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes wandered wondering when you would enter the garage.
He did in fact see Kelly and P—obviously he was expecting to see them since he invited them, but all he felt while talking to them was guilt. Guilty because he remembered the look of hurt and betrayal in your eyes and how he was the reason behind it. He hated it, he felt grimy, and dirty for going behind your back and texting Kelly. Not even ten minutes into catching up with the mother and daughter, Max realized that you were in fact correct. Kelly had used him again, instantly making advances on him despite knowing he was happily taken. But for the sake of P, Max made sure to be friendly though kept his distance to not feed into her mother’s schemes.
It was nearing lights out and you were still not in the garage. He had gone through his warm ups with Bradley, had his fireproofs and suit on, and even laced up his shoes. Still, no sight of you whatsoever in the garage. He was beginning to worry about you, sending you a couple of messages to your phone.
The car was due to be on the grid and there was about half an hour left till lights out. Max looked around the bustling garage, checking to see if you had snuck in without him seeing, though to no avail, you still weren’t there.
“Max…Max…Max?” GP tried to get Max’s attention. Snapping a finger in front of the driver’s face, Max’s eyes flickered over to his race engineer.
“What do you want now?” Max groaned, throwing his head back. To onlookers, it looked like a typical interaction between Max and GP. Though, GP felt like he was babysitting a child whose attention span couldn’t focus on one thing for more than a few seconds.
“Mate, I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes.” GP claimed. Choosing to ignore the information he had just “briefed” Max on, he decided to be a friend.
“Where’s your head at?” GP asked Max. The Dutch man sighed, leaning against one of the storage units in the garage.
“I messed up with (y/n). I did something and it was my fault, I know it was. But she’s not happy with me at the moment and I just want to make it right.” Max summarized, not sharing any more details to protect the privacy of your relationship.
GP motioned towards Kelly who was talking to one of the other influencers in the garage, “Does it have to deal with that?”
“Unfortunately.” Max mumbled, crossing his arms and choosing to stare at the floor.
GP took a minute to stare at his driver. Max was deflated, he wasn’t as hyped for the race or over explaining some random fact about god knows what. Instead, Max kept to himself, greeting people when he had to and communicating with his team prior to the race. Other than that, Max chose to stare at his phone and look longingly outside the garage.
“Listen, I don’t know what exactly went down. But I’ve seen you with (y/n) and she clearly makes you happy, we’ve all see how lively you are with her around. You’ve got a lot of groveling to do bud, but it’ll be worth it.” GP advised, clapping Max on the back to wake him up.
“She’ll always be worth it.” Max quietly said, taking another glimpse at his phone. Only to be met with his wallpaper of you and him, with no notifications.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
Christian Horner stared at his monitor at the pit wall watching as drivers and their teams gathered on the grid. He saw Checo by his car, taking a few sips of water before the race. When the camera panned to Max’s Red Bull, the driver was no where to be seen. Sparing him a second of wondering where his driver was, the camera cut to the garage where Max stood, race suit at his waist, looking no where near ready to participate in the race.
“Why is Max not in the car?” He turned to GP, stress evident on his face. GP turned in his seat and looked back into the garage to see Max pacing. Cursing under his breath, he excused himself from Christian and rushed to Max.
“Max, the race is literally about to start!”
Max stops his pacing and places his hands at his hips, “I need my girlfriend.”
“What?” Bradley and GP both stuttered out. Max deadpanned at the two men in front of him.
“(Y/n), I need to see her before the race.” Max demanded. Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose, “Max, she’ll be here after the race, you’ll be fine.” He pushed the balaclava towards Max’s chest, who simply let the mask fall at his feet.
GP sighed at Max, before calling one of the Red Bull employees.
“Please send out a search for (y/n), Max is refusing to get in the car.” He whispered to the intern. The girl looked at him confusingly but nodded and set out the garage.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
You rushed as best as you could in kitten heels towards the Red Bull garage. You were supposed to be at the garage at least half an hour ago. You and the girls got caught up catching up with each other’s lives that none of you realized it was getting close to lights out. It truly was a funny sight, the three of you rushing out of the Paddock Club and running through the paddock like a bunch of maniacs.
“(Y/n)!” You heard someone yell. You stopped in your steps and looked around, only to see a girl dressed in Red Bull uniform. You recognized her, you believed her name was Nicole and was an intern for the team this season.
“Hey! Is Max on the grid already?” You approached her, a little sad that you missed seeing him before the race.
“No, he’s actually waiting for you. They’re sending out a search for you because he’s refusing to get in the car.” Nicole explained, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you through the crowd of fans and towards the garage.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
GP released a sigh of relief once he saw you enter the garage. He shoved Max’s shoulder to avert his attention to you.
“What—oh,” Max began, only to stop himself and rush towards you. You met him half way, placing a hand on his elbow.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant to stay there for too long.” You quickly apologized. Max shook his head, “I don’t care, I’m just happy you’re here.”
Your brows furrowed at him, “Why are you here? Why aren’t you in the car yet?”
Max placed both his hands on your waist with a faint blush on his cheeks, “I need my goodluck kiss.”
You paused your actions, “You’re kidding me. Max, the race is about to start in five minutes!” You scolded your boyfriend.
“Please, schatje.” He pleaded, leaning closer towards you. Other team members and guests watched the both of you, the scene in front of them peaking their interests.
You gazed up at his stormy eyes, giving in because you knew he was stubborn and wouldn’t stop until he got his way. Plus, the team would hate you if you lowered their chances of scoring points this weekend.
“Just because I kiss you doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you anymore.” You clarified quietly. His forehead nodded against yours, “I know schatje. I promise to make it up to you, I really do.”
A small smile forms on your lips, “I know, Maxie.”
Max takes that as his sign to crash his lips onto yours. One of his hands support the back of your neck while the other rests on your lower back. You smile against his lips, pulling back and placing a peck right above the small mole on his upper lip.
“I love you.” You whispered to him.
“I love you too.” He whispered back. Before you can fully pull away from him he quickly adds, “I’m serious about my promise.”
“I know, baby.” You squeeze him comfortingly. “Now get out there and win the race. Stay safe.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead as both you and GP ushered him towards his gear that’s been waiting to be put on.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
A man of his word, Max won the race. With at least a five second gap between him and Lando, your boy was top step yet once again. As much as he won, the thrill of seeing him win and crossing the finish line never got old. You celebrated every win of his as if it were his first. You’d always be proud of him, whether he got pole or not.
Many of the engineers and members of the team began to rush towards the grid, eager to greet Max once he got out the car.
Looking around, you suddenly make eye contact with Kelly, who seemed to have been sizing you up. You weren’t really sure what look was on her face, but the hints of a snarl were on her lips. With her nose stuck up in the air, you watched as she carried her daughter and began to follow the rest of the team.
“Don’t mind her. You’re the one he wants to see when he gets out that car.” A voice said from beside you. You jumped, coming face to face with Christian. Your eyes widened at your boyfriend’s boss. Prior to the race, he was informed of the search party the entire team had for you to get Max in the car. While he was annoyed earlier, he thought it was rather cute that Max was so fond of you.
“You know, he’s never begged her for a good luck kiss.” Said Christian, a knowing look on his features. “You on the other hand—he can’t seem to function whenever you’re not around.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was gonna put that much of a fight earlier today.” You apologized, feeling a bit flustered. “He’s a bit stubborn sometimes.” You added, to which Christian chuckled at.
“Oh, I know. Max and I have worked together for years.” He stated. He glanced out the garage and motioned towards it, “C’mon now, I’m sure he’s already looking for you.”
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
You make your way through the crowd of Red Bull members, many of them recognizing you and helping you squeeze through till you were at the very front of the barricade.
Max was already out, helmet in his hand, while his other embraced GP and a couple other engineers. You watched as he high-fived Penelope, barely sparing a glance at her mother. A little burst of pride went off in your stomach, you couldn’t help it.
His blue orbs scanned the crowd of red and blue, looking for you. You yell his name, his eyes immediately finding yours. A smile breaks out on his face as he rushed over to you, dropping his helmet in the process. Despite the barricade between you two, he wraps both his arms tightly around you, lifting you off the ground.
“Max!” You squealed, your arms wrapping around his neck. His large hand found your cheek, slightly pulling you away from his neck so he can connect his lips with yours. Naturally, your lips moulded perfectly against his moving in synch. The team erupted in cheers around you.
“I’m so proud of you!” You tell him once your lips separate.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He grins, gently pinching your bottom lip between his pointer finger and thumb.
He couldn’t stay long, being told that he had to get to the podium for the trophy ceremony.
“I’ll see you after the podium, schatje!” He yelled with a wink over his shoulder, causing a blush to form on your cheeks.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
The ceremony and the media tent took a while, you finally got to see Max an hour later. You were sitting in his driver’s room, when he bursted through the door already looking for you.
You stood up, smiling at him, “Hey.”
He mirrors your smile. Placing the trophy on the couch he opens his arms for you. You walk into the comfort of his hold, burying your head into the crook of his neck and wrapping your arms around his torso.
Finally it was just the two of you.
“I’m sorry.” You said, though it came out muffled against his skin. Max’s hands stopped the circular motions they were rubbing on your back.
“For what?”
You pulled back looking at him, “I overreacted about the whole Kelly thing. I should’ve taken your word for it.”
Max immediately shook his head, disagreeing with you. “No, you were absolutely right about her. I should’ve listened to you from the beginning. The moment I said hi to them she was already trying to come onto me—I avoided her by the way, I just entertained P.”
“I’m also sorry for what I said about P. I was in the wrong for that comment.” You said, a small grimace on your face when you remembered the off hand comment you made about the poor child.
Max chuckled, “Schatje, seriously, it’s okay.”
His calloused hands were rough against the soft skin of your face. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and cradled your jaw in his hand.
“I may have a soft spot for P, but they’re in my past. You’re my future, (y/n). The future that I only want and see myself in.” Max admitted. Your eyes gleamed at him, “You’re the future I want too, Maxie.”
“Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me.” He joked, squeezing your cheeks.
“I love you. So much. I know it seemed like I didn’t trust you today, but I want you to know that I do. I fully trust you with my life and I mean it.” You said, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck.
Max nodded, “I believe you. I love you too.”
The two of you basked in the silence and comfort of being in each others arms. Max was the first one to break the silence, “You don’t have plans after this right?”
You hummed against his neck, “Besides celebrating your win, nothing. Why?”
“Because I’m taking you out on a date.” Max proudly announced, a goofy smile on his lips.
“Don’t you wanna celebrate with the team?” You asked him. Max shook his head, “Nope, the only person I want to celebrate with tonight is you.”
You giggled at Max’s antics, “Whatever you say, Champ.”
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satowooo · 5 months ago
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kiss it better
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Suguru always hated it when you break up with him when you're having a mental breakdown. So what's he gonna do to make his baby feel better?
contents. slight academic rivals to lovers (barely mentioned), suguru x reader, eventual smut, fluff, cowgirl, bottom suguru, slapping, rough sex, pet names, degration, not proofread.
Do what you gotta do, keep me up all night.
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your relationship with suguru became on and off ever since you two started dating. he could vaguely remember why, but he knows one thing.
your relationship with him started off as enemies. he remembers how you were always so angry at him, your bratiness showing every time he was a step further than you in academics.
being a straight A student is something that he likes to brag about, knowing that you're right there to keep him on his toes because you're just as smart as him. he knows how you tire yourself to study every night and day, sleeping and almost living in the library whenever an exam week is coming, never going out of your room and not eating until you understood and memorized all your notes, and how you'd never talk to him the whole time you're busy studying. and what does he hates the most? you breaking up with him for it.
you're a top student, but you're always in second place because he beats you to it. it never fails to make you upset, but you don't really blame suguru for being good at what he does. rather, you blame yourself for not studying enough as if your brain is already not about to explode for every information that you try to force into your brain.
and suguru hates it enough that you have to break up with him just for you to torture yourself in the confines of your room with all the papers and academic works controlling over your body and mind. he hates it everytime because he knows how hard you are being to yourself.
“baby, i’m coming inside, okay?” suguru called outside your door after knocking several times. he didn't wait for another answer as he twists the knob, pushing the door open.
“suguru, no-”
he heard your sniffles. and his heart ache at the sight before him.
you were sitting at your study desk. papers scattered around in a mess, some of it drenched in your tears. your eyes reddened, and you looked at him in frustration as you stood up.
“i told you to leave me alone, suguru.” you said, wiping your tear stained cheek.
he looks over at your bed, to the crumpled sheets, feathers flying around from your pillow, knowing that you probably had been punching it in your frustration. he sighs and walks over to you, immediately cupping your cheeks to look you in the eyes.
“you think breaking up with me would solve the problem?” he whispers softly, kissing your eyes, your tears.
you looked away, tilting your head to the side so as to not look at him. “it's for the better. you're only distracting me from my studies.”
he closed his eyes tightly, before holding your jaw so you could face him properly. your hands clutched his shirt at the proximity between you. “i’m distracting you?” your words sting, his heart clenching at the way you're trying so hard to push him away. but he wouldn't have all that. “come on. i know you're mad. punish me then.”
“suguru-”
“i always tell you that i’m here to help. but you're too hard headed to ask for it.” his tone was firm, his eyes turning dark at the way you tried to get away from his grasp. he lets out an exasperated breath before loosening his grip from you. “don't hurt yourself, baby. hurt me instead.”
“suguru, you don't understand. i am angry, fine, i admit.” the grip you had on his shirt tightened, a shaky breath escaping from your lip as tears started to form on your eyes again. “i don’t want to take it out on you when i’m clearly a mess, suguru. you don't get it because you're always too good and i’m not enough. i can't be enough for you if i’m like this-”
once again, suguru cut you off. your words flying off his ear as he interrupted you with a fierce kiss. his tongue darting out for entrance and you didn't push him away. your words muffled from the way he pressed his lips, making you shut up and revel onto your desires as your lips parted, your tongue delving out to taste him.
all your worries easily slipped away. his thumb swiftly wiping the tear that escaped your eyes while not breaking the kiss. he pulled away for a moment before capturing it once again, this time gentler than the first.
to suguru, it was always the same words no matter how much he reassured you. so what's he going to do? make you feel like the queen you deserved to be.
“come on, princess. just like that.” he grunted, his hand gripping on your hips as he slammed you down on his cock. “come on, tell me how mad you are right now. let me hear you.”
“f-fuck you, suguru…” you gasps, your hips rocking back and forth deliciously on his shaft. your teeth were clenched in frustration, your anger still brewing inside your heart by the way he had you easily straddling him.
“that's it, baby. let it out, let it all out on me.” he coos, gently running his fingers on your spine. the action sent shivers all over your body, your thrust rapidly increasing by each second. “you're so mad, aren't you? you don't like it when i'm doing good?”
"s-stop... ahh..." you huffed, face flushed as your pussy clenched around him. your hips were beginning to ache for how harsh you were slamming against his lap. and he had that annoying look on his face that got you riled up.
you know exactly what he's trying to do. suguru wants a reaction. for you to let it out on him. to be mad at him instead of being mad at yourself.
he gripped your ass firmly, a knowing smirk etched on his lip. “do i make you cry, princess? because i’m better? in studies… and even in fucking you?”
that definitely strikes a nerve right there. your pace increasing, your nails digging on his shoulder from how hard you're holding onto him. “shut up… sh-shut up…”
“that all you got?” he said darkly, sweat forming in his forehead. he gave your ass a firm squeeze before landing a smack, making you jolt in pleasure. “you're so fucking pathetic, princess. you're really crying over that? you look so fucking dumb with my cock inside-”
a harsh slap on his cheek echoed all over the room. your breathing coming in short gasps, while suguru was smiling. he was fucking smiling.
the slap reddened his cheek but it didn't even look like it hurt him. he huffed and squeezed your hip. suguru was drowned in pure bliss as he groaned, your hips thrusting so harshly, squeezing his cock like there's no tomorrow.
“fuck, baby…” he growled, the sting of your slap erotic and pleasurable that it got him ramming his hip upward. you could see the veins on his neck popping out, his eyes darkening as his fingers found your breasts. “fuck y-yeah… do that again, hm? show me how much you fucking hate me…”
you moaned, your back arching and body pressing against his chest. his lips latched on your nipple, while his other hand found your clit. he rubbed circles against it, making you cry and scratch your nails on his chest.
“you’re so worked up for all your studies, and for what?” he sneered, chuckling darkly at you. you bit your lip as another slap went across his cheek, feeling all the anger forcing its way to give him what he wants. you knew damn well that suguru was enjoying on riling you up, coaxing you to take it out on him by saying those words that he knew would gain the right reaction that he needs.
“fuck you, sugu… f-fuck you…”
“doing so well for me, baby.” he leaned forward to capture your lips, his lips grazing your earlobe. “you can do more than that, don't you?”
your thrusts became more erratic as his voice rang over your ears. you grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging it down so he could look at you. your face was a mix of both anger and pleasure, a sight that made suguru feel more aroused. he groaned as your hand flew over on his cheek again, his eyes glistening with lust.
“ohh, f-fuck!” the thumb on your clit increased its pace, as slaps after slaps on his face kept coming, eager to erase that stupid grin on his lips.
suguru grunted, his moans getting louder each second that it syncs with your sounds. your hand traveled up his throat, pressing on gently enough to restrict his breathing.
he let out a strangled laugh causing you to land another slap on his face. he can't believe that he felt so fucked out, enjoying the pleasure and roughness that you were giving him. the angered look on your face made his cock twitch inside you.
your hips thrusts up and down. up and down. unrelenting. it became frantic as his cock hit your right spots, driving you wild in ecstasy.
he could feel your pussy clenching around his cock, your thrusts became more urgent, your gripped on his neck beginning to tighten. his eyes were tied shut, suguru’s chest heaving as your wetness engulfed his cock.
“i’m cumming, baby. f-fuck, you gon’ cum, princess? you're doing so good- f-fucking hell…”
he hears your whines. his name rolling out of your tongue in desperation to reach your high. he bucked his hips, thrusting forward to meet yours, pistoning in and out furiously as the pleasure built up.
“suguru! ahh! hhk-” your hips shattered, your body convulsing with your orgasm reaching its peak. suguru let out a growl in pleasure, his hands squeezing your ass firmly. his own orgasm quickly approached, hot semen spurting right inside your sweet hole.
he breathes heavily, thrusting his cum right inside you slowly, making sure that nothing would come to waste. your hands released his neck, seeing how it turned red by the way you gripped so harshly. even his face was all flushed from all the slapping you did, with a small bruise forming on his temple, but suguru had a grin on his face.
his hair disheveled, chest heaving as you both catch your breaths. “still mad, baby?”
you shake your head, looking at him apologetically. “not anymore. i’m sorry, did i hit you too hard?”
suguru chuckled, his eyes half-lidded from the pleasure you just gave him. he took your hand in his, kissing your palm softly. “i fucking loved it, baby.”
he looks at you lovingly. suguru has already memorized you like the back of his hands, from your body to your heart and beneath your soul. and he'll do anything to make you feel better, to make you feel loved and cared for. he adores you so much that he wouldn't allow letting your insecurities pull you down.
suguru holds your hips, rocking yourself gently on his cock. your eyes rolling back, a soft moan escaping from your lips. he smiled, resting his head on the crook of your neck. “you're enough, baby. always remember that, okay?” he looked up at you before placing a kiss on your forehead. you basked into the aftermath of your lovemaking, your head falling on his chest as you nodded at his words. “don't ever doubt your abilities. failure is inevitable, it's a part of ourselves that symbolizes the efforts we do for trying.” suguru whispers, gently placing kisses all over your face. “and i love you for all your flaws and failures. don't ever think that you're not enough for me.”
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🙂‍↕️ i genuinely want to make an academic rivals to lovers fic/series with suguru
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ariaste · 5 months ago
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Apparently there was some lil drama in Good Omens fandom again about people being deeply nervous and scared of the end of Season 3, and I wrote this in the replies of one of the asks that Neil Gaiman answered, but I feel like it is deserving of being crossposted into its own post (in a slightly expanded form) so folks actually see it.
cmere, good omens fandom, we're having an intervention. a Come To Jesus talk, if you will.
First of all, I'm literally begging the fandom to:
learn what personal boundaries are, especially around parasocial relationships with strangers. (Suggestion: When sending asks to authors you like, use "polite work email" etiquette, not "joking with a friend" etiquette. The latter comes off REAL weird sometimes, and sometimes outright mean/rude/bullying).
take a couple deep fucking breaths
embrace the philosophy of The Author's Intent Only HAS To Matter To The Author, It Does Not Have To Matter To YOU. If you do not like the author's intent, you can say "hmmmm no thanks" and write some fanfic. That's what it's for.
Friends, Romans, countrymen..... Stop trying to make Neil Gaiman responsible for your happiness. For one thing, that is an absolutely unfair and cruel burden to put on a stranger who doesn't know you. Neil is only responsible for Neil's happiness. You're responsible for your own happiness. In fact, do not rely on ANY external source to guarantee your happiness, not even very nice people like Neil, not even your significant other, not even your family members. Yes, those people might be able to help you with your happiness, but they cannot guarantee it. Expecting a third party to guarantee your happiness is how corporations exploit you, and it is the source of all media trauma. Take agency over your own joy! Don't give away your power! Plan to DIY your personal ideal ending!
Neil is not telepathic, Neil cannot know all your hopes and dreams and wishes, nor SHOULD he be expected to know them, nor does he have space to know them. He is busy with things like his own and Terry's hopes and dreams and wishes. Their hopes/dreams/wishes are just as valid and important as yours, aren't they? Yes, they are. So calm down. caaaaaaaallllllm dowwwwwn.
Yes, I love the show very much too, but at the end of the day it is just a story. And the great thing about stories is that you are empowered to retell them in a different way. It is not real, so if you end up unsatisfied by S3, then blithely impose your own reality and build your own joy. It's not like it's the End Of The World or anything (lil fandom joke there for you)
And look, if you read this and you're feeling Mad and Upset or Frustrated about it, that is a symptom that you are maybe feeling a little stung in your Media Trauma parts. I am sorry that other stories have let you down in the past, and I really sympathize that you are feeling scared about the fate of this story that really matters to you. You've invested a lot of love into it! I really understand the fear! You don't want to be hurt again, and that's super understandable and normal.
But bestie, literally the only way for you to find a story that's exactly perfect for you and that won't hurt you at all is for you to write it yourself. I know that sucks to hear, but it is the truth. If you keep pinning a hope of perfection on other people's stories, you will keep getting traumatized by the media you consume. Love other people's stories for what they ARE, not for the stories that you WANTED them to be -- the same way that we love people, you know? You have to let a person be their own person; you can't force them to be someone else. That's fucked up, so if you notice that you keep trying to do that, maybe go to therapy so you can be that Someone-Else person for yourself (or, if you can't afford therapy, read some self-help books from the library or find some good channels on Youtube who make content that might help with that (I really like JulienHimself)).
If you need a story to be something big and important for you, if you are seeking catharsis and healing from a story that matters to you and you're really scared that you won't get it, then open a Word document and start typing. You can do it. You're a human being, and you evolved to tell stories. Literally it's a species specialization. You got this. It's gonna be okay, because you're going to seize the means of production and MAKE it okay. Yes? Yes.
Good Omens S3 will be what it will be. It will be what Neil wants it to be and what Terry would have wanted it to be. Period. That IS actually the highest achievement and the most noble and admirable accomplishment that we can hope for. And hey, maybe what they want overlaps with what you want, and that will be wonderful! But that will be merely a happy coincidence. The only person who can TRULY center your wants is YOU. So stop trying to trap Neil into doing it, please, because he's busy and it's not his job, AND because your wants do matter and you deserve to have someone who can give your wants their 100% full attention (aka you. that's you. only you can do that. Not even your best friends in the world can do it. Not even your mom can do it, at least not if you're old enough to know how to read.)
It's gonna be okay. Really. Really, it is. No, stop typing the snarky melodramatic reply. This is not the time for jokes; I'm being serious. It's going to be okay. Neil Gaiman can only break your heart exactly as much as you allow him to do so. That's how art works. You have to consent in order to be affected by it, and you can withdraw your consent at any time. You're going to be okay. I promise. As long as you choose to claim your own agency and your own empowerment as an individual, then all will be well and all manner of things will be well.
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hopesworlld · 7 months ago
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౨ৎ only you, my girl, only you, babe
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౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — jealous!anakin x fem!reader
౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — you can't leave anakin, you just can't, he won't survive it
౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 1k
౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — swearing, jealous!ani, arguing, crying, using sex as a means to make up, smut ( dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, mentions of oral f receiving ) think that’s all !
౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — he's so whiny, i want him
part two part three masterlist
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"baby, please, just tell me what you were doing talking to him," anakin pleaded, his face tight with tension as he followed you though your shared apartment.
"ani, he's my friend i've known him since uni," you groaned, entering your bedroom, "we literally lived together for three years why are you being like this?" you questioned, turning to face him with narrowed eyes, watching as anakin's face dropped, he pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses sliding down as he pouted at you.
“i saw how he looked at you, how he hugged you…” he said and you shook your head, frustration welling in your chest as you watched anakin’s hands twitch, lips trembling.
“oh my god, anakin, he literally just hugged me, we are good friends you are being ridiculous,” you told him, turning around and walking over to your wardrobe, pulling out some more comfortable clothes to wear around the house, you loved anakin with every fiber of your being, but you couldn’t help but feel trapped when he got like this, so possessive and needy, acting as though everyone in the world was against him.
“baby, you know i’m not mad at you,” anakin began but you span around, eyes hard and voice like ice as you spoke to him.
“you’re not?” you spat, “oh, you aren’t mad at me for absolutely nothing? well thank you, anakin, i really fucking appreciate it,” anakin’s eyes went glassy, sniffling wetly, gaze falling to his feet.
“baby, i’m sorry,” anakin whimpered, tears rolling down his golden cheeks, “please don’t be mad at me,” he begged but you simply ignored him, you felt bad, you always did when anakin cried, he was such a sensitive soul, so desperate for approval, for your love, he had never felt like enough, never felt that he deserved you and it made your heartache but you couldn't keep feeding into his jealousy.
you went about doing what you were doing, tugging your shirt off and replacing it with a soft t-shirt, an old one you had, had since you were a teenager belonging to your father, before tugging down your skirt and slipping on a pair of shorts, the motions were soothing to you as you listened to anakin cry, something to distract yourself.
“baby,” anakin whined, “don’t ignore me, please, please, talk to me,” he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, burning his wet face into your neck, “i love you, i love you so much, please don’t ignore me,” you sighed, relaxing slightly in his hold. “baby?” he whispered, planting butterfly kisses along the side of your neck, paying extra attention to your sweet spot just bellow your jaw.
“ani,” you said gently, “you can’t keep doing this,” you scolded lightly, heart clenching when anakin sniffled, clinging to you tighter, arms a secure weight around your hips.
“i know, baby, i’m so so sorry, i don’t wanna hurt you, please, just don’t leave me,” he begged and you could feel his cock hardening against your back as he began to grind on you, short little thrusts that brought a swell of heat into your stomach.
“ani,” you sighed, “i’m not gonna leave you, angel, you just need to stop getting so upset every time i talk to another guy, i only want you,” you told him and anakin melted.
“yea?” he asked you, beginning to grind against you harder, little gasps falling from his lips, “only me?” he whispered.
“yes, ani, you i promise,” you said, a small groan escaping you when anakin pressed himself harder against you, cock brushing against your clothed cunt, “fuck, ani,”
“am i making you feel good, baby? tell me, baby, do you like it?” he asked, rutting harder against you, exhaling harshly against the back of your neck, he was still whimpering, tears flooding down his cheeks as he pleaded with you.
“yes, so good, ani,” you promised him as he began to tug at your shorts with needy hands, pulling them down along with your panties exposing you cunt to the cold air, you shuddered but it wasn’t long before anakin was sinking his fingers into your sopping heat, opening you up for him. you hissed at the sensation, cocking your hips back against him.
“i’m the only one that can make you feel like this,” anakin said, “only me, promise me,” he begged, thrusting his fingers harsher, and you moaned at the stimulation tilting you head back to rest on anakin’s shoulder.
“i promise, angel, only you can make me feel this good,” you stammered out and anakin sobbed, you heard him shuffling behind you, pulling his cock free from his jeans, he hardly gave you a second to think before he was tugging his fingers from your pussy and replacing them with his cock, he didn’t give you time to adjust, thrusting into you harshly, groaning at the feeling of your cunt cleanching around his throbbing cock.
“baby, oh fuck, feel so good wrapped around me,” anakin told you, gently pressing at your back so that you were bent over, one hand secured around your waist holding you in place while the other was holding you down, you hissed at the new position, the angle allowing anakin to sink deeper into you, cock head brushing against your cervix.
“fuck, ani, just like that,” you praised and anakin’s hips jolted, “doing so good for me, just like that,” you said, eyes fluttering shut as anakin continued to fuck into you with needy whines, chasing his relief as well as yours, one of your hands fell to your clit, swirling your index finger around the bundle of nerves in a figure eight pattern, you knew anakin wouldn’t last long when he was worked up like this this and it would break him if you didn’t cum, last time that had happened he had eaten you out until you were sobbing, tears streaming down your cheeks and hips shaking with overstimulation.
“fuck, baby, so wet,” anakin said, “god, this pussy was made for me, we fit so good together,” anakin told you, “no one else could get your pussy this wet, make you feel so good,” his words were becoming mindless blabber as he drew closer to his orgasm, you could feel his cock twitching inside of you, “mine, all mine,” he said, and you nodded along, mind becoming fuzzy from pleasure.
“yours, ani, all your’s,” you promised, cunt cleanching as you drew closer, the sensation of anakin pumping deep inside if you and the stimulation on your clit enough to send you over the edge.
“yes, yes, fuck, never leave me, never ever, never,” anakin commanded though his voice was squeaky, high pitched as you felt his hips stutter, “i’m gonna cum,” he cried out.
“that’s it, come for me, ani, wanna feel you cum, angel, fill me up,” you told him breathily, thrusting you hips back to meet him and anakin was gone, his thrusts were erratic before he spilled into your pussy, filling you up with his seed. you moaned, the feeling of his hot cum flooding your insides enough to send you spiralling, a scream falling from your lips as you clenched around anakin’s cock, milking him of every last drop before going lax in his hold.
“i love you,” anakin whispered, “i love you so much,”
“i love you too, ani,” you replied, letting him tug you towards the bed, collapsing down together in a mess of limbs.
“don’t ever leave me, okay?” anakin said, and you nodded.
“never, i’m yours,” you promised.
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i kinda hate this but i wanted to write some whiny ani so hope you enjoyed !
tags: @johnbassplayercutie
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ionlycareaboutyou · 2 years ago
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x
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bpdumb · 2 years ago
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i think the worst part about this bpd shit is that no matter what happens i am genuinely never going to heal properly like im always going to freak out over the tiniest shit & just crumble like it's so fucking exhausting
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railingsofsorrow · 6 months ago
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don't walk out
[spencer reid x reader]
summary: “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.”  pairing: s.reid x gn!reader  w.c: 1K warnings/content: implied abandoned issues; argument; silent treatment (brief); language; angst.  A/N: guess I'm on a roll today. I just love some angst. 
navi
masterpost
cm masterlist
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“is that supposed to make me feel better?”  
lights had barely been turned on when you spat out a response, breaking the tense silence. your apartment was tidy, nothing out of order, even the pillows where settled two on each edge of the couch like you always did before leaving for work.  
it was the expected. three days away on a case didn't exactly mean your house would turn upside down, would it? unanimated things didn't move on their own. but one thing that was turning upside down was your mood. not only did the journey home came with lots of turbulence, but Spencer had to make an unpleasant comment that made your blood boil. was it wrong that you just wanted to not look at him right now? you were even considering not sleeping beside him tonight. 
“for fucks sake.” you mumbled under your breath when he had stayed silent. he's ignoring you now. great. throwing your work bag on the couch, you didn't even take your shoes off as you moved back toward the door. you can't handle his passive aggressive act and you certainly won't handle his silence treatment.  
“where are you going?” he called out, shuffling out of the bedroom upon hearing the sound of keys dangling. no. no, you're not leaving, are you? “what—” 
“i'm gonna take a walk, spencer.” 
it didn't take a second for him to rush over and stop your exit by blocking the door. “what are the car keys for then?” desperation clouded his tone and you felt guilt building up in your chest, but it wasn't bigger than your frustration.  
“I'm gonna drive.” 
��at this time of the night? you hate driving at night.” 
“are you my father?” he almost flinched at your sharp tone. okay, he deserved that hostility. he's been nothing but rude to you the entire jet ride back home. it's not that you did anything — even if you had done something, it does not justify the way he was treating you —, the case had been hard. it involved kids. the team wasn't fast enough. he wasn't fast enough. you almost got hurt. it was a lot to absorb in a short amount of time.  
he never wanted this: you walking out while you were mad at each other. no. you had made a deal long ago. you both were laughing after your first stupid argument, something about forgetting to fold the laundry.  
“okay, but we can be like this, right?” you said, nudging him. “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.” 
his eyes soften and he almost turns to mush. he understood then that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. and yes. you would be mad and you would upset each other but leaving was off the table. he could do that. there was nothing he'd want more. 
but now he'd cross a line. didn't he? how dare he do that? how dare he cause you do want to walk out? 
“i'm sorry.” spencer is still at the doorway when you ask him to move. he won't move. he can't. “i really am. I shouldn't have said that. it was out of line.” 
“really?” you snap. he hears the edge in your voice and the crack. it breaks him. he just wants to hold you, he never meant—means to hurt you. “then why did you? why would you even think about something like that?”  
he holds back his breath of relief once you've put the keys back in the bowl. the lump in his throat diminishing slightly. 
“i was upset. angry— at the case. the whole situation, not you.“ he clarified. “sweetheart, i'm sorry. I didn't mean it.” you're searching his face for some indication of lie that you won't find. “i'm sorry.” 
“you're an idiot.” your anger is gone, there's just frustration now. maybe at yourself, because you can't really stay mad at him as he stares at you with those eyes.  
“i am,” he admits, no ounce of hesitation in his tone. he's fairly certain he is, in fact, an idiot. “i'm sorry.” he repeats and he will repeat over and over again until you forgive him. he will beg if he has to. “don't leave, please.” 
and that is not fair. it's not. he can't make you mad and say sorry and all will be forgiven. he can't look at you with those eyes and think things will be magically fixed. 
but then your armor cracks. suddenly, his behaviour makes sense. 
we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave. 
“i wasn't going to—” you're ashamed at this point. you were so blinded by anger that you'd do something you promised to never do. “you know I wouldn't leave, right?” then his desperation in reaching the door before you makes sense and you're taken back to the moment you promised not to walk out in a fight. that's exactly what you where about to do.  
“i'm sorry.” you say, staring at the keys in your hands. “i didn't think before acting.”  
spencer nods slowly, taking a step closer towarss your frame. “and I didn't think before speaking. I'm the one that should be sorry.” 
you caught a glimpse at his twitchy fingers and takes one of his hands into your own, letting the keys slip to the floor as you yank him to your arms. he only complies by squeezing you against him. and finally, both of you have what you've been craving since this case started: each other's comfort.  
and then, you repeat. “i wasn't going to leave, you know that, right?”  
“yeah.” he burries his face into your neck and his voice is muffled by your skin. “yeah, I know.” 
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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ; 
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lcriedlastnight · 4 months ago
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Y/n and Lando are arguing, y/n confesses her feelings in the heat of the moment, and Lando kisses her
thanks for your request anon! sending hugs and kisses.
tw: fem!reader, she's hella short, lmk if you want me to add anything.
w/c: 733
you cannot remember what you were fighting about anymore. what you do remember is that it started because some girl had hit on lando and you had gotten jealous. of course you were far too prideful to admit that the thought of lando with anyone else except you made you feel sick to your stomach, so instead you just gave him the silent treatment. was it wrong of you? for sure. did you feel bad? were you going to give in, admit you were in the wrong and apologise? fuck no.
"i don't get why you won't just tell me whats wrong! you always fucking do this! all i wanna do is help and y'make it extremely difficult!" lando yells. well it's a half yell half just talking extremely loudly at you. you frown as his voice raises in volume.
"there's nothing to tell you. i'm fine." you protest, arms crossed over chest as you stand in the middle of your shared kitchen. your standing still while lando is pacing around the place like a madman. you understand why but it does not make you any less jealous.
lando runs his hands through his hair with a deep sigh as he tries his best to calm down.
"look, if you aren't telling me because you think i'll be mad or get upset or whatever, i promise you i won't. i just wanna make you feel better, honey." his voice is significantly softer than before and his face seems less uptight too. the sight makes you happier because you were worried that you had gone too far with this whole thing. all you wanted was for lando to know that entertaining that girl had hurt your feelings but you could not find the confidence to do it. the driver watches as you hesistate.
"c'mon, love. you can tell me anything. you know that." lando utters, hands coming to run up and down your arms.
"i'm fine." is your reply. lando loses it, stomping away from you.
"fucking hell!" he shouts your name, frustrated.
"don't shout at me. you're the one not listening. i said i'm fine." you reply, feeling yourself rise up to match his level of frustration. lando scoffs at your words, clearly not believing them at all.
"yeah, sure and if i didn't ask you what was wrong then i wouldn't care about you or your feelings but if i do then i'm - what even am i doing wrong right now? how can i possibly be in the wrong right now when all i want to do is care about you and your feelings?" lando says exasperated. his hands coming to run through his hair again, making it ten times as messy.
"i just said that you're not listening to me and you've just proved my point! all i want is for you to listen to what i say!" you shout back at him, arms waving in the air.
lando stares at you and for a minute, for the first time in twenty minutes, the apartment is quiet. it is only seconds later that lando is striding towards you and smashing his lips onto yours. your immediate gasp helps him deepen the passionate kiss as his hand grips the back of your neck. you react as soon as his tongue touches your own. your own hands coming to grip at his shoulders. the kiss is sloppy and kind of pathetic until you pull away, panting for air.
"why," you breathe out, trying to catch your breath. "why did you do that?" you ask the brit, eyes staring into his own.
lando gives you that smile before replying "you told me to listen to you more and i thought i heard you say kiss me." he shrugs. you so badly want to roll your eyes at him but affection takes over your body instead as his cheesy grin makes butterflies flutter in your stomach.
"and next time, i would appreciate if you just told me that you were jealous instead of me trying to force it our of you." lando whispers in your ear, the feeling of his breath so close to your skin sending a wave of goosebumps down your arm. you scoff as you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as he laughs, the fight already forgotten about. seems like all you needed was a kiss or two.
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princessbrunette · 7 months ago
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john b was big. you knew it, he definitely knew it.
that never stopped you from trying to please him though. you were an inexperienced thing when the two of you first met, john b still thinking back on the first time you’d asked to go down on him. it was an affair of shy licks, doe eyes, the constant question of “am i doing it right?” followed by the demure command of “please show me how.” the whole idea was ditched pretty quickly, the lover boy hating the idea of putting any kind of uncomfortable strain on you.
you knew your way around the sack a little better now, could take his dick inside you like a champ even though the stretch was still prevalent and it left you bulging each and every time. however, sucking him off still often proved more difficult — your throat apparently just not cut out for it. you were frustrated, because john b was so good at eating pussy, it didn’t seem fair to not return the treatment to the same level of ability.
he can sense this frustration as your brow creases into a frown, dribbling furiously down his aching red tip until your mouth was drawing blanks, trying to lubricate him enough to help the process. he’s smiling softly at you like you were picking flowers or something totally innocent, a distant loved up look in his eye as he cups your face, coarse thumb stroking repeatedly across your cheek and temple to soothe you.
you try him again, taking him into your mouth and beginning to jerk off what you couldn’t reach. you bob your head and he hums, low and raspy in his chest. “good job, pup.” he praises, and something about it makes you stir. your boyfriend genuinely meant it — you were doing a good job, seeing you work to please him made him feel amazing as did your slick mouth and skilled hands… but you wanted to do better than that.
taking a deep breath through your nostrils, you clench one wet fist in your lap as you force yourself down on his length as far as you can handle. “e—easy… baby.” his brows jump higher as he sits up just a little, hands hovering over your head as you hold yourself down. you gag, hard and come back up — sucking in a loud shaky breath. “hey, okay, just go easy sweetheart. remember?” he comforts and you push his hands away, going back down and forcing him into your throat before you’d even fully recovered.
he winces, because yeah — the way your throat tightens around him with each wet gag does feel good. although, he was far too focused on your wellbeing to fully immerse himself. he says your name once, almost in warning before you feel bile rising and you pull off him quickly, aggressively coughing and spluttering. your throat, nostrils and eyes burn and you burst into tears — mad at yourself. he drops everything to scoot forward quickly, going to comfort you. your instinct is to shove away his hands in a slight panic.
“—no—” you gag.
“heyheyheyhey — nonono, sweetheart. breathe with me, yeah? in… and out… just like that puppy c’mon, show me those breathing techniques. remember the ones we did when you got upset? in… good girl…” he finishes silently with an exhale for you to copy and you try, but you’re still sniffling and choking.
“i’m terrible. i’m terrible at this.” you mewl and he shakes his head, cradling you where you kneel.
“who told you that, hm? my sweet girl just pushed herself too hard. thaaaats okay. we live and we learn, don’t we?” he hums in that low timbre that comforts you and you feel yourself calm slightly, your boyfriend swiping away at your tears, snot and saliva. “you don’t need to do all that, pup. you make me feel plenty good. it’s not worth… hurting yourself.” his forehead creases as he stressed this information to you, cupping your cheeks to get you to look at him, ensuring you understood.
you swallow, and make a screwed up face of discomfort at the ache in your throat from practically lodging him down there, possibly bruising your inside. your hand reaches up to touch your neck and his eyes follow.
“is that hurting?” he mutters in questioning and you nod, feeling a little bad for making such a fuss.
“wow, i really should have stopped you sooner. poor girl, huh.” he sighs, gently moving your hand aside to softly massage your throat with his fingers before bringing his lips to your forehead. “yeah i’m sorry the size of me is so…unmanageable… it’s uh— definitely not ideal.” he awkwardly apologises.
“s’not your fault, john b.” you whisper, hating that he blames himself.
“yeah, i know but… yeah.” he dismisses, tucking himself away to pull you up onto his lap. he knows you’ll wanna continue on with having your fun together soon, but for now he needed you to be grounded and feel safe.
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vmlnrznotfound · 3 months ago
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Hi there!! I saw your series “My gf is mad at me I hope I die” and it’s was soo cute haha! If you’re up for it, could I request Hiori, Karasu, and Otoya for that same series? Love your writing. Thanks for considering!
[PART3] MY GIRL IS MAD AT ME, I HOPE I DIE.
characters: hiori, karasu, otoya
a/n: hi anonnie!! im saur glad you liked my writing<3
HIORI YO
the silence between you and hiori is thick, like a wall that neither of you is willing to break down. you’ve been upset with him for a while now, and he understands why. he’s given you space, hoping it would help you cool down, but as he watches you on the couch, engrossed in your animation, he knows that the distance isn't helping anymore.
he hesitates before sitting down next to you, the cushion dipping slightly under his weight. you don’t acknowledge his presence, your eyes fixed on the screen.
he reaches out, his hand gently brushing against yours. you don’t react, but as soon as his fingers curl around your hand, you pull it away, a silent but clear rejection.
hiori’s hand lingers in the air, cold and empty. he swallows the lump forming in his throat, trying to ignore the pang of hurt that comes with your refusal. but he doesn’t give up. he reaches for your hand again, this time holding it tightly, refusing to let you slip away so easily.
“you don’t understand, y/n,” he begins, his voice soft yet laced with desperation. “i can’t let you go now, not until you forgive me. i’m so sorry…i didn’t mean for it to end up like this.”
you remain silent, your gaze fixed on the screen, but he can see the sadness etched on your face, and it’s like a knife twisting in his chest. he sighs deeply, trying to find the right words to break through to you.
“don’t forgive me now,” hiori says, his voice cracking slightly. “just…let me be closer.”
his grip on your hand tightens, but not painfully so—just enough to let you know he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere. slowly, he scoots closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder, hoping you’ll let him stay like this, even if just for a little while.
KARASU TABITO
karasu stood a few steps away, his expression a mix of frustration and genuine sorrow. “i know i messed up,” he said, his voice rough. “i can see you’re not ready to talk, but i need you to know how sorry i am.”
you remained silent, your arms crossed, giving him the cold shoulder. karasu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m not asking you to forgive me right now,” he continued, his tone softening. “i just need you to know that i’m here and willing to listen whenever you’re ready.”
he glanced at you with a pained expression. “i’m not trying to force you to talk,” he said quietly. “i just don’t want you to think i’m giving up. i care too much to just walk away.”
the silence lingered between you, and karasu took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “when you’re ready to talk, i’ll be here,” he said. “i promise. just…don’t shut me out like that.”
he then took a step back, giving you space while keeping a hopeful look in his eyes, waiting for a sign that you were willing to address what had happened.
OTOYA EITA
it was past midnight. you had kicked eita out of the room, giving him the silent treatment. he tossed and turned on the couch, missing your touch and feeling the weight of your silence. his phone blinked with a new message. he picked it up to see your text: 'come over.'
eita’s heart raced as he walked into the room, trying to gauge your mood. you glanced at him briefly before turning away, the silent tension palpable. he let out a heavy sigh and layed down beside you on the bed.
he carefully wrapped his arms around you from behind, his warmth contrasting with the cold atmosphere in the room. resting his chin gently on your shoulder, he began to speak softly. “i’m really sorry,”
he placed a tender kiss on your temple, his touch lingering as he spoke. “i love you so much, and i’m not just saying that. i mean it with everything i have. i can’t stand the thought of you being angry with me.” eita’s words were a mix of heartfelt apologies and reassurances. “please, just let me make it right,”
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jocelynscrazyideas · 4 months ago
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Loss | Nico Hischier x Reader
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inspired by the song crazy in love- remix by Beyoncé
Warnings: language, argument, cool off, makeup sex, breeding kinks, unprotected smut!!! BE SAFE PLZZ (very small amount of smut at the end, really only a makeup blurb)
Summary: after the devils lost their last game that could’ve gotten them into the playoffs, Nico takes the loss personally.
💭: JACK THEN LUKE 🩷🤞
◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦
The ride home from the game was the loudest silence I’ve heard. Nico was the last one off the ice and the first one to leave the locker room. He was in a rush to get home.
No comments on any conversation I made, no road rage, no hand on my thigh, no post game kisses. If anything, I’m scared he’ll leave.
Nico would never do anything to hurt me, but when it comes to hockey, he’ll most definitely pick the sport over me. I’m okay knowing his career is a bigger deal than me, because of how big of a deal hockey is to everyone else.
I mean he’s captain. He should be working his ass off and not just for the spot as C, but for everyone to respect him.
“Nico. You know if you need to-“ Nico cuts me off.
“I don’t need to talk about it.” He shoots out. I think i see actual steam coming out of his ears. Before we head home, Nico stopped by a grocery store to pick up a snack.
He gets out of the car and didn’t open my door. “Well i guess I’m not going with.” I mutter to myself.
I see Nico walk into the store, he has tears in his eyes, I watch him walk away, hands up to his face. He’s wiping the tears away.
Real men show emotion.
“God.” I scream in frustration. I take my shoes off, i let my socks hand out, leaving my puffer jacket on i slide my purse off.
I take my phone out of my pocket from my jeans, I’m tired of it, seriously, why am I getting blamed.
~text~
i want choco pretz. (You)
send me $$ then. (Nico)
nvm. (You)
Read (Nico)
~
what a bitch.
Nico comes out of the store with four plastic bags on each side of his arms. He stuffs the goods into the backseats.
“So, what did you get?” I ask him. I don’t my pretzels.
“Your chocolate pretzels- and your gummies.” He slides his arm into a bag sitting behind my seat. He takes his hand and throws the bag of pretzels at me. My eye gets hit, I have a red mark lining through my eyebrow to the bottom of my nose- acrooss my eyelid.
~
We made it home. Nico already had dinner, and i ate Mac and cheese before the game. “Dinner in five. Be ready or I’m going to bed.” Nico says. He walks into the house, leaving me to open my own door and take my own bag. He leaves his hockey gear in the trunk and he gathers the grocery bags.
He loads the bags into the kitchen leaving him to unload them. I walk into the bedroom we share and i take my get ready bag, some makeup, and pjs and i wlak into the guest bedroom.
“Where are you going?” He snaps at me. He whips his head around to look at the hallway I’m in, facing our bedroom he sees the empty space of a bed I slept in.
I took my pillow, my personal blanket, and my phone charger. It looks like we broke up and i no longer had a life in this house. The vanity i sat in every morning is dark, and empty.
“Where does it look like?” I responded. I implied i was leaving for the night by gesturing to the pillow and small blanket in my hands that I wasn’t sleeping in the bed tonight.
“Sure as hell you’re but sleeping in the guest, and you’re not sleeping in your car.” He shouts at me. Nico gets angry easily, obviously not always at me but he was already upset about the game, I didn’t wnat to be around him.
I rolled my eyes and snarked at him. I walk into the room and shut the door. I immediately lock it setting my stuff down on the bed.
“Let me fucking in the room y/n. Open the stupid door.” He screams out for me.
“Just fucking cook dinner!” I yell back. I’m not mad at him, I’m mad at the fact he shuts me out and gets mad at me for trying.
~
Eventually I smell the food go cold, I don’t smell the warm hot steam from the food, so I open the door, I poke me head out. The bedroom door is shut. The lights are off. “Maybe he’s sleeping.” I whisper to myself.
Nico is no where in sight, so I leave the room I was hiding in. I grabbed a plate of whatever he made for dinner and popped it in the microwave.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Nico grabs my hips. “I need to talk.” He motions me to the couch.
“Oh, so now you wanna talk?” I roll my eyes and scoff. Ridiculous.
I switch the lights on as I sit my pretty ass kn the couch. “Why talk now? It’s like 1:24 am.” I glance at the clock that sits above our stove.
“I’m sorry I lashed out on you.” He says.
“I love you, and I care about you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I insisted. The microwave goes off. My food is ready.
We let the food go off. Nico picks me up from the couch. He rubs me over to the bed we share. I had bought this body oil from Victoria’s Secret because it smelt good. Naturally I thought I could put it in my hair, but of course Nico had different plans.
“Turn, clothes. Off.” He sighs as he catches his breath from running around. He slides his sweatpants off, keeps his shirt on.
He spanks my ass. I can feel the stinging pain throughout my whole body.
“Makeup sex to distract me?” I laugh.
“Is it working?” Nico asks as he puts a towel down near my body. He opens the plastic bottle. Pouring the cold oil onto my back he massages into me.
Glitter specks and the rich perfume fragrance fills the room. I feel slippery.
“My turn.” I say. No hesitation I get up and push Nico down. I tear his shirt off of him. Leaving him with his boxers on. I look down motioning to take them off.
He does.
I see a very large cock perked up towards me.
“Gross.” I laugh as turn around to take my bra and tight thing off.
I let Nico lay on his forearms as I run the oil around his abs. He sucks on my hard nippples as I massage the oil into his warm body. I jump onto him. Straddling him, my back facing his face. He pulls me forwards.
I slip, falling face first onto his dick.
I suck o to his cock, Nico lays back, pulling my legs apart, setting them next to his ears.
My pussy opens for him right on his face. He licks every inch of me, I feel a spurt come into my mouth as I suck harder. He jolts yo and down telling me to stop. I can’t.
~
He thrusts harder into me. Pushing his top into my lungs. I feel very heartbeat from his cock into my own pussy.
He pulls out, letting his cum squirt outside of me. I lay flat on my back waiting for him. He pushes three fingers inside and I can feel him wiggle the around looking for something to tease me with.
He lets the oil smother me. The towel wets my hair from all of the oil that pooled into the crevasses of the linen.
Nico takes his fingers out of me and stuffs it I tibuso mouth. Sucking his fingers clean he kisses me. Shoving his tounge down my throat. Massaging every bit of my mouth with his.
I feel his stubble rub against my face. I enjoy knowing he thinks I’ll forget all of the argument within the 19 minute blowjob.
I feel his cock fall onto my lap.
“This should be here, I should be in here.” I pull Nico’s face off of mine. I grab his cock and push it off of my skin, I point to my ribs.
Nico laughs, he thrusts once inside of me, he grips onto my hair falling just to me after he finishes inside me.
Once again he pumps himself into me. This time I do feel him in my ribs.
~
“Goodnight.” I say as I pick up my clean towel and I get in the shower.
“You’re not sleeping in here? Can I shower with you?” Nico runs after me, rubbing my lower stomach.
“I’m tired.” I grunt. And I walk away. “You can shower after me.” I wink as I leave to turn on the hot water.
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erenthology · 1 year ago
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Eren Jaeger x reader (drabble)
‘Did it hurt?”
you turn to meet his eyes, confused by his question. “What? it felt goo-“
“When you fell from heaven.” he laughs at his own joke. “God, Eren you’re so tacky.” you say, pushing his body from yours. “Girls love it.”
There’s the reminder you needed. “right. So I’m heading out.” His whole body turns, “where are you going?” raising an eyebrow, trying to pull you back into bed. “I have plans.” you turn from his grip and start looking for your underwear.
He stands up and and puts his jeans on, “with who?” his tone makes you falter a bit. He’s never cared about more than how far you’d let him go in bed. At least he’s never given any clear indication.
You hesitate putting your clothes on for a second before answering. “Just meeting a friend”
“And who’s this ‘friend’?” He’s standing right behind you now which makes you jump. “Jesus, Eren. you can’t creep up behind me like that.” He stands unaffected, waiting for your reply.
“Just helping a guy from my class with our chem exam.” He laughs without any indication of humor. “You’re kidding, right?”
You feel the tension rising and do your best to avoid it, like you always do. “I’m tutoring, dude. Let it go.”
“I just fucked you senseless into my madress and you’re about to meet another guy?” he doesn’t even know why he’s raising his voice. He’s not mad at you, he’s mad at himself for not having the guts to claim you as his.
Some people would call Eren arrogant, greedy, well, he kinda has the right to be. As the captain of the hockey team, he’s used to getting that he wants. that, and his looks. Flashing what he’s been told is a ‘very charming smile’ usually has him set for anything he wants.
Thing is, he wants you, and he thought he made it clear. I mean, are that blind to his advances? Other guys should know you’re off the market. He’s kinda made sure everyone knows. Except you apparently
The moment he raised his voice, regret filled his heart upon seeing your face. He feels he can’t stop messing up but the though of you meeting another man at when you’re giving of indications of being mad at him, is scary.
“Are you jealous?” You inquire, wanting to understand him. “I’m not jealous! It’s just..you’re mine.” even he looks confused as he says it.
You scoff at this, “you’re not my boyfriend, you have no right.” Maybe he doesn’t like the reminder.
He blocks the door with his body as you’re trying to exit. Frustrated, you sigh. “What are you doing? move.” you say, taking a step forward. “No.” he sternly says and means it. You bring your hand to slap him but he grabs it.
“We’re just fucking, right? so let me go, Eren. Let me go!” You struggle but his athlete body has no issue keeping up against you. “Don’t say that. you’re more than that to me.” At this, you stop fighting against him, looking anywhere but his face.
“I’m sorry.” You’re taken aback when he slumps his head on your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have mentioned other girls. It was a bad joke.” You feel heat rising in your face. “What are you talking ab-
“Stop. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” he exhales.
“I don’t unde-“
“you know I like you.” he interrupts, looking exhausted. You feel a lump in your throat and hate yourself for it. “How Eren? you never show me.” your voice breaks as you say it.
“I never show you? he almost laughs. “We spend every living moment together, I chase after you like a goddamn dog, god [name] how could you not see how infatuated I am with you?” he’s breathing heavily now.
Maybe you have been ignoring his advances. Maybe actions speak louder than words, or maybe, this is exactly what you’ve been waiting for.
“Mentioning other girls did upset me.” you decide to admit. This is your way of showing him you like him too, and he understands it perfectly.
“Yeah?” he smiles and you return the favor. “Yeah.”
“Want me to tell you how I jerk off to you and only you? Cuz I can get pretty romantic you know.” he pretends to be serious. Breaking out in laughter, “You can’t let a good moment pass, can you Eren?”
“Huh? wait, I can go into detail, I usually imagine you on to-“ you slap your hand over hush mouth. “Hush.”
He feels relief that you’re not upset anymore. Draping his hand over your shoulder, dragging you back in to his room. “You know, you look pretty hot when you’re angry.”
You deadpan, letting him go on. Eren explains everything so passionately, it takes a while getting used to. “I’m being for real. It’s hot when you talk back to me. Every time I look at you, you somehow turn even more beautiful.” he says in all seriousness, making you turn your face away from his in embarrassment.
he threads his fingers through yours, “don’t look away.” he murmurs, breathing you in through your neck, using his free hand to push your hips closer to his.
“I like it when you say stuff like that.” you confess, making him smile in your neck, scattering soft kisses up your jawline. “Then I’ll keep saying them.” He pulls back and thinks all the ways you make him fall into pieces, of the unsaid words he’ll make sure to tell you.
You carefully lift up your tangled hands and leave kisses up his wrist, taking initiative giving him the eyes. He lifts his face and locks eyes with you, message received.
Grabbing your jaw, he whispers, “wanna get fucked?” and you nod, teeth sinking into your lower lip.
Playlist
He runs his hand down his chest and twirls his finger in the air, “turn around for me, gorgeous.” You comply and make sure to graze your ass against his zipper, his eyes follow the movement and the air suddenly feel thicker.
“You’re a little tease, aren’t you?” sweeping your hair away from your back. He makes sure to take a mental photo when you turn your face back and smirk. You’re going to be the end of him.
“Strip.”
And so you do while his fingers trail from your neck down your lower back, until it’s playing in between your legs, “Jesus christ, this pussy.” His boner is prominent against you back as firmly holds you against him by your hipbone.
Wasting no time, he stops himself from making you come on his fingers and leaves a trail of wetness on your skin as his hands move away.
“You’re so wet, [name]. Do you like it when I touch you?” he’s being condescending. You hear his clothes hit the floor and excitement rushes through you. “I like it.” you exclame.
Taking a fistful of your hair, he brings his face into yours, capturing your lips with a promise. “Gonna fuck you so hard, baby.”
He pushes you onto the mattress and positions himself on top, locking his fingers into your hips. His touch is so rough, branding you as his. A slow grind of him entering you leaves you breathless, the stabbing pain of his size lasting for only a second before the rhythmical plunging of his cock turn into pleasure.
You lie weightless as his skin slaps against you, spreading warmth from inside out. He grabs onto the headboard and pushes even deeper, increasing the tension of pleasure with every stroke. It’s too much, you could swear he’s in your belly. Releasing a shriek, you squirm away, overwhelmed by pleasure. He grabs your chin abruptly, “you’re gonna take it.”
Running your hand down your belly, you stop to show him. “can feel you.” you breathe. His eyes follow your movement and the moments he realizes what you mean, he lets out the sluttiest grown and pummels into you with everything he has.
“fuck, fucking love fucking you.”
Throaty moans leave your mouth as he claims every inch of your body. He lifts your legs higher and leaves kisses along your foot. “Tell me who you belong to.” staring deep into your eyes, leaving you no place to hide.
“Y-you.” you hiccup as the force of his hips rutting into yours, moves your entire body. He holds you down, massaging your skin with rough hands. A pleased hum leaves his throat, “Yeah, and I don’t like sharing.”He’s so arrogant.
“Harder.” you plead, pushing your hands against his steel back muscles. A whistle leaves him and his face explodes into a grin, “a real freak aren’t you?”
You give him a lustful smile and he immediately obliges your demand and rocks his hips into yours even harder, skin to skin. Keeping his eyes on you to make sure you’re okay.
The way your eyes roll to the back of head head as you start touching yourself is indication enough for him. Each touch of his pelvic increases the friction against your clit . Your pussy is tightening up, spasming around his jock. And you feel his cock jerk inside you.
No words are needed, you both know each others bodies inside out. You come first and he gathers you in his arms as you scream and writhe beneath him, “shh, baby. It’s okay. so proud of you.” he whispers all tenderly, running his palms up and down your sides as you continue to pump his cock, making him release.
His head rears back as his cock jerks inside of you, spurting his cum into the latex barrier in between you. The high of coming together is like nothing else, his fist in your scalp and your hands scratching every inch of him you can reach.
As you both calm down, your rough markings on his abdomen turn into soothing touches while he inspect every inch of his handprints on your body. You’re a match to his flame, and he has no intention of letting you go.
“Staying the night?” he asks intentionally, this feels like a deciding moment between you two. “mhm,” you hum, “but just because your shirts are comfortable to sleep in.” you say, slyly.
Yeah right. “Had no intention of letting you leave anyway” he admits and gets up, throwing away the condom and begins picking out a shirt for you to wear. It already feels empty without him inside you.
“Hey, did you really have someone to tutor?” he asks, snapping you away from your thoughts.
“Yeah, why?” you answer thoughtlessly, making Eren snicker, “well you should probably let him know you’re not coming by now,” he reminds you.
“Oh shit.” you jump towards your phone and he just laughs, smacking your ass.
“best ass in the world.”
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miraclewoozi · 11 months ago
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DRIVE. - l.c
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DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.
pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!
SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).
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You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 
Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 
Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 
You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 
It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.
Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.
Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 
And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.
In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 
Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.
Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–
And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 
You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”
His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”
“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”
You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.
In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”
It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 
‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’
If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 
Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –
Clink.
Stupid. Fucking. Stones.
A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.
You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.
“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 
Black dahlias.
You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)
Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”
He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”
He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 
“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”
“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”
“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 
His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 
“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”
“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”
Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.
“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”
“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”
“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”
You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 
But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.
All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 
“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 
Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.
But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 
With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.
All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 
He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 
Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?
You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.
“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 
You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 
“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”
“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.
He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 
But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”
Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 
“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”
You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.
“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”
But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”
Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?
“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”
You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”
“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”
“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”
He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.
“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”
“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”
“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”
You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 
“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”
He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?
Well, tell a lie. 
There is one more. 
“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 
You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 
You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 
Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —
A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 
Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”
“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 
Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 
You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.
“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 
“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”
“You’re the someone else.”
Oh. 
Oh.
“I’m—?”
“You.”
The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 
“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 
Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”
“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 
“Yes — you are.”
“Am not!”
“Are too.”
“No, you’re just an idiot.”
“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”
“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 
“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 
“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”
“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”
He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 
Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 
He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 
“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 
“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 
“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”
Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 
There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 
“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 
You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 
(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)
Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 
It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.
“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 
“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”
“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 
Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 
You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”
And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 
“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”
Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 
“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”
Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 
“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 
He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 
It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 
You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 
Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.
“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 
He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 
You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 
He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 
“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 
Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 
“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”
It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 
“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 
You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 
When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 
“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 
“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”
“Yeah?” 
“Yeah—”
Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 
God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 
He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 
“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.
“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)
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thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3
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