#shaking your fist at the store when you drive by

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”  

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[eufezco]

NIGHT RIDES WITH LOGAN༄

logan x afab!reader (smut) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

logan spends all day working and you get bored.

when he finally gets home at night he is too tired to do anything but collapse in your bed, between your arms and with your hands caressing his hair. you want to spend some time with him, you miss his company, but you know that work drains all his energy and you would never hold it against him, he did everything he could to provide for the four of you. so you eventually found a way to spend some time with logan.

you booked his limousine.

the first time his brow furrowed in confusion as you opened the door to get into the car. —what are you doing here?

—wanted to spend some time with you.

—you know this makes me loose fucking money.

—you can put in the app that you're free, i won't be a bother, i promise.

and logan huffs but agrees because he's upset but at the same time it's comforting to have you there. he starts driving and you start talking, and he listens, smiles and hums to everything you say. he likes to listen to you and how you have the need to tell him about every thought that goes through your head.

and you turn up the radio a little and hum and sing all the songs while logan is focused on driving but you can see how his fingers tap the rhythm of the song on the steering wheel. he's happy to have you there with him.

and sometimes logan drives with a hand on your thigh, caressing and squeezing the inside of it or taking your hand and putting it on the shifter under his. other times you have your feet on his lap while logan drives, innocently at first, but then you start to rub his crotch with them and he looks at your feet and then he looks at you, looking back at him as if you were doing nothing.

so logan has to park in the darkest alley he knows and fuck you dumb in the back seats. he has you sitting with your legs spread open, knees to your chest, and his body between them as his hips slam into you. may not seem to be the most comfortable position, but remember it's a limousine so you have all the space you need.

it's even better when you ride him. you straddle him and his big hands are on your hips, helping you to bounce on his cock. he grunts and pants into your mouth. he spanks your ass, sucks on your nipples, and looks at you in awe, with parted lips trying to control his breathing as you ride him with your eyes closed shut and your hands on his chest.

there comes a moment when your legs start shaking, your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders and your movements become more desperate, you can't stop moaning and by the way, you're squeezing his cock, logan knows you're about to cum. so he starts bucking his hips upwards to meet yours. and the limousine is moving, the windows are fogging up and you are sure that they can hear from outside the car.

one night he was driving these girls to this party and you were sitting quietly in the passenger seat. the girls were drinking and having the time of their lives in the back of the limousine, laughing and dancing to the music. and all of a sudden one of them called logan and flashed her tits to him through the rearview mirror.

you clenched your jaw, turned around, threw yourself at her, and pulled from her hair. you slapped her and she slapped you back, and logan had to stop the car and get in the middle of the fight. he apologized and offered the girls the ride for free, also they were drunk enough to not care too much. you sat in the passenger seat with your cheek burning and blood coming out of your nose until he dropped the girls at the party. then he used the alcohol he had in his glove compartment to clean your wound.

other night logan stopped driving so you could get a snack. when you got out of the limousine and started walking to the store, a random man slapped your ass. logan never felt so much anger before. he got out with his fists clenched and punched the man so hard that he broke his own knuckles.

—you can't do that, you know how much it takes for you to heal...

he grunted as you wrapped his knuckles with a bandage. he didn’t care, he’d do it again.

and there are nights when it gets very late and logan still has a couple of hours of work but you can't keep it up any longer so you lean your head against the window and fall asleep. logan can't watch you sleep so uncomfortably so he quickly drives home and carries you in his arms to your bed. you hum when he picks you up and he mumbles the sweetest things for you to not wake up.

—sh, it's okay, i got you. you're home, baby, you need to sleep and i'll be with you before you know.

he tucks you into your shared bed and kisses your forehead before he leaves. you hum when you feel his lips. —love you, lo.

—love you too, baby.

and when he gets back to the car he rubs his face to clear his mind because he'd have loved to get into bed and sleep with you but sadly he has to continue working. he opens the glove compartment to take a sip of his alcohol and when he does, he finds your panties, crumpled into a small ball waiting for him.

he takes them and he can feel how wet they are thanks to his cum mixing with your juices. logan brings them close to his face and takes a deep breath. then he puts them inside his pocket. —you're gonna be the fucking death of me.

[formulawolff]

vii. the in-between - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 5.2k

warnings: buckle up y’all cause we go. angst, cursing, size kink, edging, praise kink, FUCKING, LOTS OF FUCKING. toto being a simp, banter, yearning, mentions of divorce, mentions of alcohol use, creampie, teasing, yadayadayada… y’all know what’s about to go down

prev. | next.

“it’s fine, mom. really.” 

bringing a hand to your temple, you begin to massage, attempting to alleviate the accumulated pressure. 

“i mean, yeah, i’m not in trouble or anything. as far as i know, the fia is letting me race in suzuka. it was my first offense so they dropped the investigation. as long as i publicly apologize for my actions, everything will be cleared up.” 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

do you know how many people have asked me about you? baby, people approach me at the goddamn grocery store asking me why you beat up that poor little british boy! he’s built like a twig for god’s sake! 

rolling your eyes, you lean back in your chair, keeping the phone pressed against your ear, “mom, his name is george russell. he drives for mercedes. he’s not some little boy.” 

all right, all right. well maybe he needs to come over for some dinner or something. get some meat on those bones. anyway, did i tell you that your father has been scouring ebay trying to purchase sports cards with your car on it? well, he’s found ones with you on them too. he wants to make a booklet of his favorite kiddo. 

with that discovery, your heart swells, “is he really? tell him to look up topps chrome cards. those are the best ones. since i’m not as popular as max or lewis, they should be pretty cheap. and mom, i’m your only kiddo.” 

that’s why we’re so proud of you. even if you get into fist fights, we still love you bunches. when do you think you’ll come home? your dad wants to take you out in his baby. he’s made some modifications to it. he thinks you’ll appreciate it more than i will. 

“where is dad? is he asleep?” 

yes honey. he’s asleep. snoring away on the couch with the dogs. i wish we could give you a taste of home somehow. maybe i could have a care package sent to japan? 

“mom,” you exhale, “that would be so much money. don’t worry about it. were you guys considering flying out for miami?” 

oh yes, about that! you perk up in your chair, anticipating your mom’s response. we are going to be there. we can’t wait to see you. we miss you so much. it’s so quiet when you’re not home. will i be able to meet some of your coworkers? 

letting you a giggle, you shake your head, “mom. they’re my fellow drivers. we’re not coworkers. but yeah, i could probably introduce you to a few of them. daniel wants to meet you two.” 

what about that handsome fellow with the bright blue eyes? he drives for redbull! and yes, i would love to meet daniel. 

“max verstappen?” you arch a brow, “we’d have to see about that one. he’s a very busy man.” 

okay, okay. the line cuts out briefly. hey honey, i think i need to head to bed. i love you so much. keep in touch, okay? we’ll see you in a few short weeks. 

nibbling on your lower lip, you nod, “i love you too, mom. tell dad i love him. i miss you guys. i can’t wait to see you.” 

me either. goodnight honey, or good morning or afternoon or whatever time it is over there. i’ll text you when i wake up! love you. 

“love you,” your lip trembles, hands clamming up as you the line goes silent. 

fuck, were you homesick. 

you just had to make it a few more weeks. then, you could finally reunite with your parents in miami. although you knew you would be so fucking busy, you would make time. 

you always did when it came to your parents. 

also, you had another plan brewing as you scroll through your contact list, searching for a certain dutch assassin. a certain dutch man who happened to be a three-time world champion. 

somehow, someway, your mom was going to meet max verstappen. 

you had to make that happen. 

you had to. 

currently, you were sitting on the edge of a bed in a suite in london, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your driver. a decently-sized suitcase sat near the door, a carry-on stacked on top. 

this driver was provided specific instructions to transport you from london to brackley, dropping you off at the door of a certain team principal’s home. 

yet, you were well aware that it wasn’t going to be just any old home. 

this man was billionaire, after all. 

buzzing in your grasp, your phone notifies you of a new text. 

from none other than toto wolff. 

the driver is on the elevator, heading up towards your suite. DO NOT handle your bags. he will do that for you. i don’t want you to fuss over a single thing. from there, he will bring you here, where he will punch in the code for the gate. i will be waiting for you at the door. 

i can’t wait to see you, schatzi. i miss your beautiful face and sweet laughter. 

oh, and i can’t wait to kiss you. 

(and yes, i am pacing around in my office as i type this. i can’t focus on anything else but your arrival) 

with sazuka quickly approaching next week, you would only have a couple of days with the team principal before you had to part ways. he would have prep, meetings, press, where he would then fly out to sazuka. meanwhile, you would have to catch a flight, meet with your team, prep, and potentially meet with press, fans, and the other drivers. 

additionally, you had to address the incident that occurred last week at the australian grand prix. to your surprise, the fia had dismissed the investigation, finding no substantial evidence that the two of you needed to be punished. due to the nature of the accident, george was not punished, as he did no illegal maneuvers or intentionally attempted to take you out of the race. 

on the other hand, the fia was adamant that if this happened again, you were going to face consequences. you would have to shell out a pretty penny for fines, and then you would be immediately disqualified from three future races, deeming you unable to participate.

although they were merciful, the fia made it very clear that since it was your first offense, they were going to be fair.. 

however, if there was a next time, they would not be so kind. 

a crisp knock rang out, startling you. 

springing to your feet, you open the door, an older man smiling in greeting. 

“you must be golden girl,” sticking out his right hand, he dips his head, “i’m theodore. i’ll be your driver to brackley this evening. i am here to not only be your escort, but to tend to anything you may need. mr. wolff made it very clear that you were not to fret over a single thing.”

“good morning,” the corners of your lips curl into a quaint smile as you shake his hand, “thank you. i’m eager to see the english countryside.”

“i’ll handle your bags ma’am,” theodore clears his throat, “you just take it easy.”

“will do,” you nod, “how long is the drive?”

“about an hour and a half,” theodore responds curtly, slinging your carry-on around his shoulder, “don’t worry, it’s not too boring. follow me this way, my lady. our chariot awaits!”

following him down the hall, he presses the button for the elevator. there’s a silence between you, but not an uncomfortable one. theodore’s presence was warm, inviting even.

upon meeting him, you understood why he was toto’s right-hand driver. once he escorted you to the car, he opens the door for you, ushering you inside. when you settle into the backseat, you notice the glint of a redbull can, along with your favorite snacks and candy. 

“mr. wolff wanted to ensure you wouldn’t be hungry,” theodore states as he climbs into the driver’s seat, pressing the button for the ignition, “he told me that you can be a little cranky if you don’t have any snacks.”

“oh? he said that?” a giggle bubbles up in your throat, “did he say anything else about me?”

“oh yes,” theodore chuckles, turning the gear shift, “he’s told me all about you. to be quite frank, he hasn’t shut up about you the last week or so.”

“so you know who i am?”

“of course i do,” theodore nods, flashing you a grin in the rearview mirror, “you’re one of the best formula one drivers on the grid. you drive for williams racing. you’ve only won one grand prix, but i believe you’ll win a few more this season. your hometown is in yuma, arizona. you’re twenty-two years old, and from what toto has shared with me, you have a very bright future ahead.”

“are you a formula one fan?” you arch a brow, punching open the can of redbull. 

“who isn’t?” he shrugs, “well, ms. golden girl, we are going to begin our journey. if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to speak up. if you’d like, you can tell me a little bit more about yourself. we will have plenty of time.”

as theodore promised, the drive to brackley was painless. yet, as the car pulls up to the gate, your heart skips a beat.

this was no quaint english cottage.

toto’s brackley residence was a sleek and sprawling two-story home, a black and white exterior with massive, thick windows. your jaw almost drops, and theodore notices, letting out a hearty laugh, “don’t act so shocked, golden girl. i’m sure you’re aware toto is a very wealthy man.”

“i thought he would have kept things somewhat simple.”

“oh love,” theodore shakes his head, “you and i both know that toto is anything but simple.”

rolling down the window, theodore punches in a code, the gate sliding open. as the car lurches up the drive, your heart thumps in your rib-cage, blood roaring in your ears. 

this was really happening. 

you were really staying with toto. 

“nervous?” theodore senses the shift in energy, “you have no reason to be nervous. he’s been anticipating your arrival. he’ll be happy to see you.”

“thank you,” you manage to muster a meek smile, “i-i just didn’t think we would get this far.”

“well savor the time together. time flies, especially in our world. one day you’re at a track, the next you’re in another country. he adores you, golden girl. so don’t you fret about that. just relax, and enjoy your time. i will be here in a couple of days to bring you to the airport for your departure to sazuka.” 

“thank you,” at his words, you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief, “i look forward to our next drive together!”

“as do i,” shifting the gears, theodore puts the car in park, slipping out of the driver’s seat, “we have arrived. let me get your bags.”

he strolls over to your door, opening it as you clamber out, stretching your sore legs.

no matter how much time you spent in a car, there was always that persisting stiffness. 

you’d probably need a double-knee replacement by the time you were forty, but that was the least of your worries. 

out of the corner of your eye, you notice a figure strolling towards the car. with the large stature, you knew it could only be one particular individual. 

he’s dressed in a royal blue button-up, paired with khaki slacks. on his feet are earth-toned dress shoes. the blue hue of the button-up complements his dark hair, almost brightening his features, giving them a youthful glow. tufts of his hair are all over as the wind blows. 

yet, he looks as gorgeous as ever, his toned muscles rippling under the thin fabric of the button-up. 

“welcome to brackley schatzi,” the grin enveloping his face is radiant, “i hope the drive wasn’t too bad.”

“not at all,” you shake your head, the team principal nearly sucking the wind out of your lungs as he wraps his arms around you, squishing you against his chest. 

“i missed you so much,” tender lips connect with your cheek, “good afternoon, theo! did she behave herself?”

“of course,” theodore promptly places your bag next to the entrance, suitcase in tow, “i have another commitment here soon, mr. wolff. i hope it is all right i placed her bags next to the door?” 

“don’t worry about it,” toto’s fingers find yours, intertwining them together, “i’ll get them. please drive safe, theo.”

“i will, mr. wolff,” theodore dips his head, turning to you, he takes your hand, shaking it, “it was lovely to meet you. i look forward to our next meeting, golden girl. enjoy your time together, you two!”

“we will,” toto squeezes your hand, “goodbye, theo.”

“goodbye, mr. wolff!” theodore spins on his heel, making his way to the car, “behave, you two!”

in response, toto gives a thumbs up, theodore slipping back into the driver’s seat. as he peels off, toto shifts his body, facing you.

“charming, isn’t he?”

“he’s great! kept me entertained the whole drive!”

“i told him you have a short attention span so to keep you occupied,” toto shooks you a wink, earning an eye roll. 

“i can’t stand you.”

“you’re standing right now, aren’t you?” his chuckle is light, “come, let’s head on in. i have lunch waiting for us.”

“you made me lunch?” 

“yes, i’m going to drive you all the way out here just so starve you,” he scoffs, yet his tone says otherwise, “i have food ready. and wine, if you want some.”

“don’t tell me you want to get me drunk so i’ll confess all my secrets.”

“consider that my new goal for the afternoon,” toto grabs your bag, along with your suitcase. pushing open the door, he clears his throat, “welcome to my home away from home.”

as you step in the entrance, your eyes widen, lips parting.  

the space was truly a reflection of toto. refined and elegant, with a hints of charm. the marble floors gleam under the soft lighting, rays of sun shining through the vast windows. the walls were covered in a menagerie of decor, from pieces of art to mercedes memorabilia. it was not the typical billionaire’s home, where the air felt sterile and cold. 

this place was warm and full of life, coaxing you to stay. 

“cat got your tongue?” his breath fans against your ear, a hand gliding along your back, “follow me, schatzi.”

“your home is beautiful.”

glancing over his shoulder, you are met with his gorgeous smile, dimples and all, “thank you, love. i’m glad you like it.”

trailing behind the austrian, you stroll down a long hallway, turning into the last room on the left. toto places your bag and suitcase next to a glass door, “this is my bedroom. you’ll be staying here with me.”

“straight to the bedroom huh?” you fold your arms across your chest, teasing, “you just couldn’t wait–”

“come here,” toto growls, hands grasping your wrists, bringing you in, “no, i can’t wait.”

looking up, you match his gaze, cocking your head, “what are you going to do about it?”

at your rebuttal, toto’s eyes narrow, “what do you think i’m going to do?”

“fuck me.”

“hmmmm,” he hums, leaning in, “you’re right, schatzi. i am going to fuck you. i’m going to fuck you till you’re weeping me for me to stop.”

“weeping?” your hands roam, tugging on his button-up, “i’d like to see you try.”

“oh schatzi,” he tsks, “you don’t know what you’re in for.”

“show me then.”

“i will,” lips ghost over yours, “i’ll show you how badly i missed you baby.”

as he kisses you, it’s tender at first, brimmed with the sweetness of reunion. one of his hands wraps around the base of your neck, tilting your head back as his tongue gains access to your mouth, the tang of redbull tracing your mouth. yet, as you whimper, a fiery hunger sets ablaze.

fuck, he missed you. 

he missed you more than he liked to admit.

tension hangs thick, clouding the space as his mouth places sloppy, wet kisses down your jawline, finding your neck. nipping gently, it takes every fiber in his being to resist the urge to just mark you all over. to leave marks where they could see. to make them wonder who was doing this to you.

but he couldn’t. not there. 

in response, your hips buck forward, grinding against his. toto groans, his head rolling back. 

there was not a single coherent thought in his mind. 

only lust. and fuck, was it consuming him whole. 

scooping you into his arms, he brings you over to the bed, your back meeting with the plush mattress. 

“i can’t wait,” he pants, chest heaving, “i can’t wait any longer. i need you.”

“then take me,” your words drip like honey, oh so sweet, “make me yours, toto.”

jesus fucking christ.

he was going to fuck the shit out of you. right here, right now.

there was no going back. 

he ached for it. he yearned for it. the fantasy flooded his dreams at night.

the things he wanted to do to you? 

downright filthy. sinful, even 

he couldn’t lose his inhibitions. not yet. he had to hang on. 

however, at this point, toto was hanging on by a thread. 

peeling your leggings and panties off, he tosses them to the floor, “sit up.”

you obey, nearly trembling with anticipation as fingertips hook the hem of your crewneck, pulling it over your head. nimbly, he hovers over you, finding the clasps of your bra. he undoes them, a crimson hue dusting his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you completely naked beneath him. 

god, you were absolutely breathtaking. 

every inch of you was stunning. every scar. every mole. every freckle. every stretch mark. 

you were so fucking beautiful. 

his hands fly to his button-up, eager for what was to come. 

yet, your hands find his, “let me.”

toto bites his tongue as you carefully undo the buttons of his shirt, his cock twitching, aching for your touch as your fingers delve towards his belt. you unbuckle it, tilting your head back, batting your thick lashes.

fuck. fuck. fuck. 

could this moment last forever? 

“toto.”

“yes?”

“i-i don’t know if i can take it all,” there’s apprehension inflected in your tone, almost as if you were embarrassed, “to be honest, i’ve never–”

oh god. 

this was going to ruin him.

just like he was going to ruin you.

“don’t worry,” a tender hand cups your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone, “i’ll go slow. i won’t make you take it all. i’ll take care of you baby, i promise.”

you nod, lips pursed as you tug on his slacks, hooking the hem of his boxers, “you’re just so fucking big. like holy shit.”

pride swells within the austrian for a moment, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, “i promise you that it’s not as big as you think.”

“can i see for myself?” the question is so innocent, so pure. 

yeah, he was going to ruin you.

he was going to make a mess out of you. 

“lay down schatzi,” he orders, authority oozing into the words. 

kicking off his slacks, he curses slightly as his boxers stick around one of his ankles. this wasn’t going to be perfect, but he wanted it to be. for you. 

he wanted this to be a moment you remembered for the rest of your life. he wanted this memory to fill your thoughts every second of every day. he wanted you to touch yourself to this, desperate and oh so wet, throbbing for him. yearning for his mouth. for his touch. for him.

carefully, he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you. as you look down, you can feel his gaze searing into you, burning right through. 

his cock was far bigger than your fantasies. it was thick, approximately eight or nine inches. you couldn’t tell. his tip was tinged pink, the glisten of precum catching in the light. veins wrapped around the length, throbbing as your hand wrapped around its base.

“fuck,” as he moans, you lick your lips, realizing how much you loved the sound that just filled your ears, “let me feel you, please.”

“please toto.”

swallowing thickly, he inhales sharply as he positions his tip at your entrance. applying pressure, a whimper rings out as he pushes in, your walls stretching. 

your pussy was heaven. absolutely perfect as it wrapped around his cock, begging for more as he pushed further and further. you were absolutely drenched, the juices slick and oh so sickeningly sweet. he didn’t even have to taste you to know. he just knew you were sweet. like pure ambrosia. 

perhaps he could get a taste.

“toto,” your lashes flutter, his name so perfect from your lips, “you feel–”

“your pussy is perfect,” he finds a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of your tight hole, “absolutely perfect baby. fuck, you’re perfect.”

skin connects with skin, the temperature of the room elevated as his hands found yours, pinning them to the bed. lips collide, the kisses desperate, hungry and bursting with need. as he picks up the pace, moans fill his mouth. 

fuck, it felt like he was going to split you into two. 

“t-toto,” there it was again, his name. music to his ears.

“yes baby?” a sheen of sweat clings to his forehead, tufts of hair dampened, “what is it? does it hurt? do you need me to slow down?”

“no. fuck me. just fuck me.”

oh god. 

oh, fuck. 

his cock twitches, the pleasure building in your abdomen as the tip brushes your g-spot, back arching, begging to be closer. closer to him.

could you be any closer to him in this moment? was it even possible?

before you know it, his arms wrap around your frame, picking you up off the mattress. he holds you close to his chest, one hand holding your head, cupping the back of your skull. the other remains on your lower back, gripping you tightly as the new angle sends bliss rippling all throughout your body.

he fucks you, and god there was no holding back. his cock was pounding into you now, showing no mercy. your ass slaps against his thighs, filthy noises flooding the space. 

as you bounce, you tense, your walls practically squeezing him, “toto, oh my god, i’m going–”

“good girl,” his coos, “be a good girl, baby. cum for me.”

as you get closer and closer, toto watches. fuck, the way your lips were parted ever so slightly. the way hairs clung to your forehead. the way your lashes fluttered. all he could see was pleasure. pure, intense pleasure. 

you unravel, coming undone. 

that sight alone was enough to make him cum.

“come here,” toto hisses through gritted teeth, “come here baby.”

the moment his lips mold with yours, you feel his cock throb, pumping threads of cum into your weeping hole. your muscles spasm, shuddering as he pulls out. 

the two of you study one another for a moment, catching your breath. fingertips brush stray hairs from your temple. 

“i’m sorry.”

“for?” you nuzzle into his collarbone, relishing the way his cologne lingered, mixing with his natural scent. 

“going too far.”

“that was not too far.”

tenderly, the austrian pulls you down with him, letting out a sigh as his head hits the pillow. your head remains against his chest, admiring the definition and tone for a moment. he peppers kisses along your forehead, browbone, and cheeks. 

“if i ever go too far, let me know.”

“i think we’re both in too deep,” you murmur, “you’re lucky you had the blinds drawn.” 

“that would be something,” his chest vibrates as he speaks, “could you imagine? some random mercedes intern witnessing the team principal fucking the most beautiful woman on the planet?”

however, a gleam catches your eye.

on his left ring finger, your heart sinks as you notice the ring. 

his wedding band.

toto senses your silence, the way you tensed up against him, “what is it schatzi?”

“why are you still wearing your wedding band?”

oh, so you had noticed.

“it’s complicated.”

“complicated?” your voice falters as you prop yourself up with your elbow so you could meet his gaze, “you’re wearing your fucking wedding ring. it’s not that complicated.”

“yes, i am, wearing my ring,” he exhales, “would you prefer me to take it off? it has no meaning anymore. susie and i are divorced. we finalized it last december. when we signed the papers, we made a mutual agreement to wear our wedding bands when we were in the public eye. it keeps the speculations at bay. it’s mostly for the sake of my children. and for her sake. we respect one another and i would hate for her hard work to be diminished by rumors and gossip.”

although his words were sincere, your heart races still, anxiety a swirling torrent in your stomach, “how long have you been separated?”

“almost three years. we separated in july of 2021.” 

“oh,” you suck in a breath, shame washing over you, “i-i’m sorry for the sudden questions. i just–”

“it would complicate your feelings for me. and no one wants too mess around with a married man. i get it baby, i really do.”

although he provided a very base-level explanation of his failed marriage, toto was more than willing to go into more depth. that is, if you wanted. more than anything, he wanted you to know. that aspect was becoming increasingly frustrating, as the team principal tried to maintain that dominant, bold, persona.

you were making him weak. his little soft spot. 

well, not so little these days. 

“i cannot stand how well you read me,” rolling your eyes, you turn your back to him.

“don’t turn your back on me now,” he tsks, “do you believe me, schatzi?”

“i don’t think you could ever lie to me.”

“i couldn’t,” toto leans over, placing soft kisses all over your shoulders, “i think it would destroy me. the guilt would be too much to bear.”

“if we’re spilling secrets now,” you roll over, face-to-face once again, “i have another question for you.”

“all right.”

“why did you approach james about my contract behind my back?” 

for once, the team principal is caught by surprise, his heart skipping a beat. 

the hurt plastered across your features is clear, your brows furrowed, eyes narrowed. there’s a glimmer of anguish in their depths, slightly glossy from the threat of tears. 

“i wanted to gauge how he felt if you were to leave williams,” that was the truth, really, no other intentions behind it, “he was not too keen to discuss it, but i just wanted to know how upset he would be if you were to sign with another team. i did it for you, to soften the blow.”

“soften the blow?”

“yes,” toto nods, “to soften the blow when you tell him you’re leaving williams and signing with mercedes.”

“you don’t know that for–”

“but i do,” his voice hardens, “i do know. we can’t just lay here and deny that in your heart, you want to be with me at mercedes. you’ve made the decision already. you just haven’t figured out how you’re going to approach james, alex, or your team.”

biting your tongue, you turn your head, averting his gaze.

toto was right. you had made your decision. 

it was just a matter of time before you had to face the facts. 

“i’m right, aren’t i?” 

“you are,” you huff, squeezing your eyes shut, “i-i just don’t know how to tell everyone. i don’t know how to tell my parents. i don’t know how to bring it up to james. it’s just so.. fuck. it’s so fucking overwhelming to think about.”

“then let me help you.”

“how?” you inquire, “how would you possibly do that?”

“i’ll keep my distance from here on out, but i will help you draft up a letter that you can give to james. or, i can help you practice what you’re going to say. just let me help you schatzi,” fingers grasp your chin, turning your head. 

“you hear me? i’ll help you.”

“can we just worry about it later?” 

“of course,” strong arms envelop your frame, drawing you in against his body, “for now, we can snuggle. would you like that?”

“i would.”

your tough exterior completely crumbles as his mouth hovers by your ear, murmuring words in german. desperately, you ache to know what he said. was it something important? or just sweet nothings? 

sometimes he was a difficult man to decipher.

“hey, have you opened that gift yet? the one i brought to you in jeddah?”

“no,” you admit, heat billowing into your cheeks, “i have a hard time accepting gifts.”

“clearly.”

before you can respond, he’s up from the bed, strolling over to your bags. unzipping your carry-on, he searches for that parcel. fishing it out of your bag, he sets in on the bed, sliding on his boxers before plopping it in front of you.

“open it. right now.”

“right now?” you echo, “toto, i–”

“open it.”

“fine,” nimbly, your fingers untie the bow, peeling away the wrapper. 

underneath the paper, there is a tiny velvet box. it’s long and slender, rectangular in shape.

“what is this?”

“open it and you’ll know,” toto urges, following your every move, anticipating your reaction.

opening the box, your heart swells at the sight before you.

it’s a bracelet, a dainty figaro chain, complete with a charm. the charm is an outline of the saudi arabian track. picking it up, you inspect it, noticing a date engraved on the backside of the charm. 

“how were you able to get this so quickly after the race?” 

“i have my ways,” toto bears a sheepish grin, “do you like it?”

“like it? i love it.”

well, you didn’t love it. you fucking adored it. it was perfect, and so you. it was something that you could wear everyday, a constant reminder of the years of effort to get you here. not to mention it was gorgeous, the chain shiny, freshly polished. 

a hand reaches out, plucking the chain from the box. his brows are knit together with concentration as he slips the chain around your wrist, ensuring it’s safely clasped.

“i figured it would be something you could always wear. a reminder of when you made history.”

“it’s beautiful,” sitting up, you shift your weight to your knees as you wrap your arms around his neck, “thank you, toto.”

“always, schatzi. don’t worry, i will always spoil you.”

as toto nuzzles into the crook of your neck, he was well aware of one thing.

you had made your decision. 

you hadn’t outright said it, but he knew you made your decision. 

you would be signing to mercedes for the 2025 season. 

you were finally going to be by his side every day. 

there was no more in-between. no more will she or won’t she. no more nights of him lying awake, wondering where you stood. no more driving himself insane pondering all of the possibilities that could unravel. 

he had you. 

you were all his now. 

and god, did that leave such a sweet taste in his mouth. 

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taglist: @joalslibrary @martwll @prettiest-at-the-party @pucksandpower @kravitzwhore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @annewithaneofthegreengable @persona1lies @zoeyjadetice2010 @whoisss @sinners-98-world

if i missed anyone, please let me know! also, you are more than welcome to be added to the taglist! thank you for reading! <3

[corynation]

˗ˏˋ 🍒 ˎˊ˗

toxic!theo drabble

18+ tags : (smut, mirror sex, jealous theo)

toxic!theo who would glare down at you at a party, anger coarsing through his veins at the sight of you talking with the hufflepuff headboy. his fists clenching as you threw your head back, laughing way too hard for his liking. shoving his drink into mattheos hand as he practically growled he was leaving. his footsteps heavy as he approached you, grabbing your arm, tugging you away from the other boy, his jaw clenched tightly as he spoke lowly. “shes fucking done here. suggest you leave before i make it hard for you to.”

toxic!theo who would not speak a single word the whole walk to his dorm. his bruising grip on your arm enough words in itself for you. the nerves flying through you being blinded by the undeniable ache settling into your core. sure it was wrong to find his anger so hot but you just couldnt help it. knowing the whole reason you talked to the insufferable hufflepuff was to get a rise out of theo. a small smug grin plastered against your face as you eagerly awaited for what was in store.

toxic!theo who would pin you against the door the second you enter his dorm. his hands braced on the sides of your head, his own dipping down near you. his mouth frustratingly close to your skin as he whispered into your ear, not daring to touch you in any place. “you think its funny to pull shit like that piccola? having fun pissing me off?” and when you nod in response theo fucking looses it. his hands falling to your hips, gripping you tight as he walks you back to the bed without another word. the back of your knees hitting the mattress harshly as you fall back, softly bouncing as you land. a small giggle escaping your lips at possibly the worst time as your stomach fluttered. theos narrowed eyes staring down at you hungrily, watching as your tits bounced with the movement, his head shaking as you giggled.

toxic!theo who would have you completely naked, knees on the bed and back against him. your head falling back against his shoulder as he mercilessly pounded up into you. continuously hitting that one spot with a rhythm so sweet it made your eyes squeeze shut. complete bliss taking over you as theos hands held you up by your tits. fingers softly rolling over your hardened nipples, only adding to the pressure building within you. the room swallowed with nothing but the sounds of your moans and the music of his unrelenting pace. his head dipping to your neck, planting rough sloppy kisses as he gripped your chin tightly, forcing your head up, his deep voice vibrating off your skin. “look at yourself amore, look how good i make you feel.” your eyes opened almost immediately, completely hypnotized by his husky voice. a deep moan shamelessly leaving you at the sight in front of you. your eyes falling half lidded as you watched the mirror closely. seeing every thrust of theo disappearing into you, watching as his hand kneaded your tit, his other holding onto your chin tightly. his eyes meeting your makeup smudged ones through the mirror, looking at you as if he was permentaly engraving the image in his head. the look of you oh so ruined at his hands, completely handing yourself to him, driving him absolutely insane. his lips traveling up your neck as he nipped onto your ear. speaking so close to you you could feel his voice within your body. “tsk tsk, youre enjoying this a little too much bella. you like watching me fuck you like a slut hm? no one can fuck you this good, never gonna need anyone else.”

nothing like smut for a coming back post i guess?? anyway this is my first time actually writing smut so hope its… somewhat enjoyable??? idk toxic theo has unfortunately had a horrid chokehold on me.

[userlando]

Okay but imagine, Lando coming home after a triple header expecting you to be at your own home. He's tired and honestly wants to cry a little because you're not there. So, when he walks into his room to see you in his bed, deep asleep, wearing only his shirt and nothing else, he can't help but curl up close to you and hold you

oh I was saving this in my ask box to write on a day when I felt a little gloomy, just a little something for you as a thanks for dropping this fluffy thing in my lap 🤍

homecoming (748 words) lando norris/fem!reader fluff

The house is dark when Lando steps over the threshold, his chest feels a little heavy and his throat tight like he’s two seconds away from crying and he doesn’t really know why.

He assumes it’s an array of different things. He’s been away for three weeks, performance average as he fights to keep his composure on the race tracks and he knows it’s finally time for a break when he drops to P10 on Sunday. Usually, he’d sleep it off at the hotel and then catch a flight to his next destination, but he finds himself too antsy and anxious to spend another second away from home, so he books a flight the same evening and gets his ass home.

His shoulders are drawn tight in tension, fingers itching to grab his keys to his McLaren and drive straight to your place but he holds himself back. He knows you’ve had it equally as rough as him, struggling with your work and his absence only adds onto the stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.

Lando feels like shit, mood dropping even lower when he thinks of you. He kicks his shoes off to the side, knowing that Max would yell at him in the morning for not storing them away like a normal person but he can’t bring himself to care. His body yearns for his bed, with freshly washed sheets because you always do that. Tidy up his room and wash his shit, knowing that he likes the scent of freshly washed cotton to come home to.

He smiles fondly, chest tight when he spots the empty grocery bags in the kitchen; recalling Max’s text earlier in the day where he’d reassured Lando that you were okay, telling him that he was out shopping for groceries with you because you’d insisted on Lando coming home to a stocked fridge.

The Brit feels his eyes well up, walking quietly across the hallway and pushing his door open. The bedside lamp is on, and it gives Lando pause as his eyes adjusts to the dim lights in the room. His eyes sweep across the unusually clean space, frown deepening on his face until he spots the lump under his covers, on his bed.

At first, he thinks it’s Max playing a prank on him and he almost walks over to punch a fist into whoever is laying there just for the sake of it. But then he spots the back of your head, sleeping face coming into view, the closer he walks.

Your soft breaths makes his throat close up, and he sniffles quietly because the rush of relief coursing through him is so overpowering that he cups his lower face with his shaking hand; taking a deep breath to steady himself.

He quickly sheds his clothes, abandoning his plans to shower in favour of crawling into bed. You don’t even twitch, even as he inches closer and lays on his side, face to face with you. You’re warm, clad in nothing but one of his Quadrant shirts and his heart wells over with love at the sight.

Your eyebrow moves, and Lando sucks his lower lip into his mouth because it’s starting to wobble in the massive rush of affection he feels for you. He doesn’t even care that he might potentially wake you up, scooting closer until he can wrap his arms and legs around you, pushing his face into the warm space of your throat where it’s connected to the shoulder and notching his head under your chin.

Lando can feel when you stir in your interrupted sleep, making a sleepy sound and exhaling through your nose that ruffles his hair but you don’t say anything as you wrap yourself around him in a similar fashion almost immediately. He’s thankful that you don’t even question his sudden need to be held, nor do you say anything when he sniffles quietly, only offering your comfort by bringing your hands up to play with his hair.

“Missed you.” You said quietly, voice a little thick with sleep and Lando wants to wrap the sound of it around him like a blanket.

He scoots closer, like if he tries enough, he can crawl into your skin and it makes you hide a smile in his curls.

“I missed you too.” He mumbles, words muffled in your neck and it tickles a little bit. “Never leaving you again.”

You both know it’s not possible, but you nod gently.

“Never.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

whew, I need a touch depraved lando asap 🥺 I hope you liked this lil thing 🤍 lmk what you thought!!

[ceilidho]

prompt: (loosely based on Brahms from The Boy) you buy a house. you start to suspect you're not alone in it. [PART 1] tw: death of a parent, someone living in your house

-

Lightness; there were cracks in the floorboards and light glittering up from beneath them, which is what you first notice about the house.

It would be poetic if it meant anything. Instead, you are forced to pry the planks of wood out one by one at dawn when your fingers are trembling with exhaustion and your clipped nails throb—and, of course, there’s nothing remarkable beneath where the light shines through.

A piece of glass from a picture frame—all right, so you wonder how a piece of glass the size and width of your hand gets caught beneath the floor with the ashes of the photo once held behind it, but it’s half-six o’clock and you’re still yawning from the long drive the day before—catches a glint of light, and, well, you sigh at the blood welling over your nails from having pried off the floorboards with your bare hands. 

You’ll replace the boards later. Maybe bandage your hand.

It’s so quiet outside this early. Everything smells just as it should.

It had taken years of scrimping and saving, storing every nickel and penny away in your piggybank to buy your first house. The foreclosure process takes about ten months, every second during which your nails bite into your palms when you close your fists. Your entire life savings goes into the downpayment. It quite literally takes your bank account, holds it upside down, and shakes until every coin falls out. 

It’s yours though. A house all to yourself after years of living in apartments—you’ve spent decades living out of a suitcase, your parents changing apartments every year almost, never settling in one place. Buying a house wasn’t a nice-to-have so much as a physical necessity for you. 

It’s an old house—plenty of character, as the real estate lady charmingly describes it when you showed you the place. You don’t have the money quite yet to replace the old windows, repair the drywall, brick up the chimney that you won’t use, or change the flooring, but since it’s just you, you don’t mind taking your time. The previous owners hadn’t really kept the place up; there’s even a panel at the back of the closet in your room leading into the walls that needs to be replaced.

Later, when folding your clothes into new drawers that smell of new wood and old wood, you startle, thinking you’d packed your mother’s underwear along with your own; you thought you’d donated everything after she died. The thought is nauseating (a cold sweat breaks out) until you recognize the pattern on the blue cotton as your own and you crumple the fabric between your fingers for a second, dried blood and all. 

Dawn is rising outside, emptying out the house until it’s just you and the fifteen pairs of underwear you’d packed days ago. Everything else is sitting out on the patio in cardboard boxes. When you finally get the rest out where it can breathe, morning has settled into midday. 

When you finish putting your clothes away, you’re careful not to move for another few minutes until your hands stop shaking and your jaw unclenches. For breakfast, you fix up an omelet with spinach and a glass of cranberry juice. A friend calls not long later, but they mainly speak about their husband and how the living room will look once it was stripped of the gaudy floral wallpaper and repainted. Your friend hasn’t even seen the house yet, only pictures of the house from when you had searched it on Google Maps and tentatively held the idea glass-like in your head for several days. 

Your friend says in a voice molasses thick, “I’ll visit as soon as you’re tucked in down there.” It makes you rub your nose against your sleeve.

The pictures online had been splotchy and dim, barely recognizable when held against the lightness of the house full-formed. Your friend had sent you off with cream and lilac paint swatches, wooden coasters, and a copy of Ulysses before you had packed up the last of your things into the back of your car and the sky had been aglow with sunset. A large sunset that dribbled down the horizon and slid all slippery smooth into twilight. Your friend’s face had been lovingly shadowed in their goodbye, the sort of shadow that cut her jaw just so, and made one seem so private and longing. Like an instance of specific longing. 

It’s a good morning though, and you bite the inside of your cheek through the whole phone call, not stumbling over frequent ‘I love you’s and ‘I already miss you’s, but feeling like maybe you should. Anyway, your friend hangs up long before you know whether to carry those thoughts out. 

Then it’s still again in your unfurnished little bedroom—in one corner, there’s a rolled up carpet and end table that you’d brought in earlier, but they sit there unaltered and you think that maybe later you’ll get around to doing something with them. 

No one else calls while you eat breakfast, cutting the omelet into irregular triangles and putting enough hot sauce to make your eyes water. Which they do, but it’s good. After eating, you grab a mug out of one of the boxes on the patio to make a cup of instant coffee.

You fix the floorboards back after, nailing them back in place while sipping the lukewarm coffee that is still so, so good. So, so good to you because it’s early, so on one hand it’s comforting, habitually speaking, but also because the house is so new and old that sometimes you breathe in and feel lightheaded, or like your heart might tremble so violently that it’ll reduce itself to dust. 

So, coffee is good. Keeps you steady on your feet when you’re climbing back up the stairs to lug more boxes into the bedroom. Boxes of books you didn’t want to unpack, so they sit under a beam of sunlight in front of the one window in the room and you sit yourself down next to it, curling your legs underneath you and resting your head against the box. 

Strange, that the house is so warm when it’s nearly the end of October and it’s not like this city is all that different from the one you left. That the shard of glass you’d found beneath the floorboards could fill you with such a dizzying amount of melancholy (you still have it in the pocket of your sweater, which had deep pockets, deep pockets that apparently you use to carry around pieces of glass); again, though, the house is so warm and your bones are oozing out onto the carpet you unroll. Everything in you feels molten and fluid. 

Your spirit roars into the light of this new town with its new air, its new terrain, its new immediacy. Stepping out into the street outside the house, you feel every nerve in your body tremble in the realization of this new sensory landscape. Your fingertips buzz—you could reach out and touch every surface you pass: the wood-grain of a park bench, the sleek chrome of a chain-link fence. 

The town feels unreal in a sensuous way. When you go out to explore the town after unpacking the majority of your belongings, you can’t help being drawn down streets and up alleyways, eyes trailing over the russet bricked houses and hedges dotting the front lawns. 

On the corner of a street, nearly three blocks from your house, there’s a café with houseplants almost spilling out of the door and windows; you duck inside and order a coffee and a bagel before tucking yourself into a corner by the window. 

On the street across from the café, a woman in a yellow raincoat walks by. 

“Drip coffee?” 

You look up from your seat, startled almost by the voice, at a young man. He has a flare of freckles and an unsure smile.  

“Yes, sorry,” you mumble, taking the mug from him and tucking yourself back against the window in almost the same moment. 

To be sitting in plain daylight without company or a book or your phone out in front of you feels absurdly barren. Anyone might walk by and perceive the desperation that seems to pour off you. Even the few other occupants in the café are occupied with something or other, eyes pulled down to their tables or to someone sitting across from them. 

For a spell, walking home in the daze of the possibility of new peace, you feel light; to be poised on the verge of new possibilities and peering out over the edge, cautiously but with a ray of hope. Even the air feels fresh.

The lightness, of course, cannot last long.

Days before you left, someone told you that it’s common to have nightmares in a new house. You prove them right on the first night. 

In the wake of a bad dream, you pad into the kitchen, illuminated only by the moonlight, for a glass of water, reduced to only the silvering edges of your skin in the dark room. 

Occasionally it happens that you dream of your mom, in her blue jeans and raincoat again, standing outside the old coffee house from back home. She always looks well rested, and that always stings somehow—it makes you feel like you’re unraveling, even in a dream. She never says anything to you or even looks your way, but you know that she knows you’re there, and that dawdling energy, obvious indifference, is all a measured hurt. You dream of your mom staring off into the red-gold distance, honey-gold herself, irreducible in this place. 

Then, you wake up, panting and squeezing your eyes shut. 

You pour yourself a glass of water, but the tears don’t stop, coming out of you like a divine flooding. 

The two of you hadn’t been on speaking terms in the months before her death. In fact, you hadn’t even known she was dying. You remember you had an argument almost a year before, but for the life of you, you can’t remember what it was about. It was that inconsequential. That inconsequential and still she let it simmer and fester and didn’t bother to tell you that she was dying until it was too late. 

You scrub your eyes with the back of your hand, smearing the salty tears across your skin. In the moonlight, your grief seemed inescapable, layered under the lowest level of your flesh. All the loneliness of lonely dwelling catching in your throat, bursting out like the last release of breath of a woman beneath the swell of a cresting wave. The moon is not a comfort; the sky rounded in with its indifference, wholly incapable of putting any sentiment to rest. You feel languid in this old grief. 

Unable to bear being inside, you venture out onto the porch for a bit, closing only the screen door behind you. There’s a single light still on in your bedroom, the house otherwise dark. You sit in the cool breeze until your tears dry. 

There is something entirely relaxing about watching a breeze push all of the trees to one side—like the world moves with one breath, one thought. Back when you lived in the city, you hadn’t lived in such close proximity to nature, used to the concrete landscape. In the city, everything seemed to exist at opposing speeds and modes of existence—everything perpetually at odds.

You stare out into the street and drink your water, leisurely pacing around your front lawn. Just taking in the feeling of being settled for once. It’s a safe neighborhood. It’s an old house, a real fixer upper, but it’s a neighborhood where you can just walk around at night. 

It takes a while to unwind, to shake off the nightmare. You know it finally has when a yawn forces its way out of you and your eyes water again, from exhaustion this time. Draining your glass, you turn around to make your way back inside. You pause. Your foot hovers in place.

Then, in the shadowy depths of your house, you think you see something move again.

[anlian-aishang]

SNK Men - Masturbation Habits - Levi, Erwin, Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Zeke [nsfw]

Levi

Masturbates in the shower. Levi deems it as a way to save time, to keep his sheets and clothes from getting too dirty. He hates to admit it, but something about sex makes him sweat easily. Even more shameful, he is weak to the flow of scalding water on his skin and the way it melts his reserves, inhibitions down the drain. The echo of tile walls amplifies the smacks of his hand around his cock, making it easier to imagine it's your pussy around him instead. Feigning the priority of cleanliness, he grants himself an excuse to be filthy. Levi sees masturbation as a last resort, something to rely on when he can’t have the real thing. As such, when by himself, he finishes fast. Three minutes of ferocity, white-knuckle holds of the shower bar and his erection. Toes curl tight against slippery tile. Soap trickles down his bangs and into his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he relies on imagined scenes to get him there. Strives to stay silent, but especially when it's been too long, not even Ackerman can prevent the grunts and swears from escaping. At the sound of his own succumbing, his ears, cheeks, chest flush red. On comedown, he deliberately jerks the metal handle to cold with hopes that, by the time he steps out and sees the mirror’s reflection, his fucked-out state will not stare him back.

Erwin

Gets off at his desk. It’s always the end of the quarter that his sex drive surges. Though it’s inconvenient at best and incapacitating at worst, he has come to understand why. A cruel chain reaction: work piles up, his mind multitasks to its bitter end, and at that end is a pure, carnal desire for reprieve. His signature grows illegible with the way his hand is shaking. He is making mistakes and making them in ink. Erwin clenched his fist, nails dug into his palm, but neither his erection nor filthy thoughts will die down. His hand is big, but his cock is bigger. The ratio aids his fantasy, trying to pretend it's your grasp wrapped around him instead. Erwin pumps himself a couple palms full of the lotion that others find so innocuously stored on top of his desk, lays a path of tissues on the pad of his office chair, and shuts his blinds as well as his eyes. Left hand works his member tight from tip to base. Right hand undoes his top button and hooks itself on the loop of his tie, allowing his breaths to deepen, and they do. Erwin growls through it. After this many successive nights of overtime, he deserves these minutes of release from those reins. Squeezing so hard that the veins in his biceps rise. Exhales harsh, fogging the oak of his desk top. Toes curl in his leather shoes. Words fail him as he climaxes to the thought of you barging in on him - loud grunts and moans of your name all the man can muster. 

Eren

Lays back on the sofa. Unspeakable yearnings have brought him to this point. It was not only that he was unable to make it to the privacy of his bedroom. More accurately, Eren was so caught up in his fantasy that he couldn't care less if he were walked-in on. Lying on his back, his right hand slithers beneath the hem of his shirt and hikes it to his teeth. Abdomen exposed to less stifling air. At the same time, his left hand handles his belt, button, zipper before tugging his waistband to rest at his upper thighs.  Eren leans his head back over the armrest, airway straightened, low yet loud vocals fill the room. Running his fingers through his hair, his elastic band snaps and lets his locks flow freely. Even with his eyes closed, his thumb lands right atop the lotion bottle - an old habit - and pumps a couple ounces into his hand. The unexpected cold draws a few hisses and curses, but before long, the fierce friction of his hand has converted it: hot like the rest of him. Even though he is reclined back, Eren is an active masturbator. His left hand has one job, one primary motion, but his right hand plays himself. Palm over his chest, fingertips pinching his jawline. Legs squirm, heels jut - all threatening to rip the leather couch. Instead of damaging the space around him, he takes that tension out on himself: cock sore, nipples bruised, scratches on his abdomen - but nothing that his sweatshirts can’t hide.

Armin

Shuts himself in his closet. An unexpectedly experienced masturbator, yet the shame Armin feels is disproportionately tremendous. Not even his bedroom is private enough, Arlert retreats to his locked closet, barely large enough to fit his clothes, let alone him. The blonde leans back against his wooden, creaky dresser and props his feet on the opposite wall. On the way to grab himself, his arm twitches: do you really need this? He tilts his head back and sighs: yes, you do.  Armin dips his fingers into his mouth and pretends that they’re yours. Sucks them deliberately as he aims to keep quiet. As his tugs grow tighter, fuller, that sucking becomes sloppy, though. Overstimulated cries demand his lips fall from a circle to a helpless part. His breaths are brisk on his skin, covered in his own saliva. Soon enough, his tongue is flopping in frantic indecision: keep quiet or cry your name? That tug-of-war results in a submissive symphony for his reddened ears alone. But at least you can’t hear it. But what if you did? For what he lacks in confidence, he makes up for in imagination. Armin softens his grip to match the way he thought you would hold him. First, your fingers. Then, your presence. Now, your contact. Once his walls have weakened past the point of disbelief, and only once he convinces himself that you’re the one working him can he get himself to his toe-curling, back-breaking climax. 

Jean

It always starts on his bed. Lazily palming himself on his mattress, Jean is rather carefree. Masturbation is not something he plans, but something he indulges in when he feels like it. It’s just one of those things. It is not something he lets himself anticipate all day, nor is it something he approaches with shame. Before he wakes up or before he drifts to sleep, it will cost only a little energy but help him rest. It’s the lie he tells himself, arousal his most gullible state. Less than a minute after he begins, Jean is panting, drooling, burying himself into his pillow. Swears muffled as he envelops his twitching cock in his similarly trembling hand. In working hours, he keeps his thoughts for you under wraps. When the sun is down, though, so is his façade of composure. Oh, the things he wants to do to you. More than that, what fucks him up is the thought of what you would do to him.  Tendons strain and cast shadows on his neck, a desperate attempt to subdue his needy vocals. In this one session, the scenarios he has fantasized over have flashed faster than seconds. In that way, he thinks he must have lasted a while. In reality, everything is skewed. When he goes for days, sometimes weeks, without release, that release is difficult to delay. His pent-up dam demands a break: the uncatchable shot of his warm seed through his fingers and onto his sheets. He always thinks that climax will wind him down, but instead, it gets him up and out of bed, to the laundry machines.

Reiner

Slams himself against the door. Panting hard before he can even unbuckle and unzip himself. He’s ashamed to admit it all: how badly he wants to cum, how badly he needs to. The desperate rasp in his throat and the way it bounces off his bedroom walls turns his blush ablaze. He manages a squint and the sight of his bed, but the stagger in his legs tells him that he won’t make the walk. Reiner leans back against the wooden slate, one hand around his cock, one hand clutching the doorknob for stability. Eyes rolled back into his head. Hair a mess after this many runs of his hand through it. Inhales hiss through his teeth. Exhales shake on their fall past his lips. Looking down at himself, he notices the way his abdomen ripples with blood flow and wonders if you’d like that. He could practically hear you, the way you would dip your fingers into his mouth and pry, beckoning his moans and encouraging their volume. His imagination of what else you would do drives the speed and force of his hand. Pants crumpled at his ankles bind his legs to the perfect spread. His back is soaked with cold sweat, slicking and sticking him to his bedroom door. The flicks of his wrist are automatic now, racing to catch up with the snowball effect in his mind: you you you. With one final, nearly sadistic yank, he brings himself to finish - the sensation just as incoherent as his calls of your name.

Zeke

Tucks himself into bed. To Zeke, masturbation is a ritual, religiously stocked with offerings. From the drawer of his bedside table, he removes fire-and-ice lubrication and a ten-inch fleshlight. Atop the nightstand, a pack of cigarettes and his reflective lighter wait to accompany his comedown. He removes his glasses and sets them aside. By a thumb on his waistband, he peels his briefs down and flings them into the hamper across the room, satisfied with his aim.  Zeke deliberately clashes his teeth together, trying to resist the admission of how good the initial sheathe feels. This is his relaxation time and he intends to savor it. His spank bank is rich with both fond memories and colorful fantasies. Playing them back in his mind, he accompanies the scenes with his own vocalizations, beating himself to the rhythm of your ass as it bounced around his cock, or the way your head bobbed back and forth around him. Most men last only a few minutes. Zeke basks in his average time of one hour. Edging himself on and on, chuckling maniacally each time he - to his own surprise - manages to wean himself off at the last second. His arm does not tire. His images are endless. It is only after the friction reaches an unbearable burn and his wrist begins to cramp that Zeke decides to give in, though he didn’t like to phrase it that way. Tilting his head back, his exhale is deceptively cool as his hot cum soaks his sleeve. It takes a couple flicks of his lighter, and many more involuntary twitches, though, until the pleasure truly ends.

// masterlist //

[ghost-proofbaby]

MORDOR (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: you take a chance, and decide to call mordor.

warnings: fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), mentions of life struggles (reader's turn to go through it), references to previous addition in this series so might be a little harder than normal to read as stand alone! this is really just me projecting on my need for eddie munson to comfort me

wc: 4.8k+

the full menu

You’re late. So, so fucking late. 

It panics Eddie. He sat in his car for that extra hour just waiting for your ridiculously bright yellow Jeep to pull in beside him, and when you still hadn’t by the time Nicole arrived, his chest twisted. When Nicole gets out of her car, and you’re still not there, his stomach churns.

Where are you? Are you okay? 

You hadn’t texted Nicole. You don’t call the store as the two of them flit about and try to manage opening without you. And when the time arrives to unlock the doors for the customers, Nicole finally excused herself to try and call you herself. 

Eddie scorns himself for not having your number. How stupid is it that you two have made a pact to be friends, and yet here he is weeks later, still not having your number.

“Any luck?” he asks, trying to level his tone when Nicole returns and he’s turning on the ovens.

“Nope,” her brows furrowed as she quickly scoots behind him, heading towards the front register, “It went straight to voicemail. Which, I mean… she’s never been late. Not like this.” 

“Should we be worried?” 

It’s a stupid question. He’s already worried. He’s frazzled enough to say fuck it, toss down his apron, and send out a search party for you rather than worrying about the store.

“Maybe,” Nicole shrugs, as if this doesn’t concern her as much as it does Eddie. As if there’s not sirens going off in her head as well. As if your sudden lack of punctuality is something to just shrug off.

As if your absence doesn’t rattle her the way it rattles Eddie. 

An hour passes by. Eddie gets more restless. Constantly looking to the store’s front door, incessantly checking outside the drive thru window for any sign of you or that damn Jeep. Every time the phone rings, Eddie has to curl his hands into fists to let Nicole answer rather than him. Each time, when he looks at her, the subtle shake of her head tells him it’s not you. His tongue nearly bleeds from how he chews on it with his molars to stop from asking her if she had tried to reach you again. He knows she has, notices how she spends extra time in the back, no doubt sending texts and useless calls alike your way.

If it were any other coworker, both Eddie and Nicole would be fuming. Concern would be replaced with irritation

He’s actually reaching to untie his apron and informing her that he’ll start trying to reach you instead when you finally come bursting into the store, a full two hours late to your shift. 

“Fuck,” you whisper-exclaim as you power walk through the lobby, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“You’re here!” he doesn’t bother keeping down his volume at the sight of you, flooded with immediate relief.

You’re okay. 

“I’m so sorry,” the apologies immediately begin to pour from your lips as you nearly trip rounding the corner into the back room, Eddie hot on your trail, “I’m so, so sorry! Shit, I- I just slept through my alarm, and had a late night, and-“ 

You’re digging your apron out of your bag when he finally reaches out to softly grab your arm, squeezing gently in an offer of comfort as you finally pause. 

“It’s fine,” he promises, “Everyone is late every once and a while.” 

Nicole was in the bathroom, but he’s sure that she’d say the same thing. The entire morning, both her and Eddie had been more worried than anything. Not mad, not irritated, but worried. 

And yet, you’re still on the verge of tears as you look up at Eddie, “It’s not fine. You had to open the store all on your own, and I know that’s stressful, and I saw all the missed calls but my phone was on silent. I mean, my shift’s already half over at this point. And I just-“ 

You cut off your rambling with a shaky breath. It breaks his heart to see you so upset, so guilt-ridden over something that happens to the best of you all. 

“It’s okay,” he stresses once more, another squeeze on your arm, “You had a late night? Is everything okay?” 

You open your mouth to answer him, the no already forming on your lips, when Nicole returns from the bathroom.

“Oh my gosh, there you are!” she exclaims.

And just like that, Eddie’s chance to be there for you as you were for him has vanished into thin air.

—

Your shift may have lasted several hours less than it was meant to, but you’re convinced it’s the absolute worst hours of your life. Which is saying a lot given how your life has gone to shit the last two days. 

You were already falling behind on classes, and your bank account was in the negative due to tuition payments. Your mother was calling every day to spend hours on the phone under the guise of catching you up at what you were missing at home, when in all reality it was just her complaining without taking a breath or allowing you to say a single word. You had to take your cat to the emergency vet when he wasn’t eating, only to find out he probably just didn’t like his current food anymore after a series of very expensive tests. Thing after thing, punch after punch, was being thrown your way. It was all just a bit much. 

And then you were late to work. Slept in after forgetting to set an alarm after a late night of staying up and listening to a friend rant over the phone. Burnt your hand not once but twice on the ovens. Spilt an entire cup of hot coffee on yourself. 

Life was out to get you. 

And the only good thing about today was Eddie. 

When the clock finally signals for the two of you to step off the floor, you’re sighing out in relief. You have no idea what the next issue will be waiting for you off the clock, but you’ve accepted that the day couldn’t get worse. And yet, as you go to grab your bag, wrapping your apron by muscle memory as you watch him, your stomach churns at the thought of today’s time being cut so short today. You just like being around him. You like making inside jokes, sharing quick glances, making one another laugh until your stomachs ache over stupid things in the midst of chaos. He’s a guiding light, something to look forward to, a wonderful break from reality that you just… you just cherish.

As you’re tearing up suddenly at the realization along with the heavy weight of your week, you recall that conversation last week. The word you two had assigned for when you needed a break.

Technically, it was probably a joke. Or to be used to ditch work. He probably hadn’t meant it.

But you have to try.

“Hey, uh, Eddie?” you ask nervously, fiddling with the straps of your bag as he’s patting his pockets for all his items.

“Yeah?” he doesn’t look up yet, doesn’t see the forlorn look across your face.

Just say it. If he doesn’t get it – no harm, no foul. If he gets it, and rejects the motion – oh well. The worst he can say is no. 

You have to swallow hard, take a sharp breath, before you can get the single word out. “Mordor.” 

He freezes mid-pat, hands hovering over his front pockets as he slowly looks up. 

“What did you say?”

“Mordor,” you repeat yourself, with a little more confidence to your tone this time. The worst he can say is no. 

For a second, you become convinced he’s forgotten all about that conversation in the parking lot. You really don’t blame him; half the time, you guys discuss anything and everything with minimal importance. Those early and surreal mornings are always more about spending time with one another, with a friend, than it is about actually processing the things said.

But then, two things happen. Firstly, the wrinkles between his brows smooth out. A second passes. And then – they return. 

Sloping ridges and mountains in that small space, each and every bit of them etched with worry. For you. The corners of his mouth deeply downturn and all the white noise of the front of house fades away the longer he looks at you with such care. 

“Mordor?” he echoes, “Like, as in… as in our code word?” 

You feel as if the moment you speak up, all that strength you had mustered throughout the shift will shatter. You’re tired and you’re beaten, you’re desperate and you’re hoping. You don’t even care if he tells you he doesn’t have time to properly sit and unwind with you right now – you’d settle for just a hug. The same arms that bump against yours and that sometimes stretch along your space to grab things from around you, the same arms you’ve seen strain as he insists on carrying heavy kegs for you, the same arms you just want to wrap around you, if even for a second, and squeeze. 

Who knows? Maybe, if he squeezes tight enough, he can put all the broken shards of the week back into place. It’s not his job to fix it, but you’re convinced for a moment, he’s the key to everything just feeling okay for nothing more than a mere second. 

You nod. If you answer him with words, you’re going to cry. The tears are already eagerly burning your corneas. 

He says your name softly, gentle enough that you have to pinch your eyes shut and take a shaky breath to avoid any spillage of your emotions. 

“Are you okay?” 

“No,” you try to make it a laugh, as if this is a joke, “I, uh- not really?” 

“Is it because you were late today?”

Your voice cracks and your eyes squeeze shut tighter for a second as you answer with a weak, “Kind of.” 

You let your eyes snap open again, try and seek out some everpresent warmth in his honey brown ones as your vision blurs a bit with shameful tears. 

You’ve never realized just how many shades resided in those irises, all warm and cool browns alike swirling. They almost match the espresso, you come to realize. And it’s funny, to think about the way all your other coworkers whisper just as scary and grumpy he is the moment he’s out of earshot. It’s funny how customers seem to crumple timidly beneath his disassociating gaze when he finds himself lost in thought on bar or warming. Every single other person who has stepped foot in this store seems to have one impression of Eddie, and it’s not even a proper shadow of the man before you. 

All soft edges. All care and all warmth. He’s not scary, he’s not grumpy; he’s careful and considerate, a little shy at times, a little hesitant at others. And you can only imagine why he’s that way, when you can see someone entirely different reflected in those goddamn honeyed eyes in this moment. 

He takes a step forward. Opens his mouth to speak. Goes as far to even begin to reach out a hand. And then he’s interrupted. 

“Thank you for your patience,” Nicole chirps into her headset as she comes into the back room, turning a corner with determination and snatching a sleeve of cups off the shelves as she continues to speak over the drive thru channel with ease, “Can we get you started with anything to eat today?” 

His mouth closes and his hand drops as you both glance down at the floor, completely silent as you wait for her to finally retreat back out onto the floor without a second glance at the two of you. 

The tears still burn and blur your vision. 

“Okay,” Eddie says the moment the two of you are alone in the back once more, “Okay. Mordor it is. Come with me, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. It rolls off his tongue and it wraps around you before he reaches out and grabs at your hand, only connecting palms and avoiding intertwining fingers before he’s tugging you out the back door. 

Not even through the front. As if he wants to save you the embarrassment of a walk of shame with teary eyes and defeated shoulders.

“We can’t-” you start to protest, but he’s already wrangled the key that is left in the back door – impressively quickly, as even you struggle with that fickle lock at times – before he shoves the door open wordlessly and yanks you out with him wordlessly. 

The door doesn’t even slam shut. It feels like a dramatic moment where it should, but it only closes back with a whisper and soft whoosh of air. 

“They have to do a trash run anyways,” he reassures you when you look back at the unlocked door with worry, referring to the overflowing trash that would soon be taken out to the dumpster in the distance, “It’s fine.” 

The soil crunches beneath both of your sneakers as he makes a beeline to his van. No questions are asked, just as you two had joked about. 

The sun is still favoring the Eastern sky despite growing warmer in the late morning. Eddie’s van is stuffy when he initially unlocks it for both of you to jump into the front, him being sure to open the passenger door for you and only shutting it closed once you’ve securely settled into that seat you’ve spent countless early hours in. 

He starts up the vehicle once he’s in his driver’s seat, but makes no move to drive off as he stares at you. 

“What?” you whisper, voice still strained as you toss your bag down by your feet. 

All he says in return, still gentle and still warm, still glowing brighter than the man everyone seems to think he is, is a reminder of, “Seatbelt.” 

You obey that half-spoken command. You don’t ask where you two are going once he shifts into drive the moment the click sounds in the small space.

—

Eddie drives for a while. He gets onto the freeway in the opposite direction of your way home, and you probably should be worried, but you aren’t. You have no mental capacity for consideration of how you’ll get back to your car, whether your coworkers will worry about it remaining in the parking lot, or whether Eddie even knows where he’s going. Hell, even his slightly erratic driving doesn’t affect you. 

You just stare at the trees as they pass by in a blur. Your mind numbs, smells of a rainstorm in the distance slips into the cabin of the vehicle through the cracks in the back windows, and you just let go. 

If your mother knew what you had done today, you would have absolutely been reamed a new one. 

Eddie slows at an unfamiliar exit, just after the two of you pass a small green sign that reads NOW ENTERING HAWKINS CITY LIMITS. 

“Hawkins?” you murmur your first noise of the entire drive. 

“You ever been?” Eddie asks as if you hadn’t been catatonic the entire way here. 

You prop an elbow up on the door, fist digging into the side of your face as you lean and take in the scenery now passing by a bit slower, “Can’t say I have.” 

“Well, then,” he keeps talking, and it’s sort of comforting after the long silence, “Consider yourself lucky.” 

That gets a snort out of you. One that has his head turning quickly to look at you as he slows at the first redlight after the freeway, a grin twitching on his lips softly as he takes in the sight of you. 

He must think you can’t see him staring, because he continues to do it, until the light has changed green and he’s made no move to press on his gas.

“It’s green.”

“Huh?”

You look over at him, his rosy cheeks and diverted eyes at being caught, and repeat yourself with more emphasis, “The light’s green, idiot.” 

“Oh, shit!” 

Another snort, another rapid (albeit shorter) glance on his part. 

He’s got a nice smile. Even if he might totally be a secret serial killer who was just jumping at the opportunity to murk his unsuspecting and vulnerable coworker in the middle of the woods. He could get away with it with a smile like that. 

It’s only once he’s turned onto a dirt road that leads out into the woods that you really care to finally ask one of the first questions you probably should have asked the moment you got in his van – “Uh, Eddie? Where… Where are you taking me?” 

“Trust me,” he insists, both hands gripping his wheel with care as he navigates the car into thicker foliage, “I promise I’m not going to, like, murder you.” 

“Sounds like something someone who is going to murder me would say,” you put in a little extra effort, offering him the joke and more than a snort this time. 

You don’t miss the swell of pride that lifts him to sit up just a tad bit straighter in his seat. As if your joking, as if your laughing, was something he was proud to elicit from you. 

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out, then.” 

He drives pretty deeply into the woods, until the road turns rougher and the treeline is thick enough you can’t catch clearsight of the main road anymore. You really should be worried, but all you do instead of mustering up any anxiety is roll down the window. It makes him glance at you, but you don’t pay that look any mind. 

The smell of rain is even stronger, heavy as it mingles with the scent of pine and dirt. It somehow dances between something familiar and something new, a distant memory that unlocks and soothes some of that tightness that had been residing in your chest for a week now. It doesn’t smother, but it does gather up in your nose, tickling in the slightest. You swear, if you were to focus hard enough, you’d pick up on the comforting smell of a burning campfire somewhere. It just seemed like the kind of appropriate scent to add to the essence of it all. The strings of light that break through leaves in golden hues, the cloud spitting out of his back tires as he clearly goes just above the recommended speed for this old road, the pleasant chirp of a bird that whistles right past – the essence of pure comfort to someone like you. 

It kind of makes you wish you lived in Hawkins, just as you assumed Eddie did. 

He finally slows the van into a clearing, never once scolding you for rolling the window down. He leaves you as you twist your body in what must be an uncomfortable fashion to rest your chin on the top of the door, cheeks and nose just barely peeking out of the car. Every slap of the breeze on your face feels as though you’re releasing another bit of worry to the wind, your chest continuing to grow lighter and lighter. 

“Alright, Sunshine,” he clears his throat, throwing the van into park. The clearing is very obviously a small campsite – you can make out a fire pit just a few paces away and the perfect space cleared of rocks, “You call the shots. What are we gonna do?”

“What?”

Eddie leans over the center console, getting closer to you as thunder rolls in the distance, “What do you want to do? You called Mordor, so whatever is going to help you, we’ll do.”

You want to tell him that just doing as he has, not saying no and not asking questions as he drove the two of you out into the middle of nowhere, helped. The fact that he hadn’t hesitated when he’d processed that you’d said Mordor was already doing wonders for the storm that had brewed within your chest. You’d managed to snag extra time with the boy who had a way about making everything alright, and that in itself was able to erase some of your week from Hell.

But he’s looking at you, awaiting a real answer, so you say the first thing you can think of, “Do you have your copy of The Hobbit on you, by chance?” 

“Oh, say less, sweetheart,” Quickly, Eddie fumbles with his seatbelt and unbuckles himself, swinging open his door and clambering out onto the soft ground waiting below. He waits for a moment, hands on his hips as he looks at you expectantly, “Well? C’mon. I promise you the back seat is far more comfortable.” 

“Does that line usually work for you?” 

“I don’t mean it like that.” 

“Every fuckboy means it like that, Eds.” 

You don’t know it, but his heart swells a little bit at the nickname. 

“Good thing I’m not a fuck boy then,” he leans back into the van a little, smiling wildly, “Now come and join me in the back of my van in a totally platonic, definitely not suggestive way, Sunshine.” 

He doesn’t have to ask twice; you’re climbing out to follow him to the back of the van, not even flinching as you both slam your doors shut in sync and you giggle the entire way. It’s just his effect. Everything is lighter with him around, and you’re starting to believe he should be the one called Sunshine instead of you. 

“M’lady,” he bows dramatically, swinging open the heavy doors for you. 

The climb in is a bit awkward, but you don’t even think about it as you take in the nest of an arrangement Eddie has set up in the back of his van. There’s an old comforter spread out across the entire floor of it, with several smaller blankets bunched at random with a few pillows. 

“Are you sure you’re not a fuckboy?” you question as you’re careful to not touch the blankets with the sole of your shoes, twisting and beginning to unlace the sneakers that had seen better days. There’s stains of various sauces and syrups from work, and surely milk layering the bottom of them. You’re positive if you investigated close enough, you’d even find coffee grounds lodged between the ridges of the textured sole. 

“Positive,” Eddie follows you in, reaching and shutting the doors carefully behind him. He’s less meticulous about his own boots, hardly undoing the knots and kicking them off into the same corner you’d placed your shoes, “I solemnly swear you are the first to see these freshly cleaned blankets.” 

“What about before you cleaned them?” 

“Sweetheart,” he throws himself down on one of the worn pillows, laying right beside where you have your knees drawn up to your knees. He’s flat on his back, hair flaring out in a halo around his head as he looks up at you with big, brown eyes, “You’re killing me here.” 

You can’t help it. The two of you are probably not nearly close enough for what you impulsively do, but you’ve had a hard week, and his hair looks damn soft. 

Your fingers are reaching out to trace over some of the wild and thrown out strands of curls before you can overthink it. Curling caramel and honey softness, you try to not let your breath catch as your pull up on the strand and let it run between your knuckles rather than just fingertips. 

“Yeah?” you smile gently, watching him melt as you twirl the end of the curl you’d been playing with around the length of your finger, “Any specific requests for your funeral?” 

He plays along, trying to not get too lost up in the barely-there feeling of you playing with his hair, “Your attendance, obviously. And probably some good music. Preferably Metallica – again, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” 

“Actually, d’you think you can get Kirk Hammett himself to attend? That’d be the best outcome. My only request, actually.”

“You’d rather Kirk Hammett attend your funeral than me?”

“I’ve got priorities here, Sunshine.” 

Your fingers have traveled up to his scalp now, scratching gently as you both are consumed in withheld laughter and brilliantly shy smiles, letting go of heavy weeks and succumbing to all of the sunlight crammed into the back of Eddie’s van. 

“Alright,” your fingers pause their scratches, “I believe you were meant to read me a bedtime story, Munson.” 

“Bedtime story? It’s not even afternoon yet,” Eddie scoffs, throwing a hand up as he digs beneath one of the small, fluffy blankets in the corner. When his hand comes back into view, it clutches that same copy of The Hobbit you’ve seen on the back desk at work on multiple occasions, “Alright, well, make yourself comfortable.” 

Eddie shifts to sit up, your hand falling from his scalp as he piles a few of the pillows from beside him to prop him up as you mentally debate your options. 

You could just lay down beside him. Not touching, just listening. The arrangement was comfortable enough and you have no doubt that it would still be exactly as you needed after all the stress. 

Or you could be daring. You could do more than listen; you could lay your head in his lap, or maybe rest your tired temple against his shoulder. Your could press up against him tightly under the excuse that the space back here was limited and you could selfishly indulge in all that he was willing to offer for this afternoon. More than brushing touches, more than playful glances. 

You could feel the skin of his arm against your own bare shoulder and for a moment, you could just pretend. 

Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink this. 

You opt for the lap. It’s more comfortable. Less intimate, you convince yourself. 

When your cheek presses into the rough denim stretching over his thigh, you can feel him tense up momentarily. Everything seemingly stops for just a second – even his breathing. But by the time you notice, it’s already resumed. You start to worry you’ve overstepped boundaries, gone too far for two coworkers playing pretend as ‘friends’. 

This definitely isn’t what he meant. First you played with his hair, now you’re laying your head on his lap. You need to learn personal space, personal boundari-

All thoughts evaporate as Eddie suddenly tugs one of the blankets over you, letting it drape comfortably over your shoulder. 

“Shall we begin?” 

Eddie’s voice was made to narrate Tolkien. It becomes apparent between the way he enunciates each word to paint a beautiful fantasy world, his fluctuation changing for each character without missing a beat. His voice takes on a slightly deeper timber than his normal speaking voice as you listen to the storm that had been teasing the entire drive finally break. Hard winds knock against the sides of the van occasionally, the patter of rain echoing off the metal roof of the van. Thunder becomes more frequent, and you couldn’t be sure, but there must be lightning somewhere above the trees to match it. But it doesn’t reach the two of you, the random bursts of light easily mistaken for swaying shadows through the windshield. 

Here in this van, with just you and Eddie and the adventures of Bilbo Baggins, it feels as if nothing bad can touch either of you. Not long weeks, not irate customers, not pessimistic friends or family – nothing. A certain bubble of safety has been created here, and you revel in it. Preen in the certainty of a few hours rest as Eddie’s fingers begin to tangle in your hair and return the favor of playing with your own strands. A simple pattern; he starts at the scalp, runs the fingers all the way through until they trail down the slope of your neck and curve of your shoulder. On occasion, they even slip to caress the top of your spine through the blanket.

Somewhere between the warmth of the soft blanket enveloping you in the scent of clean laundry and the soothing repetitive motions, you find yourself slipping away into sleep. Well-deserved, very much needed sleep that welcomes you with open arms. It’s not quite the hug you had craved from Eddie back at the store, but it’s a hug all the same, and it does hold you close just tight enough to make you believe the afternoon is capable of pressing all your broken pieces back together. If not forever, then just for now. The comfort of it all only has you nuzzling your cheek deeper into the muscle of his thigh.

The lap, it turns out, was the right choice.

Little did you know how grateful Eddie was for your choice of position. Better for your head to rest on his lap than for your ear to be pressed to his chest and hearing the current thunder of his heart that challenges the storm beginning outside the van, beating far harder for you than a friend’s would.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975

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join my taglist!

[courtingchaos]

Not a Loser

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

A/N: Just chumming the waters. It’s been rotting in my notes for a bit.

18+ NSFW No Minors

You’ve been on his ass all day. It started bright and early with your unannounced arrival to the house, dressed for a day out that he’d half promised you. Roy had the pleasure of letting you in and that was the first tick, the compliment.

“Well would you look at that, a dress today.” He’d laughed and you’d laughed and Gator had come down the stairs so fast he almost tripped.

“What are you doing here?”

“You promised me a date, Tillman.”

He doesn’t miss the up and down his father gives you when you walk into the foyer, especially doesn’t miss the raised eyebrows Roy shoots at him.

‘Get in there’ He can practically hear him saying it.

“Yeah. Later.” He wanted to avoid this. Any interactions with his family since you weren’t the keeping your mouth shut type.

“Well get dressed son, she’s waiting.” Roy admonishes him and shakes his head at you and Karen comes out to invite you into the kitchen for coffee and Gator needs to get you both out of the house.

You pitch a fit with him when he’s finally dressed and he wants to drive even though you made to 40 minute trip over on your own just fine. He corrals you into his truck and then you can’t agree on music and he’s sucking on his vape to try and keep his mind clear. It’s moments like this, when you find something to pick at and prod, that he wonders why he bothers with you at all.

But then when he gets to the mall an hour away and you hop out of his truck he’s reminded of one reason. He watches you adjust the skirt of your dress and he catches the black flash of your underwear.

“What are you grinning at?” You snap at him while reaching back in for your purse and he drops his smile quick, a heavy eye roll taking its place. You drag him around to stores he hates, stores that smell too much and have too many people. Stores with shit he doesn’t care about. When he tries to veer off into a GameStop you scoff and ask if he even has enough friends to play online with.

“Why do you have to be such a bitch?” He asks you real close while you both wait in line for a cinnamon roll. You chew on the straw of your iced latte and eye him from the side.

“I’m just pickin’ at you Gator, don’t be so sensitive.”

“I’m not fuckin’ sensitive.” He’s defensive, bordering on getting loud, when you put a hand on his arm.

“Hey,” Your fingers dig into the plush of his pullover, “Calm down, baby.” Placating tone layered under the nickname and suddenly he doesn’t feel so angry. The girl at the counter calls your name and you grab the overly big box, already opening it to pull at the center piece. “Want a bite?” You hold up the gooey bit for him and he takes it right out of your fingers with his teeth.

Back in town and when he asks where you want to eat and you’re back at square one, shrugging shoulders and “I don’t know, you pick.”

Everything he suggests is stupid apparently and his boiling point is dangerously close to being hit. He takes you to the diner and you pick at your sandwich and steal his toast but when he tries to steal a fry off your plate you click your tongue at him.

“What, you can steal my food? I can’t have one god damn fry?”

“I didn’t even want to come here.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He can get loud in here and no one will bat an eye but still he keeps his voice hushed. Dips his head to catch your eye while you’re pouting into your plate. “All you’ve done today is be a pain in my ass.”

“Well you ignored my texts last night.”

“I was busy. You know my dad’s got me doing shit, important shit.” He makes that point with a harsh finger jabbed into the table top.

“It’s always fucking Roy isn’t it?” You push your plate across the table and the cutlery clatters. “Why don’t you just fuck him then, huh?”

His fist hits the table and everything clashes together. He sees how you jump and a small part of him feels satisfaction but the rest of him wants to bury his face in his hands. A big sigh, deep and full of spite, escapes between his fingers gated over his lips. “You coulda just picked a place.” He mutters and shakes his head.

“And you could just pretend to give a shit.” A fork gets thrown at his head and before he can reach out for your wrist to pin you down you’re out of the booth and out the front door.

“Hey!” He yells at the window while you stalk down the stairs outside. “Where are you going?!” He throws a $20 on the table and runs out after you while you seemingly start walking towards the farm 30 miles away.

“I’m going home!”

“You don’t live that way!”

“I need my car, Gator!” You scream at him and stomp your foot. You’ve smart mouthed him and called him names but you’ve never screamed at him like that.

“Get in the fuckin’ truck.” He wrenches the passenger door open. “Now.”

“Or fuckin’ what?” You stare at him unmoving. He knows the wind has to be cold on your legs but you barely react when a big gust comes through except to hold your dress down.

Yeah or what? He tries to think of something smart to say but there’s nothing there past his anger at you acting out all morning.

“Fine. Walk. I don’t give a shit.” He starts the truck and waits for a second to see if you’ll get in. He wants to gun it out of the parking lot and spray gravel and teach you a lesson. He wants to laugh about it and go home and tell his dad about finally putting you in your place.

But then you take a tentative step towards the door and he doesn’t turn his head but he does watch you from the corner of his eye. Wordlessly you hop in and slam the door behind you and it just lights the fire for another match. The whole drive home it’s barbs traded over the center console and every time you hit his dash to make a point he’s slapping your hand off of it, yelling about how expensive it was.

“Your dad bought you the damn thing, you care about it more than me!”

“You’re god damn right I do! It doesn’t yell at me!”

“I’m not yelling, I’m making my point!”

The truck jerks to a stop in front of his house and you jump out before the engine is off so you can beeline for your car. Gator takes a long pull off of his dying vape, thick cloud obscuring his vision until he finally gets out grumbling. From the front porch he hears a low whistle that has his head snapping up to find his father standing there with a shit eating grin.

“Trouble in paradise?” Roy tilts his head at you digging through your purse angrily.

“It’s fine.” Gator grits out while trying to edge his way past, only to be stopped by Roy with a big hand to his chest.

“Now you know how I feel about this one.”

“Well she won’t be around for long, so you don’t have to worry.” He feels like a child again, petulant and glaring at his father that still stands taller than him.

“You could fix that easily if you’d get your head out of your ass.” Gator doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him, grass muffling the hurried steps while you come up to ask for your keys he still has in his pocket.

“Remember that Claire girl?”

“‘Course I do, you don’t need to-“

“She left you because you couldn’t be straight with her.”

“No, we broke up-“

“She left you because you couldn’t keep her.” His palm swallows Gator’s shoulder when it claps down hard. He wants to take a hit off his vape for something to with his hands but he knows he’d just get scoffed at for something else. “Just, stop being a loser.” It’s a pitying smile he gives Gator before his gaze drifts behind him and he sighs. “You got in you somewhere.” Roy keeps his eyes on you as he walks down off the porch and Gator follows his look over his shoulder, tensing when he sees you standing there awkwardly.

“You uh, you have my keys.”

“What.” He feels lightheaded. He’s avoided any real interaction between you and his dad mostly on account that you were supposed to be just for fun, but this doesn’t feel fun anymore. Not the ringing in his ear making him wince or the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“My car keys.”

“Oh.” He’s on autopilot while tapping all his pockets. They jingle in his pullover and he tries to shove his cast in there and it catches and there’s the breaking point.

“Gator.” You try to get up the stairs to help him before he has a meltdown but it’s too late. His face is red and he’s tearing at his fleece and swearing up a storm. He thinks he might have stomped his foot and the embarrassment is swallowing him whole. “Gator come on.”

You’re only trying to steer him inside the house but he pushes you back when you grab him.

“I don’t need your fucking help!” He cries at you.

“Then give me the keys, asshole!” You yell back.

He knows his dad hears all this with the way your voices carry across the open expanse between the barn and the house. He can already hear him later while he sits in front of the fireplace. Sitting with his new wife and his new kids, the better ones, the ones that haven’t fucked up yet. He’ll drink his whiskey and shake his head at his fuck up and he’ll remind Gator for the next few weeks about this fight.

“Jesus Christ Gator, get it together.” You’re not gentle when you shove him into the door and open it. He stumbles in over the threshold and your hands hold him up and steer him to the stairs. He’s not sure if anyone is home and he doesn’t want them to see you taking him to his room but you move fast with him in front of you. Up to the landing and he trips again. You push him into his room and he makes for his bed like a kid being sent in for time out.

“Do you have a bottle of water or something?” You glance around, noticing the half empty fifth on his nightstand and his stomach plummets further.

“No.”

“God can you…” You take a steadying breath and shift toward him. “Let me get my keys.” You only pause when he doesn’t immediately move to let you rifle through his pocket. This close he can smell your perfume and he’d like to lean his head in but that’d be a stupid fucking move too. A sigh grazes his neck when you get your keyring out and stand up.

“Listen.” You cross your arms and give his room a good once over before another sigh works out of you, big and heaving. “Contrary to all of this, I don’t think your dad should be calling you that. It fucks with a person.”

“What, a loser?”

“Yeah.” You give him a sympathetic look and he hates it. He doesn’t know what to say though, just wants to be alone at this point. “Just, you aren’t a loser.” A shrug before you seem to second guess your departure and sit lightly on the edge of his bed. “An asshole for sure. And a dipshit.”

He laughs hollowly but your hand on his knee gives a reassuring squeeze. “I know I started this morning off on the wrong foot. I did that on purpose but I didn’t think uh, Roy was gonna…” You trail off. Behind you on the headboard the stupid handcuffs he keeps there jingle when he stands abruptly. Two steps to his door and he shuts it quietly and turns the lock and you sigh, again.

“Gator I don’t really feel like fucking around today.”

“Humor me.” He doesn’t meet your eyes when he turns back and kneels in front of you. He picks up one foot to wedge off your heeled boot and then the other, your socks rolled off your toes gently and placed inside your shoes.

“Gator.”

He ignores you and sits up, grabbing your hands and pulling at the thin rings to set them on his nightstand. Your bracelet and watch follow, both snaked around the tiny pile of rings.

“What are you doing.”

He just shakes his head, brows furrowed while he tries to unbutton your cardigan. You let him work but you watch his movements, gentle for the first time ever you think. He pushes the sweater down your arms and pulls it around you, folding it before laying it on the corner of his bed.

“You’re freaking me out.” You laugh quietly. He looks like he’s thinking while those long fingers start in on the buttons down the front of your dress. “Hey.” You grab his chin to pull his face up. “What are you doing?” You ask again, this time looking him dead on.

“You really don’t think I’m a loser?”

“Oh.” You ignore the glaring warning sign tacked to the wall beside your head for a moment. All the little centerfolds and the random bullets around his room. You instead focus on the purple light in the corner with his tarantula he’s had since high school. The bits of hand drawn personality, however strange they are, hanging around the corners of his room. The handful of empty fifths you noticed in the bottom of his closet. “No.” There’s a ‘but’ at the end of that ‘no’ however now isn’t the time.

There’s no reason for him to unbutton your dress when he can just push it up but he takes the tedious route, always the hard way for some reason. He hooks long fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls until you lift your hips. Again he does his methodical folding and you file that away for later to ask him about when he isn’t lost in some kind of stupor.

It only feels nerve wracking to have him between your knees because he’s quiet. Big palms grip under your thighs and pull you toward the edge of the bed before he hitches your legs over his shoulders.

“Say it again?” Hopeful breaths huff across heated skin, nerve endings on fire suddenly with his lips so close.

You smirk at him looking eager and pitiful between your thighs, his finger already digging into soft skin, hair mussed and falling out of its slicked back order. “You’re not a loser.”

[1004tyun-archive]

❥ late bloomer

✿ pairing: non-idol!taehyun x noona!reader

✿ summary: your high school and college years were nothing short of uneventful. no first dates, no first kiss, no first boyfriend, nothing. but when you and taehyun hit it off at an art exhibit and start a relationship, you know you want him to be your first for everything. but does taehyun know he's your first?

✿ genres: established relationship, smut, slight angst

✿ warnings: slight age gap (reader is 25, taehyun is 21), virgin reader, soft dom taehyun, body worship, mirror sex, voyeurism

✿ word count: 5.8k words

✿ a/n: hi friends! i've been noticing an increase in the taehyun noona lover agenda, so i thought why not toss my hat in and give y'all a noona reader fic of my own? i hope you enjoy <3

very special thank you to @cherrypeaking for being my sounding board while writing this fic! screenshots were shared, tears were shed, memories were made 🥹

You zoom down the streets of Seoul with purpose, the wind blowing through your hair as you blast Carly Rae Jepsen’s entire discography in your car, not caring if anyone’s bothered by the way the bass shakes your car. Today’s a special day, after all.

You and Taehyun’s halfiversary, to be specific. It was like pulling teeth trying to get him to play along with the gimmick of celebrating the first six months of your relationship, but you were too excited not to celebrate it. You had a feeling there would be many more months to come, you knew it from the first date. You’ve never been more certain about anything.

You roll up to Taehyun’s apartment complex and turn your music down to a whisper’s volume. You text him indicating that you’re outside and he steps out moments later. He looks so dashing in a white dress shirt, black pants, his dark hair pushed back, and a Rolex adorning his wrist. As soon as he slides into your car, you’re hit with the scent of his woodsy, floral cologne.

Does he have any idea how irresistible he is?

“Happy halfiversary, baby,” you say and lean in, smiling into the kiss he gives you. You playfully smack him on the arm when he doesn’t return the greeting and he holds back a smile, his lips pressing into a line.

“Come on, you have to say it too!”

“Or what, the magic won’t work?” he asks dryly.

“Come on, say it!” you whine, then cross your arms. “I’m not driving us to our reservation until you say it.”

His smile gets harder to suppress as you give him puppy eyes, you can tell his resolve is beginning to crack.

“Happy… halfiversary, Y/N,” he finally says. You pump your fist and kiss him on the cheek. He can’t stop himself from smiling and neither can you.

If there’s one thing you’ve grown to admire about Taehyun, it’s his dry sense of humor. He takes so much pleasure in messing with you, but you love to return the energy, pushing the boundaries of just what you can get him to do in the name of love.

You switch to the playlist you and Taehyun made when you first started seeing each other and warmth spreads in your chest as you reminisce.

It hasn’t been too long you started dating, but every day has been so bright since Taehyun entered your life.

You’re relieved by everything he is. Protective, kind, warm in his own special, Taehyun way. His warmth radiates even as he sits across from you and holds your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. The flame of the candle between you enhances the brown in his eyes.

Being an art museum security guard is a niche job that requires you to look tough and always be on your toes, but being around Taehyun allows you to let your guard down.

You’re the older of the two of you; you’re a couple of months into being 25 and Taehyun turned 21 just days before you met, but you turn into such a giddy child whenever he’s around.

You swing your arms as you hold hands and walk through the city streets together, and Taehyun watches you in amusement, a quiet fond smile on his face.

You make your way from the restaurant to the grocery store to stock up on snack foods for the night.

As you and Taehyun load your many bags of snacks into the trunk of your car, it finally hits you.

You’re going to be spending the night with him for the first time. You’ve never spent the night with a boyfriend before, much less even had a boyfriend before, period.

Your CRJ marathon continues as you drive back to Taehyun’s apartment. Want You In My Room starts to play and the heat rises in your cheeks. You try to keep your cool as the song plays. You’re having good conversation, but of course it settles to silence in the middle of the first chorus.

♪ I wanna do bad things to you / Slide on through my window / (I want you in my room) / Baby, don’t you want me, too? ♪

You get flustered and quickly switch to the next song.

“Subtle,” Taehyun remarks and you want to bury yourself in your steering wheel.

Despite your prior embarrassment, Taehyun has your back pressed against the wall the moment his front door shuts behind you. His hands slide up your waist and to the side of your neck as his lips press against yours.

He kneels in front of you and runs his hands up your legs and under your dress to play with the tops of your sheer tights.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, running his his hands down to rest on the backs of your thighs. He’s so breathtaking from this angle, looking up at you with those eager, glittering eyes.

His breath is fanning against your thigh, sending tingles up your spine and making you dizzy. Every cell in your body is urging you, screaming at you to say yes.

And yet…

“Wait,” you say, breathing a little heavily. “I… uh, I-I didn’t shave.”

“That doesn’t bother me.”

“Well, it bothers me,” you emphasize, sounding more offended than you intended. Taehyun pauses to look at you for a moment before the warmth of his hands slowly leave your body. You feel a pang of guilt and offer a meek apology as he rises to his feet.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

But that’s the problem. You do want to, you really really want to.

But there’s a massive roadblock that always stands in your way whenever situations like this arise.

A roadblock called inexperience.

You change into your pajamas and spend the rest of the night watching competitive cooking shows on Netflix while gossiping about your work lives and sharing snacks like you’re two kids having a sleepover.

You fall asleep on the couch snuggled into his side and you’re stirred awake by his movement.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says sleepily. He helps you up from the couch and you can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you realize you’ll be sleeping in the same bed together for the first time.

Once it dawns on you that you’re sleeping together, you’re too giddy to possibly fall asleep. You say goodnight when Taehyun falls asleep, but you’re still up, taking in the atmosphere of his bedroom. He has blackout curtains but a small, round galaxy lamp casts shadows on the ceiling and grants the perfect amount of light to the room. Everything smells like him, floral and woodsy like his cologne, but also like the lavender scent of his hair shampoo.

You could imagine yourself here more often.

When you wake up hours later, all you can do is stare at Taehyun’s sleeping face. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, even with his mouth slightly open and messy hair.

“Morning,” Taehyun says. His morning voice is so sexy, it warms up your entire body. He throws an arm over you and snuggles you closer. You’re close enough for the tips of your noses to touch, close enough to hear his breathing.

“G’morning,” you say then kiss the tip of your boyfriend’s nose.

“I made a brunch reservation for 10:00,” he says. “It’s a quarter to 9 now, so we have time.”

“Time for what?” you ask.

“Time for this,” Taehyun pounces on you and kisses you. You kiss him back and things get heated pretty quickly with his tongue making its way past your lips and into your mouth.

Your heart catches in your throat when you feel his morning wood poking at your inner thigh.

“Wanna make a mess before we get ready?” he asks, his tone suggestive as he slips his fingers past the fabric of your worn t-shirt. Your heart is hammering in your chest as the warmth of his hand against your waist makes you dizzy.

“I-I think we should start getting ready,” you say, shying away from Taehyun’s touch. He looks a bit disappointed but ultimately does what you say and removes his hands from your body.

You quickly get up to get your clothes for the day and go to take your shower.

The rest of the day is awkward, to say the least.

You and Taehyun walk back from brunch. You reach for his hand and hold it, but he doesn’t hold yours back. Taehyun, the chronic hand holder, not reaching for your hand as soon as you left the restaurant already raised a red flag, but him not holding your hand at all?

You get back to his place and take a seat on the couch. Taehyun sits on the couch too, but not immediately next to you. And at first, you chalk that up to him needing a bit of space. It’s not like he was icing you out, he wasn’t kicking you out, after all. He was still in the same room with you, just a little more quiet and distant than usual.

He’s pretty quiet for the rest of the day, giving you tacit responses when you ask questions and giving a half-hearted laugh when you try to tell a joke or make him laugh.

You finally notice things are wrong when he’s cooking dinner. You wrap your arms around his waist and he exhales through his nose.

“Now you want to touch me?” he asks. Your heart breaks a little as you let go of him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

“Nothing.”

Oh, so now it’s back to the short responses?

“No, it’s not nothing,” you say, it’s impossible to hide that you’re upset. “What did you mean?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” he asks. Where did this tone come from? He sounds like he’s joking, but not really. It’s really setting you off.

“Clearly there’s something I’m not getting,” you say.

“Then maybe you need some time to figure it out. Time away from me.”

You’re taken aback.

“Taehyun, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you should probably go,” he finally turns to face you and his face is devoid of any warmth. When he looks at you with those cold eyes, it’s like the warmth leaves your body as well.

You search his face for any inkling of mirth or signs of him joking, but you don’t find any.

He really wants you to leave.

“Fine, I have work tomorrow anyway,” you stuff your clothes back into your bag, and storm out of Taehyun’s apartment without even a second glance. He doesn’t even look at you as you leave.

You walk to your car, not being able to hear much over your heart pounding in your ears. By the time you’re seated behind the wheel, your heart plummets.

It hits you that you’ve hurt your boyfriend’s feelings big-time. You didn’t need to see him on your way out to know that.

You can’t even bring yourself to start your car. You sit behind the wheel and hold back your tears until you can’t any longer, tears spilling down your cheeks while you mentally beat yourself up for having done this. Why were you so afraid? Why were you going out of you way to drive a wedge between the two of you?

It’s like you wanted him to hate you.

You check your phone at every red light, hoping and praying that he reaches out to you first, but to no avail. No message, no phone call, nothing from him.

A sinking feeling festers at the pit of your stomach. You’re not sure if you even want to go home, but you can’t think of anywhere else you could go.

Your housemates Jihyo and Nayeon are sitting in the living room laughing at something on TV and you know you’ve tanked the energy the moment you step through the door.

“You’re back,” Jihyo greets from the couch. “How’d it go?”

“It was… nice,” you say, voice strained.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Nayeon asks, clearly detecting that something’s wrong.

You can already feel the tears returning and you can’t stop them from falling. You break down into sobs and both Jihyo and Nayeon get up to console you. They lead you to the couch to sit down and you tearfully explained everything that has led up to this point.

“I hurt him,” you say between sobs and Nayeon rubs your shoulder. “He’s never gonna speak to me again.”

“Did he say that?” Jihyo asks.

“No, but he didn’t need to. Ever since this morning, he’s been tiptoeing around me and walking on eggshells trying not to upset me. He didn’t touch me, he didn’t even sit near me. He probably thinks I hate him.”

“Sounds like he thinks you’re mad at him,” Nayeon suggests.

“I’m not mad at him, I’m just.. scared of messing up.”

“Why are you so scared of going through with it?”

“I-I don’t think I’m ready. It’s something I want, but I don’t feel ready. There are only so many articles you can read and videos you can watch in preparation. Nothing compares to actual experience, and until meeting Taehyun, I’ve had none. What if I do something wrong? What if there’s something wrong with the way I smell or the way I taste or I can’t get into the right positions or—”

“—Y/N, no one’s first time is perfect,” Nayeon says. “The only way it can be close to perfect is by communicating with each other.”

“Right,” Jihyo adds. “Just like how you can’t read his mind, he can’t read yours either. You have to talk things through with him, even if it’s hard.”

You fall silent.

“Does he know he’s your first?” Jihyo asks.

You shake your head, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Y/N, you should tell him,” Nayeon says. “He should understand, he loves you.”

“After tonight, I’m not so sure he does. I don’t wanna lose him.”

“Please, you should see the way he looks at you,” Jihyo says. “He looks at you like you hung the moon and put every star in the sky. You’re not gonna lose him over this, just talk it out.”

You keep Jihyo and Nayeon’s words in mind as your fingers hover over your phone screen the following afternoon.

You have to do this, it’s now or never. A knot forms in your throat as you begin to type.

you: Hey are you busy tonight? I want to talk

taehyun: We’re talking now

you: No I wanna talk to you in person

you: If that’s okay

you: We can meet at that cafe you like

taehyun: That’s fine I have time after work

you: Okay see you then

He doesn’t respond and your entire body gets tense. Jihyo wasn’t wrong about this being hard.

You end up arriving first, standing outside the café with your hands in your pockets mentally hyping yourself up for this difficult conversation. You can do this. It’ll be hard but it’s important for your relationship.

You spot Taehyun from the corner of your eye and walk toward him, greeting him and giving him a hug. He doesn’t hug you back, that on its own worries you, but you try not to let it discourage you.

“How are things?” you ask from the across the table.

“Fine,” he says. His tone is so cold, not like the playful kind of cold tone he uses to tease you, but genuinely cold, distant even. A frigid silence settles between the two of you and your throat tightens.

“I wanna apologize for last weekend,” you start. “I didn’t mean to be so weird.”

“It’s fine,” Taehyun says, his voice is tense and it unsettles you.

“No, it’s not fine. I hurt you when I didn’t mean to, and I’m sorry.”

Taehyun is unusually quiet, part of you wants to ask him why but you also want to give him the proper space to think.

"Y/N, be honest. Are you trying to break up with me?"

That question hits you like a slap in the face.

"What?"

"Whenever I try to touch you, you always push my hands away, change the topic, or run away. This didn’t start with last weekend, it’s been going on for a while now and I don’t know if I can take it anymore. What am I doing wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, no. Taehyun, you're not doing anything wrong."

"Then why are you pushing me away?"

"I’m not pushing you away, I just…" you hesitate, looking down at your hands then back up at Taehyun, who's looking at you expectantly. He’s a bit upset, but it's clear that he wants to hear what you have to say for yourself.

The thing is, you aren't completely prepared to say it. You swallow, fighting the dryness seizing your throat.

"I’ve spent all my life feeling invisible. My friends had their first kisses before I did, got married before I did, started having kids before I did while I couldn’t even get a date. I felt like time was running out for me, and then I met you. Taehyun, you make me feel seen. Being with you makes me feel like the lovesick teenager I never got to be. Before we got together, I'd never had a boyfriend, been on a date, held someone's hand, or had my first kiss. You've been my first for everything, but whenever sex comes into play, I-I get scared.”

“Scared?”

“Scared that I won’t measure up, scared of how you’d react. You’ve had years of experience with different partners while I just bought a vibrator for the first time this year. Can you believe it? 25 and I just bought my first sex toy,” you say with a wry laugh. “You make me so happy, Taehyun. There’s no one else I’d rather have my first time with, but the thought of disappointing you or making you slow down for me hurts too much. I don’t want to do that to you."

There’s a long silence between the two of you. Taehyun pulls you into a tight hug. You’re startled at first, but you soon close your eyes and wrap your arms around him in return.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighs. “I’m- I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Another thing you’ve learned to love about Taehyun is his firm belief of actions speaking louder than words. The way he holds you tight in this café speaks for him perfectly. Sometimes words aren’t needed and this is one of those times for him.

“Let’s make some plans,” Taehyun says, determined. “I’m gonna give you the best first time you’ll ever have.”

As the week progresses, Taehyun texts you asking about your sexual preferences, your kinks, anything you’d like to try, and you answer to the best of your abilities. You blush when he tells you the things he’d like to do to you.

Things like tying you up, spitting in your mouth, overstimulation, the works. He emphasized that he’d only do these things if you want him to, but little does he know that you’d let him run you over with a tractor as long as he called you his princess while doing it.

But maybe you’ll reserve those for after your first time. Baby steps.

You open your underwear drawer and the tip of your one and only vibrator is staring you right in the face.

You stare at it for a good minute, wondering if you should bring it along on your journey. You suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea and tuck the toy into your purse.

You throw on your best dress and heels and make your way out the door. Your heart is beating at a thousand miles a minute but talking things through with Taehyun all week combined with your housemates’ good luck texts this morning give you all the confidence you need.

Your heart is pounding as you walk down the narrow hallway of his floor and get closer to his apartment. You knock on the door and you’re greeted with a surprisingly dressed down Taehyun. He’s got a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants on, a far cry from the glam look you decided to go with for today.

“Wow, you got all dressed up for me?” Taehyun wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you.

“I feel so overdressed,” you confess.

“Don’t worry, that won’t matter later,” he says with a smile and your cheeks burn. He leads you to his bedroom, but you can hardly wait to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him.

You don’t even make it to the bed before you pounce on him, pressing his back to his bedroom door and kissing him hard. He leans into it almost automatically as his hands find your waist to pull you impossibly closer.

“Have I ever told you how sexy your legs look in tights?” Taehyun asks, running his hands up your legs.

“No, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it a couple hundred more times.”

“As you wish,” Taehyun kisses your neck and his hands go to the tops of your tights. He peels them off of your legs and casts them to the side. He sucks on the skin of your neck and you sigh at the sensation as he leaves a few pretty hickies behind.

His hands trail up your ass and to the invisible zipper on the back of your dress. Your heart skips a beat as you feel your dress slowly fall off of your body and pool around your feet on the floor. Taehyun grabs your shoulders and turns you toward the full-length mirror. He snakes his arms around your waist to hug you from behind.

”God, look at you,” Taehyun whispers against your skin. “I can’t believe no one’s gotten their hands on you yet. How did I get so lucky?”

Taehyun sits at the end of the bed and pulls you down onto his lap so that you’re still facing the mirror.

“Lift your hips,” he says into your ear. You do as your told and lift your hips so he can take your panties off. Once he rolls them down your thigh, you wriggle out of them and kick them off to the side. Taehyun unhooks your bra and pulls it off of you, letting it fall to the floor next to your underwear.

It’s a little embarrassing, sitting in his lap completely naked while he’s fully clothed.

Taehyun explores your naked body with his hands, fingers dragging up your thighs to your stomach to squeeze your breasts. You close your eyes and relax into his touch, feeling every individual callus on the skin of his palm. He slides his thumb over your bottom lip and you sigh, granting him access to your mouth. He shoves two fingers into your mouth and your tongue lazily swirls around his fingers before you begin to suck on them.

“That’s it, princess. You’re a quick learner,” he says and you tingle from his praise. He thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth and you suck on his digits with every movement.

After a minute or so, he pulls them out of your mouth with a wet pop. Your eyes shoot open when you feel his saliva coated fingers in your pussy. Your back arches from the sensation and you make a noise you���ve never heard yourself make before. Taehyun chuckles.

“You’re so cute,” he whispers and kisses the shell of your ear. “So wet already and we’ve just barely started. I can’t wait to make a mess of you.”

He grabs your jaw with his free hand and turns your head to face the mirror head-on.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror for me.”

You obey, but it’s so hard. Your vision goes blurry as you watch as his fingers thrust in and out of your wet, throbbing entrance. He curls them in just the right way to have you moan so loudly that you shock yourself. You throw your hand over your mouth, but Taehyun quickly removes it.

You've never seen or heard yourself like this before. He’s driving you absolutely wild.

His erection presses against your ass and when you grind against it, his breath hitches.

He rubs at your swollen clit with the heel of his palm. It’s enough to have you clamping your legs shut and squirming in his lap. Taehyun uses his free hand to hold your leg open as he continues to tease your clit at that same, excruciatingly slow rhythm.

You come undone, high pitched moans leaving your lips as you writhe in his lap and he holds you in his strong arms. He continues to finger you through your orgasm until you’re reduced to a panting and whimpering mess.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “You’re so good, princess.”

You go limp in his arms and he holds you, closing his eyes and burying his face in your bare shoulder.

“Are you okay? Do you have enough energy to get on the bed for me?” he asks. You nod and he helps you up anyway, taking your hand and getting you properly seated on the bed.

You sleepily watch as Taehyun slowly undresses, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it into the nearest laundry basket. He pulls a foil packet from the pocket of his sweatpants and places it on his nightstand.

And then, suddenly, you have a lightbulb moment.

“Can we try something?” you ask.

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “In the mood to experiment already?” You nod shyly and he leans in, eager to listen.

“Can you get my vibrator from my purse? I want you to use it on me.”

It’s a simple little thing, a pink silicone rabbit vibrator about five inches tall.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hand resting on your thigh.

You shrug, “I don’t know, be creative.”

“How about you show me how you use it?” he tosses the device to you and your mouth goes dry.

“You’ve used it on yourself before, right? I want to watch you use it.”

You’re frozen in place as the gears in your brain slowly turn in an effort to process what he just said.

“You’re already naked, love. Just get in the usual position you’re in when you use it. I won’t judge you, I promise.”

You’re hesitant but you eventually roll over onto your stomach and shift onto your knees so that your ass is in the air and your face is buried in the softness of one of the memory foam pillows. It smells just like his shampoo, you close your eyes and bury yourself in the scent until your eyes suddenly snap open and you remember what you’re in the middle of.

You can’t see Taehyun but can you feel his eyes on you and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m waiting,” he says in a teasing tone and your face heats up. You press the button at the bottom of the vibrator to turn it on and hold it against your pussy, not yet sliding it inside. You take a breath and rub it against your slit, your thighs twitching when it brushes by your sensitive clit.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

You jolt at the question, already feeling flushed.

“Don’t be shy, you can tell me. It’ll be our little secret.”

He must think he’s so funny. It’s hard to concentrate, your mind is already foggy as you try to focus on your own pleasure while trying to put on a good first show for your boyfriend.

“Put it inside,” he says, softly but commanding. You do as he says, mewling as you push the silicone toy into your dripping core.

“Do you imagine me fucking you?”

Taehyun hovers over you, his toned chest pressing against your back. He kisses your shoulder and slides a hand down over your busy hand, helping you to thrust the vibrator in and out of you.

“It doesn’t compare to me, does it? Doesn’t stretch you out and fill you up like I can, either.”

The mere thought of having him inside you is enough to turn you on even more. Your pussy tightens around the toy, but he’s right. It isn’t enough. You want— no, you need more.

You need him.

“What’s wrong, princess? Can’t cum? Not even with me helping you?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears, you’re so close yet overstimulated at the same time and you’re not sure you can take this any longer. You wordlessly shake your head.

“Want my cock instead?” he asks and you nod fervently. He pulls the vibrating toy out of you and the vibrating sensation that initially numbed your pussy is replaced with the head of Taehyun’s cock. You whimper and he kisses your shoulder.

“Let me know if I need to slow down, okay?”

You give a nod and he plants another kiss on your shoulder before aligning his cock against your pussy and pushing into you. You hiss, hands tightly gripping the cotton sheets beneath you as you feel him slowly fill you. Your body feels like it’s on fire, stretching around him burns, but the pain slowly starts to settle in the boundary of pleasure as Taehyun slowly slides into you until he bottoms out.

You’re pretty sure you’ve elevated to higher plane. You can feel every curve and vein of his length inside you, he fits you so perfectly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice soft as a feather.

“Mhm,” you sigh. “Feels so good…”

“Mm, that’s my girl,” he rubs your thighs and up towards your stomach. “Relax, okay? I’ll take good care of you.”

You steady your breathing for a moment before he drags his length out of you and plunges it back in. He thrusts particularly deep and hits a spot that has you drooling and grabbing the sheets until your hands start shaking.

“Fuck, Taehyun…!” you cry.

“I’m here, princess. I’m here,” he says soothingly. “You’re doing so good.”

He continues to pound into you, hitting that same spot over and over, it feels so good you could cry. His girthy cock is filling you up, stretching you out so perfectly; you can’t imagine why you waited so long for this, but you’re so glad you’re experiencing it now.

Your entire body runs hot and your thighs quake as you feel a pressure building in your hips.

“T-Taehyun, I’m… ‘m- shit, I’m so close,” you squeak.

“Cum for me, princess. I want you to fucking drench me,” Taehyun says, thrusting faster. “Come on, give it to me.”

You cum so hard that your entire body shakes and your voice breaks. You call Taehyun’s name over and over like it’s a prayer and he holds you tight. Your reaction is enough to push him over the edge as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You’re mine, no one else can have you,” he breathes, thrusting in you faster and faster until he finally cums. You shudder at the way his cock swells inside of you. Your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath.

“C’mere, I wanna look at you…” Taehyun pulls out and turns you over on your back so that he’s hovering over you. The outline of his toned body has your heart racing. It’s only been seconds but you already miss the feeling of him inside you.

“You’re so pretty,” he leans in to kiss your forehead and you instantly get butterflies. He falls onto you and you wrap your arms around his waist. You lay there for a minute, still catching your breath until your breathing is in sync.

“Y/N, I want…” his words trail off, he looks flustered. You silently urge him to continue and he gives you a shy, hesitant look you’ve never seen before.

“You might not have been my first, but I want you to be my last,” he confesses. “I know it might be too soon to say it, but I—”

Before Taehyun can continue, you grab his face and kiss him. It’s clumsy, your faces mush together in an awkward kind of way but you can’t help the way you’re feeling. All the admiration and fondness you have for him overtook you like a tidal wave. You separate and he stares at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry, continue.” you apologize, breathless. Taehyun looks at you with amusement.

He chuckles, “No, I think that spoke for me just fine.”

“Come on, say it.”

“Are you gonna interrupt me again?”

“Only if you want me to,” you say with a suggestive raise of your eyebrows. Taehyun laughs, it sounds like the ringing of bells.

“I love you, Y/N. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re mine.”

You smile, holding back your tears of happiness, “I hope you know there’s no getting rid of me now that you’ve said that.”

“Wouldn’t want that for the world,” Taehyun kisses you and lays his head on your bare chest. You run your hands through his hair.

“I love you, Taehyun. I love you so much.”

[blurredcolour]

so much John Brady brainrot 🤭 so that being said…..soft dom! Brady headcanons?

Oh my nonny, this ask jumped out at me like a jackrabbit and I feel like it is the perfect time to expound on the forbidden dress scenario I first touched upon around Easter.

Behold some headcannons AND a drabble

Mature/explicit themes below the cut - 18+ only

Given the fact that dear Brady rules his fort with an iron fist (see his lecture to Croz after his struggles finding, I don’t know, England?!) I definitely feel like this man prefers to be in control, but I agree that it errs on the side of a soft!Dom rather than an outright dominant

While he hasn’t engaged in penetrative sex prior to your wedding night, he’s still the one on top, in charge, executing his seduction of you like some kind of pre-flight checklist

And let me tell you it works

As your relationship grows, you definitely feel more confident initiating intimacy, usually at times and in places that leave him slightly bewildered, your desire for him something so utterly mysterious whereas it’s completely logical to him that he cannot get enough of you

But he soon takes over to ensure you get the most amount of pleasure possible, putting himself last

You never realized, however, the potential for him to be suddenly overcome by a need until you wore that seemingly innocuous dress

Securing the zipper at your side, you took a moment to check your appearance in the floor length mirror of your shared bedroom, smoothing the hem of the spring dress in your favourite colour against your knees. It had been an irresistible extravagance when you were at the department store with only socks and underwear on your list, but the neckline and style had called out to you like a siren song.

Smoothing an errant strand of hair, you grabbed your handbag and hurried down the stairs to the living room where John was waiting, scanning the paper for something of interest.

“Ready, honey. Thanks for waiting.” You smiled and he snapped the paper closed along its pre-folded lines but froze as you came into view.

“That’s…that’s new…” he intoned, expression unreadable and making you feel the need to apologize for your over-spending.

“I…yes, I indulged a little at the store, did you want me to-” the sharp shake of his head cut off your offer to take it off, to return it tomorrow.

“It’s perfect.” He exhaled, eyeing you intensely before surging to his feet. “Come on, don’t let me make us late.” He grunted and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the couch, sliding it on before leading you out to the car.

There was a different tension in the vehicle, John’s eyes flashing in your direction frequently through the short drive to the cathedral, his hand resting heavily against your lower back as he guided you to your favourite pew. The heat of his palm was soaking through the thin fabric of your dress making you shiver at the temperature contrast with the cool stone of the building.

“You chilly?” He leaned in the murmur, the roughness in his voice taking you back to your lazy lovemaking yesterday morning and your jaw dropped open as you suddenly realized just what was going on.

A glance at him to offer a reassuring smile and shake of your head revealed his dilated pupils and slightly flushed cheeks, making you sink to teeth into your lower lip. What on earth had gotten into your husband?!

You could feel the weight of his heated gaze on you like numerous caresses throughout the service, more than confident he didn’t catch a word of the sermon, pressing your lips together sheepishly as somehow you felt at fault for this predicament and yet you couldn’t really bring yourself to mind?

How many times had you found yourself staring at this man, star-struck and breathless with desire in the most inopportune of places…what a heady turn of events this role-reversal was.

As you rose to join your fellow congregants for the weekly post-service chat over coffee and cake, John’s hand slid to your lower back, his skin scorching through your dress by now.

“Would you mind if we ducked out early, sweetheart? I’ve got a bit of a headache…”

Feigning wifely concern, you nodded quickly. “Of course, Johnny, let’s get you home.”

The drive home felt faster than usual, perhaps because he barely stopped at the stop signs, his hand resting on your thigh, fingertips plucking at the hem of your dress idly in the silence of the vehicle. Stepping into the house, you’d barely removed your shoes before his mouth was on yours, hungrily devouring, as his hands seized your hips and pulled you flush against his body.

The prominent bulge of his cock pressed against your hip and you dropped your handbag to slide your fingers into his hair.

“This dress is my devil in the desert.” He growled against your lips, making you laugh breathlessly.

“I wasn’t sure you were paying attention, honey.”

Turning to press you up against the front door, he ground his aching hardness into you. “I was enduring my own test…” he nipped your lips before trailing his mouth down your neck, hands rucking up the hem to slip between your thighs.

Mewling as you pulled at his suit jacket, you clung to him as he pinned you tightly to the door and quickly wrung an orgasm from you with practiced efficiency, leaving you a knock-kneed, panting, shaking mess.

Stepping back to shuck off his jacket and yank his tie free, you reached up to pull down your side zipper, eyes shooting wide at his verbal interjection.

“Ah! This?” His fingers strayed back to toy with the hem of your dress. “No, this stays on.” He said firmly, voice taking on a deep timber that flooded you with fresh desire.

Lurching forward, you instead focused your efforts on stripping him completely, following him down to the small carpet on the foyer floor, lifting your hips as he pulled your underwear off over your garter straps and stockings. Nestling between your thighs beneath your dress, his darkened eyes hungrily drank in the sight of you as he rocked his hardened length through your damp folds until you were begging for him.

“If my wife insists.” He smirked and rocked forward, sinking into your wet heat as your mingled groans filled the foyer.

The novelty of this coupling and desperation of his thrusts, combined with the insistent circles of his thumb on your clit, meant it did not take long for either of you to find release, left a sweaty, gasping mess on the floor of the entry way.

[familyvideostevie]

Happy Friday :) Would it be okay to request something where the kids try to play matchmaker for Steve with the reader? Maybe he’s been pretty mopey and Dustin thinks a certain girl he knows can fix that but it’s just absolute chaos between the kids trying to make it happen but ends super fluffy and happy for Steve.

you requested this ages and ages ago, so thank you for your patience! it's less chaos and more the start of something sweet, hope you like! |fem!reader, fluff, 1.7k

"If you sigh one more time I think I'm going to punch you," Dustin groans. "Robin, can't you do something about this?" The boy throws his hands up in the air and Robin laughs. Steve feels his scowl deepen.

"No," she says. "Even though I am by far the smartest person you know, even I don't have a solution for whatever Debby Downer shit Steve's got going on." She flicks his neck as she walks by and Steve half-heartedly swats her away.

"C'mon," he mumbles, chin in his hands on the Family Video counter. The store has been dead, not a single customer in over an hour, and it's given him time to mope about his never-ending problem: He can't get a girl.

It's not just that, though, and he knows it. Robin knows it, too, though she doesn't bring it up. He's lonely. He can't seem to find anyone seriously interested in him beyond a few nights of fun, courtesy of his long-gone high school reputation. But now he's years away from that and he's tired of it. He just wants someone to feel kind of silly over. To laugh with and drive around town with and to love.

"You could date him," Dustin says, snapping Steve back to the dusty air of his reality. Robin makes retching noises.

"No, I could not," she sneers. Steve sighs again.

"There! Again!" Dustin winds up his fist and Steve only raises an eyebrow. Then the kid sighs and rests his own arms on the counter across from Steve. Damn, the kid is getting tall. "Alright, I'm going to speak to you man to man, Harrington," Dustin says.

"Oh, this outta be good," Steve mutters, shaking his head a little. He's had enough advice from 14-year-olds, thanks.

Dustin ignores him but Robin snickers somewhere in the stacks. "You are a sad, single dude," he says. Steve doesn't have the energy to fight it. "You're my friend, and your sad sack attitude is messing up our vibe. Okay?" Steve blinks, oddly touched. "And I don't want you to be sad forever. So I'm going to help you."

"Great," Steve deadpans. But Dustin sports what can only be called his scheming face. "You gonna set me up, or something?"

The kid snaps his fingers. "Exactly, Steve. And you call yourself slow!" Steve rolls his eyes.

"I don't think we have the same taste in girls, dude." Steve rarely allows himself to think about Henderson has snagged and kept a girl better than he ever could.

"Doesn't matter. I already know who we're going to set you up with. You know the girl who works at the arcade?"

Steve's stomach twists. Oh, yeah, he knows. It's you. He feels his cheeks heat and he fights to keep a straight face. He's only seen you a few times, talked to you maybe twice. You always seem to be working when he drops off or picks up the little shits he carts around. You're real pretty and he's almost positive you didn't grow up here, since you don't seem to know him at all.

"Maybe," he says, evenly. Dustin grins like a shark and starts to bounce on the balls of his feet.

"Gotcha! You do know her." Steve straightens and turns away from Dustin to futz with the computer but the kid follows him. "Oh, and you like her."

"I don't know her," Steve mumbles, and he knows he's lost by admitting even that much. He doesn't know you, that's true. He only knows your name because he saw it on your uniform. But he knows you're pretty and you're kind and part of him does want to get to know you. But won't he just fuck that up, too?

But Dustin is like a dog with a bone. "Well, lucky for you, the kids you call shitheads? Well, we know her. And because I know you're not exactly the worst guy in the world --"

"Gee, thanks," Steve says.

"-- I'll get the whole party to help this little operation get off the ground. All you gotta do is, y'know, charm her."

Robin bursts into laughter somewhere in the Horror section. "Knock it off!" Steve calls. "I'm plenty charming. But, sorry Henderson, I'm not letting you set me up."

Dustin crosses his arms. "Don't be a coward, Steve." The flutter he felt at the mention of you sours into the familiar self-loathing he's stewed in for who knows how long. What's the point in trying when he knows he'll just strike out? And humiliate himself in front of everyone and their mother in the arcade, no less?

"I'm not interested, dipshit, do you hear me?" Dustin smacks his palms on the counter. Steve jumps.

"Just fucking come to the arcade, Steve," Dustin says. His tone leaves no room for argument. In fact, Steve isn't sure he's ever heard him this serious.

"I don't think you're allowed to say fuck, dude." Dustin raises his middle finger slowly and mouths Fuck you. Steve sighs.

"When?" he says, and Dustin cheers.

When turns out to be the next night. Steve is on pick-up duty for Dustin, Max, and Lucas. He pulls into the empty parking lot at 9:45 and wonders how the hell he's going to charm you in 15 minutes with three teenagers badgering him to stop at the drive-thru on the way home like they always do.

"This is so stupid," he says to himself as he turns off the car. He tries to see inside the arcade but the combination of the tinted windows and the smattering of lights from the games means he can't really make anything out. Are you there? he wonders. What are you doing right now? Are you tired after a long shift? Will you smile when he walks in?

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and decides he has nothing left to lose. What's the worst that could happen, anyway? Maybe you don't even remember him. Maybe you already have a boyfriend. All of the worrying gets him from his car to the front door and before he knows it he's swinging it open.

It's empty. There is literally no one inside. No cheers or groans of kids, no chatter, no slurping of sodas or running round. Nothing. It's only the flash of the various games and a few artificial sounds and...you.

There you are, leaning on your elbows, inspecting your nails. "Just so you know, we're closing in about 15 minutes," you drone, customer service voice firmly in place as you don't bother looking up.

Steve lets himself look for a few seconds. You're so pretty, even in the dim lighting of the arcade. It makes his chest hurt and his throat dry.

"Uh," he says. Great start, Steve. "I'm looking for some kids?" You look up sharply and once you see him your face sharpens and your mouth stretches into a small smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Oh, hi," you say, somewhat softly, and Steve feels his confidence return from wherever it was hiding. He sticks one hand in his pocket and holds the other out to an approximation of Dustin's height.

"Three of 'em? Bout this high? Mouthy, annoying, loud." You laugh.

"That describes most of the kids who come through here," you tell him. But then your smile turns to a concerned twist. "But I know which ones belong to you. Dustin, Max, and Lucas, right?" Steve nods. Are they hiding somewhere, or something? He's going to give them an earful in the car.

"That's them," he says. "They're probably goofing around somewhere, or something." But your frown doesn't fade.

"No, Steve," you say, and he swears his blood sings when you say his name. You know his name! Why do you know his name? "They left like, an hour ago."

"What?" he says, like an idiot.

"Eddie Munson came to get them, I think. He's the one with the van, right?" Steve nods, mouth open in shock.

"Those fuckers," he says. "They set me up!" You burst into laughter and he realizes that he is being the opposite of charming right now. God, you're pretty, he thinks.

"Why did they do that?" you ask. Steve can feel the tension returning to his temples. He's digging his own grave, yet again. That's why he considers lying, for just a second, but what's he got to lose?

"They uh, wanted us to meet," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He hopes his flush isn't visible.

"But we have met," you tell him. "Kind of." It's you who looks shy, now. "I mean, I know your name because the kids talk about you all the time. And we're talked a few times?" Your voice goes up at the end like you're not sure he even remembers. As if he could forget talking to you.

"You're right," Steve says. He tries his best for a casual grin, which seems to work since you smile back at him. He holds out his hand and you stare at it for a second before shaking it. You have soft hands. "But now it's official." He says your name for the first time and his palm tingles when you release it.

He wonders if you can see what's going on here. That a bunch of punk teenagers are trying to set you guys up like this is a rom com, or something. But you don't ask anymore questions. Steve figures that's a good sign.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asks. "Since you're closing, and all." He didn't see another car in the parking lot.

"I walk," you say. "It's only a few blocks." Steve frowns. It's chilly tonight, and even if you do this all the time, he knows what kind of shit can be hiding in the dark of Hawkins.

"I'll drive you," he says. "Only if you want." You seem to hesitate for a second before nodding.

"Okay, Steve," you say, and smile. Steve doesn't bother to hide his answering grin. It feels like a win. It feels like more than that, really. It feels like the start of something.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[luxesiren]

⸻ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 :: solo vanitas scene x implied fem!reader.

cw :: 18+ MDNI. edging, vivid dreaming, masturbation, overstimulation

a/n :: i wrote this for my bby @smiley-babe. she loves this man and like felt her fr!! btw vanitas owns a bookstore in this. when i say implied at the top, i mean she’s just in his imagination, not really there.

it’s slow in the bookstore right now, barely anyone here and all he can think about right now is you. every word you say to him has him gripping his desk and he can’t focus on fulfilling this order. he has to get it done but the thought of you makes him so sick that he has to do something about it, he sighs and places the order to the side and walks away — he locks the front door and turns the sign to where it signifies that the store is closed.

it doesn’t take much to make him needy and desperate, he’s never had anyone interest him the way you have and it’s affecting him in ways that he can’t explain. he could explain them but every thought is riddled with lust and all he thinks about is putting all that energy into your warm cunt.

vanitas is throbbing in his jeans, it’s painful and he needs some form of relief so he’ll do it himself. he locks himself in his office and palms his bulge already teasing himself even though he just needs to be relieved, so sensitive and he hasn’t even fully touched his own cock.

a whimper falls from his lips when he bucks into his hand, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans, taking note of the big wet spot that already formed in his underwear, almost embarrassing, really but he doesn’t care. he could’ve cum in his pants and he still wouldn’t have batted an eye, he looks down at his cock, his tip slightly red and so sensitive.

he spits on his hand and starts to slowly stroke his cock, precum leaking steadily from his tip and making the glide much easier to navigate. he tosses his head back against the chair, a small breathy groan leaving his lips as he continues to stroke over himself, keeping the same snail pace before slowly speeding up. he twists his wrist over his shaft and moves it just the way he likes it — his mind clouded with thoughts of you and only you, how you were speaking to him, and thinking about he would act if you were this close to him.

he closes his eyes and imagines how bad he wants you in his lap and grinding down on him and speaking to him softly in his ear. he whimpers so loud that it rings out in his own ears, he forgets about his hand on his cock and imagines being engulfed by your warm cunt. you’re riding him practically teasing him and he can’t get over it, “pretty boy, vanitas, does that feel good?” you would say, your voice laced with arousal and some sort of dominance that he can’t get over.

he would whine and thrust into you, trying to reach that spot that makes you cry out. “mm yes…it feels good, please, please..” he’s begging but he doesn’t know what for, you don’t speed up, you keep that same pace and it drives him up the walls — he doesn’t know where to place his hands but you guide him anyways, placing his hands on your tits and his instinct is to squeeze and fondle them to make you proud.

you clench around him and his eyes start to well up, tears forming in his lash line and threatening to fall over. soft sobs begin to over take his body as he’s reaching his peak but then it stops, the soft edge of almost leaping off a cliff now gone because of the way he’s edging himself. he squeezes the base of his shaft to stop himself from cumming and starts again once the feeling wears off.

he thinks about how you would teach him to finger you, his fingers soaked with your arousal but he doesn’t care. he likes to see it, so much slick covering his index and middle finger and he wants to lick it off his fingers. all this imagining has him shaking and trembling, damn near sobbing because all he wants is to touch, feel, and taste you.

he speeds up, fucking his fist with no regard because he wants to cum now. he doesn’t care to edge himself, this was the first time he’s felt overly desperate and it’s all because of you, because of that nickname, fuck, he wishes he could cum deep inside you and make you cry out for him. high pitched whimpers are continuous, “fuck, fuck, m’please, please…” he’s begging for reprieve, something to ground him.

he finally snaps, cumming so hard that he almost blacks out, the sticky substance hitting his chest and his chin. he doesn’t even care that he ruined his shirt, not one care in the world as he strokes over his cock again — making sure he can’t cum anymore, he knows that if you were here, he wouldn’t be stopping until both of you passed out.

© 𝐥𝐮𝐱𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 | all rights reserved to me, please do not steal, copy, or repost to other websites.

[hotteoki]

apocalypse (c.s.)

“sleeping soundly with the locket that she gave you closed in your fist” — “apocalypse” by cigarettes after sex {2017}

pairing: choi san x fem reader

genre: fluff, angst, est. rel., college au

cw: /

wc: ~500

notes: a little different from my usual style of writing but i had to get this idea out

thank you to @ssaboala, @pyeonghongrie & @kookthief for beta reading <3

©️ hotteoki || do not translate or repost on to any other platforms

mingi had been san's flatmate for almost 4 years now, if you count the first year they spent together at the college dorms, and yet, he knew little to nothing about san's girlfriend. perhaps mingi had heard him mention your name once or twice, but there was never enough information about you for mingi to even picture your appearance. whenever he tried to ask, san would simply shake his head and change the topic.

it wasn't like mingi was one to invade san's privacy, but he was desperate to know more about the girl who san had been dating for 'longer than he's known him'. so mingi had set out a plan to find out just a little bit more about you.

he knew that every monday and thursday, at exactly 9:38, san would close his room door and spend at least 15 minutes in there writing a letter, before carrying on with his night afterwards; and the day after that, which would be either tuesday or friday, san would mail his letter to an unknown address to you. mingi also knew that san could not sleep until he has the heart-shaped locket, with supposedly a picture of you and him in it, clutched in his fist with the chain wrapped securely around his wrist.

what he couldn't understand, though, was the secrecy.

heck, mingi was in a long-term relationship himself and he was all too happy to tell san about it, so why couldn't san do the same with his relationship with you?

he had offered to drive san to mail his letter, claiming he was going to drive to school that morning and test out his new car, so might as well. san was reasonably skeptical about his intentions, but eventually agreed. as mingi reached to type in the location of the post office on his gps, san gently pushed his hand away, typing in an unfamiliar address.

"where-" "i think it's about time you meet her, anyway," san grinned, motioning to mingi to drive, and mingi complied.

as they rounded the corner, mingi was confused to hear the gps announce their arrival of their destination, and even more confused when san let himself out of the car, maneuvering his way around the oddly silent streets like he had done this countless of times before.

when san was slow enough, mingi snuck a look at the writings on the envelope with your letter inside. he faintly smiled upon reading the 'happy 6th anniversary!' with hearts drawn all around.

by the time they've reached the end of the road, mingi prepared himself for san to knock on the door of the last house. but he didn't. san kept leading mingi further, and further, and further, until the rows and rows of slabs came into view.

oh, how mingi wished he could stop his past self from being so nosy, how he wished he never offered the ride, how he wished he could take away the pained expression on san's face, how he wished he never had to live to see his best friend kneel on the ground, in front of a grave with thousands of letters stored in a clear box, all addressed to your name.

networks - @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf neverendingdreams-net straykidsland @k-films @pirateeznet

[chaseadrian]

if you can only pretend

day 6. phone sex // [kinktober masterlist] Hard to say exactly how much you miss Steve while he's away on business. Still, you'll find a way to show him.

pairing. steve harrington/f!reader wc. 1k tags. 18+ ONLY, established relationship, phone sex, dirty talk, a bit o fluff, masturbation

You started on your stomach, the phone pulled from its stand, wire uncoiled as you twirled it around your finger. It was cliche and cheesy, but then, so was the way Steve spoke to you on the other end. 

“You miss me, beautiful?” He asks, stranded at some conference in Indianapolis for the video store. Who knew video stores had conferences? Or that Steve was good enough at his job to be invited? 

“What do you think?” You reply, flipping over to stare at the ceiling, knees pulled up and legs crossed one over the other. Your pajama shirt slides down your thighs, and the quiet hum of consideration from Steve has goosebumps rising on the skin. 

“Well, I don’t know.” You can sense him skirting around a question, can see the kick of his lip as he holds back a smile, his breath a little short. 

“Mm, you alone in that hotel room?” Grazing your nails over the top of your thighs, you close your eyes and pretend they’re Steve’s. 

“Got it all to myself, Robin complained about my snoring, smiled at the general manager, and he got her the hookup. I don’t think she knew what she was doing, but, never know with her.” He loses the plot for a moment before reorienting, “Point is, yes, the room is all mine.” 

“Not the only thing that’s all yours.” You chuckle as a punctuation to the statement, an incredulous, sarcastic laugh that goes over Steve’s head and has him falling over his heels. 

“That right?” He’s self satisfied, and you hum an affirmative before he continues, “So how much was it that you missed me?” 

You slip your fingers under the hem of your underwear, drawing your moan into your throat and instead letting out a deep, shaking sigh, “I don’t have the words, but I can still articulate it, if you want.” 

There’s the quiet clatter of a belt buckle on the other end before Steve says, “Jesus Christ, yes.” 

You laugh again, slipping your middle finger between your lips, slicking it up to circle around your clit. You moan into the receiver, playing it up just a little, and he starts spilling soliloquies without you even asking. 

“Fuck, shit,” He whispers, “Wish I was there. Wish it was your mouth around me instead, fuck,” Laughs intercede the monologue, “Hard to go back to my hand when you wrap around me so nice. N—nothing compares, fuck, I swear on God and Jesus and Magnum PI himself that I will never go to another one of these damn conferences.” 

Smiling to yourself, you sit in the mental picture of Steve at the desk of his hotel, fisting his erection, his jeans just pulled past his ass. He’s struggling to talk, white knuckles stroking down a reddening shaft, precum dribbling over his skin as he laments his love and frustration. 

“Nothing that takes me away from you and that pretty mouth. I just, shit, just wanna bury my tongue between your legs, make you squirm like you’re doin’ right now.” 

You arch your back as you circle your clit, lit up with desperation and want for Steve, for the little whimpers and choked moans he breathes into your mouth, for the rough pad of his fingertip on your wet cunt. You drive down deeper into the bed, whispering, “Shit, Steve, please, keep going. Keep going.” 

“Keep going?” His voice is steadier now, his desperation staved off by the pride he feels satisfying you, “Keep telling you how much I miss that body? Miss how wet you are when I slip into you, how tight you wrap around me, miss you pushing yourself against me, miss how your tits feel against my chest, shit, fuck, I’m—” 

He loses his composure in a matter of seconds, and it’s the heaving sigh at the outset of his orgasm that sends you careening into yours. That mental picture of his lips parting, pretty and pink and exhaling moans and guttural noises that he can’t hold back. The stilling of his hand on his length, spurts of cum spattered on his jeans and the desk and, if he’s really missing you, the wall. 

You can just hear the quiet, “Ohh, yeah, just like that.” as you’re shaking through your orgasm, fingers frantic over your clit as you dredge out every last bit of pleasure you can before the slightest touch becomes overwhelming. 

Catching your breath, you laugh a little in embarrassment. Crawling into Steve’s arms is typically an easy way to escape the awareness that comes after sex, logic and conscience seeping back into the spaces of your body that were taken over by love and desperation. Now though, all you have is the intangible comfort of his voice over the line, laughing right there with you. 

“I am just the luckiest guy in the world, huh?” He says, a dreamy sigh to follow. 

“Only person luckier than you is me.” You smile, shifting under the covers, the receiver under your head. If you close your eyes you can almost pretend Steve’s right there with you. 

“Fat chance.” There’s the clink of his belt as he pulls his jeans back on, scoffing at the notion. 

“Bite me.” 

He laughs, “I can do that. Soon as I get back, promise.” 

The lull of his voice pushes you closer and closer to sleep, and you mutter out an, “I’ll hold you to it.” 

“Hey, you falling asleep on me?” 

You mumble a negative, and Steve huffs a laugh, “Yeah, alright. Go to sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.” 

Your heart kicks in your chest as it always does when he says that, and you push off sleep enough to firmly say, “I love you.” 

There’s a smile in the sigh he lets out, and a quiet, “Goodnight, my beautiful girl. I’ll be here.”

You fall asleep with the receiver pressed against your cheek, Steve’s soft breathing on the other end. 

It’s almost like he’s there. 

Almost.

[rems-writing]

Tall manwich

@yourfatherlucifer yes there's a two-for-one deal for these fics. Plus, I need to write in features other than the characters from OUAT. So thanks for this. Also, thanks for the title name lol

Trope: dancer!Yunho x chauffeur!reader featuring dancer!BM

BM is a kpop solo artist who is also part of the group KARD.

Includes: gn!reader, mention of a size kink but it won't be overly sexual, slight angst, reader being cursed at by fans, reader gets hurt, mentions of blood, protective Yunho and BM

I wanna point that not all fans are like this! But this is the unfortunate reality idols must face every day. ENJOY THE FIC NONETHELESS :D

Another day, another dollar, and another batch of fans swarming around you and Yunho. The bodyguards were actually doing their job well!

These fans just like being bold. That's it.

They went from yelling and complaining to actual punching the bodyguards in their arms with their weak fists. You didn't understand how rowdy a celebrity's fans were until you were hired by Yunho's manager to drive him everywhere he goes.

From the grocery store to the studio he dances in, you had the routine on lockdown. You just had to get used to the fact that fans have nothing to do with their time other than find out where Yunho will be at this point in time of the day. As you kept your head down and walked alongside Yunho, the swarm of fans decided to switch tactics.

By aiming for you.

They pointed their cameras at you, called you names, cussed you out, told you to stay away from their beloved Jeong Yunho, and even resorted to physical violence.

From pulling on your hair

To straight up punching you

They laughed and called you weak as you doubled over in pain yet you kept walking. The bodyguards noticed and they became twice as aggressive in shoving the fans backwards. Yunho noticed and he tried to help but you held your hand up and reassured him that you were fine.

That broke Yunho's heart.

Ever since you got hired as his chauffeur, you've been receiving nothing but utter shit. From the fans and even down to some of his staff. The bodyguards were ok with you. He knew you could handle yourself yet he still felt this need to protect you. You've done so much for him. He wanted to give back.

After arriving at the venue, he saw you dart off to the nearest medical staff to have your wounds treated and his heart hurt even more. He refused to go with staff to get his hair and makeup done and even stood in the middle of the venue.

Yunho never got angry. He was the sweetest man alive. However, after seeing you get hurt, he wasn't feeling sweet right now. Some of the staff tried to coax him into the dressing room with fake reassurance that you were fine, but one glare from him had their words dying down in their throat and dispersing so he could be left alone. His manager saw this and asked gently if Yunho wanted to see you, to which he gave one simple nod firm to. His manager pointed to a room with a red cross sign hanging above the door, indicating you were in there. His long legs strided over to the room and he walked in.

You got punched in the face. Specifically, right on your mouth. Your lip was busted and split open but it wasn't severe enough to where your teeth were falling out nor were you spitting up blood. Yunho admired your strong will yet almost cried when he saw how disheveled you looked. You always made sure to look your best and thanks to those fans, your hard work was ruined.

Your hair was all over the place, your suit was wrinkled and stained due to a fan purposefully spilling a beverage on you, and your hands were shaking. It was a sign that your anxiety raised. Yunho immediately rushed over to you and held your hands gently. They practically disappeared underneath his huge hands and you looked at him with misty eyes. You were on the verge of crying.

He didn't like that.

"Shh. It's ok, bub. You'll be ok." Yunho reassured you quietly as he kissed your forehead. He cared for you so much. It made you wonder what you did to deserve it. Another presence entered the room and the both of you looked up to see another man and his staff.

"I was told you were in here. Are they ok?" The new man asked as he nodded at you. Yunho smiled slightly before nodding.

"They will be, BM."

BM, or Big Matthew, was a longtime friend of Yunho's. They used to be dance rivals, but tonight, they share the stage together. As BM sat down beside you, he beckoned his staff over to fix up your hair so it wouldn't get in the way of your face and the blood from your lip wouldn't stain it. He got a good look at you and his eyes widened in familiarity.

"No fucking way! Y/N L/N?!"

You smiled weakly as BM said your name with such enthusiasm.

"Hi, Matty. It's been a long time." You said shyly and he hugged you tightly yet carefully. Yunho was confused as to how BM knew you. BM saw the confusion on Yunho's face and he explained it to him.

"We used to go to elementary school together. They would protect me from my bullies."

Yunho smiled to himself as he envisioned a tiny version of you fending off this man's bullies when he was younger.

"By the time we got to middle school, we broke apart. I moved cities and never saw them again. Until today!"

BM's and Yunho's smiles were so bright that you thought you were going to go blind. You forgot your pain and recalled memories of you and BM in your youth while BM's staff fixed your hair and even picked out casual clothes for you to change into so they could iron your suit.

Alas, it was time for them to go on stage. You decided to stay in the medical room and watch from a monitor that the venue's employees provided you with. You wished them the best of luck.

---------------------------------------------------

The show ended and it was time for you to drive both Yunho and BM back to the hotel. BM happened to stay in the same hotel as Yunho and even stayed on the same floor! He just had a different room of course.

After changing into your suit and putting on a face mask so you could cover your busted lip, you waited for the two men to arrive. Once they did, you proceeded to go out first but Yunho held you back.

You were now sandwiched in between these two tall buildings God called men. Your face heated up due to being flustered upon seeing the sheer size differences between the three of you.

"You're not going out there first, bub. Hate me at the end of the day, but I'm protecting." Yunho whispered deeply in your ear while BM nodded in agreement.

"He's right. You finna stay in between our big tiddies until we reach your car. Got it?"

WHY THE FUCK DID HE HAVE TO PHRASE IT LIKE THAT?!

Yunho snickered a bit while you sighed loudly.

"Ok fine."

From there, you stayed like that. Sandwiched in between these two men. The only time you got a break was when they had to sit in the back seat while you drove them.

Even when you arrived at the hotel, you still stayed sandwiched in between them. You had to suffer through their man boobs suffocating you when you entered the elevator and went up to your floor. After the elevator arrived, you exited and walked to your room.

Or tried to at least.

You ended up staying in Yunho's room, where the three of you laid on Yunho's bed. Their big bodies squished you and you felt more flustered than before.

Will BM most likely be in that bed with you and Yunho for the entire night?

Yes.

That's how much they cared for you.