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kitten4sannie · 5 months ago

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ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ

ᴘᴇʀᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ/ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ➠ ʏᴜɴɢɪ

pairing: bf! mingi x gf! reader x roommate! yunho

genre: smut

summary: there’s something irresistible about your boyfriend’s roommate.

w.c: 3k

warnings: established poly relationship, switch! mingi + reader, dom! yunho, lots of perverted activities going on (panty sniffing for one…), voyeurism/exhibitionism, mxm, mostly pet names + praise <33, glasses kink idk i really like glasses if you couldn’t tell,, a tiny amount of false praise/name calling, kissing (including a three way kiss 🫣), manhandling, instruction giving, masturbation, oral (receiving), cum eating/swapping, cockwarming, dp in one hole, brief tit play, bulge kink, breeding kink, squirting, creampies

a/n: DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME 🫵🏼 i had to write this okayyy it was the only way to quell the brainworms uwu esp after that dance challenge yuyu posted ohmygodohmfhwwh and migiii GRRRRRRRR BARK anyways, i’ll return to my enclosure now 😔 if you enjoyed plz lemme know~~

song rec: kiss & tell by ethan low + gen neo

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

It only took a week of dating your boyfriend to know that he had a special relationship with his roommate. The both of them could deny it all they wanted, but you weren’t blind. You didn’t even mind it, either — in fact, it intrigued you. The more the merrier, after all. Now that you had just moved in with them, you expected to see it first hand, but you would come to realize that there was a lot more to the story — and you were a major part of it.

“All we did was jerk off together, Y/N, it was one time, maybe two…” Mingi explained to you over the sound of running water, as if that even helped his case, handing you the plastic plate he had just washed.

“Riiight, and I only scissored my bestie once or twice, right after the group orgy,” you replied sarcastically, wiping the dish with a rag and putting it back into your shared cabinet.

Mingi almost dropped your favorite cat mug into the sink. “Y-you didn’t tell me you were into group sex.”

You quickly took the mug from his grasp, holding it to your chest. “I was just joking, Min, so that you could see how silly you sound.” You reached up to caress his cheek with your cold hand, making him shiver. “Who cares if you’re attracted to your roommate. You know I don’t mind.”

Mingi’s eyebrows screwed upwards, looking down at you with wide eyes. “B-but, he’s a dude.”

“And?”

He bit into his plump lip. “He’s got a dick.”

You nodded your head. “Even better.”

Mingi turned off the sink. “He’s my best friend, Y/N…”

“I don’t see why that’s a problem, Min. You can’t control who you like.”

“I-i don’t like him!” your boyfriend protested weakly, his rosy cheeks betraying him.

You sighed, accepting defeat for now. “Okay, baby, I hear you.”

Mingi suddenly cornered you against the sink, his hands on each side of the counter. He towered over you. “Why are you so interested in Yunho, huh? Do you want him?”

Now that the tables had turned, it was your turn to blush. “Wh-what?”

Mingi slowly pressed himself into you, his body warm against yours. He was hard. You could feel it. “You heard me.” He leaned down to whisper, “You want to fuck my roommate, don’t you, baby?”

Just then, the front door opened, a set of heavy footsteps making their way through the corridor until the very roommate you were speaking of appeared in the kitchen. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” Yunho chuckled softly, pulling his heavy black coat off, along with his foggy glasses, before shaking his head like a dog, his dirty blond bangs sticking to his forehead.

Mingi had positioned you in front of him to conceal his boner, trying his best to look casual with his arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. “I told you to bring an umbrella, dumbass.”

Yunho dropped his stuff down onto the kitchen counter, tugging at the thin white turtleneck he was wearing, the soaked material rolling up his waist. It had been soaked through, leaving little to the imagination. The both of you gulped audibly from where you stood. “You’re right, like always, Min.” Humming, Yunho used the loose material of his sweatpants to wipe his glasses clean, putting them back on, his gaze softening at the sight of his two favorite people. “Silly me.”

“You’re going to catch a cold like that,” you whined, trying not to focus on the way his top clung to the ridges of his abs, or how his heavy sweatpants began to fall slightly from his hips. “You should take a shower, Yunho.”

You weren’t the only one sizing him up, though Mingi wasn’t quite as capable of being subtle, instead biting straight into his lip, his deep-set eyes scanning lower until he could see the prominent outline of the very cock he was just talking about a few minutes ago. “Yeah, Yun. You’re soaked…”

Yunho’s eyes formed half moons. His roommate and girlfriend were just too cute. He wanted nothing more than to fuck the living daylights out of the both of you, preferably in front of the other. Yunho couldn’t even keep track of the amount of times he’s jerked off to the thought of what you’d both act like when he was turning one of you out. He wondered which one of you would cry from being fucked full of cum, who could throat his cock the best, whose hole was the tightest, the list went on. These days, he’s even gone as far as to steal your panties, or Mingi’s boxers out of the laundry basket, just to wrap them around his dick and jerk himself off inside your shared room when the both of you were at work. And, as soon as he brought the soiled undergarments to his nose and inhaled your pretty scent, he blew his load all over your bed, like clockwork. Then, he almost always slipped in the hallway on the way to throw your blankets into the wash. It was getting bad.

He observed the splotches of water that had soaked into your own top and Mingi’s shirt alike, his lips curling up into a small smirk. “Looks like the both of you are wet too. Maybe we could all use a shower.”

“M-maybe,” you choked out, worried your cover was blown by how flustered you looked.

“You can go first though, bro,” Mingi finished for you, just about finishing in his pants from the thought of showering alongside Yunho, with you in between them.

Yunho simply ran his long fingers through his wet hair, letting out a small sigh. “Your loss.” And with that, he made his way down the dark hallway to the bathroom.

You didn’t even have to say anything for Mingi to know where your head was at, not when his other one poked into your abdomen when you turned around to face him. “Min…” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Bed, yeah,” Mingi breathed out, lifting you up from the floor and carrying you down the same hallway to your bedroom, the one that just so happened to share a wall with the bathroom.

Beads of water slipped past the edge of Yunho’s tensing jaw, dripping past his contracting abdomen, and collecting inside the palm of his hand, aiding him in the pursuit of getting off, jerking himself off to the sound of Mingi piping you down. He could always tell when his best friend was about to cum; Mingi’s breath would get caught inside his dry throat and his words would start to come out jumbled. You were similar in that aspect, growing breathless, except you would always voice your desperation, that is, until all you could do was whine just before your insides were painted white. Knowing you were coming undone together in such proximity to Yunho made him so dizzy, he had to squeeze around the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming too soon. However, it was far too late, already letting out a sudden groan, leaving a few hefty splatters of cum on himself and the shower wall. Seeing white dots around his vision when he blinked, Yunho fought to catch his breath, pressing his cheek to the cool shower wall.

“Haven’t had enough, baby? Bet you need Yunho inside you next. Isn’t that right?” he heard Mingi ask you, finding it hard to swallow. Was he hearing right?

“Yeah, I need him, Min, please–” you whined from underneath him, your thighs starting to tremble from being so close.

“Ask him, princess,” Mingi cooed inside your ear, too drunk on lust to truly consider how his actions could backfire, bringing one sweat-covered arm to knock his fist into the wall, his hips smacking relentlessly into yours. “He’s right there.”

Yunho jumped at the sensation of Mingi knocking through the wall, reaching over his body to turn the shower water off, his heart thumping loudly inside his chest. Finally, it was his time.

“Y-Yun, please, come here..!” Yunho heard your muffled plea, and that was all it took for him to burst through your door, a small, useless towel clinging desperately to his hips, gazing at the both of you with hunger in his hazy eyes.

“Y-you actually came.” Mingi swallowed hard, his thrusts growing sloppy, about to climb off of you, but staying while when Yunho slowly shook his head in disapproval.

“I did. Now, you’re going to cum for me,” Yunho told him in a low voice, slowly climbing onto the bed, reaching down to run his fingers along his arm, leaving light, feathered touches over your collarbone next, sending a shiver through the both of you. He licked at his lips. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?”

Neither you nor your boyfriend needed to have a discussion about the budding development of your relationship with Yunho. It just felt right. You immediately hooked your thighs around his waist, Mingi responding by pounding eagerly into your cunt until the both of you began to cry out.

Yunho hovered behind Mingi, his wandering fingers closing around his friend’s waist, controlling the rate of Mingi’s strokes until he began to shudder, Yunho’s leaking cock rubbing along the other’s heated skin. He chuckled softly at the sound of Mingi’s whimpers, holding him still. “You’re cumming, aren’t you, Min? Inside your pretty girlfriend?”

A bit of drool leaking from his lips, Mingi nodded weakly, as though his head was too heavy to lift, letting Yunho push his hips further and locking him in place, coating your pulsing walls with his seed. “F-fuck, I’m filling her up, Yun, it won’t stop…”

Humming in approval, Yunho gently coaxed Mingi to the side to access your body next, grabbing ahold of your nearest thigh and lifting it up and out of the way. “What do we have here? Mmm, no protection, huh?” He observed closely as his roommate’s load began to leak out past your fluttering hole. “I didn’t know your girlfriend liked it raw, Min.” He smiled perversely at Mingi, suddenly lifting your hips up in the air until you were folded in half like a paper doll, blowing a bit of air onto your cunt just to see you squirm. “Do you like having your little used pussy eaten too, baby?”

“Y-yes, Yuyu,” you gasped, not used to having your ankles near your head like this, your filled hole on full display. It was so embarrassing, being looked at by your boyfriend and his roommate like they were going to eat you alive, but you couldn’t help but want more of their attention. You reached up, spreading yourself open, feeling Yunho’s heavy breaths against your skin. “Hurry, before it all spills out…”

Groaning, Yunho dipped his tongue in between your slick lips, licking a long stripe up to your swollen clit with his tongue laid flat, languidly gathering up your combined arousal, repeating this action over and over, earning moan after wanton moan from you. Yunho opened his eyes to see how Mingi had positioned himself behind you, sitting on the opposite side of him, Mingi’s ringed fingers groping at your tits. They eventually shared heated eye contact, both growing harder at the mere sight of one another.

“How does she taste?” Mingi’s voice is gravelly, low, and dripping with lust. “Tell me, Yun.”

“Like heaven,” Yunho sighs out onto your hot skin, tonguing at your wet hole and pushing the tip inside. It slips out when you tighten up around it, but Yunho doesn’t give up, forcing it back in, much to your approval, flicking it in and out, in and out, until his chin is soaked with your arousal. He couldn’t help but chuckle with delight, licking his lips clean. “Your princess is making a mess.”

Mingi couldn’t help but run the pad of his thumb over his twitching cock head, spreading the abundant pre-cum along the rest of his length. “Keep going, and she’ll make an even bigger one…”

Taking that as a challenge, Yunho dove back in, with even more enthusiastic drags of his tongue this time around, aggressively guiding your hips to his favor.

You tossed your head back, broken moans and expletives falling from your lips. You instinctively reached out, wanting to hold onto something: Yunho’s shaggy hair, your boyfriend, the warm sheets, or something, anything, when Mingi took hold of your wrists and held you still, his fingers slowly moving down to interlace with yours. “Oh my god–fuck, please…!”

“Yes, that’s it, baby,” Mingi encouraged softly, giving your hands a gentle squeeze or two. “That’s my girl, being so good for us…”

Yunho’s hum vibrated through your lower half, his nose only bumping into your clit one more time, before a spray of arousal hit his moving tongue. It wasn’t until he could hear your juices splatter down onto his bare skin and the bed that his eyes rolled underneath his fluttering eyelids. “Oh my god…” He was so dizzy with lust, he was going to bust at any second, if he wasn’t careful. Just then, he noticed Mingi pulling you up into his arms, your back to his chest. He watched Mingi tilt your head until your lips met, throbbing at the sight of his tongue disappearing into your mouth.

With Mingi’s arm snaking around your middle, his hand cupping your sensitive cunt and his tongue down your throat, you opened your eyes to gaze at Yunho’s lips. Wanting to taste yourself, you lazily broke the kiss with Mingi, pulling Yunho closer to you, so close that you could still see drops of your arousal stuck to his glasses. “I taste like heaven, huh?”

“Mm-hm…” Yunho pressed in closer, sandwiching you in between him and your boyfriend, his hands moving downwards to explore the closest expanse of skin, whether it was yours or Mingi’s. “I’ll show you.”

Yunho’s tongue slid into your mouth before you had a chance to properly taste his lips, letting you taste your warm arousal instead. Just then, Mingi lifted your hips up and back down onto his stiff cock, not even moving, just wanting to feel the way you stretched open to accommodate him. It felt so good, he couldn’t help but throb, eyes shutting tight from the pleasure, immediately kissing back when your lips were back on his. You turned your head slightly to kiss each of them, your boyfriend and roommate taking turns swallowing each and every moan you let out, that is, until your lips and tongues met in the middle.

Soon, you pulled away to take a much needed breath, unable to catch it, especially now that you realized the two men didn’t seem to stop like you did, instead tilting their heads in opposite directions to deepen the kiss, drool dripping along their chins. They both gripped your hips from either side, mutually guiding them up and down, just as Mingi began to thrust up into you, Yunho’s cock rubbing along your clit at the same time. Once your cunt squeezed around Mingi’s cock, he knocked his head back, forcing the string of saliva that connected their lips to break apart. “Fuck, baby– princess, you’re squeezing so tight…feels so good…”

“Is she? I bet she’ll squeeze even harder with me inside,” Yunho panted near your ear, his head spinning, swearing all the blood in his body had traveled to his heavy cock.

“What are you waiting for? Give it to me..!” you gasped out, unable to control the volume of your voice, not when Mingi was slamming into you like a short-circuiting sex machine.

“Give it to her, Yun,” Mingi encouraged raspily, lifting your body up and lowering you back down, feeling your cunt slowly stretch open to fit the both of them inside and swallow them up completely. Once Yunho bucked his hips up, Mingi joined suit, their slick cocks rubbing along one another so quick, they would occasionally slip out, though they simply pushed back in and fucked you harder than before. “Oh, that’s it…oh, god…”

“I’m gonna–nnnngh,” Yunho cut his announcement off with a moan, gritting his teeth tight, pumping what seemed to be an endless load into your already used pussy. “Fuck, it really won’t stop…I’m gonna knock up your girlfriend, Min…”

Just when you thought you would pass out, Mingi wrapped his arms tight around your middle, his hands laid flat against your stomach, swearing he could feel his roommate’s cock underneath the pads of his fingers. “What’s mine is yours,” Mingi sighed out, pulling out for a moment, just to force himself back in, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your womb. Panting heavily, your boyfriend’s hands slid down along your abdomen, only having to pinch and rub at your clit for a moment, before you completely unraveled in between their heaving bodies.

Yunho pulled his glasses off, tossing them onto the bed. “You really mean that, Min?” he asked, leaning in closer. Not only did he have free rein with his roommate’s pretty little girlfriend, but Mingi seemed to be up for grabs as well. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. “Does that include you?”

Mingi scoffed, his cheeks hot to the touch, hoping Yunho couldn’t feel how hard he just got. “Now, let’s not get carried away.”

fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @cr4zyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity

#ateez #ateez smut #jeong yunho #song mingi #mingi smut #yunho smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #kpop smut

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bbokicidal · 6 months ago

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"My Pretty Boys" | SKZ [H.J, H.H, L.F]

Notes: A small Drabble inspired by @jeonginsleftcheek and I when we screamed together about Hyunjin's buzzcut lol. (I need to caress his kiwi head) Genre: Smut (18+) Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Han Jisung x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1K

If it weren't for the game he was playing, Felix's full attention would be on you - naturally, of course, when you lay bare in front of him.

With you sprawled on the couch and your body between Felix's legs, his switch controller lays just above your chest - your collar bone supporting the weight as he carefully pushes down on the buttons in quick succession. Each time you look up at him just to catch a glimpse of his focused, determined expression you're met with the sight of his teeth digging into his lower lip or his tongue prodding the corner of his mouth in an expression of impatience. The strands of his hair that frame his face, now the sweetest color of Onyx, stick to his cheeks and temples from his nap a few hours ago. And with his hair so messy he just looked all too cute.

"Baby," you murmur to catch his attention, earning a soft and low hum so you know he's listening. "After you're done playing, do you want to swap spots with Jinnie..? Think he'd like to play a little, too." The sickly sweet tone of your voice lulls Felix into approving of the question, nodding after a moment of silence.

But Hyunjin gives a soft hum from where he lays between your thighs, head buried down and eyes just barely open. "I'm happy here." And he really is; Tongue lathing over your pussy as it drips for him in a mixture of your slick and his spit from the near hour he'd been there. He's in Heaven, you're on cloud nine - and he's happy to stay there for as long as you want him to.

His movements are slow and calculated, the tip of his tongue circling your clit before dragging back down to lick a fat, flat strip up your wetness. He moves close to dip his tongue into you, tasting you as best he can before he has to pull his tongue back in his mouth and catch his breath - and then he's back at it all over again. His tongue glides over the skin of your inner thighs, teasing and nipping here and there before he returns to your pussy and wraps his lips around your clit - sucking and pulling back just to tease, tongue flicking over the warm bundle of nerves. And the soft touches you give him just spurs him on; Your hand brushing over his cheek before moving up to his hair where usually your fingers would tangle in long, dark strands and tug whenever he got a little too greedy and overstimulated you. But this time you're met with the softness of his hair, now blonde and shorter than you'd ever seen it before. It tickles your palm as you run your hand over the back of his head, thumb swiping through it once more before you let it rest there and gently coax him closer between your thighs.

And then of course, there was one more - his back to the back of the couch as he laid on his side. He was squished up against you but fully content, lulling in and out of consciousness as sleep beckoned him in. One arm draped over your waist, a knee pulled up as well to rest atop your thigh - initially meant to keep your legs open for Hyunjin to rest between but now just relaxing there as he drifted off. Your arm tucked over his shoulder and laid behind him, bent so your fingers could slowly comb through long, soft strands of navy, which only aided in him falling asleep.

Jisung hadn't just been laying there, of course. He'd been squished beside you, comfortable as can be with his head on your shoulder and his mouth attached to your chest. In fact, the outer part of your right breast was completely covered in bruises from where he'd gently bitten down or sucked on the skin, determined to mark you up all on his own. With purple and red covering one side of your chest, Jisung slowly comes and goes in his sleepy haze. His lips are still attached to your skin, breath fanning over your chest each time he exhales. As he slowly comes to every few minutes, he resumes peppering kisses over your skin before he begins to drift off again, repeating his little cycle. But you have to admit that it's awfully cute watching him fall back asleep, your skin leaving his lips with a gentle pop each time.

"Okay - I'm done." Felix announces, letting out a breath as his focus breaks away from the game on his screen. He finally takes in the situation once more and first looks to Hyunjin, who doesn't even seem to hear Felix's declaration - then over to Jisung who was still dozing off with his cheek squished against your arm and lips parted, beginning to drool.

Felix's eyes dart back to Hyunjin. "Hey. She said we should switch places," His brows furrow, lips pressing into a thin pout. "I want a turn."

But the older simply huffs, his lips curling up into a smirk as he presses in closer. Pushing you up and lifting your hips for a moment, Hyunjin's arms wind under your thighs to curl around the plush of your skin, holding onto you tight and locking you in place against him. And it makes you laugh, smiling at his antics before gently running your hand over his hair again - the feeling never growing old. "Okay, okay. Felix can play one more round but after that you have to switch, okay?"

Felix lets out a breath. He begrudgingly reaches for the controller once more, starting up a new round of his game and looking back to the screen to focus all over again. And Hyunjin nods, humming against your clit as he laps at it over and over with no intention of getting up anytime soon. Who wouldn't want to lay there for hours and eat you out all lazy? It was the best feeling in the world - for him, at least.

Yeah... Felix could wait a little longer.

Permanent Taglist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee

@possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren

@oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie @jeonginsleftcheek

#skz imagine #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #felix x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #Han Jisung smut #Lee Felix smut #Hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #Kpop smut #Kpop x reader #stray kids fanfic

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strawbewiecake · 20 days ago

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📌 what helps (no context necessary) 📌

Everyone asks “how do you stay on track” — here’s how. Take what fits. Ignore the rest.

1. Delay the decision.

Set a 30-minute timer. If it still matters after, fine. But most things don’t survive the wait.

2. Log everything.

You forget less when it’s in writing. Numbers > feelings.

3. Use small utensils.

Takes longer. Feels like more. Slows everything down.

4. Ice water. Always.

Cold = alert. Also makes the other thoughts quieter.

5. Mint > sugar.

If you want something sweet, go sharp instead. Gum, tea, oil, whatever.

6. Clean first.

Before anything else, tidy. It helps recalibrate.

7. Stand when you can.

Passive movement still counts. Don’t sit unless you’re earning it.

8. Plan out loud.

Even if no one’s there, narrate the plan. Hearing it makes it real.

9. Brush your teeth.

Twice minimum. It resets the mouth. You’ll want less.

10. Delay “first intake” as long as possible.

Once it starts, it gets harder to stop.

11. Track progress obsessively.

Whatever method works. Spreadsheets, apps, photos, stickers, scratches on the wall. Doesn’t matter.

12. Black coffee is a tool.

Bitter, hot, zero. Enough said.

13. Cut things small.

Visually it tricks the brain. Looks like more. Feels like less commitment.

14. Repetition = safety.

Same meals. Same outfits. Same schedule. Predictability keeps you in control.

15. Stay cold.

Blankets are earned. Heat is a reward.

16. Pick a uniform.

Avoid mirrors, avoid choices. Choose once, then stop choosing.

17. Never eat directly from packaging.

It’s chaos. Use a plate. Use a scale. Use a rule.

18. Save pictures.

Visual reminders of why. Make it a folder. Scroll through it when your brain gets loud.

19. Say no out loud.

Even if it’s just to the fridge. Out-loud “no” works better than silent guilt.

20. Delay. Again. Always delay.

Craving = momentary. Control = permanent.

21. Use liquids to kill time.

Tea. Water. Sparkling stuff. Sip constantly.

22. Keep your hands busy.

Paint nails. Fold clothes. Shred receipts. Idle hands spiral fast.

23. Don’t trust your mood.

Mood lies. Mood passes. Stick to the system.

24. Sleep earlier to avoid noise.

Late night = weak decisions. Just go to sleep. You don’t need that hour.

25. Check the stats.

Weigh in. Take notes. Keep score. It keeps you aware.

26. Routines over feelings.

How you feel doesn’t change what needs to be done.

27. Reward with non-food.

Playlist, candle, bath, nap, photo. But never what you actually want.

28. Watch people you want to be like.

Consume their content. Learn their habits. Copy until it sticks.

29. Replace "I'm hungry" with "I'm bored."

One’s real. One isn’t. You know which one wins.

30. Don’t keep “options.”

If it’s not in your space, it can’t tempt you.

31. No “just a bite.”

You know how that ends. Don’t start it.

32. Pause. Then pause again.

The second pause is where your power is.

📁 Reblog to keep this where you can find it.

💌 DM open if you want to swap more tips quietly.

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

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Where Do You End Pt. 2

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 1 - Pt. 3

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You put the plan into motion, and Sam realizes you're not Dean a little too late.

Author's Note: Supernatural characters are incapable of the just making the emotionally smart choice on the first try, but they're doing their best.

Word Count: 4.5k

Dean had half shoved the phone into your hand. His hand. Your hand was the one who shoved it into Dean’s hand, and Dean’s hand was the one that was dialing Sam while your hand drummed on the table, and your own eyes watched you with a searing intensity that only Dean was capable of.

You’re not sure what suddenly made him take this seriously, but you don’t really care. You just need this to be over.

Because the last twelve hours have been the longest of your life.

It started with your eyes wandering where they shouldn’t. Dean would shift in his chair, your body would shift with him, and when your boobs would bounce it was suddenly impossible to stop staring at them. Dean would walk away from you—to the parking lot, or through a door, or over to the bar—and your hips would do a little swaying thing that made Dean’s body tense.

Your body tense. Dean’s body that was right now your body—and only about twenty percent in your control—tense.

And he’d bend over, and your ass would stick in the air, and it was like your eyes were magnetically drawn to it.

You have a nice ass. You’ve never really seen it before, but it’s a nice ass. And nice tits, and an overall face that was better than you’d ever really given yourself credit for. You’re pretty. You have good features, a nice voice, and a great body.

This experience would be an overall ego booster, if you haven’t spent the whole time trying not to lose your mind.

Because then Dean wiggled his ass—your ass—and your jeans felt tight. Almost painful. And there was a weird throbbing feeling between your legs that was deep in your core, but it was heavier than you were used to-

You’d glanced down at your lap with a frown, worried you’d done something to fuck up Dean’s body, and almost fallen out of your chair.

You never wanted to experience an erection again. They were uncomfortable and sudden and annoyingly obvious. They made it hard to focus when you were trying to talk to Dean about the situation, and distracting when you were trying to do research.

It didn’t help how they were purely out of your control. How easily they appeared, and how impossibly they went.

And Dean was not fucking helping. He’d squirm when you touched him, and you’d get a boner. He’d use your voice to whine or mumble or just say anything at all, and you’d get a boner. At one point he kicked you and you got a boner.

You don’t know how he functions like this. You’d been a little worried that he doesn’t. That you’re getting turned on by your own shockingly attractive body for some fucked up Freudian reason, and Dean’s got nothing to do with this.

Then you’d dragged him out of the diner, and it had killed that doubt with fire and smoke. You’d never drag your own body like that. You hated it when Dean did that to you—the close proximity and overall Dean-ness of the action always made you weak and soft, molding into him when you were supposed to be pounding on his chest and calling him an asshole—and you hadn’t even really been considering it as an option to stop him going to the bathroom, but Dean’s muscles had flexed against your will, his body had stood taller without your permission, and suddenly you’d been grabbing your own arm and manhandled Dean out of the diner.

He’d been sulking the whole ride back. It was the same way you usually sulked after he did that to you, with a pout and arms folded over your chest.

His boobs—your boobs—were pushed up. You could see cleavage when you glanced to the side, and your cock twitched in your jeans to shove between those pretty fucking tits-

What the fuck was wrong with you.

It was like your body—Dean’s body—had a mind of its own. Behaving as Dean would behave, had none of this shit ever happened. Opening doors and placing that broad hand on your lower back, towering over you closer than he had any right to be and pressing you into corners until he was only just not touching you.

You really wish you’d pushed harder to make him stop doing that. If only for the sake of you now, crowding your own space and getting hard whenever Dean would squirm away from you. But you hadn’t, because when it was you in your own body, you loved it.

It was a cruel, masochistic drug you’d hooked yourself on, where Dean didn’t want you like that but he was still giving you this. You were only his friend in his mind, but he still liked you as a body. He didn’t feel anything for you the same way you felt things for him, but there was still an animalistic attraction that made him hover and smirk and tease you.

It gave you something to hang onto. It gave you something to hate about him, because you really did love everything else.

You really loved Dean. You really loved his dumb jokes, and his shit-eating grin, and how loud and annoying and adorable he could be. You loved how he loved his car, how he cared about Sam with everything he had, how he was maybe to biggest, hottest geek you’d ever met.

You really simply loved Dean.

And he didn’t love you, and you’d forced yourself to live with that because you had to. He was still your best friend. You hate him, and you’re furious with him for telling you no and then acting like nothing had changed when he’d ripped your heart out of your chest, carved his name on it, and returned it without any desire to care for how he’d mauled you in a beautiful and irreversible way, but he’s your best friend. And you love him.

And this needed to be fixed now, because you can’t keep living in such firm and solid proof that Dean’s body wants you, but there’s something revolting enough to his brain that he never ever cross that line you’ve had to restrain yourself from all day.

The first step is to call Sam, and execute the secrets plan so you can have some help that isn’t just a grumpy Dean. The second step is to hiss at Dean that he needs to leave the room before Sam picks up, because the whole point is that this a you and Sam secret, and Dean isn’t allowed to hear it.

“You can’t just cut me out of this, sweetheart,” he hisses back, narrowing your eyes. It’s cute. You’re going to fucking die. “I’ll be damned if I let you and Sammy whisper about me while I just stand in the freakin’ hall-“

“Not everything is about you, Dean.” You sneer. “And if you want this to work, wait outside.”

“But-“

“Outside.” Your voice raises slightly as you point to the door, and there’s an authoritative, commanding tone to it that makes Dean’s eyes—your eyes—widen. “Now.”

Dean scowls and shuffles outside, his low grumble about this being bullshit muffled as the door closes behind him.

You glare after him—not loving how annoyed his body is that you just let Dean walk away without picking him up and kissing his hair—and Sam picks up seconds later.

“Listen, Dean, I know you’re freaking out, but you can’t keep calling me.” Sam sounds exasperated, and you frown into the air as he continues. “This is supposed to be my week off with Eileen, and it’s hard to relax when you keep fucking calling me.”

“I-“ You shake your head slightly, glancing back to the door. “What?”

“You’ve called me seven times, Dude. Listen, it’s not going to go bad, she doesn’t hate you, and all you need to do is talk about your feelings like an adult and everything will be fine.”

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, I know.” You can hear Sam’s eye roll through the phone. “There’s nothing to talk about, she doesn’t know what she’d be getting into, you’d rather be miserable and all that shit. Look, Dean, at this point all I can tell you is to get your head out of your ass, and stop calling me.”

“Sam.” Your voice is slow, cautious, and wired with things you don’t fully understand. “What are you talking about.”

He says your name like it’s obvious, and you think the world stops spinning. “I know you didn’t wanna solo hunt with her, but-“

“Why didn’t he- Why didn’t I want to solo hunt with her?” Your voice is more frantic than Dean’s usually is. You don’t really care. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her, Dean, you’re just still in love with her, and kind of being a fucking dick about it.”

Sam keeps talking. Something about how Dean’s always worried about hunting with you, how he’s always worried he’s going to slip up and put you in danger, how he’s afraid you’ll catch on to his real feelings, how he believes it’s easier when Sam is there to run interference and prevent too much of Dean’s hand from being shown.

It’s all just noise, though. Because there’s no way Dean loves you. He’d said he didn’t. He’d said you were his friend and nothing more, he’d shot you down, he’d apologized and told you the feeling would fade, because it was just a crush, and it would pass.

You’d spent months forcing yourself to be okay with that. You couldn’t make him love you. It would kill you to contort and reshape yourself into someone he would want, and if you did go down that path there was a chance you’d come out the other side someone he hated.

You’d lost sleep reminding yourself that Dean loving you was not something you were owed. That you were lucky he cared about you enough to be your friend, and to let you down gently. He could’ve been cruel, and listed every reason you were vile and repulsive and had no right to be his. He could’ve told you to pack your bags and leave the bunker.

And you’d tried to move on, because you owed him that much. You’d failed, but you tried.

He’d always stopped you. At countless bars he’d stepped between you and whoever you were flirting with, telling you Sam was drunk and they had to go now, or you all had an early drive in the morning and had to go now, or you just had to go now.

Sam had never really looked that drunk.

Dean had always guided you out of the bar with a possessive hand on your lower back.

He’d rejected you, and he’d never let you get over him.

As if he-

“Sam.” Your tone is harsh and cold. You don’t care. “How long has- Have I been in love with m-“ You correct yourself again with your own name, your voice dropping another octave, and there’s a long pause over the speaker.

“Forever, dude. You told me that like, day one you were whipped. I mean- You know that. Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You snap. You’re barely breathing. “Sam, I need you to feed the cat.”

For a second, you think the call dropped and that the plan hadn’t worked. The plan needed to work. You needed to get back into your own body so you could fucking kill Dean-

“Dean, we don’t have a cat. You’re allergic-“

“Sparky. In storage room nine. He needs food.”

“Spar- I don’t- What- Did-“ Sam snaps your name, and your heart jumps into your throat. “Did she tell you something? Did you get her drunk again? Because you know she’ll kill you when she gets sober, she hates it when you do that-“

You know exactly what Sam’s trying to accuse you—accuse Dean—of. You get loose-lipped when you drink. You tell secrets and lose your filter, and you always feel horrible in the morning because they’re rarely your secrets and the lack of filter is really embarrassing.

Dean’s told you it’s adorable. That he likes drunk you, because she’s honest and takes somehow less shit than sober you. That she’s you in the rawest form, and its’s awesome.

You can’t believe you ever bought that he didn’t have any feelings for you at all.

“There’s wet food in the pantry, behind all the cabbage and carrots. Should be enough for Sparky until I get home.” You push on, narrowing your eyes at the air. “Scoop the litter box too. I think I forget.”

“You- You’ve never been in the pantry. That’s why we-“ Sam cuts himself off, and you can hear the gears spinning in his brain over the phone.

Then he says your name, and there’s an element of horror in his voice that feels pretty appropriate.

“Thank fuck.” You mutter, and take your chances to try and just say it. “Code Vermilion, Sam.”

“Code- That’s a zombie situation, are there-“

“Shit- sorry.” You chew on your tongue, trying to recall the emergency system you’d fucking designed. “Code Puce.”

“You fucking body swapped?!” There is it. Thank God. “Why didn’t you just, you know, say that-“

“I couldn’t!” You were shouting, but Sam was also shouting, so it was only fair. “I called you all day on my phone, and the moment I tried to, the call dropped! I tried to email or text you and it never sent, I tried to fucking snail mail you and the letter burst into flames! Dean short-circuited a fax machine-“

Sam groans. “Shit, you’re gonna kill me. I mean Dean, Dean’s gonna kill me. I was never supposed to tell,” Sam says your name, then cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, I mean you, I wasn’t supposed to tell you- God damn it-“

“Sam.” Your voice has become clipped. Short. You don’t need a reminder of the previous conversation, and this just really needs to be over. “If I email you all the details, can you start looking for fixes?”

“Yeah, sure, just-“ He pauses, his voice dropping sightly. “You think emails gonna work now?”

“We’re talking about it and the call’s not dropping.” You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “Text me any solutions you have. I’ll keep you updated on my end, and when Dean gets home, make him sleep on the floor of your room and don’t let him go to the bathroom alone. Okay?”

“Oh- Wait-“ Sam says your name, and you can hear the confusion in his voice. “What do you mean when Dean gets home-“

“I mean when Dean gets home. Bye, Sam.”

You hang up, and spend a long minute just staring at the wall.

Dean’s in love with you. Sam says Dean’s in fucking love with you, and you believe him, and you-

You can’t stay here.

This needs to be fixed, but you cannot stay here.

You open the door to the hall. And there he is. There you are, and your body—Dean’s body, the one that’s allegedly in love with you—is leaning forward to be closer to you. To Dean.

Fuck.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Dean frowns at you, pulling your lips down into a pouty frown. It makes your dick—Dean’s dick—twitch in his pants.

“Tell you what?”

You brace your whole body, standing a little taller. “That you love me.”

“That I-“ Dean’s eyes narrow, and you’ve never been on the receiving end on your own glare. It’s more violent than you’d imagined, and his dick is twitching again. “What the hell did Sammy say to you-“

“Don’t blame Sam.” You snap. “Answer me.”

“You didn’t ask a freakin’ question, sweetheart-“

“Yes. I did.” You lean down a little, holding Dean’s gaze. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re in love with me.”

Dean stares at you, and you think he’s going to deny it. That he’ll grunt that you’ve had this conversation before, and he doesn’t love you. That he doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and whatever Sam said was a joke. Just a prank, and you need to focus on fixing this body swap instead of your feelings.

What he does is worse.

He shakes his head, refuses to meet your eyes, and pushes his words through his teeth.

“You were never supposed to know.” He mutters. “It was for your own good-“

“Shut the fuck up, Dean!” Your voice is a roar, and you make yourself flinch, but Dean doesn’t.

He’s in your body.

You never flinch when Dean shouts, because you know he’d never actually hurt you-

You’re going to start fucking crying. You probably already would have, if it didn’t feel like an effort in Dean’s body.

“You- You broke my heart.” You glare at him, your voice half between a hiss and a whisper. “You told me you’d never seen me that way, and you apologized. You said you didn’t want me. You told me the feeling would pass, and then you fucking stopped it-“ Your voice raises, and you stand a little taller. You can be shattered and furious. You can be a fucking storm of glass to break and carve into Dean the same way he did to you, because how could he do this to you. “You fucking stopped me from moving on! You cockblocked me, and you got angry whenever I’d go out without you, and you kept touching me and acting like everything was fine-“

Dean says your name slowly, and you can hear the regret in his voice, but you don’t care. This hurts, this hurts so much worse than before because you’d felt insane, you’d driven yourself mad with love for Dean and he’d just tightened the straitjacket and acted like you’d find a cure for this when he’d been actively keeping it from you-

“Why the fuck would you do this?! Do you hate me? Am I really that horrible that you can’t stand the idea of being in love with me-“

“It’s not you.” Dean snaps your name, shaking his head. “It’s- I was keeping you fucking safe-“

“Fuck off-“

“No!” His voice—your voice—is trying to mimic your own shout, and it’s not really working in his favor. “You- you don’t fucking get it, sweetheart, if I let us do that, let us be that, you’d have a target on your back, every son of a bitch in hell and heaven would use you and hurt you, just to get to me-“

“I’m not stupid! I know what the risks are just associating with Winchesters, and I don’t care.” You rub your face, and everything hurts. You feel like you’re choking on the air, and you can’t be here. “I didn’t care, Dean, I just wanted you.”

“You would’ve cared.” His voice—your voice—is bitter. Hollow. Resolved. “When you were being tortured and murdered, you would’ve cared. And I would’ve had to live with it. With the fact that I lost you-“

“You wouldn’t have lost me, Dean.” You fish the keys to the Impala out of your pocket, and toss them to him with his phone. “You never would’ve lost me, if you’d actually fucking tried.”

It would be kinder to let him get in a word, or a protest, or even a sort of apology. But everything hurts, and you really can’t fucking stay here or you’ll rip off your skin—Dean’s skin—and beat in your own skull with your hands.

Your real skull—holding Dean’s mind—with how raw and furious this pain is, or Dean’s real skull with self-inflicted pain.

And that’s why you’re past kindness. You’ve been shot and choked and stabbed and sliced to pieces, but this is the worst pain you’ve ever know. He was never supposed to hurt you. You’d always trusted that this huge lunk of a body would never hurt you.

But you hadn’t counted on Dean, and how he’d been willing to risk your of peace of mind for his misguided, self-sacrificing martyr bullshit.

You’d always tried to tell him that you didn’t want him to sacrifice for you. That him staying with you meant more than him leaving you alive, but alone.

And he’d never listened.

So now you’re walking away.

Dean will be fine. He’ll get your body safely back to the bunker, tell Sam everything that happened, and figure out how to justify this to himself.

Sam will make sure nothing happens to your body until this gets fixed. And you’ll take care of Dean’s body by yourself, far away from Kansas, hiding in a shitty little harbor town until you work this out.

Alone.

Just like Dean had wanted.

For a long week, time drags to a crawl. You hole in a motel room with a laptop, coffee and vodka—you don’t really care which on you’re drinking when your go for a glass, just as long as it’s one of them—about half of a gas station’s junk food supply, and the local library’s entire collection of books of cult, myth, and lore.

The motel is dusty and warm, and the nights are horrible and cold, but this is what you needed. You stop running into doorways and hitting your head on things, and you figure out how to sleep comfortably in his body. You learn how to go to the bathroom and barely touch or think about what you’re doing, how to not get weirded out when the same face you see in your dreams is the same one that greets you in the mirror.

And you miss him. A lot.

But your fury is stronger than the ache for him to return to your side. And there’s a slightly fucked up comfort to being trapped in his body. You can watch the hands you’ve had graphic and detailed dreams about sort through papers, and you can bite your lips and understand what that sensation would do to Dean’s body.

You never cross that line. Dean’s cock will call itself to attention at random time, and you’ll just ignore it, no matter how demanding it feels.

You’re getting really good at ignoring things.

Calls. Texts. Voicemail after voicemail from Sam and Dean. You listen to one or two, just to check—they’re fine, just angry you’ve vanished and demanding to know where you are—and delete all the rest. Sam gives up after a few days, when you respond to his email about Eurasian body swapping lore with a list of your own working theories.

You think he’s just happy to know you’re alive.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for Dean.

He doesn’t stop trying to get you to pick up the phone. His voicemails get longer and longer, and his texts come more and more frequently, and the only thing that save him from being blocked is that you still love him.

You’d meant what you said. Dean would never lose you, not really. You’re just certain that if you talk to him or see him he’ll try to explain himself, and you don’t want an explanation. You just fucking want him, and as long as he’s going to keep pretending that’s something he can’t give you, he doesn’t get to have you at all.

So you keep the door locked, keep your phone on silent, and just fucking work until you fix this.

And when you do, you don’t bother with a warning. You find the exact curse, work out the ritual for reversal, and do it.

The world blur, your head spins and Dean’s body seizes like it’s been struck by lightning, and that’s it.

You’re in the bunker library, lying on the floor as Sam hovers over you, and it’s over.

“Dean, what the-“ Sam jostles you slightly, and a little vomit shoots up your throat. After effects. “Dean-“

“Not Dean.” You mumble your own name, shoving Sam’s hands away from your face and pushing yourself upright. “I fixed it.”

“You-“ Sam shakes his head, scanning over you with a frown. “You fixed it?”

“Obviously.” You rub your temple, your head pounding and everything far too bright. “Dean’ll be in Sekiu, Washington.”

“Why-“

“Because that’s where I was-“

“I know that.” Sam snaps, giving you a glare. “Why are you telling me. You’re the one going to get him.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m-“

“You are.” Sam’s making a stern bitch-face. He’s about to get punched. “Because either you act like an adult and go talk to Dean, or he stays in Washington until you grow up.”

“Until I-“ You give Sam a look of pure disbelief. “He’s the one who lied to me! Why do I have to grow up-“

“Because it’s Dean. You know he wasn’t trying to hurt you-“

“But he did.” You rub your arms for comfort, and God, it’s nice to be back in your own body. You know where to pinch your own skin to keep your head right, and you can cross your legs without any discomfort, shielding your face from Sam by bowing your head and letting your hair take care of the rest. “He was just going to let me think he didn’t love me, that he didn’t care-“

“You know he cared.” Sam says, his voice still firm, but a little more gentle. “He does care. He spent the whole week trying to figure out how to fix this, and when I told him to stop calling you he told me to shove it, because he needed to work this out. He’s just-“ Sam sighs. “He’s Dean.”

“I know.” You chew on your lips, frowning at the floor. “But it’s- It wasn’t fair, Sam. It was mean. It- I don’t feel loved. I just feel like he didn’t love me- didn’t want me enough to do something about it.”

“Okay.” Sam shrugs. “Tell him that. Or just kick his ass, because he deserves it, or make out with him. I don’t care, as long you go pick up Dean, and I get my week off.”

You give him a flat look. “You just want your secret spa time-“

“Yeah, I do. Get out.”

“But-“

“You get to drive the Impala again. The keys are in your pocket.”

Your hand flies to your jeans, and they are. And Sam’s right, you do have to work this out somehow. If you leave the bunker, you’ll be abandoning the secret cat to Sam, and it’ll die within the week.

So you’re either kill Dean or-

You don’t let yourself think of the alternative. You’ve trained yourself not to.

But it doesn’t stop the spark of hope in your chest when you start Baby’s engine, take a long breath, and head out to go get Dean.

End Note: Sam I hope you have a wonderful secret spa day, you've earned it my king.

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ginevrapng · 2 years ago

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harry would simply refuse to pull out. the first time you said harry didn't need to put a condom on while having sex he was in heaven. you just feel so good around him, so wet and warm, he could stay inside you all day. this is one of the reasons why he wouldn't pull out.

the main reason being though that filling you with his cum gets him hard again almost immediately. he loves watching his cum spill out of your body before he pushes it back in with his fingers, bringing you to another orgasm as he mercilessly plunges his fingers back inside you. he loves knowing that he could knock you up, creating a family with you. he's considered swapping your birth control pills with sugar pills but doesn't want to risk you finding out, he knows eventually it will happen. it will stick. until then every night he'll cum deep inside you.

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55sturn · 1 year ago

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✮ SOME TYPE OF WAY

pairing: biker!matt sturniolo x good girl fem!reader

synopsis: y/n takes matt up on the offer he proposes after they meet at a party, their tension thicker than their resolve.

warnings: swearing, reckless driving [ matt’s a thrill seeker / adrenaline junkie ], sexual tension, 18+, sexual content [ groping over and underneath the clothes ], making out, choking, spit swapping, open ending.

THIRD PERSON POV

y/n has always been a very organized person, every move she made was calculated and meticulous, not leaving enough room for error or her anxiety to spiral up a storm. some would lean toward calling her uptight, but she would let it roll off her back like water because she found a way for everything in her life to fall in line smoothly without many problems arising.

her best friend, jess, has always been the exact opposite of her. she was chaotic and messy, always running late, often being caught in compromising situations and relying on y/n to bail her out. the two were on the opposites of the personality spectrum, and people would screw their faces up at the sight of the two, but they paid no mind because their bond worked.

jess always joked about breaking y/n, turning into the opposite of her but y/n was stubborn, finding the utmost comfort in the way she lived. she didn't see the appeal of chaos and living without restriction.

but her class load had grown rather heavy, and she felt her impulse control weakening the more jess mentioned this massive influencer party that she had garnered invites for through multiple connections, and jess wasn’t backing down.

“fine. i think it’s time i take a break anyway, jess.”

“wait? are you for real right now?” jess exclaimed, shocked that for once in their friendship, she wasn’t going to a party alone.

WE ONLY MET EACH OTHER JUST THE OTHER DAY

as y/n followed jess through the crowd of people, she felt an overwhelming swarm of different and conflicting emotions, part of her wanted to turn around and walk back to her apartment, while the other part wanted to stick it out, figuring it couldn’t be as bad as she psyched herself out to believe, especially if jess, who was known for being blunt and outspoken if someone was overwhelming, could tolerate it.

y/n felt out of place, clad in a baby pink pleather mini skirt, and a matching pink long sleeve raglan baby tee, both courtesy of jess, and a pair of pink platform converse. she quickly trailed behind her best friend, who seemed to know her way around the house, more so mansion, they were partying at, heading toward the kitchen.

“so what are you wanting to drink?” jess hums, gesturing the otherworldly amounts of alcohol littering the large island in the kitchen.

“just pick something and make a drink for me.” y/n replies, turning back to face the crowd of people, watching as couples and people nearly fucked each other on various surfaces among the house. as her gaze kept flitting about the crowd of people, she briefly met the eyes of some guy across the room.

she felt her cheeks began to warm as he flashed her a lopsided smirk, his blue eyes boring into hers beneath the mop of shaggy brown hair. she returns his smirk, but hers is much gentler before turning back to jess, taking the red solo cup, staring at the dark liquid swirling in it. y/n cautiously takes a sip, while she trusts jess not to fuck her over and get her obnoxiously drunk, she’s still wary of the alcohol mixed with soda in her cup, she’s only been drunk a handful of times.

she swallows the dark drink, the taste of vodka mixed with the sweet, almost foamy taste of root beer filling her mouth, causing her to salivate ever so slightly as she takes another gracious sip.

“thank you for not giving me something other than vodka.” she laughs, watching as jess grabs two more solo cups, pouring two hefty shots of vodka into them, quickly handing one to y/n, who clinks her plastic cup against jess’ before quickly downing the shot, followed by a large gulp of her drink.

the two slowly make their way out of the kitchen, dancing with each other before beginning to talk and mingle with the rest of the people. y/n was shocked at how easily she fit into the world of influencers and content creators. as she made her way toward the deck, she felt eyes watching her, brushing it off she exited the stuffy house, finding solace in the cool april air clinging to her skin as she leaned against the railing of the wrap-around porch.

as proud as she was of herself for stepping away from her studies for a night, she still needed a moment of peace, or even just a moment alone.

but her tranquility was interrupted by the sliding door opening and shutting softly, she turned to head back inside but she was met with the same blue eyes she held contact with prior.

“hey.” he nods, pulling a cigarette from the pack that sat in his back pocket, grabbing a black and silver zippo lighter, flicking it quickly.

“hi.”

“so what’s a pretty little thing like you doing at a place like this?” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair, the dingy light from the fairy lights lining the roof catching his tattoos, completely enamouring y/n as she watched his arm flex and relax, the muscle tee he wore showing off his lean arms. at first glance, you wouldn’t expect him to have any muscle but as he moved his arm, y/n was thoroughly impressed.

“my friend dragged me here. what about you?” she replies, resting her tailbone against the railing as he smirks, his head cocked to the side as his eyes flick across her features.

“what’d’ya mean?”

“just that you don’t seem like the party either, very quiet.”

“and how do you know that, sweetheart?”

“well seeing as i came out here because it’s overwhelming in there, and you did the same, and we’re the only two people out here, i’m assuming you came out here for the same reason.” she laughs, taking a sip of her drink, holding his curious stare over the rim of the flimsy cup, not once dropping his intense gaze.

“what if i just wanted to get you alone?” he teases, watching as she rolls her eyes, laughing to himself.

“then you’d be a total creep. i don’t even know your name.” she laughs, shocking herself at how easily she warmed up to him.

“it’s matt.”

“you look like a matt.” she hums placing her empty cup on the railing beside before pushing herself up, sitting along the wide railing, her legs dangling slightly as matt puffs on his cigarette, flicking the ashes on the grass below.

“what about you? you got a name or am i gonna have to keep calling you sweetheart?”

“y/n.” she whispers, her face warming at the nickname falling from his lips, she normally wasn’t one for slightly condescending pet names, but it sounded so sickly and sinfully sweet coming from the stranger beside her.

“that suits you, a pretty name for such a pretty girl.” he muses, watching as she turns her head away from in a futile attempt to hide the blush creeping across her cheeks.

“your tattoos are really pretty.”

“you think so?” he hums, shifting closer to her to let her see them, watching as her eyes shift from each intricate piece, marvelling at the dark ink contrasting against his ivory skin.

“what’s your favourite one?”

“probably cerberus or the owl. what about you? you got any?” he asks, genuinely curious to know more about the girl beside him, wondering if there was more to the soft and timid appearance.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” she teased, crossing her legs, causing her skirt to ride up the tiniest bit, showing the smallest amount of ink on the side of her thigh, smirking as matt’s eyes shamelessly drifted to the exposed skin.

the two keep talking and getting to know one another, even going as far as to get each other’s numbers, the tension growing thick between the two until jess stumbles through the door, violently drunk as she babbles away about some guy she wanted to leave with.

“if she wants to go with him, i can give you a ride home on my bike.”

“we took an uber, so i’ll just order another one but i appreciate the offer.”

“well if you ever need a ride, just shoot me a text.”

BUT YOU ALREADY GOT ME FEELIN’ SOME TYPE OF WAY

over the course of a few weeks, y/n and matt continued to keep in touch, constantly texting one another. the tension never faltering as they bounced flirty and sexual innuendos off one another.

matt has begged for the two of them to hang out, either over facetime or in person, numerous times, even going as far as to ask to take her for a ride on his bike. but she declined every time, letting him know that her studies came first.

normally, if a girl wasn’t really interested in meeting up, whether to hang out or hook up, matt would give up within the first few days. but there was something about y/n that had him inexplicably drawn to her. the soft, delicate, almost innocent appeal to her had him feeling all sorts of ways.

talking to her had him feeling the same way speeding down the seventy stretch a couple blocks from his house on his kawasaki bike did. it was exhilarating, freeing, and terrifying all the same. everything she said, made him feel things he had never experienced, it was like he was speeding down a winding freeway, his arms outstretched on either side of him, letting fate decide what happened.

NOW IF I COULD FIGURE IT OUT, ID TAKE YOU BACK TO MY HOUSE SO WE COULD MEDDLE ABOUT

y/n sighed as she waited on the curb of the restaurant, hoping that the guy from her global economics discussion course that had asked her out would show up. but she knew deep down, he wasn’t going to.

it was another story where she was asked, only to be taken for a fool. she knew he only wanted to fuck, she knew guys were attracted to her pseudo-innocent appearance, thinking they could be the lucky one to corrupt her. but she knew better, and she always made sure the guys put up a fight before receiving what they wanted.

she sighed as she stood, wiping off the back of her jeans before pulling her phone out of her pocket. she opened her texts with jess before remembering jess was at a photoshoot for some clothing brand that reached out to her.

she stood there, glancing and forth between her phone and the sidewalk, torn between swallowing her pride and reaching out to matt to pick her up, or walking home, saving ego from taking a massive blow.

she was stubborn. she wanted to see matt, but she knew what his end goal was and she refused to take another hit to her pride and ego so quickly after being stood up and humiliated by some loser in one of her classes. so, she slowly made her way down the winding sidewalk, but the cold air made the walk somewhat unbearable, and before she knew it, she was pressing the call button, listening to the dial tone. after two rings, matt picked up.

“hey sweetheart.” he hummed into the speaker, that same taunting tone never faltering over the device.

“can you pick me up? i’ll send you my location.”

“aw, what happened? did jake stand you up, just like i said he would?” he laughs, causing her to groan. he was never malicious in the way he poked and prodded at her, he just wanted to prove she didn’t have to be right all the time.

“yeah whatever. can you pick me up or not?” she spits, fed up with the way her night turned out.

“lose the attitude and i can.” he spits back, patiently waiting for her to ask in that sugary sweet voice that had his thoughts drifting to a dark place. he knew he was going to pick her up regardless, but he just wanted to use anything he could as an excuse to hear her beg for him, he wanted hee to be completely at his mercy in every possible way.

“can you please pick me up matt? i’m cold and i just wanna go home.” she pleads, her lips falling into a slight pout, internally groaning at how quickly her resolve had faltered the second he implied and demanded that she beg for him.

“i was going to regardless, just wanted to hear you beg for my help, sweetheart.” he chuckles, he knew the way he was acting was sick and twisted, his desire to see this stubborn but oh so innocent woman crumple beneath his command overtaking all sense of chivalry in his body, his desire for her manifested through such deep desperation.

she quickly thanked him before sending a ping of her location. she pocketed her phone again, and wrapped her arms around her torso as a pathetic attempt to keep her shielded from her the cold air.

as she stood there, she fought hard to keep her thoughts at bay, refusing to let the desperation seep into the depths of her mind, fighting to keep herself from feeling pathetic. she didn’t want to feel that way, she knew her worth, but sometimes it felt impossible to find someone worthy of loving her. she wondered if she should just give up the one the thing guys wanted without a fight, she would be fine, right?

but before she could answer her own thoughts of despair, a low rumble came from her left, causing her head to snap in that direction. surely enough, the sound came from the muffled engine of matt’s motorcycle. and as she watched him swerve to idle in front of her, she couldn’t stop the filthy thoughts from infiltrating her mind. her eyes shamelessly fell to the sight of his hands wrapped tightly around the handlebars, the veins in his slender hands flexing as his thumb pressed down on the clutch. she felt her thighs clench tightly as her heartbeat thumped beneath her chest, the thumping slowly travelling down toward her heat as she watched him.

“hey sweetheart.” he hums, his tone thick with arrogance, watching as she shamelessly checked him out. she knew she shouldn’t be thinking of him the way she was, but the way his shoulder blades and muscle tightened and flexed as he shifted forward, leaving space for her to climb on behind him, made her want to rake her nails down the skin, her mind running amok with the possible ways he would react to her touch.

she shakes her head as she steps forward, timidly taking a step toward his bike. he watched her, taking in however scared she was, sighing he, grabs her wrist, stopping her from climbing over and straddling the seat behind him.

“you know i’ll be careful right? i’m not going to do anything that could end with you getting severely hurt.” he whispers, his eyes full of nothing but sincerity as she meets his stare, a meek smile on her face as she nods.

“good girl. now climb on, i’m gonna take my chances and take you on that ride i promised.”

her thighs clench involuntarily at the slight praise that falls from his lips, she could feel her resolve slipping further and further away the longer she was in his presence. and the fact that she would be sitting behind him, with her arms tightly wound around his waist felt much more intimate than it should’ve.

she quickly straddled the seat behind him, her hands began to shake slightly as she wrapped her arms around him, her hands flat against his abdomen as he kicked up the kickstand, leaning the bike to the other side with his foot on the ground as he revved the engine, causing her hands to ball into fists, with his black shirt tightly twisted between her fingers. as matt took off, he couldn’t help but chuckle as her grasp tightened against him, her cheek pressing against his back between his shoulder blades.

her grip began to loosen as matt took her around the city, and her head lifted from his back, as she took in the scenery around her. but matt missed the way she felt pressed so tightly against him, so in true torturous fashion, he sped up, causing her to go right back to pressing so closely against him, her hands pressing against his lower stomach so firmly, he was sure there’d be marks.

but he didn’t wanted to scare her too much, so he slowed down, coming to a full stop as the light above him flickered to red. as she pulled away, she felt her adrenaline build up and she wanted to finally tease him the way he did her, so she let her hands wander down his stomach, teasingly drifting lower, only to stop right above his belt and move back up.

as her hand trailed down toward his belt, matt’s breath hitched in his throat. he desperately wanted to feel her touch him where he needed it most, but his ego was bruised, he wanted to be the one in control, and right now, he was nothing putty in her hand. the light was still red and his heart was beating so harshly against his ribcage, that felt like it was about to burst out of his chest as her hand slipped beneath his shirt, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans.

as the light turned green, she pushed her hand further beyond his waistband, and he had never been more thankful to be driving at night. but before he could feel any relief, her hand was back against his stomach, with her head against his back as he drove her along the coast.

but once again they reached another red light, only one other vehicle a few lanes over from them, and this time she threw caution to the wind as her hand drifted downward again, this time not stopping at his belt. and soon enough, her hand was firmly palming his cock through his jeans, and he was biting his bottom lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood began filling his mouth.

he felt his cock stiffen even more as her hand wrapped around his length through his jeans, softly squeezing and applying pressure to it. her hand lifted momentarily, only for it to slip beneath the loosened waistband of his jeans, resuming her teasing but this time, only through one layer of clothing. her thumb traced along his tip, and she smirked to her as she felt the wet spot from his precum seeping through the material. she grasped his semi-thick cock over his boxers, slowly jerking her hand back and forth as best as she could until the light turned green. and matt had never been so lucky that the light turned green when it did because if she had kept up her ministrations, he would’ve cum in his pants right then and there.

he wasted no time in speeding off as the light turned green, taking her to a somewhat secluded turn off. he quickly killed the engine, forced the kickstand down, and ripped off his helmet, moving to stand in front of her before she could ask questions.

his lips were roughly pressing against hers in almost no time as she side-saddled the bike, his left hand pawing at her hips beneath the thin hoodie she wore as he pulled her closer, while his right hand wrapped around her throat, gently squeezing the soft flesh.

the kiss was rough, a clash of teeth, and full of lust. it was desperate and sloppy, their tongues brushing and pushing against one another as spit and drool accumulated along the muscles, transferring from mouth to mouth. her nails scraped against his scalp as she tugged on the soft brown curls, while her other hand held his bicep, her nails digging into the taught flesh slightly, leaving crescent shaped marks along the tattoos. pulling away, matt pulled her bottom lip with him slightly, entrance by the way it bounced back into its natural pout.

“fuck.” he hums, his chest heaving as she watches him, her pupils blown out with lust, the black drowning out their normal colour.

“i don’t know what came over me, i’m sorry.”

“don’t you dare apologize, sweetheart. but that is making it nearly impossible to not take you back to my house and ruin you.”

“what if i want that too?”

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[TAGLIST IS FULL!] © 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

#Spotify #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x fem!reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x fem!reader #matthew sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut

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meowzfordayz · 5 days ago

Text

when you squirt on their face

Author’s Note: these aren’t necessarily ~realistic, but they sure are spicy. 🥵 My faves (character-wise) may or may not be obvi — you’ll have to excuse my biases. 😆 As w/ all headcanons, these are simply my opinions in this exact moment of writing, and are subject to change depending on the context/my mood! 😉

when you squirt on their face

Hashira x Reader, Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,300

CW: 18+NSFW, anal, cream!pie, explicit language, Fem!Reader, fivesome, oral, overstimulation, pegging, size difference, squirting, strap-on

Thirst Fulfilled: Hey ✨ could you do how the hashiras would react if y/n squirted in on there face. Yeah I’m crazy why did I think of this 😀🥲. ALL the hashiras I mean. If ok can you also add Yoriichi ? Thank you for your time 🥲✨

~faqs~

Kinda confused at first 😅

Like, Did she just pee on me? Hot

And then Gyomei realizes your thighs are quivering

And also that he can’t breathe very well

Bc you’re cumming, full weight on his face

He’s no longer confused

“That was amazing.” <— he hopes he sounds super sexy 😏

“Pha wa amahmm.” <— what he actually sounds like 🤭

Prepared to be flipped onto your back as soon as you stop shaking

He’s leaking precum at this point, and wants to make sure every drop makes it into your pussy

Almost forgets that he really shouldn’t rush things, bc 9” is not trivial 😶

Until you whimper and he promptly remembers that he always leaves your poor pussy sore and gaping

Thankfully, he has just enough self control to slow down and ease the tip in…

Before giving up and resorting to shallow, needy thrusts, bc fucking hell he needs to be balls deep in you now

If you squirt on Obanai’s face, then prepare to give the man a few mins to process

To clarify: he’s in awe

You can try and offer him a washcloth to wipe himself off, and he’ll simply blank stare you 😳

“Obanai?”

Fuck, her voice sounds so HOT

You shouldn’t have said his name like that 🤪

Bc now he’s grabbing you and plopping you squarely onto his face again

Best believe you’re gonna squirt a 2nd time, maybe even a 3rd

He especially loves when your clit starts to swell

Too sensitive? Too bad! 🤗

You wouldn’t want your man to be dehydrated, riiight?

Besides, he’s strong enough to handle any amount of your squirming 😌

Absolutely DELIGHTED 😍

Also totally wants to swap spots to see if she can do it too

And who wouldn’t want Mitsuri’s thighs wrapped tightly around their head? 🤤

Yeah, Ik, sign me up 😮‍💨

“Wanna taste?”

And like, are you gonna say no? 🤨 When she’s licking you off of her lips?? 😘 And giggling??? 🥹 And also blinking profusely bc it did get quite messy???? 😆

Every day is the best day when you’ve got Mitsuri’s tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth, tickling your teeth, strings of saliva connecting you together, her tits rubbing wet and erotic against your own

She’s a bit of a sloppy kisser

Fucking HOT 🥵

Listen, she’s into it

11/10 would recommend

Except not really, bc why would she recommend you to anyone else? 🤨 You’re taken! 😤 (by her, duh 🙄)

But she also needs to wash her face asap

It’s hot until it’s kinda not 🥴

She’ll absolutely run it back tho once she’s washed her face 😉

At some point her jaw gets tired, but she’s happy to just keep her mouth open and let you grind on her tongue for as long as you can handle it

Ofc, you do your best to return the pleasure, leaning backward to stick your hand between her thighs

“Fuck, babe you’re so wet.”

She moans into your clit as your finger slips easily into her pussy

Talk about dripping — talk about delicious! 🤤

Immediate imagery of you squirting like a squeeze bottle and Kyojuro trying his best to swallow everything comes to mind

Hibachi; iykyk

But that requires a lil too much suspension of disbelief 😂

That being said, he goes a tad feral when you squirt on him 😮‍💨

Will rub his face between your tits, down your stomach, and your thighs to make sure you get all messy too

You’re in for a lonnng night of Kyojuro making you cum over and over, bc fuck it he needs to feel you squirt on him again

He’ll sit you on his face and not let you off until you’ve cum, he’ll fingerfuck you until you’re begging him to slow down, he’ll thrust his cock in as deeply as it goes and press his palm against your lower belly until you’re wailing

Anything to hear you say, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, FUUUCK.”

Anything to feel you spasm and shake as you spray his abdomen with your release 🥵

Can’t stop laughing the first time you squirt on him 🥴

It’s like, you’re so fucking incredible and sexy and beautiful, but also WTF just happened?! 🤯

“Did you know you could do that?” 😳 <— he’s flabberghasted

“I meeean, I knew it was a possibility?” 😅 <— you’ve read the Cosmopolitan articles

“Do you think you can do it again?” 😏 <— he’s hopeful

“Do you think you can do it again?” 😏😏 <— nothing like challenging a man with the utmost sheer willpower

And by utmost sheer willpower, I’m talking changing the sheets twice in one night, bc Sanemi can’t seem to stop fucking you

Oh you just came?

Well, you didn’t squirt that time, so time to try again! 😌

Oh you just squirted?

See, he knew you could do it! But consistency is key, so time to go again! 😃

Oh your pussy is sore?

He’s heard anal orgasms are more intense anyway 😵‍💫

Oh you don’t think he can fit in your ass?

Don’t worry, stretching is good for you! 😮‍💨

What in the Water Breathing?????

“Are you okay?”

I mean, Giyuu thinks you look fine (he thinks you look fucking incredible), but you’ve also never done that before

He’s a little concerned 😕

And very turned on

“Love?”

He’s a little more concerned now — you’re just panting and not answering him 😅

“That felt, AMAZING,” you finally manage to gasp 😍

“So we can continue?”

“Yes Giyuu,” you’re teasing him now, “You can put your cock in my pussy.”

He might be blushing, but there’s nothing shy about the rough growl in his throat as he lifts you by your hips and moves you from his head to his waist

“Are you gonna be good for me?” he murmurs, the tip of his cock rubbing wet and swollen between your folds

“The best,” you drawl, bending forward to swipe your tongue along his dripping cheek, “I just squirted for you, didn’t I?”

“You really are the best,” he mutters, groaning lowly

And then he’s reaching a hand down to guide himself into your pussy, ignoring your breathless Fuck Giyuu, fuck, you’re so fucking big! as he shoves his way in

Sooooo things are either suuuper wet in the Uzui household, orrr you’re suuuper screwed

Bc either multiple of you are squirting, or you’re the only one who can, and in the case of the latter situation, best believe they’re all having their way w/ you, bc how could they not??

Tengen makes you squirt first: something about the way his cock presses thick and heavy against ~that spot builds an incredible pressure, and then suddenly you’re cumming and squirting and poor (lucky? 🤭) Makio gets drenched bc she’s been licking your clit the whole time

And then ofc Hina brings out the strap-on bc she wants you to squirt on her dick too, and Tengen has to move over to your mouth bc Hina’s in charge now! 😌

So you’re choking on Tengen’s cock with your head hanging off the edge of the bed while Hina fucks you, and Suma’s taken Makio’s place bc she really wants to taste you 🤤

Maybe Makio goes to get her strap-on too, bc it’s always fun to peg Tengen as he’s throatfucking you — you make the prettiest sounds when his balls slap your nose

And eventually you squirt again, struggling to remember which way is up and which way is down

Meanwhile Tengen’s thrusting frantically down your throat (he’s the loudest moaner in the room 😆) as Makio fucks his ass, getting closer and closer to cumming and having a srsly tough inner debate w/ himself over whether to have you swallow his cum or to add to the mess and cum on your face and tits (he’s got range 😎)

Suma makes her way to Makio so they can make out and taste you together 🥵, and Hina takes her strap-on off so she can sit on your stomach and masturbate on top of you until she cums too

—Bruh, the logistics of a fivesome are no joke 😵‍💫😂

#hashira x reader #headcanons #modern au #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #gyomei x reader #obanai x reader #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #kyojuro x reader #sanemi x reader #giyuu x reader #tengen x reader

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sabertoothwalrus · 3 months ago

Note

hi!! do you have any advice on how to finish projects faster? or at least more efficiently? i take a few days to finish a piece (1 or 2 days at minimum) and i want to learn how to refine my process

that can depend a lot on what kind of look you’re trying to achieve, and what exactly is slowing you down!

things you can do if you take too long doing lineart:

Practice sketching in pen & marker! Do exercises that train your hand to be more efficient. If you can draw the same thing with 5 lines that previously took you 20, you’ll cut down on time.

Try a different brush! Maybe the one you’re using is too soft, and you have to keep going back over the lines to make them dark enough. There might be another brush that gets the same result with less effort.

Zoom out! On paper, a drawing that’s 2 inches tall will take wayyyy less time than a drawing that’s as big as your torso. When you zoom in, you’re essentially making the whole drawing bigger. When I draw, I like to be able to see the whole pose. If you’re worried about it not being perfectly clean, I promise you, no one is paying that close attention.

Skip the lineart entirely! Odds are, your sketches might already be pretty clean. If it takes you 20 minutes to do a sketch and 2 hours to do the lineart, but the lines look almost the same, then why bother doing the lineart?

similar advice for coloring/rendering!

Maybe it’s your art software! I can color 10x faster in CSP than anything else, because CSP makes it really easy to color in flats.

Limit how many types of brushes you use. There ARE certain effects (like convincing digital watercolor) that really do need 5-10 different brushes to get the look Just Right, but going through your tool menus to swap brushes will add time. When I render (which is rare, honestly) I stick to one, maybe two painterly brushes.

other general advice:

Don’t be so hard on yourself! Honestly, 1-2 days is still objectively pretty fast!

If you’re a perfectionist who will arbitrarily spend too much time fiddling and fiddling until it’s justttttt right, try setting timers! Give yourself a predetermined amount of time for the lineart, for the coloring, for the rendering, etc and MOVE ON once that timer goes off. Not everything you do has to be your magnum opus.

Use keyboard shortcuts!!!!!!!! I don’t like using screen tablets, especially if I can’t use shortcuts. If you have a tablet with programmable buttons or some kind of remote, that can work too. I see people use bluetooth xbox controllers sometimes, which is a good option if you already have that. Personally, I use so many shortcuts that there are never enough buttons to program, so I just stick with a keyboard.

JUST KEEP AT IT! The more you draw, the faster you get. I avoided doing paneled comics for nearly 10 years cause they took so much effort, and would only do comics where each panel was its own layer/image. After enough time doing that, I eventually got good enough at everything else to do with comics that the paneling aspect wasn’t that difficult anymore.

#art help

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hatsukeii · 9 months ago

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think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader

genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...

warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk

wc: ~6.3k

tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.

Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen.

It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year.

When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world.

“You’re back.”

“It’s been a while, Kei.”

You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you.

“Why? Why now?”

You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation.

“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”

Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.

You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face.

“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”

He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket.

“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.

“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”

You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing.

“How long will you stay for?”

“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”

Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave.

“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).

All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food.

“Who are you staying with?”

“My mom’s.”

The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.

“It’s changed.”

“Everything has.”

You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways.

When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers.

“Do you still play volleyball?”

“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”

You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.

“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”

“Nah, I prefer this.”

It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei.

“It looks good.”

He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near.

“Is this the beach we used to go to?”

“You still remember it.”

He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave.

“They lifted the ban?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea.

“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”

Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing.

“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”

He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold.

“Kei.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”

He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.

“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.

“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”

You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him.

“Have you been doing good, Kei?”

Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.

“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.

You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model.

“What about you?”

“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation.

“Archaeology?”

“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”

A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too.

“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”

“I hope it is.”

Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse.

“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder.

“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck.

The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.

“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well.

“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.

You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.

“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.”

Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.

“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”

You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers.

When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.

“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time.

“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning.

Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white.

“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.

By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to.

Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck.

When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit.

When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest.

When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest.

“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you.

“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”

You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips.

“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.

“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”

Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.

author's note:

ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!

also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii

ok love u guys thank u for being patient

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vera-deville · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I really love your works for twisted wonderland! I was wondering if i can make a request please?

Maybe a one shot of leona with a s/o that is very sweet and shy that used to have a very toxic relationship before meeting him, maybe in some moment the reader's ex tries to get back together but to everyone surprise(and Leona's pride) reader ends up slapping their ex.

I hope you're good! If you don't like this request just tell me!

The Quiet After Roaring

05/01/2025

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader Word Count: 3,299 Warnings: Reader deals with an ex, hurtful sentiments, mentions of toxic relationship with the ex Gender: AFAB Tags: @viviennevermillion, @achy-boo, @savanaclaw1996, @atomatoho3, @qaxdea, @katzline Notes: Thank you so much for your ask and for your kind words! I've written so many fics for Leona and I can never seem to get enough. ^-^ I hope you enjoy this! Masterlist

It was always the little things that lingered.

The ghost of a grip too tight on your wrist. Words with edges that sliced deeper than any spell. Silence used like a blade, sharpened by disappointment and left to cut you open when you least expected it. It had been months since the supposed end of it, months since the relationship had ended, but there were nights where you swore you could still hear his voice - sickly sweet and poisonous at the same time - echoing in your head.

You hadn't told anyone. Not outright. Because how could you?

You should have known better. Because you were the fool who stayed too long. Because you were the girl who once flinched at kindness, who didn't know how to take a compliment without instinctively brushing it off, who apologized for existing.

It didn't matter how much time had passed. It didn't matter that things were looking better for you now. It didn't matter that you had begun anew. The cracks in your foundation followed you wherever you went.

And Leona noticed.

At first, you thought it was just his usual laziness. He always had a strange way of showing interest - flat-toned grunts, sarcastic remarks, occasional glances like he was trying to decide whether you were worth getting up for. But then he started sticking around more (well, more than his usual boyfriend duties were). There were no big declarations. Just...small things.

"Eat," He muttered one afternoon, tossing you a neatly wrapped sandwich while lounging in his favorite sunspot behind the botanical garden. You blinked at the sudden gift, half-expecting there to be a prank hidden inside (that would be far too much effort on his side), but when you opened it, it was just food. Normal. Real. Warm.

"Leona, I-"

"You skipped lunch." His tone brooked no argument. "Don't make me waste good meat."

And that was the first time.

The second time was when he caught you flinching from a raised voice in the cafeteria. Some Savanaclaw students were roughhousing again - nothing out of the ordinary - but something in the deep, guttural shouting triggered something sharp and suffocating in your chest. You'd dropped your tray. Frozen.

The sound of it clattering to the ground was what pulled you back.

And then, there was Leona. Standing over you, growling low in his throat, amber eyes flicking dangerously toward the students responsible.

"Pick it up," He snapped - not to you, but at the others.

Ruggie darted in from the sidelines with a rag, mumbling apologies, trying to smooth things over.

"Jeez, Boss," He said later, trailing behind Leona as they exited the dining hall. "You're kinda hovering these days."

Leona didn't answer. He didn't have to. His tail flicked once behind him, low and controlled.

You weren't stupid. You noticed, eventually.

The way Jack seemed to suddenly pop up in your elective classes. "Must've swapped schedules," He claimed with a shrug. How Ruggie would "coincidentally" run into you in the halls with some silly errand. Or how Leona just happened to be sunbathing exactly where you needed to walk through to get to the greenhouse.

It wasn't a coincidence.

It was a net, strung tight but invisible, a protective perimeter you hadn't even asked for. But gods, did it make your chest ache.

You didn't know what to do with that kind of care. You didn't know how to handle someone noticing without demanding. Caring without controlling. Protecting without possessiveness.

So you tried to ignore it. You tried to pretend you were fine.

You smile politely. You laughed when jokes were told. You passed your classes. You stayed out of trouble. You were perfect.

But Leona could see it - the subtle stiffening of your shoulders when someone stood too close, the polite distance you maintained with even your closest friends, the carefully measured responses that lacked real warmth.

He wasn't the sentimental type. But he'd been raised among beasts. He knew what fear looked like - even when you tried to wear it like armor.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he watched.

When a group project came up in Potions, he made sure Ruggie requested you as a partner.

When Vargas assigned a brutal fitness test, Jack "accidentally" jogged beside you the whole time, keeping your pace.

When Crowley announced an upcoming academic field trip (one that would only last a day) to Royal Sword Academy, Leona joined the delegation, despite grumbling endlessly about it being a "waste of time."

You were surprised when he volunteered. He usually avoided anything that required effort. But he just grunted when you asked.

"They needed someone competent. Guess the bar's that low."

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You knew the truth. He was going because you were going.

And you were starting to realize...he always had been.

He never pressured you to talk. Never pried about your previous relationship, despite you mentioning it in passing. But in the quiet, in the ways he looked at you, you understood: he knew enough.

You once caught him standing outside Professor Trein's classroom after your lecture ended, arms folded, posture lazy. But his eyes scanned every student exiting the room until they landed on you.

You'd raised an eyebrow. "Waiting for someone?"

"Yeah. You."

"Awwww, look who's being a sweet boyfriend~"

"Tch, just wanted to walk back with you. You look like you're about to pass out."

You hadn't realized you were shaking until that moment.

You didn't ask how he knew. You didn't need to.

Leona wasn't soft. He didn't coddle. But he was steady - solid like sun-warmed stone - and he never once made you feel like you were broken.

He was patient in his own rough way. Like he was giving you time.

Time to trust again.

Time to breathe.

Time to heal.

And thought you hadn't said it yet, hadn't dared to, you were starting to feel truly safe again.

But safety is a fragile and fickle thing. Sometimes, all it takes is a name from the past, a face you hoped you'd never see again, to shatter it in an instant.

And that moment?

That was just around the corner.

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You didn't expect to run into anyone familiar at Royal Sword Academy. The trip had been framed as a formal exchange - a handful of NRC students invited for a tour (and vice versa), a diplomatic gesture between the two rival schools. It should've been simple. Stiff handshakes, polite smiles that didn't quite reach the eyes, and a quick tour of immaculate halls that smelled like lemon polish and self-righteousness. No drama.

But of course, fate was much crueler than that.

Your group had just finished viewing RSA's main greenhouse - a pristine, sun-drenched dome filled with flowering, magical herbs - and students had dispersed into smaller groups to explore the campus. You were trailing behind Leona, thinking about how much more you liked the gardens at NRC than this, despite its grandiosity, when a voice slithered through the air like a snake in the grass.

"Well, well. I didn't think I'd see you here."

You froze.

No. Not here. Not him.

Your breath caught, shoulders stiffening as you slowly turned toward the voice. And there he was - your ex. Tall, arrogant, that same smug tilt to his chin that you used to find charming and now could only see as infuriating. His uniform - RSA's pristine whites and golds - looked too noble for someone so rotten.

Leona stopped walking. His tail gave a flick, catching the tension in your stance.

Your ex smiled. "Didn't think they let charity cases into these kinds of events."

You clenched your fists.

"Walk away," you muttered under your breath, barely audible.

"What was that?" He asked, stepping closer. "Didn't quite catch that, sweetheart."

You flinched at the pet name. It rolled off his tongue with the same venom as always.

"You don't get to call me that," You said, voice shaking.

"Why not? It's not like you've upgraded much," He continued, now eyeing Leona with thinly veiled contempt. "This your new keeper? Figures you'd end up with a mangy stray."

Leona, who had been silent until now, lifted his head. "You got a problem, Herbivore?"

Your ex ignored him entirely, eyes still on you. "I've been thinking, you know. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I mean, sure, things got...heated sometimes, but I think we could work things out. You were always a little too sensitive-"

Crack.

The sound echoed across the courtyard before you even registered what you'd done.

Your knuckles stung. He was clutching his nose. Silence followed.

Dozens of heads turned. RSA students paused mid-step. Your NRC friends froze. Even Leona blinked in mild surprise.

And then - "Ha!" Leona laughed once, sharp and impressed. "About damn time."

Your ex reeled back, still clutching his face with as much delicacy he could muster, lest the pain increase tenfold. "Y-You crazy bitch!"

Leona growled low in his throat.

"Say that again," He said, stepping forward. "I dare you."

But he didn't have to. RSA staff and faculty were already converging at the scene. Murmurs broke out among the crowd. You felt dizzy, heart hammering in your chest as the reality of what you'd just done hit you like those trucks in isekai novels.

You'd punched him. In public. On another school's campus. In front of students, teachers, and Leona.

And then - like a blade through the whispers - came a calm, authoritative voice.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Headmaster Ambrose stepped forward, robes flowing, gaze sharp and unreadable behind small glasses. He looked at you, then at your ex, then to the watching crowd.

"Miss," He said to you. "And you, Mister Klyne." His voice was soft, but it carried. "To my office. Now."

You felt your legs turn to lead.

Leona took a step forward like he was about to protest, but the headmaster raised a single hand. The courtyard fell silent.

"This is not up for discussion."

Leona's teeth clicked together in frustration. You turned to him briefly, and he gave you a tiny nod. "Go. I'll be waitin'."

You swallowed hard and followed the Headmaster across the courtyard, your ex trailing behind. The walk was long, the silence deafening. Your mind raced - what if they banned you from future exchanges? What if they told Crowley? What if-

"You're not in trouble," Ambrose said suddenly, his voice slicing through your panic. "Not yet. But I'd like to hear what happened before I reach a conclusion."

You blinked up at him.

He wasn't angry. Not yet. Just...watchful. Fair.

In the ornate calm of the Headmaster's office, you sat on a soft leather chair, hands clenched in your lap. Your ex tried to speak first, but Ambrose cut him off.

"I'll hear from her first."

You looked up in surprise. The Headmaster gestured for you to speak.

So you did. You told him everything - your past with the boy across from you, the emotional manipulation, the veiled insults, the slow eroding of your confidence. You explained how you'd tried to stay quiet, how you didn't want to cause a scene, but he pushed and pushed-

"I see," Ambrose said, once you finished.

He turned to your ex, who sputtered with indignation, trying to refute every word with half-truths and shifting blame. But the more he talked, the deeper a frown settled onto the Headmaster's face.

When the boy finished, Amrbsoe sat back in his chair and let the silence hang for a moment.

"I appreciate your honesty," He said to you. Then, turning to your ex, "You will receive formal disciplinary action from RSA, and a written apology will be sent to Night Raven College on your behalf. I expect it to be delivered by the end of the week. Until then, consider yourself restricted from cross-campus interactions.

Your mouth dropped open.

"And you," Ambrose said, turning back to you, his voice softer, "Have nothing to fear. While I don't condone violence, I understand provocation. I also understand the importance of standing your ground."

You blinked back tears you hadn't realized were forming. "Thank you, Sir."

He gave a small smile. "You're welcome, dear. You may rejoin your group now."

As you left the office, your heart felt lighter, if only a little. The crowd had mostly dispersed, but your NRC group - Leona, Ruggie, Jack (definitely not a coincidence that these three were the ones to accompany you to RSA), as well as a few others - rushed toward you the moment they spotted you.

"What happened?" Jack asked, brows drawn in concern.

"Did that guy try to mess with you again?" Ruggie added.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I'm okay. The Headmaster...he listened. My ex is getting formally punished and has to send a written apology."

"Serves him right," Ruggie muttered.

Jack nodded. "Good."

Leona didn't say anything right away. He just looked at you. His gaze wasn't intense, not sharp or cold like it usually was. Just...steady.

"You alright?" He asked, voice low.

You nodded, and for once, it didn't feel like a lie.

"Damn right you are," He said, and turned away. "Come on. Let's go. These sparkly bastards are makin' my skin itch."

You laughed, a little watery, and followed him.

Leona didn't offer a hug, or a pat on the back, or even a hand to hold. But he slowed his pace so you could walk beside him. He kept glancing at you, tail flicking every time someone looked at you too long. And though he didn't say it, you could feel it.

He was proud of you.

And that was enough.

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Ramshackle was unusually quiet that night.

Grim had long since retreated to his own bedroom, tail flicking behind him and muttering something about not wanting to be caught in any "mushy drama" (you think that's his nice way of letting you spend time with Leona). The shadows of the old dorm stretched across the cracked wooden floor. And the wind rattled softly against the windows. You and Leona sat side by side on your bed, still dressed from the long trip back from Royal Sword Academy. The air hung heavy - not with tension, but with the weight of everything that had happened.

You hadn't said much since returning. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, pulling at loose threads, unsure of what to do with all the leftover emotions that swirled inside you like a storm. The rush of confrontation, the relief of justice, the fear of it all blowing up in your face - now that the dust had settled, it all had nowhere to go.

Leona hadn't said much either, but that wasn't out of character. He sat leaning back against your headboard like he belonged there, arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded in that lazy lion way of his. But his tail flicked restlessly at the edge of the bed, betraying that he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he looked.

"I should've seen it coming," You muttered.

Leona's ears twitched. "What?"

"I should've known he'd be there. Should've stayed away. Should've just...I don't know. Disappeared."

He cracked one eye open, gaze sharp despite his relaxed posture. "You blaming yourself for running into that walking dumpster fire?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know what I'm doing," You admitted. "I thought I was better. That I'd moved on. But seeing him again just...it brought back everything. I still feel like the person I was when they were hurting me."

Leona was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, leaning over to pluck a throw pillow from the floor and chucking it lightly at your face.

"Hey!"

"You're not that person anymore," He said bluntly. "They don't get to live in your head rent-free just 'cuz they crawled out of their little sewer hole for a day."

You let out a weak laugh, catching the pillow and hugging it to your chest. "Yeah, well...it's hard to believe that. Especially when I'm the one who keeps spiraling."

Leona exhaled through his nose, irritated. But not with you. "Tch. That's what pisses me off. You keep doubting yourself when you're the one who slapped that bastard into next week. That wasn't just some scared girl from the past - that was you now. The one who doesn't take shit. The one who stood there in front of all those students and made it clear you weren't gonna be stepped on anymore."

You looked at him, surprised.

"...You really think I was strong back there?"

Leona scoffed, eyes rolling like the question was offensive. "What, you think I get proud over just anything?"

He sat up a little, tail curling around his waist lazily. "You got guts. Way more than most people I know. You think Ruggie or Jack could've stood there without trembling? Please. I've seen Jack trip over his own tail when he's nervous. And Ruggie? He'd have tried to scam the guy out of his lunch money and run."

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Then you looked down again. The smile faded.

"But what if I'm still...broken?" You asked quietly. "What if there's some part of me that they ruined? And it'll always be there? I'm scared that someday, I won't be good enough for you. That you'll wake up and realize I'm not strong, or I'm too much of a mess, or-"

Leona groaned and flopped fully onto the mattress, dragging you with him until your cheek landed against his shoulder.

"Stars, you're annoying when you get like this."

You stiffened.

"Not because of the way you fell," He clarified, lazily stroking your hair. "That part's fine. Emotions, trauma, all that crap - I get it. Life kicks you in the face, and it leaves a mark. But this constant fear that I'm gonna up and walk away? That I'm gonna get tired of you? That's what's annoying."

You blinked up at him, mouth slightly open.

"I don't do things I don't want to," He said flatly. "You should've figured that out by now. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't be here. I'd be asleep somewhere way more comfortable, not stuck in this dusty-ass bed in a drafty-ass dorm with peeling wallpaper and one cranky raccoon-cat as a roommate."

"Hey, Grim's not that bad."

"You're deflecting," Leona said, flicking your forehead gently.

You winced. "Ow."

"I'm serious," He said, voice softening just a little. "I chose you. I keep choosing you. And if you ever say that 'not good enough' crap again, I'm gonna make you write a ten-page essay on why that's bullshit."

You choked on a laugh. "Leona-"

He reached up and smoothed a hand down your back. "You're not broken. You're healing. And yeah, sometimes that means you'll fall apart a little. Doesn't mean I'm gonna ditch you. I'm not scared of what you think is a mess."

You buried your face into his shoulder, not quite crying, but close. The tension in your chest began to uncoil.

"...Thanks," you whispered.

He grunted. "Don't make it weird."

You both lay there for a while, wrapped up in the quiet hum of Ramshackle and each other. His arms stayed around you, his breathing steady and warm against your skin. It wasn't grand. It wasn't overly sentimental. But it was real.

Comfort, given the Leona way - through presence, through sarcasm, through quiet truth.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, Leona shifted again and tapped your chin to make you look up at him.

"You listenin'?"

"Mmhmm," You mumbled.

"Good." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead - gentle, warm, and startingly tender.

"Sleep," He said, voice low and gruff. "I've got you."

And somehow, with all the broken pieces still stitching themselves back together, you believed him.

Author's Note: As soon as I read this request, I just knew that I had to make as long a fic as I could out of this. I had so many ideas and had a whole sequence planned out for the story. I like to imagine the ex is from Royal Sword Academy (just cuz I like the irony of it). I don't know when or how the Reader dated him, but who cares? She's got Leona now. Wish that were me. Also, I know you specified slapping the ex in the request, but I just thought it would be so much more satisfying to punch the bastard, so that's what I wrote. (Hope you still liked it)!

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mousy-muses13 · 2 months ago

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CW: vitamin swapping; oral (f! receiving); titty fucking, PiV

The next morning you leave for work with a full thermo of coffee and a sore pussy from Kyle and John fucking you hard last night. When you finally pull out of the drive way the boys start phase two of the plan. They grab your morning multi-vitamin to swap it with a prenatal gummies. They also start to clean the whole house from top to bottom so you won't have to do anything when you get home but relax. Johnny and Kyle swap some pictures around the house with pictures of nieces and nephews from when they were babies. Kyle had the idea that if you get baby fever it might make you just stop taking your birth control on your own.

The next few days seemed to go by fast. The men all do what they can to help you relax and fill you up with cum at night right before bed. The weekend has come and the men have a plan. It is quite simple don’t let you go too long without a dick in you. You were peacefully dreaming when you start to feel something wet in between your legs. You open your eyes and find Johnny down there with your night shirt pushed up past your hips. You move your hand down to his hair and he moans into your cunt. "No worries luv just enjoying me breakfast." he says to you then he is back to licking at your clit. You let out a small moan and Kyle enters the room.

"You poor thing. Do you need more. Let me help you. You know if you're good for us the big guys will be really nice to you later baby. take your shirt off for me doll." You comply with him and take your shirt off. You now lay on the bed naked and bare for them to take advantage of. Kyle undress on his way to you. Kyle starts to get to work on your nice tits. He starts to suck on your left nipple and rolls your right nipple in his fingers. Those actions cause you to lift off the bed a squirm around. Johnny hooks his arms around your hips to pin you down.

"Lass stop ye moving I'm trying to eat here." He dives back in with a harsh suck to your clit. Your moans only grow louder as they continue. You start to feel a tightening in your lower stomach and you know it's your orgasm rapidly approaching. The feeling only grows more as Johnny moves his hand from your hip to insert two of his thick fingers into your entrance. He curls his two fingers upwards to rub up against that spot that makes you screams. You do just that you scream both their names until your orgasm dies down.

" Kyle, she is definitely ready for more at this point." Johnny's words cause Kyle to stop working on your nipples and move to straddle you. Johnny moves up the bed and in between your thighs. " Lass you ready to be a good girl for us." You nod your head. " Nah lass we need to hear you."

"Yes please. I promise to be a good girl." You whine back to them. Little do you know they got you right where they want you. Kyle bends down to kiss you. Kyle moves up your torso until he is at your breast. He lines his dick between your breast and moves one hand to each side of your tits and push them together until his cock is fully covered by them. Kyle starts to thrust his cock in between your tits. As he starts to do that Johnny is lining himself up at your entrance. Johnny starts to gently push in and moans as your warm cunt takes him. They start to sync up their thrust and you need something to grab on to. You move your hands to replace Kyles and move your head up and stick your tongue out. You start to catch Kyles tip on your tongue and eventually Kyle still so you can suck on his tip while you move your tits up and down his cock. You moan on Kyles cock from the way Johnny is fucking your already sensitive pussy. Kyle reaches his arms back and takes hold of one leg and pulls in towards you. This causes Johnny to sink in even deeper.

" Johnny are you close because I don't know if I can hold off much longer." Kyle asks Johnny breathlessly. Kyle pulls his cock out of your mouth with a pop. You pout at him wanting to finish what you started. " Oh Doll there is only one place I want to finish and its not your mouth." Kyle gets off of you to move behind Johnny and he moves his hands up Johnnys toned chest. Kyle starts to kiss Johnnys neck and the scene in front of you causes you to clench around Johnnys cock. Kyle's left hand starts to pinch Johnnys nipple and johnny whimpers in return. The rhythm of Johnnys hips start to falter and he releases his load into you. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you. Johnny eventually pulls out and before any of his cum can spill out Kyle is fast to replace him. Kyle lifts your hips slightly and starts to pound into you as fast as he can.

"Oi bon you are doing such a good job for us. Being such a good girl." Johnny starts to praise you and moves a hand between Kyle and you and uses two fingers to rub on you swollen clit. In between Johnny rubbing your clit and Kyle fucking you so hard you are cumming in time causing kyle to follow soon after.

"Oh what a beautiful sight we have in front of us John. All our pets in one spot." Simons voice rings through the air and you look over to see John and Simon standing in the doorway staring in at you three on the bed.

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#tf 141 #price x reader #cod fanfic #gaz x reader #soap x reader #tf 141 x reader #ghost x reader #poly tf141 #john soap mactavish #soapgaz #poly 141 x reader

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jessthebaker · 4 months ago

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With Sticks and String

a/n: This fic started as the response to the #writingthroughtheseasons challenge by the wonderful @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality. It developed a life of its own and, uh, grew beyond the original prompt. There will be two definite chapters, and possibly a third?

I did as much research as I could to be mindful of the details of NA, substance addiction, and milestone ceremonies but there will be errors. Please be kind.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Challenge prompt: Dieter in Autumn. “Are we a moment, or a lifetime?” Trust me. You’ll see.

Dieter Bravo x reader

word count: 1.7k-ish

A church basement. A large circle of uncomfortable metal folding chairs. A table at the side with hot water urns, a stack of paper cups, a basket of tea bags and instant coffee sachets. A disused pulpit at one end of the circle for someone to stand and speak.

Dieter stands in the doorway and feels the familiar deja vu. He’s been going in circles for more than a year now, the endless loop of losing control, using, rehab, enforced sobriety, falling into using again. His agent is fed up with his bullshit and finally gave him the “I may be your employee but I’m the only friend you have left, go to rehab and make it work this time or we’re done” speech.

That was two months ago, and he’s done his mandated time at the rehab facility. Now he has to find a NA meeting to attend. He’s been to every NA meeting group in the city over the last few years and never lasted long at any of them. This group is the final one left on the list of available options that gelled with his location and schedule. Not like his schedule was that full anyway.

He notices you at his first meeting and as cliché as it was, there is something different about you. You seem to have the same dark sense of humour as him, the same cheekiness in danger of being stamped out in the name of sobriety. The same marks of near-silent desperation that you can hide from everyone but other addicts. However, the strand of fuzzy yarn running up your legs to connect the pile of fabric on your lap to your bag on the floor is new to him.

After that first meeting, he keeps stealing glances at you from across the circle of chairs. He notices you always have a project in your lap during meetings, your needles clicking softly as a backdrop to the sound of other attendees telling their stories. Sometimes it’s your crochet hook flashing in the light, as your wrist twirls it effortlessly through the air. He’s more fascinated with watching you work than paying attention to the speakers. Your motions are graceful and practiced; you deftly create something out of a jumble of fuzzy string without even looking. It’s like magic to him.

After a few meetings he works up the nerve to say hello to you afterwards. Swap names over weak shitty coffee in flimsy paper cups. A few more meetings, and he sits next to you. A few more weeks, and he asks you about your project. You smirk (got another one, you think to yourself) and show him what you’re working on.

You ask him, “Do you want to have a go?”

“Uh, yeah, if you trust me not to ruin it.”

You scoff lightly. “Don’t worry about ruining anything, it’s crochet. Whatever you fuck up, I can pull back and fix. Just...play around with it.”

You show him the basic stitches, the way to maneuver the hook and where to place it, how to pull up a loop and draw it through. He’s surprised to find he likes it. He works through your row and you show him how to make a turning chain, encourage him to work back through the next row. A soft cough behind you both makes you jump. It’s the meeting leader giving you the wind-up. It’s past time to turn off the lights and lock up. Dieter is surprised to find half an hour has passed in your company.

As you start packing up your project again, you can tell he wants to say something. His eyes are a little wild, his teeth biting at his lip nervously.

“Do you think you could teach me more next week? I think I need something like this. Something to keep - keep the hands busy, you know?”

His hands are always restless, you have noticed this. He’s always fidgeting during meetings, pulling at his coat hems, fiddling with at his pant pockets or the buttons on his lapel, twiddling his earring. Right now as you both stand together, his hands are twitching at his side, making flicking motions as if ashing an invisible cigarette.

“Of course. Come early next week and I’ll show you more.” You beam indulgently at Dieter, and to him it’s as if a shaft of sunlight has put a spotlight on your face.

His face relaxes instantly and a shy half-grin emerges. You get the feeling he has a nice smile when he lets it really show. You secretly wonder if he might have a dimple. You agree on half an hour before the regular meeting time and say your goodnights.

The next week, as promised, you bring a ball of yarn and an extra crochet hook and teach him more of the basics. You get him started with a simple dishcloth project that will fit on his lap during the meeting. You don’t say anything, but you do see that he’s more relaxed with this in hand – he’s not actively working on it during the meeting itself, but he is idly stroking the yarn, turning the partial square around in his hands, rolling and folding and twisting it up. You catch his eye and glance at the wadded up square of crochet stitches in his hands. He looks down too, sees what he’s done subconciously, and gives you a sheepish grin. You wink and grin back.

After that first crochet lesson, your friendship with Dieter grows. You look forward to the weekly meetings in a different way, now. He does too. Beyond the obvious connection of being fellow addicts in recovery, he can talk to you and you don’t stare at him like he’s a nutjob. You enjoy passing down the crafts that have helped you to stay sober these past thirteen years.

And there is the attraction. That doesn't hurt.

You can’t help but stare sometimes when he’s not looking. Does he not realise how handsome he is? Maybe he does. But he doesn’t draw attention to himself that way. Over time he lets slip little details, offhand comments, that give you the impression he used to fuck around but he doesn’t anymore. It makes sense, you think. His celebrity and fame lent itself to partying and access to people as well as drugs. If he’s working this hard to stay sober from substance abuse, maybe he’s also staying away from the rest of it. You try not to let your crush get in the way of your friendship. You know he’s not supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery, anyway.

For all that, you really, really enjoy watching him work. His broad frame hunches over the project on his lap. Even the longest knitting needles always look tiny in his big hands. To say nothing of a short crochet hook, it’s practically fully hidden in his paws. His brow furrows in concentration and his tongue pokes out subconsciously when he’s trying to maneuver the hook the right way.

For Dieter’s part, he can’t help but stare when you don’t notice. Do you not know how beautiful you are? Maybe you do. But you don’t draw attention to yourself that way. Over time you let slip comments about your past that give him the impression you used to party, but you don’t anymore. It makes sense, he thinks. If you’ve worked hard to stay sober for this long, maybe you’re also staying away from relationships. He tries not to let his crush get in the way of your friendship. He knows he isn’t supposed to get into any relationships for the first year of his recovery anyway.

For all that, he really, really enjoys watching you work. Whatever you’re knitting or crocheting, you make it look effortless. During meetings you sit with your feet crossed neatly underneath you, project in your lap, hands moving deftly through the yarn. Sometimes you don’t even look down, you just move without having to see what your needle or hook is doing. It’s like the tool is an extension of your hands and they work independently of your conscious brain. He wants to know what that feels like.

He’s an eager student. You teach him to crochet first. He wants to be able to “make ALL the things, I don’t want to limit myself!” So you teach him what you know. You teach him to make increases, decreases. Amigurumi toys, granny squares, knitted stockinette. Ribbing, lace, cables, socks, shawls, hats.

He learns to notice mistakes and fix them himself. He teaches himself to alter a pattern to suit his own tastes. He teaches himself to do colourwork through YouTube tutorials, after you admit it’s something you aren't interested in yourself. He figures out what he likes and doesn’t like in his crafting.

Just as Dieter’s path along sobriety has entwined with yours, your lives become more and more entwined over time.

For his six month pin you knit him a slouchy beanie.

For your 14 year pin he crochets you a little stuffed heart, which he presents to you with a shy smile.

For his 1 year pin, you crochet a little stuffed raccoon (his favourite animal) holding the stuffed heart he gave you last year. You’ve embroidered a little word “yes” on the heart.

For your 15 year pin he knits you a simple lace shawl.

For his two year pin, you knit him a handsome scarf and a matching pair of fingerless mittens. (Not too long in the cuff, his tattoos like to be free to breathe.)

For your 16 year pin, he knits you an intricately cabled scarf that he designed himself.

The next year you crochet an afghan together, using your combined stash scraps to make wildly colourful granny squares and crochet them together. Dieter drapes it proudly over the couch in the house you’ve bought together.

When he met you, Dieter was desperate for a hobby to keep his hands busy, to distract himself from the cravings and needing to chase his next high. Thanks to you, he found a different path to the high. Now he chases the euphoria of sinking into a trance as his hands move unconsciously in rhythm with the yarn. The way his brain hums peacefully as he reaches a meditative zen state. He craves the feeling of creating something and watching it grow in his hands.

He loves you, and he loves that you’ve been with him to celebrate every finished project, and every milestone date. Together.

With you, he thinks he can actually do this sobriety thing.

Part 2 is here

Tagging some peeps who were interested in this as a wip!

@toomanytookas @avastrasposts @schnarfer @galway-girlatwork

@grogusmum @jolapeno @bitchwitch1981 @sunnytuliptime @dieterbravobrainrotclub

@ghotifishreads @covetyou

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x gn!reader #dieter bravo x reader #fic: with sticks & string #writingthroughtheseasons #wttschallenge2025 #tw: drug addiction #tw: narcotics anonymous #dieter plays with yarn

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