#wanted to do something like this for a while!

[holeforzenin]

You didn’t think it would change anything when you finally became his wife. You were already hopelessly devoted to him, already clinging to him in the mornings, moaning into his mouth every night, already cooking for him, folding his laundry, and kissing his forehead when he groaned and collapsed on the warm couch after his long, tiring 12-hour shift.

But something about the word ‘husband’ did something to you.

Like today. He’s in the kitchen, still in his grimy, work clothes—sweaty shirt pulled tight over his broad chest with the outlines of his muscles bulging out, grease on his hands and his jaw clenched as he harshly opens a jar like it personally insulted him. He mutters a curse when the lid sticks. You’re watching from the doorway with your thighs slowly pressing together as you stare at him like some creepy weirdo.

Not boyfriend. Not roommate. Not fling.

Husband.

Your husband.

Your strong, mean, sexy-ass husband who still calls you “kid” when he’s tired but kisses your ring finger every night before bed. Who talks with his mouth full and gets dirt under his nails but still wears the gold band you slid onto his finger like it was forged into his skin and he makes sure to never lets it get dirty and takes good care of it. Who lets you pick matching toothbrushes and pajama sets for the two of you. Who built you shelves or whatever you want in that case because he’d practically do anything you ask him to. Who splits you in half every night while groaning “my fucking wife” into your throat as he’s pumping warm ropes of his seed into your cunt.

“Toji,” you called out lowly, already walking towards him with your heart pounding for no reason.

He doesn’t even look up. “Yeah?”

“You’re my husband”.

He glances over with his brow raised in confusion and a soft chuckle. “That’s usually how marriage works, baby”.

You reach behind him and slide your hands up his big chest—feeling his hard muscles warm beneath your palms. “I mean it. You’re my husband”.

He stills, clocking the tone in your voice, the shine in your eyes, the way your thighs squeeze together like you’re already aching for him.

“Oh,” he murmurs, finally smirking. “It’s one of those moods”.

“Mhm,” you nod, leaning in to kiss his neck. “Can’t help it. Just wanna climb you all the time”

“Just from me being your husband?”

You nod again. “It’s hot. I’m married to a big, mean, sexy man who fucks me stupid and good every night till I fall asleep like it’s his full-time job”.

He huffs a laugh and sets the jar down. “Oh you’re something else, darling”.

You palm him over his pants and grin happily when you feel he’s already half-hard. “But you love it”.

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he grabs your hips and hoists you onto the counter with a grunt, wedging himself between your parted legs and resting his hands on your soft thighs. His hands are rough, a little dirty still, and it only turns you on even more—your blue-collar husband, coming home all worn and warm from working and providing for you.

“You get this wet just from thinking about my last name on your ID?” he teases, sliding a finger along your warm, clothed slit.

You gasp and eagerly nod, clutching and tugging at his shirt to pull him closer—desperately craving more. “Need you to remind me what being your wife means”.

His smile goes sharp and easily lifts you up with his palms beneath your thighs and carries you to the bedroom. “Then hold on, Mrs. Fushiguro. I’m gonna remind you real good”.

[madamechrissy]

Sex, Lies, Ugly Truth

art in the banner is by @3-aem ! god they make the juiciest art, go follow <3

Pairings - Your mom's boyfriend Satoru x F! reader

Summary- here's just one thing worse than having to stay with your estranged mom for just a few days while your apartment is getting renovated - and that's the six foot four white haired man banging her out every night. And does he own a fucking shirt!? You can't stand being around them, your mom's much younger boyfriend who's closer to your age. What's worse is... you liked him first. He's arrogant, annoying and you're disgusted by him - he doesn't actually make you wet that's... nothing!? And you don't want to fuck him, not at all! No way you wanna fuck your bitch ass mom's boyfriend. right?

Warnings - oh boyyy aha, forbidden love, abusive mother (reader) mentions of past eating disorders, verbal abuse from reader's mom, sm tension and build up, sex doesn't happen till after Toru tells your mom byeee, but fingering does happen before that, oral (f and m receiving) backshots while on the phone with your mom -yeppp - damaged ass reader and Satoru, they have issues, hints of stepcest I guess but he's not rly your stepdad lol, Satoru is 32, reader is 22 so AGE GAP, reader calling him daddy as a joke - maybe. Oneshot - WC - 13.2k

This is literally so toxic aha, my mommy issues haven't gone away. read the warnings! and if you fuck with this brand of crazy, I'll see you in the comments

The first day staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

Staying at your mom's for a couple weeks was horrible to say the very least, not just because she was an insane bitch, and not just because you swore you'd never come back here. Not because the memories of being in your old room - transformed into a mural of her pictures and crowns from various pageants she’d been in, you think she changed it the same day you left.

No, not because you love having your freedom, and busted your ass to make sure you never have had to stay here, not because you hadn’t talked to her in so long you have no clue what to say to each other. And not just due to the fact that she was only allowing you here because your father called and asked her to do one favor for once - he lived way too far away.

No, there was another reason that you were miserable, and that was the moans emanating from the next room.

How many rounds could that man go?

And did she have to scream so loud!?!

You slam a pillow on your face, screaming into it while your mom is screaming out - Gojo! There, there! - and then to make it worse, you hear a filthy smack. You feel nauseated at this point, about to throw up if you had to hear one more moan, when finally he seems to finish up.

Jesus, that was a longer session than usual. Does the man do anything but fuck you’re really not certain. Huffing, you throw off the covers of the little futon she’d so graciously brought out, the woman was well off, mind you, but none of that ever helped you any. You wonder if he’s after her money or something, because he was gorgeous, but you suppose your mother was as well.

It still seemed odd, he wasn’t much older than you, but it’s not as if your mom wasn’t notorious for fucking younger guys - even some of your high school friends as soon as they turned eighteen. That was one of the reasons your dad moved out of the country, and you couldn’t blame him for it, she was by far the worst human being, but everyone didn’t know that.

In fact, it was really only you and your dad, along with a couple close friends of yours that knew how horrible she was. Keeping custody of you - for ‘appearances’ - had been hell. But everyone saw her as the ideal, doting mother - after all she spent all her time taking you to every competition there was, and made sure you looked and acted perfect for them.

As soon as you shed the ‘perfect image’ she decided to quit acting.

Shaking off reminiscent thoughts, you get up now and walk over to the door, glaring at the endless photos of her in bikinis and gowns, no one loved themselves more than your mother did, truly. You peek out and notice it’s finally gone quiet in that room, heading to the kitchen to grab a water, downing it to fight back the nausea.

That’s when he walks out, smirking at you, shirtless, nothing but boxers slung over his narrow hips - the reason this was even worse for you.

Satoru Gojo.

"Gimme, I'm dehydrated." This mother fucker snatches the watter bottle then, gulping it down, you watch his Adam's apple Bob as he does, sweat dripping across perfectly sculpted abs. You stare for a moment as your mom walks out, or should you say waddled out, glaring at you now.

"Gojo, come back to bed." She doesn't acknowledge you, and Satoru frowns a bit, the never ending tension between you two prevalent. Satoru actually never knew she had a daughter till he saw you come to the house yesterday, but she sure doesn't seem to have any affection- in fact she hasn't even introduced you properly to him, it was more - this is my daughter.

"Need a break." Gojo says, you bend down to snatch up your bottle, and he can't help but eye your ass in those shorts, looking away quickly now.

There was a big problem staying at his girlfriend’s house for the past couple nights, and that was - 

Satoru wants to fuck his girlfriend's daughter.

His girlfriend is forty five, Satoru is thirty two. And it just so happens you're twenty two, so you’re honestly closer to his age just a bit, but Satoru loves older women, he loves milfs, girls his age or younger were never much interest. He probably has mommy issues, no, he definitely does, there's nothing better than having his head stroked and having a meal made for him after fucking a Milf's brains out- 

Except, maybe, getting to ever touch you.

Gorgeous. You're so gorgeous, effortless and seemingly unaware.

You dress in all black, the opposite of what he expected with your mother who was literally beauty pageant winner for her state for years, her crowns are displayed everywhere. But not a single picture of you to be found, and you'd win them all too with your beauty. But you seem to shove it all away, baggy shirts and ripped jeans, you have not a speck of makeup on your face. Big buffalo plaid jackets as if to hide a body he now sees is fucking banging.

Your mom scowls over at you as she ties her robe. "Stop bothering him and go to your room."

"I just got water because hearing you all fuck for hours was making me sick. I'm not bothering him. He took my water."

"I don't care, when are you leaving again?" You blink a bit.

"I told you it's just a week while they're fixing that roof leak, and I won't bother you again. I'd have asked dad but I can't be that far from work."

"The sooner the better, and don't judge me for having a life, my sentence of you is over now." Satoru pauses, the woman he's been with for months was always sweet and perfect, until you got here.

Seeing your eyes water he clears his throat. "She wasn't bothering me, I did snatch her water up."

Your mom's face has plastered back on a fake smile, the beauty queen smile that’s so cold it makes you shiver, as she brushes up and down Satoru's bare arm, you hate how pretty he is. How much you think of him, and how her hand is all over him, it makes your stomach turn.

"You're right, sorry sweetie I'm just tired." She cooes, all fake she comes and hugs you. Satoru frowns, hoping he read that wrong, you stand still, unmoving, eyeing him over your mom's shoulder then. "I'll try to be quieter -" she leans against your ear. "So you're not so jealous of me hmm?"

You bite back tears, shoving her off. Satoru hadn't heard anything so he has no clue as she comes up to him that you're sobbing in your room. You almost forgot how much you hate that bitch. Yes, you hate your mother. Who pushed you beyond your means to compete when you were younger, damn near starving and working you to perfection, and when you turned eighteen and threw all your tiaras in the trash, lit your gowns and sashes on fire, she never fucking forgave you.

You haven't talked to her in four years, tired of living in her goddamn shadow, your father left her ten years ago and you see why. He hates her as much as you. They fought all the time over letting you have a choice of who to move with, but she ultimately won custody.

And now she takes the guy you were thinking of working up the courage to talk to.

Satoru Gojo. 

You saw him every day as you studied at that coffee shop right by your college, flirting with everyone, so light and free with his bright smile and confidence, while you wallowed in the corner. But you never did say hi, you're sure he never saw you, but to come home and find him shirtless and grinning was almost too much.

Your apartment unfortunately had a horrible leak upstairs and you had to leave, this was the last place you expected but it was right across from work. Never asking her for a thing you hoped maybe you could mend some bridges, but she's as cruel, beautiful and cold as ever. As a younger girl, you craved to have any of her attention, looked up to her, but now you know it’s not worth anything.

Maybe that's the type of woman a guy like Satoru Gojo went for, not you.

What did it matter!? He’s as off limits as it gets.

You hear them moaning again and shove in your earbuds, throwing a blanket over your head and praying for the week to end.

*****

Three days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

“Shit, sorry…” You’ve stepped right into the bathroom while Satoru’s walking out the next morning, skin glistening with the shower he just took, steam rising out of the door behind him. He smirks down at you as you careen into him damn near, hitting his hard body and almost falling before he catches you.

“Sorry for what?” He sets you right, lazy in his assessment of your face, blue eyes impossible to read, while your eyes drift across his nearly naked body, falling to the towel that’s not hiding shit, bringing a flush to your cheeks. “What, never seen a naked man? You freak out all the time.”

“Well if you ever wore any fucking clothes,” you shove him out of your way, scowling at his smirking face. “What?”

“You’re cute. Bet you’re a whole virgin.”

“Oh fuck yourself, none of your business, fucking Mrs. Robinson.” Satoru chuckles now while your hands brush against his slippery skin a little too long, making him pause, seeing color decorate your cheeks. He falters then, looking down at you, so clearly unused to any attention, clearing your throat and dropping your hand.

“How do you know what Mrs. Robinson is, you’re a baby.” He teases, arm resting in the doorway, that towel daring to dive lower with every moment, you avert your eyes now, digging out your makeup bag from the drawer to wash your face.

“You’re not much older than me, right?”

“Ten years older. You’re still a baby.”

“I’m closer to you than she is.” He blinks a bit, you wish he’d leave, but he’s just lingering like a little fucking pest.

“I guess. You’re nothing like her.” You scoff then, he didn’t mean it as an insult but he sees it is one, your jaw setting while you dry your face with a soft towel, and fuck if you’re not prettier bare faced than anyone he’s seen with a face full of product.

He shouldn’t think like that.

“I’m definitely nothing like her.”

“You don’t call her mom, huh?” He raises a brow, while you’re slathering serum on your skin, cool and tacky as it dries, counteracting the steam and the overheating of your skin from his proximity.

“No, I don’t. It’s none of your business, you all will be back to an empty love shack in days.”

Satoru chuckles then, shaking his head as you glare up at him. “Love shack, what’s with these old ass references?”

“I enjoy old things too, just like you enjoy old women.” He snorts now, rolling his eyes.

“She’s not old to me, one day you’ll be there too.”

“Sure will and won’t be fucking dudes that look like babies.” Satoru leans forward then, that perfect, pretty face right against yours, you freeze when he tilts your chin up, breath brushing across your lips.

“I’m no baby.” His whisper is too much, you swallow nervously, stepping back while he wreaks havoc on your nervous system, heart hammering when his snowy lashes lower, hand falling. “Why do you care what she does and with who?”

“I don’t. But I am not surprised, she was a hit at the high school graduation party.” He blinks in confusion at your words, you shake your head now. “You’re new to her. I almost feel bad for you.”

“Do you now…” You shove him aside, hating how good his skin feels again, hating whatever the fuck he does to your tummy being too close, shoving those thoughts far back.

“I do, she runs through toys like you.”

“We’re dating, not just fucking, you know.” Your lips quirk up, patting his shoulder, only for him to grip your wrist with his huge hand, taking it over, pausing your steps. You turn back to glare at his grip, then up into those arrogant eyes. “You know something I don’t?”

“Let’s just say, she’s a bitch.” You shake him off again. “But you are too.”

“Me!? You’re the mopey, emo little brat glaring daggers at me, sweetheart.” His voice murmurs, his breath against your skin as he leans down, you yank your wrist out of his grip.

“Don’t call me sweetheart!” You hiss as the bedroom door opens, as you two quickly separate, but she’s eyed your proximity, smiling coldly as she assesses you, the look that’s always made you feel so small, holds less than it did before, but it’s still there, the haunting memory of it all.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She says it so nasty to you then, you just glare once more at Satoru and nod, walking past, her hand halting you, her mouth against your ear, making you shiver in disgust. “Stop looking at him, you’ll never have someone like that.”

“I don’t want him.” You whisper back, earning her laugh now, while she fake hugs you, and you just want to fucking fall into a hole.

“Have a great day, honey!” She smiles and steps forward to Satoru, you can’t stop looking back over your shoulder at them, sighing when his eyes catch yours over her shoulder, unreadable - but you swear you see something flicker.

You can’t even think that way.

You’re stupid.

*****

Five days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The man does not own a tee-shirt, you’re completely convinced - he’s always half naked, as if this is how he exists. Well, he clearly has dress shirts, he wears them when he heads off to run his business, you’re not even sure what that job entails, apparently some trust fund baby considering he’s never there. He left for the past couple of nights to go home, thank god.

When he does he brings her with him and she doesn’t come back until late, driven home in some fancy limo, but you get a reprieve.

You suppose he looks good in his Armani suits as he leaves every morning though, always getting some breakfast made from ‘mommy’- yuck. You have to watch them kissing in the kitchen as you fight waves of nausea, but the past couple days you haven’t heard that ridiculous fucking, and he barely kisses her, eyeing you intently when he does press his lips on her cheek.

“Satoru, do you have to go to work today?” She pouts as she blinks those long lashes at him, and he sighs, smiling and touching her cheek, as you vividly wish it was you, which you hate yourself for. You avoid his eyes, sipping on coffee before you head to work yourself.

“I do honey, don’t worry I’ll come stay tonight.” She pouts again, he just smiles a little stiffly, walking out as you head out the door, hands touching the knob at the same time, making you both pause. You clear your throat, pulling your hand back like it’s on fire, as he lets you out first, feeling your mom’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your head.

“Want a ride to work?” He asks quietly, heading over to the black car with a driver holding the back door.

“You don’t drive, huh?”

“Why should I when I can pay someone too.” His pretentious smirk again has you itching to smack him, but the thought of not having to catch a bus is tempting. “You know you wanna.”

“Whatever. Thanks I guess.” He bows as if he’s some gentleman and not an idiot, you slide in next to him, sighing as his thighs spread way too far, brushing against yours. “Manspread much?”

“You hate me don’t you?” You blink in confusion, looking away and biting that lower lip, the lip that fucks him up mentally to look at. Being this close to you alone is making his body react, his pulse racing, even as he keeps a neutral look, he aches to drag your lips against his.

He’s been trying to avoid you since that morning in the bathroom when you touched his chest, burning his skin like a brand. The pull is too much, to where he can hardly remember what he was thinking with your mom. She’s gorgeous, she’s his type, she’s got everything Satoru needs after spending the day at his boring ass family company, but her daughter won’t stop tempting him.

How he saw your breasts spill out of your tank top this morning, your scent that he can’t describe filling a room, it’s all horrible - and shit timing, as now your mom has been talking about getting more serious. Before he saw you, he was hopelessly enamored with her beauty, her clear confidence, but he can’t stop looking at the shy, insecure girl far too eagerly.

He’d show you how gorgeous you were if he had a chance-

The fuck is wrong with him?

You’re her daughter.

“I don’t hate you, Gojo.” You say softly, turning to look up at him now, so much pain behind your eyes it nearly takes his breath away.

“You sure act like it.”

“I know. I have to.” You clear your throat nervously, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, his fingers itching to sweep it back, breath catching when you look up at him, eyes so intense he can’t look away.

“Why do you have to hate me?” He asks quietly again, trying to remember - you’re young, you’re his girl’s daughter, while you remember, he’s your mom’s boyfriend, and you can never act on anything.

“You know the answer,” you whisper, leaning forward a bit, when he leans down, the car cruising gently through the busy streets, entrapping you both in the black tinted windows. “Don’t you?”

“Do I? Seems like you hate her, and I’m hated by default,” he brushes that hair back finally, the contact bringing heat to your cheek, he feels it against his fingers, exhaling when you don’t pull back. “Do you have a good reason to hate her?”

“I do.”

“What-” The car comes to a stop now, jostling you just a bit, as the driver apologizes for hitting the brakes too hard, throwing you right against Satoru’s hard body, you inhale that cologne, expensive and musky, almost making you salivate before he pulls back a bit. “Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You pull back before it feels good, sliding away again and looking out the dark window. “It’s too long of a story.”

“We have a drive to talk.” He wants to talk to you, fuck he wants to do a lot more than talk, last night he’d seen you when he tried to fuck her, and he had to stop, much to her irritation.

He kept fighting the need to jerk it to the memory of your pretty tits, to picture you instead of her, to shove it all down and try to remember himself.

He’d be glad when you weren’t around, tempting him.

“It’s too much to even begin, but… let’s just say living in her shadow, and with her expectations were brutal.” Satoru tilts his head, big hands on his own thighs, sitting still so as not to further touch you, or do more. “I gave up pageants when I turned eighteen and she disowned me.’

“You did them?” He asks softly, you sigh and turn to look back at him.

“Yeah, since I was three. I… don’t wanna get into it all.” He sighs, was it just that your mother was so upset you gave up on her dream? It felt like more. “I don’t hate you though. Okay? Aside from constantly making her scream out like some goat-” he bursts into laughter then, making your eyes narrow. “And never wearing a shirt.”

“You really hate that.” He muses, you want to tell him more about her, but he’s not your therapist, not your friend, and as much as you despise your mother, it’s just not your place to spill it all. So you leave it at that, sighing and pulling out your phone, checking the time.

“Besides all of that you’re okay I guess.”

He smirks just a bit. “I’ll take it.”

“I will never call you step dad.”

“Oh god, fuck I hope you won’t.” You both laugh it off a bit, the tension, the unspoken words in the air, as you slip into a soft silence, the two of you busying yourselves now, both trying to ignore it. Whispering in your minds - it’ll be over soon.

*****

One week of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The amount of stress your mother puts you through is unreal, when Satoru is there at least she puts on enough of a show not to do too much in front of him, as to appear perfect. You went out with a few friends for the night - a much needed getaway, and free drinks - sounds like the perfect remedy for dealing with her bitchiness.

You wish you just had some extra money for a hotel, but you just paid all your bills and pay day is a couple days away. As soon as that came in you were going to just grab a hotel for the last couple of days - they are stupid expensive with the holiday right now, but anything was worth leaving her as quickly as you can.

Stumbling in, your mother eyes your clothes with disdain. “You look like a slut.”

You snort in laughter at that, opening the fridge and grabbing another drink out, the seltzers you bought to knock out at night when you had to hear her and Satoru fucking. You crack it open and sit on a chair, crossing your legs that are well revealed in the dress that does barely cover anything. You look hot as fuck though, you already know it.

“Says the woman who had like an entire frat run a train on her in her forties?” You raise a brow, and your mom smacks you right in the face, you smile nastily at her. “Ya mad your ass can’t wear this shit anymore?”

“You’re a stupid little bitch, everything I did for you - and you turn out like this?”

“What, work for a living? A degree? How’d I turn out so bad.” You swipe your cheek then, and her gaze drifts across you with cold eyes - the same color as yours, but they just have no fucking soul to them.

“The biggest disappointment. You could have had a modeling career, but now you’ve let yourself go.”

“Let myself go?”

“Remember how you looked senior year?” You shrink back at her nasty words, biting at your lower lip then, you try to act tough but it’s difficult at times to not let old insecurities hit.

“I was starving because of you.”

“Exaggeration, my god. I did that so you could look your best.”

“My best, huh? I think I look hot, so you can suck a dick. Where is Satoru, by the way? Can he shove one in your mouth?” You smile as your mom gasps, and that’s when the door opens, and you hear Satoru’s footsteps on the floor, still rubbing your stinging cheek as your mother instantly puts on her front.

“You’re a little bitch.” Your mom whispers, yanking your drink out of your hand then, slamming it on the table. “What a waste of your looks, down the drain.”

Usually your mom would stop when Satoru got here - perhaps your saving grace was that. But as he walks into the kitchen, his snowy lashes blink in confusion at seeing her. You catch his eye over her shoulder, smiling then. “Why don’t you fuck her so she’ll be in a good mood again?”

Your mom gasps as you take your drink back, standing and getting away from her overwhelming presence, taking a breath and acting ‘normal’ while Satoru’s gaze drifts across your outfit slowly. You feel every inch of your skin caressed by blue eyes, like he’s touching you.

You can’t think that way, even if she’s a bitch.

“What’s wrong?” He asks then, setting down his jacket, your mother finally seems to notice he’s there, putting on a pretty pout and batting her lashes.

“Just her being mean to me, Satoru.” She walks up to his arms, and you laugh then, so loud you’re crying, swiping tears as you truly feel you’re losing it, seeing her run her long red nails across Satoru’s chest as he looks at you.

There’s too much in the look.

“Maybe if you get dick in your mouth you’ll shut up.” Your words earn your mom’s mouth wide open, while you stretch, knowing half your breasts are fucking out, your thighs fully revealed in the short, tight skirt, hoping to piss your bitch mom off more.

It’s petty but.

It works.

You bend over to snatch two more drinks up, and Satoru has trouble tearing his vision from the sight, picturing bending you over and cursing himself for it. Your mom is whining to him, bitching about you, but your evil little smirk towards him and her turns him on more.

“I’ll be gone tomorrow night, then you won’t have to see me again mommy dearest.”

“I know you didn’t just call me that.” Her affronted tone just makes you giggle, drunk honestly, even more, walking back to your old room - her pageant trophy room - and sighing then, leaning against the door.

You can act as if you’re not hurt by her words all you want, but they hit and they hit deep, hearing the quiet murmurs of her and the man you’re fast desiring far, far too much. You slide down to the floor - you’ve talked endlessly about how your mom never loved you to your therapist - but it still feels like shit, not that you think she could love anyone but herself.

After downing your seltzers, you’re thoroughly drunk - something you haven’t been since freshman year of college, when you go out into the quiet kitchen, in search of a bottle of water. You tense when you see a shirtless Satoru, his strong back illuminated by the soft light over the stove as ice clinks into a glass. He turns his head, catching sight of you before you can dip back to the room.

“Hey.” He usually has something snarky to say, but that’s all he manages, turning toward you and leaning on the counter, you try to avoid your gaze on his body, on the light trail of hair under his flat belly button - but you’re too drunk to avoid it.

“You get her off enough? Maybe she’ll be okay tomorrow.” You murmur, and his jaw tenses then, while you walk up, stumbling just a bit when you get to the fridge, one of his hands dart out to your arm, wrapping around it gently. You pause, eyes darting up to his.

“You all right?” You scowl, yanking your arm out of his hold.

“What do you care for?” Your whisper is angry, he sees so much anger, and though he doesn’t exactly know what was said, hurt was written all over your face.

“Can I not care?” He asks softly. You scoff, looking away.

“No, you can’t.” He sighs now, sipping his drink as you bend down, grabbing another drink instead.

“You shouldn’t have more, you’re torn the fuck up.”

“Oh, thanks dad.”

Satoru scowls now. “Don’t call me that.”

“No?” You’re annihilated, he’s absolutely right, removing the barrier you have put up for him, fingers drifting up his chest, bare and hot to the touch. He tenses, as your fingers drift down over his abdomen, and you step closer. “Should I call you daddy?”

Satoru scowls, thin brows deep over his blue eyes, and his cock is throbbing under his sweats, he wills it to go down, feeling like a horrible fucking man. He couldn’t get hard for her tonight, not when every time he was touching her he pictured her daughter instead, pictured how tight and slick he bets your cunt is, pictures your perfect tits in his fucking hands.

“You’re drunk and stupid, sweetheart.” He grips your wrist, as you quietly giggle, and you look far too hot, drunk mess and all. “You’re too drunk to know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gojo. I just hold back when I’m sober.” He exhales, and your eyes dart down, raising a brow when you see a far too impressive bulge. “Need to go fuck mommy some more?”

“You’re a brat.” He whispers, pressing you against the cold steel of the fridge now, a thigh pressing between yours, and your heart races. His proximity has you dripping wet in moments, the strong thigh between yours, his breath ghosting over your lips as he bends down. “Touch me again like that and see what happens.”

“Gonna spank me, step dad?” He pins your wrists right over your head, muscled thigh pressing up against your overheated cunt then. Your eyes roll back, you’re too gone to act like you don’t want him, arching your hips up and earning his soft little moan, as he rests his head down on yours.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re… just shut up.” He whispers, a desperate, needy little voice now. “If you weren’t… If I wasn’t…”

“What, big man? Can’t finish a sentence?” You roll your hips again, he feels you soaking him, he can’t stand how badly he wants to slip his cock inside you then, lift your right on that fridge. “Don’t wanna make mommy mad, do we?”

“I can’t stand you.” His lips are a centimeter from yours then, and your breath catches. “Need me, don’t you? Cunt is soaking wet.”

“It’s n-not.” He smirks, letting your wrists go, you shove at his chest, when he pulls back just a bit, gripping your chin.

“It’s not?” You shake your head and he pulls back his leg, looking down at it. Your entire body heats up as you see it, the wet spot darkening his light sweats. “What’s this then, hmm sweets?”

“N-nothing.” You look down in horror, when he swipes it with his thumb, leaning forward again, silvery white locks falling over his forehead then.

“Nothing?” You nod, and he swipes that thumb over your lips, moaning as they’re coated in a gloss, while your cunt throbs around nothing, aching for his touch.

“Mmm, fuck, why do you have to look like that?” He whispers, lips leaning close again, his hands on your hips, your nails slip up his side, contemplating leaving marks for your bitch ass mom to see - hating yourself for it.

“Go back to bed, mommy will miss you. Go fuck her.” He glares even deeper, just looking far too attractive when his lips brush against yours barely, before there’s a noise and he immediately backs away, as do you, heart pounding. What the fuck were you even doing!? “I’m drunk.”

“Yeah, you are.” He whispers, fists clenching as he huffs, turning and pulling his cock up into the waistband of his sweats, annoyed as shit by your laughter. “You’re such a brat.”

“Am I, or are you just wanting to fuck a mom and a daughter? Didn’t you get off enough al-”

“I can’t fuck her, okay?” You blink a bit at his declaration, you scoff, rolling your eyes. You won’t believe him. “That’s your fucking fault. I’ll be glad when you go.”

“Good, so the fuck will I.” You shove at him now, and he hates the hurt on your face. “Don’t want you, creepy old stepdad.”

“Old!?” You smile, mean and nasty, only making him want to fuck that expression right off your face. “I’m not your fucking stepdad.”

“Sure you’re not.” You pat his bare shoulder, walking past him now, barely able to breathe when you walk back into your room, leaving him cursing, eyes shutting tightly when he leans against the fridge, heart racing.

Satoru Gojo has never hated someone until you, for fucking his brain up and whatever morals he does have. He’s by far not a cheater and never has been, but all he can picture when your mom sucks him is you instead, shutting his eyes and pulling on hair that looks just like yours. He hates whatever the fuck you’ve done to him, and how bad he feels for telling you he wants you gone.

He does want you gone so things go back to normal, he can be the milf fucker he’s always been, he can live his life and fuck away all his problems with the career he’s been shoved into. But laying next to her that night he’s staring at the ceiling, wondering what you taste like.

******

One day left staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

You and Satoru have avoided each other completely, you work and come home, packing up the few things you have left so you can stay with a friend who’s offered you to come with her for the next few days. It was tiny and cramped there, but anything was better than staying here, and not just because your mom is an evil bitch who loves to trash you every moment.

It was him, the reason you wanted to leave so fucking bad.

“Should you eat that, honey?” Your mom says, so fake sweet as you nibble on a candy bar, you didn’t eat shit at work so you instantly busted out a snickers.

“Should you fuck men half your age, mommy?” Your mother glares, and Satoru overhears, though he stays in the hall.

“He’s not - also your ass is just looking really big in those shorts, you know.”

“That’s good, I like it.”

“Your hair looks oily.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Your mom scoffs again, snatching the bar and throwing it out, and you glare up at her. “I just care about you. No makeup, you dress like shit, and you’re munching on a candy bar? How much further do you want to let yourself go?”

“I work for a fucking living, I don’t make money off fucking men and having them take care of me. So back the fuck off. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Thank god, Satoru can’t stand you.” You blink a bit then, wishing that didn’t hurt as much as it did. You could handle her trashing you in every other way, but the man that you can’t rip your fucking mind from actually hating you stung.

“Huh?”

“He can’t stand you, and you’re not going to come between what I want. I see you, looking at him.” She tilts your chin up then. “You think you’d ever get a man like him? That’s funny. Maybe before, when you were still competing. Now?” She laughs, and you feel tears running unwillingly from your eyes. “Not a chance, so stop dreaming about him.”

“You don’t know shit.” You smack her hand off you. “I’ll leave now.”

“Go right ahead-”

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” Satoru walks out then, and your mom pauses. “Who’s cooking?”

“She’s leaving.” Satoru checks his Rolex on his wrist then, frowning.

“It’s nine already, buses aren’t running. Why not wait till the morning?”

“Because she-” your mom puts back on her airs now, smiling so saccharine and fake. “No, you’re right, Satoru. She should stay and eat some dinner.”

You scoff, since the bitch just threw your only food for the day in the trash - but you do get paid in the morning, and it would be more convenient to just stay. “I’m not eating with you. But I’ll leave in the morning. Good night mommy dearest.”

“I swear to-”

She’s cut off with you shutting yourself in again, laying on the bed and shutting your eyes, wishing her words didn’t cut so deep like knives, stomach growling. Even later when you smell food you don’t come out, until a soft knock is on your door, and you finally drag yourself out of your bed you’re just rotting away and crying in.

“What do you want?” You say softly, looking up at the tall man - who really should wear a fucking shirt - in the doorway.

“You should eat something.” He murmurs softly, you sigh, shaking your head.

“I’m not hungry.” Your tummy inconveniently growls, and he frowns now rather than an amused smirk you’d expect.

“You should eat.” He repeats, shocking you when he grips your hand in his, bringing you out to find he’s set a plate aside for you.

“I don’t need you to feed me.” You nibble while standing, cutting up a piece of chicken however, chewing thoughtfully as he watches you, far too intensely. “What, are you gonna just watch me?”

His heart aches for you then, having overheard her. It all fits with the conversation he had with you in the back of the car, the pressure she had you under all made sense. He’d only seen glimpses of it, her cruelty toward you, but they’re glaringly apparent. When she’d tried to fuck him earlier, and brought you up, he couldn’t do anything with her, thanking god she went to sleep early.

He needed to see you.

You were so clearly not okay from her.

“Stop acting like you care.” You murmur then, nibbling another bite, not even sitting at the seat before you turn away.

“Finish eating.” His commanding tone is far too fucking sexy, in fact all of him is - and you could almost forget about last night, in your drunken haze, but the problem is you remeber it vividly, tasting your arousal on your lips.

“You don’t tell me what to do. I have a dad.” He laughs without humor then, shaking his head and leaning low, pressing one hand on the wall, lifting your chin with the other.

“Stop acting like I’m even close to old enough to be your dad.” You bite your lower lip that trembles, you inhale that hundred dollar a spray cologne that’s haunted your fucking senses all week.

“You fuck my mom, so.” Your little glare hits him so good, your mean little words that just make him more obsessed with you, picturing you constantly. He’d jerked off in his office just remembering your heat against his thigh today - simultaneously feeling horrible and the inevitable pull of you, intoxicating like the liquor he’d drunk to just lay next to her last night.

He can’t get hard around her - not when you’re in the next room.

“Does that make you mad, that I fuck her?” He asks then, your scowl deepens, teeth clenched as you shove at his chest.

“Why would it?”

“Seems like it bothers you,” his fingers brush your hair back, goosebumps rise on your skin, tummy clenching with the hot desire. “Seems like you’d want me inside you instead.”

“Ah, you wish, conceited ass of a man. I don’t want you.” You’re lying through your teeth, and it’s like he knows, the blue eyes seeing right through your fucking bullshit. “You don’t want me either, so stop fucking with me.”

“I don’t?” He’s close, too close, you shove him away then, shaking your head, her words ringing in your fucking ears.

He’d never want you

Out of your league

You’re nothing

Maybe they did still get you, words you’d long since stopped giving her the ability to speak. Years of striving for her affection, of wanting to be perfect and win so that you could get just a bit of her praise. The moment you broke free was the best time you can remember, throwing those tiaras away - but you fear you’re just barely a step away from falling back into the sadness that she caused.

Worse is this tall, beautiful fucking man acting interested.

“You would never want me,” his mouth drops open at that. “So stop fucking acting like it.”

“You think I don’t!?” You scoff, walking away now, heading to the bathroom to perhaps put some water on your face, but this fucker follows you in, shutting the door, coming up behind you now, and you see his reflection in the soft lighting around the mirror, see the way he’s looking at you.

“Get out. Stupid. I’m not your milf okay?” You gasp then, as he tilts your chin so that you catch his brilliant blue eyes, the bathroom is too small suddenly, when his chest presses against your back.

"Look at me," Satoru whispers, you shake your head, tears falling. "I said look at me." He tilts your chin to look to the side as he leans over you.

"What?" You whisper through your teeth, trying to be quiet in the dark room, as Satoru’s hand slips down your bare arm, the other arm wrapping your waist, dragging you against his hard body. You whine out softly at it, being pressed against him, before you can stop yourself. When he leans lower, cool breath against your lips.

"You're beautiful, okay? So fucking beautiful..." You shake your head at that, earning his sigh, gripping your chin so tightly you feel his strength, only making the sweet ache worse. "You are. All I can think of is fucking my girlfriend’s daughter on every surface, you know what that fucking does to me?" His hushed, desperate voice makes your tummy clench with desire.

You have tried to fight it, but the resolve weakens every second you stare into his cerulean gaze, words you don’t want to accept. "Satoru... I… mnh!"

“Shh, sweetheart,” he groans now, shaking his head, kissing up your neck as his hand splays your stomach, drifting to your heat, breaths faster and heavier, mixing with yours. "Is it just me? Being fucking horrible?"

You shake your head, crying out softly when he finds your hot cunt over your shorts, soaking the thin fabric of them immediately. He moans so sexy against your ear, as the longing keeps swirling around the two of you. "You're not horrible, I am..."

"No, she's a fucking bitch. I didn't know she... was that mean. I like psychos, but that?” Your eyes shut, ass brushing against his thighs, feeling his hardness press against the small of your back.

“She’s just how she’s always been. Mnh… you shouldn’t.”

“I know I shouldn’t, okay? Fuck, you just take it. Let her treat you that way, why don’t you stand up to her, hmm?” His fingertip finds your clit, pressing up as your head falls back, and his cock twitches, aching to come inside you when you soak his fingers through your shorts, gasping and writhing against him.

"I'll be gone tomorrow. It's f-fine... Satoru, what are you… mnh!” You cry out, he brings a hand to your mouth while you watch your reflection in the mirror, he's taking over every sense you have.

“God you're soaked, so fucking hot, so tight.” He leans down, slipping a thick digit in your tight little entrance, making you scream out weakly against his hand. His blue eyes dilate, in the dark, quiet hushed sighs against his hand mixing with the sound of embarrassing wetness echo across the walls. “Lemme make you feel good, hmm?”

You just nod weakly, so tired of pretending like you don’t want him, entranced by the image in the mirror of him overtaking you, fingers angling up as your juices pour down his hand, you whine out, trembling as he keeps hitting just that spot, the one that makes your eyes roll back. Your ass arches back for more, knowing she’s in the next room and could hear or see fucks you up too much.

Your mommy issues clearly are still prevalent.

After hearing all her loud high pitched moans from this man, knowing all of his attention is on you is addictive, his lips brushing the shell of your ear while his fingers curl in your slick walls, gripping him and quivering. “Can you keep quiet so I can see your pretty face when you cum?”

You nod weakly, his words are destroying you, and any resolve you currently have, any part of your brain that knows this is wrong is gone, you want to cum for him, as he is bending low to angle his fingers deeper. You gasp and bite your lip as he does, as the squelches of your hungry cunt echo in the small space.

His breaths come heavy as he feels your walls, as you feel every line of his long - fuck they’re so long - fingers curling against your spot over and over, thumb pressing your twitchy little clit. “Satoru!”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he’s lost in you, cock leaking precum as he studies your face in the dark reflection, feeling you grip him so fucking good, picturing stretching your perfect little cunt out. “Like this?”

You nod, swallowing as you cling to his bare arms, feeling his muscles bunch as he moves his fingers, you are blinded when he rolls his thumb just right, as his other hand grips a breast under your tank top, brushing against your nipple. It’s all too much, you bite back the moans that threaten to rip from your throat, instead whining out softly, gasping and hiccuping as pleasure waves through you.

You’re soaking his fingers, dripping down them when he leans low, capturing your lips, drinking in your little cries as his fingertips brush your spongy spot, over and over, while you shatter in his hold. Your saliva drips across your tongues as his fingers slow, thumb pressing up your twitchy clit again, while you’re lost in his embrace, his taste sweet on your tongue.

You should feel bad you’re dripping down Satoru Gojo’s fingers, had they been inside her earlier? Would he touch her with them? You wish it all didn’t just make you wetter, more sensitive for him, when he eases them out, sucking them into his mouth now, moaning when your flavor hits his tongue, the filthy thoughts just echo louder as your pussy pulses from the aftershocks.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,” he moans then, turning you and lifting you until you’re spread on the counter, your thighs shake as he presses against you, hard and thick, kissing you with your juices dripping across his plump lips. “God I wanna bury my face between your thighs.”

“Satoru, this is insane.” You whisper, as he’s hungrily kissing down your neck, moaning a little too loud. “Shh!”

“Fuck, maybe she should hear,” his eyes are batshit insane then, brilliant blue almost glowing, long fingers spreading your thighs apart. “All I can think of is you.”

“Shut up,” you’re shaking your head, hands slipping through his silky locks as he kisses down your chest. “Fuck me.”

Satoru blinks at that, when you’re reaching down to touch him, he exhales, hands trembling as they hold you, kissing your lips again and losing himself, cock brushing your soaked cunt. He hears the door click across the hall then, pausing and cursing. “Shit…”

“Shit!?” He covers your mouth, glaring with his snowy lashes lowered over his blue eyes.

“Shut up.” He’s kissing you again, hot and desperate as your mom is calling out his name, you can’t stop the soft whine from your lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Shut me up.” His hand lifts a thigh, groaning quietly as he hears his fucking name again, cock leaking so much precum, throbbing so much it hurts.

“Satoru honey, where are you?” He sighs now, and you shake your head.

“Go, I’ll stay for a few.” You whisper softly, he is aching to stay, but the situation at present is horrible, and he doesn’t want you getting hurt because he can’t keep his hands off his girlfriend’s daughter.

“Don’t leave tomorrow until we talk.” He says then, against your ear.

“Maybe.”

“Ugh.” You smile a bit at his scowl. “I’ll be right out, just in the bathroom!”

“Okay honey, I miss you.” You feel sick, watching him walk out, you let out a held breath, thighs shaking, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he made you feel better than anyone ever has, that you've never cum like that.

Worse, how he had kissed you?

This was some sick, cruel fucking joke, falling for your bitch ass mother's boyfriend. You can't trust him. You know you need to slip out in the morning, to try to forget him and how good it felt to be in his arms.

******

The last morning staying with your mom

You want to wait for Satoru like he asked, but laying there and counting down the moments until you know the buses run, you couldn’t stay.

You can’t do this, even to her, have some sort of affair?

You can’t be the other woman - especially to your own mother, even if she’s fucking awful, the guilt is eating at you. It would be different if it was some petty revenge to her for all these years, if it was just sexual attraction, but you absolutely know it’s way more with Satoru, kissing didn’t feel like that, nothing felt that good, being consumed by Satoru and losing yourself in him.

You’re trying to slip out that next morning, when Satoru Gojo grips you by your wrist, out of nowhere, you look back and his azure gaze is furious. “I asked you to wait for me.” His tone is so hurt, you can hardly stand it.

“Gojo, we have to forget it.” Your broken words ruin him, he’s breathless as he looks at you, two bags slung over your shoulders. “I shouldn’t have.”

“No, why not?” He caresses your cheek, bending over you then, his sweet breath bringing back the memories that kept you up all night, of kissing him back, of his fingers now on your wrist that were inside you.

“You’re hers.” You hear her then, panicking and shoving at Satoru, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Your mom’s words make Satoru chuckle, and the sight of it confuses the fuck out of you, as he looks back at her, raising a brow.

“I’m pinning her to the door and you’re yelling at her right now?” She sputters, your heart fucking races, the heat creeping up your cheeks, burning as she stomps over to you both, furious so clearly.

When you were younger it would have scared you, but Satoru is here, and in the short week, you oddly trust him, feel the comfort, something to be said about it that you haven’t admitted to yourself yet.

“It’s her trying to take what’s mine, jealous of me always.” She grips your hand, your bag falls to the floor as she scowls down at you. “Never show your face here again, leave my life the fuck alone, stupid little bitch.”

“I didn’t-” She raises her hand as if to smack you when Satoru grabs her wrist, she looks at him in shock.

“You won’t raise a hand to her again, she might not stand up for herself when you do, but I will.” He drops her wrist now, raising a thin brow and bending down, picking up your bag for you.

“Satoru baby, you don’t understand all she’s put me through,” she’s trying to be sweet again, crocodile tears dripping down her cheeks, long lashes blinking, her lip is even trembling. She’s always been great at that. “I don’t want to hurt her, but she is horrible to me.”

“I’ve heard and seen far, far too much this week. You are an evil bitch to her, and you won’t get to be anymore.” He shoves her off him dismissively as she tries to cling to him now, then she scowls at both of you.

“What, because she’s younger!? Is that who you are? Some sick game to fuck us both?”

“No, she’s actually just better than you. In every single way, and you hate it, don’t you? That’s just pathetic.” You look down, unbelieving he’s standing up for you like this, your mom lets out an affronted scoff while Satoru picks up his phone.

“You don’t want her, you can’t.” She’s losing her composure, her act, it’s all falling apart as she starts to panic.

What could be worse than you ever outshining her? You’re supposed to live in her perfect shadow.

“Why are you so jealous of your own kid? You got some crazy issues, you know that? Not even hot crazy, either, just a batshit narcissist.” He clicks his tongue, sighing and smiling down at you, with lidded eyes. “Wanna stay at my penthouse until your apartment is ready, sweetheart?”

“What!?” Your mom is blowing a whole fucking gasket - you should feel bad for stealing her man, but you really can’t find it in you.

“Yes, if you really don’t mind?” Satoru grins, those bright white teeth, and picks up his dark shades off the side table, your mom is tugging on his dress shirt, and he brushes her off, looking over his sunglasses at her.

“Satoru I’m sorry, I just… I was acting out too much. It’s her, the problem! Look how happy we were before?”

“I’m sure there are plenty of young men for you out there, maybe younger than me so they are too dumb to see how fucked up you are.” She’s glaring as he takes your hand in his, and you can’t stop the happy little giggle from your mouth as you both leave, and you hear things getting thrown at the door.

“Satoru, that was insane!?” You whisper, he brushes your hair back then, sighing.

“I wanted it to go a little smoother, that whole exchange. But no, of course you were bratty and didn’t wait.” He tilts your chin up and you kiss him, smiling against his sweet, plush lips.

“You’re not step-dad anymore, maybe the appeal is lost-”

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” He’s scowling as you giggle through your tears, when his car pulls up, he hands your bags off to the driver, climbing in and holding out his hand, tugging you in the back. “You do need a good ass beating.”

“I think I had enough mental beatings,” you grumble a bit, he frowns at that as the car revs up, and he tugs you against his chest. “You noticed?”

“Yeah, hard not to. Last night was when I saw how fucking much she hates you, the way she talks it’s just not how a normal person does. I’m sorry you…”

“I’m good. I promise.” You look up at him then, kissing him softly, while your hand slips down his chest, hearing his hitch of breath.

“You can eat whatever you want at my place, okay? Also your ass is very nice.” You blink back tears, mixing with your tremulous smile from his sweetness, and you’re flustered- you’re literally a wreck.

“You heard it all?” He nods, swallowing, his brows together.

“It’s why I came to you. I’m so disgusted that I even…”

“How could you know? She’s beautiful, she knows how to play people.”

“You’re more beautiful than she could be,” he murmurs, kissing you again, messy and hungry in the back of the huge black luxury car, having you straddle him, your mom’s ex boyfriend, feeling his phone vibrating against your thigh now. “I swear if it’s her I’ll have you cum right on the speaker.”

“Gojo!” He’s sighing, his big hands drifting over your waist, when your phone starts going off too, but you’re too lost in his kisses, in his scent, in how good he fucking feels.

“Feel so good on me, fuck I wanna bury my cock inside you,” he is desperate and needy then, feeling your heat against his cock, when you drop to your knees, making his lips part. “Sweetheart…”

“Want your cock in my mouth,” he’s whining out at that, helping you unbutton and unzip his slacks, until his cock springs free, making you gasp.

You knew it would be big, but you didn’t know it’d be that big, a solid nine inches and thick, veins running and wrapping under his shaft from the base to his blushing pink tip. You moan softly at it, soaking wet under your panties from the sight, that clean yet musky scent. Satoru brushes your hair back softly with long fingers, eyeing you down there, making you feel so sexy with just a gaze.

“Want me to suck you down my throat?” He nods quickly, and you do just that, after spitting on his cock and slathering your saliva as the phone keeps vibrating, but his hands are enwrapped in your hair while you look at him under those lashes.

“Fuck, look at you, can you take it all?” He’s taunting, a mix of devotion and talking shit, so intoxicating you can’t take it, tummy full of so much pressure you whine out at the sensations, gliding his tip inside your mouth now, hot and hungry while you taste him. You swirl your tongue on his tip, fingers brushing across the soft white hair right over his cock.

His eyes never leave yours as you move, as he fucks up into your throat, hissing at just how fucking good your mouth feels, how pretty your eyes are as you look up at him. You’re whining out, vibrating around him, while his hands tug your hair into a ponytail, fucking into your mouth harder, harder, you’re slobbering down his cock so messy and filthy how you take him.

“So beautiful, fucking look at you,” you whine at the praise, from his soft lips, which he’s biting and releasing, making the sexiest moans from the back of his throat that drive you to get wetter and wetter. You reach down, touching yourself under your skirt when he yanks your wrist. “No.”

“No!?” You glare, and Satoru smirks, shaking his head.

“I’ll bet the one touching you, licking you- ah!” You’re sucking him again, even as he grips your little wrist tightly, sucking one of your little fingers, so lewd and sexy you can’t stand it, grinding on nothing for friction, as the car comes to a stop, Satoru huffs, yanking you up. “Open.”

You do just that, and freaky ass ‘stepdad’ Satoru Gojo spits in your mouth, you gasp, swallowing it and feeling the need grow so much it’s painful, kissing desperately, hand still stroking his length up and down. “In me, please.”

“Shit, yeah,” he adjusts himself, leaving the belt unbuckled as the two of you ride up the elevator to his stupidly fancy and clean penthouse, once the door is shut he presses you against it, hands slipping up your sides, gripping you everywhere. “Wanna taste you again, fuck…”

“Taste me then, mnh!” He’s on his knees right before you, the way he looks up at you is so intense it takes your breath away, as he shoves your skirt up, lapping a hot stripe up your slick panties, already soaked. “Oh my god, more, more!”

“Demanding little thing,” he teases, stroking fingers up your soppy panties, groaning as he then pulls them down, letting them fall down to your ankles, still clad in those ridiculous combat boots. They’re so hot he just keeps them on, throwing a thigh right over his shoulder, breath ghosting on your bare cunt. “Fuck, look at you, you’re so pretty.”

“Y-you don’t have to say- ah!” Your hands entangle in his silky, silvery white locks, soft as your fingers grip and pull until it hurts, but he wants more.

“Fuck my face, that’s it, taste s’good, mmm,” his whispers against you vibrate against your clit, and you’re screaming out, head falling back against Satoru’s door, as his mouth devours your cunt, so hungry and desperate for you.

His impossibly long tongue makes you furious that your bitch ass mother ever got him in this way, toxic and petty, it just makes you fuck his face more, hips rolling while that tongue plunges into you. He’s licking and stroking between your folds, right up in your hole, straight nose bumping your clit. Your thighs shake, his fingers pressing into them, your gummy walls are convulsing around his tongue.

The sound of him sucking up all your wetness - well he’s trying to, but you’re so fucking wet it’s pouring, his cock is leaking precum - already sensitive from that stupidly talented mouth, and now this? He can hardly remember your mom’s name any more, in fact he can’t remember anything right now, but how he should have been doing this, just drinking your sweetness up down his throat.

Devouring your pretty pussy, pulling your plump, puffy lips apart to slide that tongue in and out of your quivery little cunt as you scream out hoarsely. “Oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, please!”

You’re sobbing out his name, panting as he licks and nibbles your twitchy little clit with sharp teeth, making you gasp out at the shock of the pain and pleasure, your nipples pressing against your top, tummy clenching as you feel your orgasm so close. He’s slipped two fingers up inside your hole, looking up at you as his tongue flicks your sensitive clit again.

“You’re so messy, aren’t you baby?” He taunts softly, all you can do is weakly nod, while his fingers now know your spot way too fucking well, pressing up against your g spot while he stretches you hot. “So sweet now, is this what you needed?”

“Shh, jerk.” He chuckles against your cunt, before sucking your little clit into his hot mouth and fucking moaning, making you feel like you’re going to collapse. It’s so good, so fucking good, and you’re so close. “I-I’m gonna, Satoru, oh god-!”

He doesn’t let you go over the edge though, pulling away with a pop of pink lips,covered in your arousal like a gloss. You yelp, looking down at him with a desperate expression, your cheeks flushed, chest heaving. He can’t stop thinking how fucking pretty you are like this, desperate for him, whining and wiggling.

“Why’d you stop!?” He stands now, slipping up your sweater, groaning when he realizes you have no bra on, seeing those tits he’s jerked it to bounce gently.

“Want you to cum around my cock, like a good girl. Can you?” He’s way too fucking hot, it’s actually unfair. You nod weakly, he sighs, cupping your breasts and watching your eyes roll back, his thumbs brush your nipples, already hard and aching for more.

Satoru unlaces your boots, leaving your knee socks and skirt on, you just look too sexy in them, unbuckling himself hastily as you tug his shirt off him. “Please, hurry, fuck…”

“Demanding, thought you hated me not wearing a shirt?” You glare at him, just making him chuckle, before he’s down to nothing, fully naked and gorgeous, as the light streams in through the blinds of those floor to ceiling windows, casting shadows across his perfect form.

“Fuck…” You’re kissing across his chest, when he shocks you, lifting you up like it’s nothing, pressing you right on that door again, the cool wood against your burning hot skin, tip drooling and leaking against your cunt. “Mnh! Please!”

“Need my cock so bad inside you?” You just nod weakly, done pretending or teasing, you’re still throbbing from the way he edged you, and when his leaky tip bumps your clit it almost pushes you over the edge. You’re clinging to his neck, kissing him as you roll your hips, soaking wet and begging with your body.

“In me, g-god, just - ah!” Satoru shoves his cock so deep in one stroke you’re left breathless, blinking rapidly at the ridiculous stretch, so full you can’t think, you’ve never been stuffed like this. Your eyes lock, his are so bright they’re insane, his lips and chin coated in your arousal, holding you by your ass right under your skirt as your legs tremble around narrow hips.

“Fucking feel you, my god,” he’s whispering in wonder for a moment, blinking snowy lashes to try to orient himself, to not cum just from one stroke like some dumb teenager from pussy.

But your pussy!?

“Prettier, tighter,” he’s whispering, and the words itch that toxic, fucked part of your brain, the mix of craving Satoru and the petty part of you that hates her. He can tell too, smirking. “Wetter than her. Feel better, fuck than anyone.”

“Shut up, so full of - ah!” He’s fucking you now, you got that moment to adjust, bruising your lower back when he fucks you against that door with no mercy, thick cock bullying your quivering little walls with filthy smacks of skin and your squishing cunt. “Oh my g-god!”

“I’m telling the t-truth you… bratty little fucking… god she’s so tight, mnh…” Satoru’s lost then, hips bucking up and rolling just so, and he watches your pretty face hungrily. “Cum f’me, all over me, make a mess.”

“Ah!” You’re gushing, just making the sounds in the enormous penthouse you’ve barely noticed louder, mixed with his moans as he fills you up so good, when he pushes deep and rolls those hips, watching you intensely as you cum, his eyes so brilliant blue and fucking starved for you. “Ohmygod fuckfuckfuck!”

“That’s it, fucking you dumb, huh,” he’s groaning, feeling your slick coat him, your mouth in a slutty O when he looks back up, feeling your aftershocks pulse around his cock. “God, baby, you came so hard f’me, bet you never have.”

“B-bet you never… felt pussy this good,” your bratty little whisper makes him smirk, slamming into you and pulling you off the door, you’re clinging to him in shock without the support, but he’s lifting you up and down his thick, lengthy cock like you’re a little fuck toy. “Ngh!”

“You mean better than your mom’s?” You scowl, gripping him tighter with your thighs as he just walks around with your fucking cunt around him, smirking as he lifts and drags you back on his cock again. You’re clinging to his back, nails pressing in and leaving marks.

“Psycho, mmm!”

“Says you, need to know if your pussy is tighter? I already told you, but no, gotta know every part that’s better? You’re so fucked up baby.” You glare, biting the shit out of his lip and earning his moan, as you draw just a little bit of blood, a bright red droplet that makes him grin.

“Maybe I am fucked up.” Your answer makes him chuckle, picking you up again, fucking you suspended in the air as you cling to him, whining. “Feel s’good, so thick mmm!”

“Am I the biggest you’ve had? The best?” He’s whispering, husky and needy now, you could bluff and taunt him, but you just nod eagerly, and he exhales, pulling out with a wet squelch, making you whine. “Hang on to me.”

You do just that, heart racing while Satoru carries you now, and your dark spots fade for a moment, long enough to get glimpses of his gorgeous, expensive ass fucking penthouse, making your mom’s place look like shit when you thought hers was fancy. Everything is spotless, surprising you only briefly when he makes it to his bedroom, tossing you right down on it.

You bounce gently on a black silky comforter, taking several breaths, looking around then glaring. “She fuck you on here?”

He grins at you, nodding and unzipping your skirt, groaning as he sees your hips for the first time. “Fuck you’re sexy,” he caresses you softly for a moment, fingertips drifting down the jut of your waist, the curve of those hips, before grabbing them, looking at your cunt. “All beat up already, huh?”

“Shut it, back in.” He grins, fingering your knee socks and sighing.

“They’re too hot, they stay on.” His open admiration of you makes you feel so fucking good, the way his eyes worship you, leaning low and kissing you again. “So fucking sexy, y’know that?”

“Mnh, s-so are you. But you know already, conceited- ah!” Satoru’s cut you off with a bite to your lower lip, sexy glare on his face now.

“Couldn’t even walk around her house without getting wet for me, could you?” Your glare just turns him on more, while he bends down, sucking your nipple into his hot mouth as you cry out, his teeth sinking in.

“Ah!” He moans, going right to the other. “Y-you wish.”

“Bet you played with your cunt, maybe right next to your mom’s room huh?” You bite his shoulder so hard it makes him moan at the pain. “Shit.”

“Shut it. You wish I did, bet you jerked it thinking of me? Your girl’s daughter, freaky ass-” He’s bit you again on your other nipple, the pain shooting up and making your sore cunt wetter.

“I did,” you blink, so disoriented, eyes now looking up to his in shock. “Yeah, I did, thinking of that slutty dress you wore that night.”

“Shit… really?” He sighs, and before you can say anything else, Satoru turns you around now, bending your ass up in the air, moaning at the sight, the dimples in your back, the way your ass looks, he moans and slaps each cheek, as you whine out, head falling back.

“God, look at this ass, fuck…”

“Prettier from the back than mommy is?” He scowls as you look back and giggle, smacking the fuck out of your ass now. “Ah!”

“You’re so damaged,” he smacks your cunt, you’re just drooling now, eyes rolling back, so ready to be filled by him. “Already told you, prettier pussy, yummier, tighter - gotta hear how much better your ass is too?”

“Mmm! Was teasing,” you whisper, when he slips his cock back inside you, this time so deep he bottoms out in one stroke, you scream out at it, hair now in his hold as he fucks into you. “Gojo!”

“You’re so damaged baby girl, god it’s hotter than it should be,” he’s losing it inside you then, your wet, slick little cunt gripping him even tighter, balls smacking your clit with every brutal stroke, as his other hand grips your ass, marking it over and over. “Feel so much better.”

“Yeah, daddy? Ah!” Satoru’s smacked the fuck out of you again, it stings so good as he slams his cock deep, tip drooling along your cervix. “Oh my god!”

“Stop running that mouth,” he leans over, gripping your throat with one hand, long fingers wrapping it entirely, bent over you with a arm braced on the other side, as his cock is stretching you, feeling so fucking perfect even as it hurts, how big his cock is. “You’re so fucking slutty, huh?”

You nod weakly, as he starts squeezing your throat now, making it all fuzzy and heady, you’re gasping for a breath as he presses on your pulse point, cock pounding you from the back, you’re gasping for breaths as filthy smacks fill his huge room. “Oh, Gojo!”

“Satoru, call me Satoru…” he’s whispering desperately, needing it from you, and you feel his cock thickening inside your slutty, drooling hole.

“Satoru, ah!” You’re lost as he chokes you while fucking so deep, rolling his hips, making you shatter for him, walls quivering around his cock, trying to milk him for everything he has. “Satoru!”

“Wanna fill your pretty little cunt with all my cum,” he whispers, squeezing harder as he hits just that spot, and you feel the pressure in your tummy explode, screaming out as the orgasm hits. “Oh god baby, yes, cum again f’me hmm?”

You can’t not do just what he asks, blinded as he saps your oxygen with his fingers tightening over your throat, you’re fuzzy and dizzy as you scream, the sound hoarse and weak. He’s moaning and kissing you, drool spilling out the corner of your mouth, releasing your throat a bit and just gripping under your chin now. You’re shaking, cunt so wet it’s dripping onto the dark blankets.

“S-Satoru…” you whisper again, making him whine when your head falls back, he’s biting across your neck, groaning. “Feel s’good in me…”

“You feel s’good wrapped around me, f-fuck…” the phone goes off again, in the pants discarded on the floor, and he smirks as he bends down, grabbing it.

“What are you…” Satoru presses that green answer circle, before sliding back in your cunt, psycho grin and dilated blue eyes vivid as you hear her voice. You look at him, covering your mouth as you hear her voice, but he leans down, whispering in your ear.

“Make noise.” You shake your head - you can’t be that fucked up!?

Can you?

“Satoru please, just come back. I’m sorry.” She’s sobbing, her sweet little meal ticket is gone after all, he’s slamming his cock deep in you as you scream into your palm, making him laugh a bit.

“Sorry, I’m not… coming… back that is, hah-” he’s hitting those backshots harder, the filthy sound of your cunt echoing, your eyes roll back, drool spilling on your palm now as you hear her voice in the background.

“She’s manipulating you!? She wants what I have. Satoru- what’s that!?” He chuckles, bottoming out and stuffing you so full your hand falls and you scream out.

“That’s your daughter, god she’s so much tighter than you.” You gasp and glare back at him, only making him hit it harder, until there’s no denying the filthy sounds.

“Oh you are… you both… you’re a whore I swear-”

“Ah!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit, murmuring in your ear.

“Cum f’me again, hmm?”

“You’re insane!?” He grins, and you shake your head, but soon you’re shattering again, earning his moan.

“So, I need to go, gotta get your daughter pregnant.” You gasp again, mid orgasm, as your mother sputters and he hangs up on her, chuckling.

“Y-you… she’s… Satoru!”

“She won’t call again now I bet,” he’s leaning low until you’re in prone position, turning your face and kissing your soft lips. “I wanna fill you all up, baby, hmm?”

“Do you, daddy?” He glares, but his cock pulses, and you giggle, breathless, earning him shoving hard, pulling at your hair. “You like that.”

“Shut it,” he’s moaning as you tighten around him, aftershocks pulsing, as he pictures doing just that, knocking you up. “Beg for it, slutty little brat.”

“Please, daddy,” he whimpers at that, and you bite your lip. “You’re damaged too, huh?”

“Not as damaged as you,” he’s huffing, kissing you as you laugh. “You can laugh? Need to fix that.”

“Gonna teach me a lesson daddy- ah!” Satoru Gojo is so deep you feel him fucking everywhere, making you tremble, as he’s throbbing inside you. “You like it!”

“Shh. Yes.” Your breathy giggle is cut off when he chokes you again, so intimate like this, teeth sinking in your neck now. “Beg for it.”

“Daddy please fill me up - mnh!” You’re both lost then, Satoru won’t admit it but hearing you call him that makes him sensitive, whimpering as he busts deep inside your perfect little hole, your gummy walls grip his cock and pulse around it, while his white sticky load coats them. “Oh my g-god!”

“Fuck, feel her… milking my cock huh?” You just nod weakly, when he cups you under your chin, kissing you messy and desperate, you’re cumming from the warmth, from all that cum pouring down his cock, mixed with your gossamer strings of arousal swirling down his cock, his balls, to the bed.

“Mnh, Satoru…” He’s kissing you deeper, teeth sinking into your lips as you both come down, easing his strokes and softening just a bit, still so thick inside you, making you feel so full.

“You’re so fucked up, baby.” You gasp, glaring now as he eases out. “It’s okay, all your issues? Hot as fuck.”

“You’ve got your own issues then, hmm?” He smirks, pressing kisses along your shoulder blades now.

“Too many to count. Not the only one with shitty parents, sweetheart.” Satoru turns you over now, and you brush a hand across his cheek, sighing.

“Then tell me them all, daddy.” He scowls again, and you can’t stop the grin on your face, Satoru lets you get away with it a bit, because it’s just so pretty to see on your face.

“Can’t tell if you have mommy or daddy issues or both?”

“Mommy issues. You can give me daddy issues though.” His glare is so cute you can’t stop the soft smile on your lips, as you lean up, body reeling from him.

“Should beat you, I swear. I’ll grab water.” You nod, and he leaves for a moment, you lean up, his cum leaking out of you, you search for any part that feels just a little guilty for fucking and stealing your mom’s man.

But it’s not there.

You see a picture of them on the side table then, sitting up and frowning a bit as he comes back, boxers slipped on, a blunt and lighter along with water. “Wanna smoke, sweetheart?”

“You’re corrupting me, step dad.”

“I swear to god stop.” You grin again, as he sits next to you, frowning as you study the photo. “Throw it out.”

“No…” you take his lighter and light the flame, burning the image of your mother and letting it die out in the ashtray, before handing the lighter back to him. “I burned all my sashes and dresses too.”

“Part of me wants to see you in a pageant dress, but the other part knows how much you hated it.” He says softly, watching the picture burn and lighting up a blunt now. “I’d fuck you in a sash and tiara though, nothing else.”

“Would you now?” You tease, he nods, inhaling the smoke, and handing the blunt to you, his perfect body covered in dripping sweat from you. “I may have one I didn’t get rid of.”

“Shit, don’t make it hard again.” You’re straddling him, inhaling the blunt and blowing the smoke into his mouth, he’s gripping your waist, already hard under his boxers, as you two fall into each other, each finding the other’s issues unreasonably hot, both damaged as fuck and honestly morally grey - but you really don’t mind fucking your mom’s ex boyfriend all night until you’re dripping his cum.

Your mom never does call you again - what a shame :’) 

Sooo the pageant mom idea was fromm @huntyhuntycunty , also took inspo from them having met before from @yenayaps ! alsoo ty @blkkizzat for making me motivated to finally finish this hehe I love you girls <3

taglistt- @doulcha @chiyokoemilia @emonaculate @vladsgirlxx @bookished @ureuphoriasworld @rawwrrgal @rousouhouuu @ovela @4evahevah @sugucultfollower @maddy44 @disappointedpeaches @princess-bblgm @astrasworldsblog @nazzysworld13 @gojos1wife1 @selenerium @jkslaugh97 @satoruxsc @thecookiebratz @kaylarilla @ajd1111 @mo0nforme @yoimiyamain2932 @pinkfqiry @plznomonkeys @pandabiene5115 @thelostkira @lushjunkie @mochibunnex @mrsimpurity @coralbae @curlyhairkk @dollieeees @xixflower @ayumilk @leviskittywh0re @nx-0w @mahalsuya @sugarcoatedsoul @afrohani @ineedtofeedmycat @kinnimi @erensfavve @vvaoo

[l4ndoflove]

Hey I love your fics!!💕💕 I was wondering if you could do an oscar piastri smau where like they've been friends and they start soft launching each other or something? Idk literally do whatever you want cause ik it'll be good!🫶

you're literally the sweetest 💕 and i LOVED writing this

launch me hard and soft

feat. oscar piastri

lyrics being the most shipped couple online before you even started dating makes soft launching a little harder

maddie I'M SO SORRY it took me ages to write this, but i wanted it to be perfect, and it's finally here!!! i also added a little plot twist in the end, so... enjoy <3 🙃

faceclaim @.saraecheagaray

youruser

❤️ 93K 💬 6,009

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser he was a little upsetti so i made him some spaghetti

comments

oscarpiastri don't write something like that ever again please

youruser but i was practicing my italian 🤌

duolingo more like italiaNO 🙄

youruser mamma mia

user1 i suggest running while you still can

user2 HELP THE EVIL GREEN BIRD GOT TO HER TOO

hattiepiastri it was nice knowing you babe

❤️ by youruser

user3 r.i.p. yn 🕊

user4 you will not be forgotten 😔🙏

user5 addio

see translation goodbye

❤️ by duolingo

user6 osc really said 🫤 > 🍝 > 😁

user7 and the polite cat saga carries on

user8 the allegations remain unbeaten

user9 IS THAT BLUSH I SEE ON MY MAN'S CHEEKS???

user10 i think they're just naturally pink

user11 riiiiight

lando @.youruser no spaghetti for me?

youruser you got your p2, be happy with it

user12 DAMN

user13 MIC DROP

user14 not her bullying lando on main 😭

user15 she's not wrong though

user16 lolll she really silenced him

user17 lando losing pasta to oscar now 💀

user18 i swear like cut my boy some slack

mclaren thank you for cheering him up 😉

youruser 😒

user19 LMAO THE SHADE

user20 she's so real for that

user21 we know what you did @.mclaren

user22 acting like it's not their fault i see

user23 mclaren: messes up the strategy

also mclaren: tHaNk YoU fOr ChEeRiNg HiM uP

user24 this post is so aesthetically pleasing for some reason

user25 tell me you were on a date without telling me you were on a date:

oscarpiastri

❤️ 337K 💬 2,955

liked by youruser, mclaren, lando and others

oscarpiastri got a double podium and a pretty decent lunch. grazie mille imola 👋

comments

youruser *pretty lunch

user26 UH UH UH WE SAW THAT

user27 🤨🤨🤨

user28 lover girl eraaa

user29 let's not immediately jump to conclusions shall we

user30 why would she delete it though???

user31 can you not read into every little thing jeez

youruser wdym "decent" 🥺

youruser i feel personally attacked

youruser you said you liked it

youruser liar 💔

youruser alexa play "traitor" by olivia rodrigo

lando dramatic much?

youruser i don't remember asking for your opinion

user32 GAGGED

user33 yn: 2 lando: 0

user34 i think she won a few more than 2

user35 THE WAY SHE STRAIGHT UP HUMBLED HIM I'M CRYING

user36 so is lando's ego

user37 💀

user38 girlboss 💪🎀

user39 not him calling out yn's cooking skills

youruser that's because he doesn't have taste, my cooking skills are on fire 🔥🔥🔥

oscarpiastri i remember something else being on fire

youruser and whose fault was that 😐

oscarpiastri you were the one who left the stove on

youruser AND WHOSE FAULT WAS THAT

user40 they're so domestic

user41 this is exactly how i imagine a happily married couple arguing

user42 the real question is why did they forget to turn it off

user43 i have a few ideas...

user44 TELL ME WE'RE ALL THINKING THE SAME

user45 👉👌💦

hattiepiastri ew get lost

❤️ by youruser and oscarpiastri

user46 that first picture scratches my brain just right

user47 LANDOSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user48 yn, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s boyfriend

user49 golden trio vibes

user50 now look me in the eyes and tell me that wasn’t a date

user51 i swear like she's all dressed up and has a full face of makeup

user52 oh that's not–

user53 so a woman can't even want to feel beautiful without everyone thinking she's doing it for a man?

user54 @.user51 good luck dealing with this now mate

user55 THAT'S MY WIFE RIGHT THERE

hattiepiastri mine first

❤️ by youruser

f1gossippofficial

❤️ 62.6K 💬 1,787

f1gossippofficial spotted! 👀 oscar piastri's best friend yn was seen walking around milan and getting comfortable with an unidentified man this evening. who is he?

comments

user56 "getting comfortable" while he has his tongue down her throat is actually wild

user57 i feel betrayed

user58 WHAT IS THIS

user59 @.youruser explain

user60 i need to wash my eyes with bleach

user61 never in my entire life have i wished a picture was photoshopped this bad

user62 nope i'm not dealing with this shit today 👍

user63 she looks so innocent for someone who backstabbed all of us

user64 wait why is everyone freaking out?

user65 because apparently she has a boyfriend!?

user64 and...?

user66 IT'S NOT OSCAR!?

user67 omfg it's not the end of the world

user68 she's a grown ass adult let her live

user69 @.user66 you don't know that

user70 he does kinda look like oscar

user71 delulu is the solulu 🙏

user72 i mean good for her right 😀🔫

user73 i have no idea who that guy is but he sure as hell knows how to kiss

youruser were you there?

user74 help she's so 😭

user75 rough day for us ynoscar shippers

youruser

❤️ 92.9K 💬 9,734

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser boyfriend dump since you people find it strange i have one 🥴

comments

lando i'm with people

lando it's hard to believe someone would willingly choose to deal with you everyday

youruser wow that's a lot of words

youruser too bad i'm not reading them

user76 STOP I CAN HEAR THE AUDIO

user77 most gen z thing she could've done

user78 biggest beef of the year btw

❤️ by youruser and lando

user79 WAIT SO IT'S ACTUALLY TRUE???

user80 clearly

user81 why wouldn't it be?

user82 i think we were all hoping it wasn't

user83 speak for yourself 🤡

user84 "boyfriend" as in oscar right. RIGHT

user85 @.youruser we find it strange only if he's not a certain australian driver 🥰❤️

youruser i don't feel safe here

user86 @.user85 what about we just stop planning her love life and let her be with whoever the hell she wants?

user87 happy for you girl but what about oscarrr 😩

user88 yeah what about him

user89 i still don't get why you guys want them to be together this bad

user90 bro they're literally soulmates

user91 platonic soulmates maybe

user92 booo you're no fun 👎

user93 well at least now we know he's a gentleman 🤭🦋

user94 if you're talking about the third slide that's oscar’s head. you're welcome

user95 I KNOW MY BOY'S HAIR WHEN I SEE IT

hattiepiastri cuties

❤️ by youruser

mclaren

❤️ 401K 💬 12.8K

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, youruser and others

mclaren can't get them to focus when their girls are around 😂 @.lando @.oscarpiastri

comments

user96 their what now 😃

user97 I BEG YOU YOUR FINEST PARDON

user98 had to double check to see if i was hallucinating

user99 NO BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS A FAN ACCOUNT

user100 are we really sure this isn't just one big cover-up for their secret relationship?

user101 not that it ever was a secret tbh

user102 they're not called mctwinks for nothing

user103 they're so babygirl

user104 POOKIES 💞💞💞

user105 we got lando and magui hard launch and oscar's new girlfriend soft launch all in one post

user106 i honestly don't know how to feel about this

user107 damn someone took my bitches 💔

user108 i like to think that they were looking at each other in all of these

user109 lando's not a surprise but oscar???

user110 news flash: he can date people too!

lando shocking i know

user111 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user112 no but can we talk about how smitten they both look ⁉️

user113 IKR

user114 blushing giggling twirling their hair (literally 💀)

user115 I SWEAR LIKE STAND UP

user116 what were they looking at in the second picture? wrong answers only 👇

user117 lando was biting his lip so it was definitely carlos

user118 god

user119 the 2025 f1 world champion aka franz hermann

user120 i have no idea but oscar's face is screaming "no. 1 party anthem" minute 2:29

lando.jpg

🎵 you, me and steve • garfunkel and oates [E]

❤️ 451K 💬 13.1K

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and others

lando.jpg thanks osc

comments

user121 LMAO

user122 THE SONG CHOICE I CAN'T

user123 please he's so unserious 😭

user124 i love him sm

user125 i never thought i'd see the day lando would end up third wheeling oscar and his gf

user126 it's not the first time he ends up behind him though

user127 jaw DROPPED

user128 wait that's so mean (do it again)

user129 you people are so cruel

user130 it was funny until it wasn't 🥲

user131 is he aware that he's been adopted

lando actually i'm their lovechild

user132 oh well

user133 whatever you say beautiful

user134 thx for the info ig???

user135 😀👍

user136 LANDO TELL US WHO SHE ISSS

user137 we NEED to know 🙏

user138 we'll give you anything you want

lando you got the championship lead?

youruser hey that's my line ☹️

user139 poor yn just wanted to be a hater

user140 HE BEAT HER TO IT LOLLL

user141 smiley lando 🥹🫶

user142 he's such a vibe

user143 pov: your boyfriend is ignoring you

user144 he looks so done

user145 passive-aggressive behavior at its finest 👌

oscarpiastri

❤️ 1.3M 💬 14.1K

liked by youruser, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri and others

oscarpiastri got myself a pretty girl and a more decent lunch

comments

user146 just shoot me atp

user147 my heart can only take so much

user148 I'M CRYING THIS IS TOO SWEET

user149 when did he become so aesthetic lol

user150 a woman's touch can do wonders

❤️ by youruser

user151 oh???

user152 yn babe we can see your likes

user153 WAIT DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS

user154 men in love with their gf >>>

user155 the vibes are immaculate

user156 it's giving best friends to lovers 👀

user157 i completely agree

user158 we all know who the best friend is

user159 omg those flowers are GORGEOUS

user160 may this kind of love hit me at 300 km/h

user161 THE MATCHING OUTFITS

user162 they cooked AND ate

user163 fashion icons fr

user164 did anyone else get the reference or is it just me!?!?!?

user165 YESSSSS I WAS WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO NOTICE IT

user166 thank god i'm not the only one

user167 what are y'all on about

user168 the "pretty decent lunch" post he made a while ago with that photo of yn eating spaghetti

user169 which by the way is the same pasta they were cooking in this 🤧💞

user170 some of you actually scare me

mclaren

❤️ 376K 💬 4,557

liked by youruser, lando, oscarpiastri and others

mclaren big days require big changes 🤍🍾

comments

user171 can somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on with mclaren recently

user172 WHAT IS THIS

user173 i'm confused

user174 what does this even mean 😭

user175 should we be worried?

user176 i surprisingly don't hate them

user177 gotta love the monaco air 🫡

user178 LET'S GO PAPAYA 🧡🤍🧡🤍🧡🤍

user179 oooh vintage i like it

user180 dare i say the most stylish drivers in the paddock 😮‍💨

user181 sir lewis hamilton would disagree

user182 this team never misses 🙌

user183 99% of these photos are just oscar

user184 cry about it

user185 the font on the back like wow

user186 guys they're getting married

user187 sooo when's the wedding

mclaren sooner than you think 😉

user188 PAUSE

user189 WTF

user190 LANDOSCAR HARD LAUNCH???

user100 TOLD YOU THE GIRLFRIENDS WERE JUST A COVER-UP HAHAHA

lando

❤️ 957K 💬 13.7K

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, mclaren and others

lando gotta look good for mrs piastri

comments

user191 i thought i read that wrong

user191 TURNS OUT I DIDN'T

user192 is this pay gorn

user193 STOP

user194 @.user192 yes but gayer

user195 💀💀💀

user196 we went from 0 to 100 pretty fucking quickly

user197 the more i look at it the less it makes sense

user198 i don't know what's real anymore

user199 *confused screaming*

user200 i love how everyone's just crashing out

user201 he obviously meant MR piastri. his husband

lando i meant exactly what i wrote

user202 HE SAID WHAT HE SAID 🗣🗣🗣

user203 thanks mate appreciate your clarification 👍

user204 how is this even real

user205 well mrs piastri surely is one lucky woman

user206 if you ever need a mrs norris i'm free whenever 😚

user207 yeah me too

user208 count me in 🙋‍♀️

user209 dw ladies 🫷🙂‍↕️🫸 i got this

user210 THE SUITS LOOK INSANELY GOOD

youruser and oscarpiastri

❤️ 3.9M 💬 49.4K

liked by nicolepiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and others

youruser bestied so hard we got married

comments

hattiepiastri i hope he knows how lucky he is to have you

oscarpiastri i do (pun intended)

❤️ by youruser

youruser hilarious 🙄 (affectionate)

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user211 this type of relationship >>>

nicolepiastri treat her well osc because if you don't i'll adopt her and kick you out 🤗

love, mum

oscarpiastri thanks mom

youruser my number one supporter 🫶

oscarpiastri wasn’t that me?

youruser you're a close second baby

carlossainz55 congrats!

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user212 carcar 😭🫶

charles_leclerc congratulations 😘😘😘

❤️ by oscarpiastri

user213 do you guys think charles payed for the wedding?

user214 i mean it's his son we're talking about

user215 and he got married in monaco of all places so

user216 YES

user217 wait does this make yn his daughter in law???

user218 the leclerc family keeps growing

lando credits?

youruser thank you for the kind wishes you're such a 🍑😊

user219 the double meaning is diabolical

user220 she's too good at this

user221 i assume the beef is still ongoing

lando i will take the compliment and ignore the insult like the mature adult i am

user222 "i don't wanna mature, i'm happy where i am" lando norris 2019

lando it's 2025. i matured

youruser sure

lando.jpg credits?

youruser omg not again

lando.jpg talent needs recognition yn

lando.jpg unless you want me to start charging for my services

youruser @.oscarpiastri do something about your teammate please

oscarpiastri credits @.lando

youruser 😦

youruser do you want a divorce

user223 HWAT 🤠

user224 where exactly did the decision to slam dunk this information on us come from

user225 it's called hard launch for a reason

user226 well that escalated quickly

user227 MOST AESTHETIC COUPLE EVER

user228 no way my husband stole my wife

user229 i honestly don't know who's luckier

user230 HOW CAN SOMEONE BE SO CUTE AND HOT AT THE SAME TIME

user231 old money wedding i'm in love

user232 quick act surprised 😮

user233 who would've thought they'd end up together right!?

user234 totally unexpected

user235 this is their one day but they don't know we've been here since day one ❤️

youruser trust me we know <3

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[nezuscribe]

previous part

fake dating your childhood best friend (and person you've been in love with for just as long) gojo was as terrible and amazing as you thought it would be.

terrible because in private he still see's you as his best friend and plots on how to get with the girl of his dreams while trying to figure out how you and geto can become a pair.

it's awful. there's no sugar coating the emotional turmoil you're going through.

but in public? it's perfect.

when the two of you are out with friends gojo always makes sure to have one hand on you at all times. either on your knee, around your shoulder or waist, playing with the hem of your shirt. he plants soft kisses to your cheek or forehead when he thinks you can't see, pinches your nose in a loving manner.

other times when you're all hanging out gojo tells animated stories from over the years, sharing experiences you had totally forgotten and didn't realize he remembered. he played the part of a doting and loving boyfriend, you'd give him that much.

everybody cooes and says how perfect the two of you look together. gojo smiles, saying that he only looks perfect because you look perfect.

but you could see the longing glances he gave to suki, the way he'd watch her when he was so sure nobody else was looking. you could feel a bit of your heart sink, knowing that at the end of the day, you're the only one hurting yourself by lying to everybody around you, including gojo.

mind-fucking torture this is.

but sometimes, in brief moments, it feels like even he forgets what this is all for.

like that one time when you were telling him in private about your dating history, or lack thereof, you could've sworn he almost hadn't heard you properly with the look of utter shock at the confession.

okay, so yeah, maybe he does have a right to be a little shocked. it's not like you had been totally honest about this either, but who could blame you? when you were a teen gojo and geto were off on dates and flings and you felt left out, feeling the need to make up some white lies about going on little coffee dates or whatever. nothing big, nothing crazy. just so that they wouldn't think you were a total loser.

but over the years, you just never told him the truth, seeing no need. you were in college now, with no time to date, regardless. and sure, this confession slipped when you were insanely tired and needed something to fill the silence of the drive back home.

"what do you mean you've never been on a date? you've been o-on countless dates? like - like that one with the guy and his weird beard? or...or talkative tom?" he spews, bewildered, looking at you briefly before looking back to the road, his hand shifting on the steering wheel.

you scoff, rolling your eyes.

"not countless dates, just," you shrug, a little embarrassed, feeling heat climb to your cheeks for even bringing up this mortifying detail., feeling even worse knowing that you couldn't even blame this blunder on being drunk, you were just talkative, "when we were younger you and suguru were always going out 'n i felt...weird, i don't know," you stammer, shifting awkwardly in your seat as you confess.

"weird?" the word nearly sounds like a laugh and gasp in one, and your cheeks burn even more.

god, it would hurt less mentally if a wormhole opening up and ate you.

you smack his arm, your head falling into your hands as street lamps illuminated the side of your face as you begin rocking backwards in regret and shame. in moments like this you remembered how much of a nuisance he could really be, a little gnat in your ear.

gojo looks at you again, turning the street corner as he sighs, shaking his head.

he never wanted you to feel weird around him.

"i only made up those two, two, dates 'toru," you mutter, groaning out loud as your head thumped back on the headrest, the familiar row of homes coming into your line of vision as you prayed for this to end faster, "and you remembered both of them. that's not my fault."

gojo snorts, raising his hand as he shoves your head lightly.

"i remember everything you say," he says playfully, "the good, the bad and the ugly," he remarks, the car slowing down as he nears your house.

you look out the window, nearly ready to jump out as your hands fumble with the seatbelt. you're sure you've done enough damage for the week, probably even the month, but gojo doesn't seem to mind. in fact, you feel the warmth of his hand engulfing yours, stopping you from undoing your seatbelt and bolting.

you glance over at him, ready to smack his hand away, but the teasing look on his face has simmered a bit. simmered enough to remind you just how ridiculously good-looking he is with his bright eyes and rosy cheeks.

"look...i can't, in good conscious, be letting you walk around surviving on fake date stories," he says, putting a hand across his chest as if he were taking a vow.

isn't this just one big fake dating story? you almost say out loud.

"it's not 'gonna kill you," you tell him, maybe a little too harshly, "not like it's gonna kill me," you mutter the last part under your breath, looking away from his intense stare.

he purses his lip in annoyance, flicking your forehead as you groan in pain.

gojo pauses, taking a breath before he continues. your brow raises in curiosity.

"i'll pick you up tomorrow for a real date," he finally tells you.

there's another pause, your eyes searching his for the punchline. you give up after a few seconds of taking in his determined gaze, rolling your eyes as you unlock the passenger door, gathering your bag and things as you almost step out if not for him tugging you back in.

"i'm serious," gojo says, "six o' clock, wear something nice."

your brows furrow again.

"but," you laugh, startled, "but...we're not seeing anybody tomorrow? there's no need for a fake date if nobody can't see?"

gojo smiles, shrugging as his thumb rubs absentmindedly up and down your wrist.

"so?"

you look at him, waiting for him to finish that sentence.

"soooo," he drawls out, "so what? if my best friend hasn't been on a proper date, then i think it's only right i fix that. it's in my duties as the best friend and her new fake boyfriend."

there it is again.

you shake your head, and he can tell you're getting ready to come up with a reason as to why you can't go but he shushes you, shaking his head defiantly.

"done deal. six o' clock."

you stare at him.

"fine," he pretends to be annoyed, "i'll bring you something nice to wear too, i guess."

he's teasing you, not knowing that this was all you've ever wanted since you were a kid. fake or not, you try not to let reality slice your heart and serve it for tomorrow night's dinner.

try not to let the fact that fake dating gojo means that he's going to take you out, real or not.

[prosypepper]

cw: smut, screaming, unprotected p in v, toji being..himself. 18+ mdni!

toji fushiguro likes to make his girls scream.

usually it’s no trouble—he’s pretty experienced in the bedroom, obviously. he’s got a record of thirty-two seconds he set a while ago, as terrible as it sounds.

but you—his pretty new girlfriend—are giving him some trouble.

it’s been almost an hour. he’d done everything—oral, different positions, even that thing with his fingers that’s sure to make someone scream. yet you’re quiet, clinging onto his neck, only sounds falling from your lips are small gasps and itty bitty moans.

for your first time together, toji wanted to take things slow— but it’s not good enough. so, toji switches it up yet again.

he manhandles you to flip over, shoving a pillow under you—something he’d read a while ago and had yet to try out. his hands push your knees into your chest, keeping you open, before sliding his cock back in painfully slow.

you don’t complain or make any noise again, you just rest your hands on his big shoulders and hold on. then toji begins—sliding all the way out and shoving his length right back in.

that elicits the first loud moan you’d given him. if he didn’t know any better, toji would’ve thought he’d been doing a bad job this whole time.

and he thrusts again, slow, yet hard, punctuating each thrust with a sharp stop. you go quiet again, closing your eyes and focusing on the sensation of him—and he hits it.

“oh fuck.”

your voice comes out trembling, a little whiny, yet nothing close to a scream. toji picks up his pace, thrusts still calculated and mean. he hits your g-spot so accurately and aggressive, the sensation bubbling up inside you quickly.

toji sees it, heightened senses be damned, his eyes locking onto your expression. you’re biting your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, digging your nails into his shoulder. you’re like a balloon about to pop, pumped too full you can’t help what comes out of your mouth.

“fuck! fuck you!” you scream, eyes shooting open wide when toji penetrates your g-spot again, rudely.

“aw, that ain’t nice, baby,” toji coos, knowing you don’t mean any harm in your yelling.

you’re just overwhelmed by pleasure, he gets it—toji knows he’s good. he can feel your thighs trembling, your cunt spasming around him every time he hits that sacred spot so deep inside you.

“oh my god—ugh—shit!” curse after curse falls from your lips, only causing toji’s grin to get wider and wider. your moans aren’t pretty in any sense—each noise is ugly and visceral and raw.

toji is eating it up.

“let it out,” he rasps with a laugh, angling his hips to pound even harder into your tight walls.

your fist clenches together and you bang the side of it on toji’s hard bicep. he doesn’t stop, not even after all your exclamations and yelling, because he knows you don’t want him to.

toji doesn’t want to, either—he won’t be satisfied until you lose your voice.

[houseofaegon]

Bob and a reader who bruises easily and when they have sex the reader is usually marked up the next day?

Marked ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. explicit sexual scenes, bruising (reader bruises easily), rough sex, possessive!bob, protective older brother!bucky, strong language, secret relationship, minor angst, fluff, found family, chaotic thunderbolts energy, family dynamics, violence (threatened),

Summary: You and Bob had been sneaking around for months, the thrill of secrecy only fueling the fire and desire. But bruises from the night before threaten to unravel everything—especially when Bucky Barnes sees them and goes into full protective big brother mode.

Author's Note: omg you guyssssssss!!! i had so much fun writing this one. i am so obsessed with the whole secret relationship setup, and bucky going full protective older brother mode???? ughhhhhh I'm obsessed. i love my boyfriends<3 yelena my baby I love love love writing her so much she's sooo ughhh I love her!!!! i love myself some found family<3 keep the requests comingggggg!!!! i’ve got so many on my inbox already i’ve been planning out all of the fics so they’ll be posted soon<3

You woke up tangled in sheets, muscles aching, skin kissed with tenderness. Bob's arm was drapped heavy over your waist, the rise and fall of his chest pressing your back into him, grounding you, like he needed the contact to breathe. He always held you like that after—like if he let go, you might vanish.

A dull ache throbbed deep in your thighs, your hips, the slope of your neck. Each mark a reminder of the night before. Of how careful he tried to be. Of how easily he lost himself in you when the door was closed and the rest of the world disappeared.

It had started slow, like it always did.

Quiet knock on your door, late enough for the others to be asleep or buried in their own distractions. Bob would linger in the hall, hoodie thrown over his head, hands in his pockets like some kind of teenage boy sneaking into his girlfriend's room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the tension would snap. You’d throw yourself at him—starving, always starving—and he’d catch you every time.

Last night was no different. You'd been watching him all day, practically squirming on the sidelines of the gym while he trained with Yelena.

That damn white shirt clung to him, soaked through sweat, riding up every time he moved. His biceps flexed with every punch, his golden curls damp and wild. You caught him watching you more than once, eyes dark, mouth parted.

He looked wrecked before you even touched him.

By the time he showed up at your door, you didn’t say a word. You grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, yanked him into your room, and kissed him like he was oxygen.

His hands trembled when they touched your waist. “I’ll be careful,” he whispered, even as you guided him to the bed, tugging his clothes off, already breathless.

“You don’t have to be,” you said. "I don't want you to be."

He kissed down your neck, hands gripping your thighs like he was anchoring himself. When his mouth found your pulse point, he sucked just hard enough to draw a moan—and the bruise bloomed seconds later.

He pulled back to look at the mark, already forming, then looked up at you with something feral in his eyes. “You’re so fucking soft,” he groaned. “I’m gonna mark every inch of you. Mine. All of you.”

You gripped his hair, kissed him harder. “Then do it.”

His fingers laced with yours, pinning them above your head as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch of him drawing a gasp from your lips. He watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered.

His thrusts were slow, deep, patient at first—until you begged.

“Harder, Bob. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He shuddered. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

His mouth crashed into yours, and the dam broke.

You swore the headboard cracked. The bed groaned beneath you. Your name was a prayer on his tongue, murmured between bruising kisses and gasped apologies he didn’t need to make.

Because you loved the marks. The ache. The secrecy.

The thrill of sneaking out of his room at 3AM, hair a mess, lips swollen. Of pretending nothing happened in the halls the next day. Of brushing fingers under the table during briefings, eyes meeting like a promise.

And in those moments—when no one else knew, when it was just you and him—you felt more his than ever.

You traced a bruise on your collarbone absently as you slipped out of his bed, one of his t-shirts falling to mid-thigh. You bit your lip to hide the satisfied smile. Bruised and adored. Just how you liked it.

The tower was still quiet as you crept back to your room to change, slipping into gym shorts and a hoodie for morning training. You paused once, catching your reflection in your bathroom mirror—faint marks painting your hips, the curve of your neck, the inside of your thigh.

Heat flushed through you at the memory. His hands gripping your waist. His voice—“You’re mine.”

You tugged the hoodie tighter and headed down to start training.

The gym was already humming with low music and the sound of punches hitting pads. Bucky was setting up on the mat, hoodie off, sweat darkening the collar of his black shirt. He gave you a quick nod when you walked in—his version of a good morning.

Bucky Barnes had been like a brother to you since day one. Not in the forced “everyone on a team is family” way—no, this was different. Real.

He was rough around the edges when you first joined the Thunderbolts, all tight-lipped commands and watchful eyes. Cold. Distance. Guarded. But something in you cracked through that hard soldier shell. Maybe it was how stubborn you were. How warm. Unafraid to rile him up, to poke the bear. Maybe it was how you asked too many questions. Or the way you always saved him a seat in the briefing room. Or how you reminded him—without meaning to—what it felt like to care about someone without it turning into war.

You sometimes reminded him of Steve.

He saw him in you. In the way you saw people. In how you never gave up on anyone, not even him. In the way you could smile even after a mission gone sideways and still say, "We're okay. We'll figure this shit out."

You were brave. Kind. Loyal.

You were the thing Steve used to fight for.

And Bucky—he didn’t say it, couldn’t say it—but he clung to that. To you. Because if someone like you could believe in him, then maybe there was still something worth saving inside him.

That’s why he called you “kid,” even though you weren’t.

That’s why he tossed you his hoodie when you were cold, sat beside you when you couldn’t sleep, and taught you how to break a man’s wrist with a flick of your body weight.

He watched over you in the field. Back-to-back in a firefight. A quiet hand on your shoulder after a tough mission. His voice, always steady, always low: “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t a friend.

He was your brother. Your family. Not by blood. But by bond. By choice.

And that made what happened next inevitable.

Because when he saw those bruises, the ground shifted underneath his feet. All he could see was someone hurting you. And he'd spent decades trying to protect people like you, people he cared about. He had lost Steve. He wasn't going to lose you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Barely,” you said, grinning. “Try smiling once in a while.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try not tripping over your own feet.”

“Rude,” you said.

He tossed you a set of gloves. “Let’s go. Standard drills.”

You started slow. Footwork. Blocks. He moved easily, but watched your form like a hawk, correcting gently with a hand at your hip, your wrist, your shoulder.

“Looser on the right,” he murmured. “You’re tightening up too much, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” His tone was skeptical. “Take off the hoodie.”

You froze.

“It’s hot in here,” he added, too casually. “And you’re sweating like hell.”

“Bucky—”

“Off, Y/N.”

Shit.

You sighed, peeled it off, revealing the tank top beneath—and the faint, fresh constellation of bruises that peppered your collarbone and shoulders.

The moment the hoodie dropped to the mat, everything stopped.

Bucky’s whole body tensed.

His eyes locked on the marks. A slow, terrible realization crawling across his face like storm clouds. His voice was suddenly razor sharp.

He stopped breathing.

“What the fuck is that?”

You blinked, already knowing where this was going. “It’s nothing, Bucky.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, deadly quiet. “Who did this?”

“I said it’s nothing—”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. Y/N, what is that?” He stepped forward, fingers brushing the side of your neck. His touch was soft, but his jaw was tight. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

“I—” You swallowed. “It’s fine, Bucky. It’s—just mosquito bites, that's all.”

“I'm not stupid. I know what bruises look like,” he snapped, his voice rising. “And those? They didn’t come from sparring.”

You stepped back. "Please don't do this."

“Do not follow me unless you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

And then he was storming down the hall, headed for the common room. Straight into the storm.

Because to him? This wasn’t just bruises.

It was his kid—his sister—hurt, marked, and silent about it.

And he’d tear down the whole damn team to protect you.

But of course, you followed him. You fumbled to put the hoodie back on, trying to catch up with Bucky.

You caught up to him just as he stormed into the common room, boots stomping accross the floor. You barely had time to catch your breath before all hell broke loose.

Bob was sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, curls messy on his forehead. Yelena sat beside him eating chips straight from the bag, one boot resting on the coffee table. Walker was slumped on the other, flipping channels again and again.

"Just pick a damn channel already, jeez," Yelena scoffed.

"We have Netflix you know?" Bob chimed in softly.

The second Bucky entered, everyone looked up.

“Do you know who fucking did this to her?” Bucky barked, voice sharp enough to cut metal.

Yelena blinked, slow and unbothered. She raised one perfectly arched brow and held up her bag of chips. “Wow. Good morning to you too, soldier boy. Want a chip?”

Walker frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” Bucky turned, grabbed your armg gently, always gently, and tugged the hoodie sleeve up to show the fading bruise near your wrist. “And that,” he pointed to your neck. “And that.”

“Bucky, please—” you tried, stepping in front of him, but he wasn’t hearing it.

“You better start talking,” he growled, pointing at each of them like they were suspects in a murder trial. “Because if one of you laid a hand on her—”

“Okay, this is very dramatic,” Yelena said, popping another chip in her mouth. “I love it. Are we in a movie right now? Because damn, the drama.”

“I’m being very fucking serious right now, Yelena.”

She shrugged. “Just trying to defuse the tension.”

“And you're not helping!”

“I know,” she said sweetly.

Bucky whirled on Walker next. “Was it you?”

Walker sat up straighter, blinking. “What? No! Jesus—”

“I swear—if you even looked at her wrong—”

“Oh, come on, man!” Walker snapped, tossing the remote on the couch. “I’m not suicidal.”

While Bucky and Walker bickered, Yelena turned to you slowly, her eyes cool but curious. Then—subtle as smoke—her gaze dropped to the bruises peeking from your hoodie, then flicked to Bob.

Bob hadn’t moved. But he was watching. His shoulders tense. His jaw clenched.

Yelena raised one perfectly arched brow. You saw the moment it clicked for her.

Of course she knew.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way you looked at each other during debriefs. The way you flushed when Bob’s fingers brushed yours in the kitchen. She’d definitely heard the sounds coming from your room last night—because, shocker, spies hear everything.

But she wasn’t going to rat you out to Bucky. No. She gave you the look—the look—tilting her head with the tiniest smirk like, girl, really? him? damn okay.

Then she turned back to her chips like none of this concerned her.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still in full interrogation mode.

“I will find out who did this,” he said, voice rising again. “And when I do—”

“You’re going to do what, Barnes?” Walker snapped back. “Ground us? You're not her dad.”

“I don’t have to be,” Bucky growled. “She’s family. I raised her on this goddamn team while you were still figuring out which way the bathroom was!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena said through a mouthful of chips, “this is better than anything on TV.”

You rubbed your hands down your face and slowly met Bob's eyes, just for a second.

It was enough.

He stood up. Violently. Almost knocking off the entire coffee table.

Yelena sat up straighter, chip bag rustling. "Oh, here we go."

Walker looked from Bob to Bucky, then back. “Wait. Wait wait wait—are we fighting now? In the middle of the living room? Are you guys serious?"

Bucky turned toward Bob, chest puffe like a feral bull. "Say something. I dare you."

“Enough!” Bob’s voice cracked like a whip across the room, thunderous, vibrating in the air like it came from somewhere deeper than his chest.

Yelena froze, chip halfway to her mouth. “Well, there goes the drywall.”

Bucky took one menacing step forward. “What did you say?”

Bob didn’t flinch. His voice was low. "It was me."

Dead. Silence.

Oh, fuck.

You could've heard a pin drop.

Yelena whispered, “Oh my god, I knew it.”

Walker blinked. “Hold the fuck on.” He gasped like he just found out Santa wasn’t real. “Wait—you two?! You’ve been doing it?”

“You?” Bucky spat, stepping forward. “You think that’s fucking funny?”

“No,” Bob said calm. Too calm.

And that snapped Bucky.

He lunged. “I’m going to kill you right now!”

“Bucky!” you shouted, throwing yourself between them just as Bucky’s fist came up.

You caught him mid-swing, grabbing his wrist, bracing your weight against him with everything you had.

“NO! No, no, no—Bucky, stop!” you yelled, pushing back on his chest, eyes wide.

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands stayed at his sides, jaw set like he was ready to take it.

“You did this to her?” he hissed. “You put your hands on her?”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob bit out. “I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger—”

“You left bruises!” Bucky shouted, jabbing a finger toward Bob like he was issuing a death sentence. “You don’t get to decide what hurting her looks like! You don’t get to be the one who touches her and makes her lie to me about it!”

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, voice breaking.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob snapped. “You think I don’t know what I’m capable of? I’ve been terrified of it since day one. Every time I touch her, I’m scared shitless I’ll lose control—but I don’t. Because I’d rather die than ever cross that line.”

Bucky’s jaw locked. “That’s not comforting.”

“She’s not a child, Bucky,” Bob bit out. “She knows what she wants."

"But she's my child, Bob! Mine," Bucky roared, voice cracking with something other than rage, like fear. "I've been protecting her since she joined this team. I've bled for her. I would take a bullet for her if it meant keeping her safe. You think you can just crawl into her bed—what? Expect me to shake your hand? Pat your back? You're fucking delusional."

"She's not yours to own!" Bob roared. "You don't get to decide who touches her, who loves her. She’s not some piece of property. She made a choice. I made my choice."

Bucky’s breathing was ragged, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. “She’s my family!" he hissed. "And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me.”

“I wanted to,” Bob snapped. “She told me you’d do this.”

“She was right!” Bucky barked, his eyes glossing over with betrayal. “Because I trusted you. You were supposed to be safe.”

“I am.” Bob’s voice dropped. “I love her. I’m careful with her. You know she bruises easily. Everyone knows it. I try. I always try. But she wanted it. She asked me to. I never forced her. I’d never do that to her.”

You stepped in closer, your hand sliding to Bucky’s chest. “He’s telling the truth.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t recognize you for a second. “You let him…”

“I wanted him,” you said simply. “And I still do.”

Walker stood up slowly, blinking like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is this… is this a thing? Like a regular thing? You two just… sneak around and… Jesus Christ, you two fuck?”

Yelena nearly choked on her chips.

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “Walker. My guy. You live here. How have you not noticed?”

“I thought the noise was the pipes!” he said, flailing.

Yelena tilted her head. “You thought the pipes moaned her name at 2AM?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!”

She blinked. "Walker, if your pipes ever sound like that, you call an exorcist. Not maintenance."

He shook his head, exhaling hard. Then he looked at Bob, fury simmering low. “If you ever cross a line—if you so much as make her flinch or cry—I will end you. You break her heart, I break your face. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bob said without hesitation.

Bucky stared at Bob, his jaw ticking. But then his eyes shifted—back to you. Still tight with anger, but… softer now.

“You okay?”

You smiled—small, soft, but sure. “I promise,” you said. “I’m more than okay.”

You glanced back at Bob. He was still watching you like the room didn’t exist.

“He makes me happy, Buck.”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Goddammit.”

He yanked you into a hug, a little too tight, one arm slung around your neck like he was both scolding you and shielding you. You melted into it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I swear to God, Y/N,” he muttered, voice low in your ear, “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”

You chuckled against his chest. “I know you would.”

Bucky sighed and pulled back, plopping down onto the couch like the last ten minutes had aged him a decade. “And for the love of all that is holy—use protection.”

Yelena snorted next to him. “And do not fuck in the communal shower. Please. I beg you.”

Walker looked horrified. “Wait—have they?!”

You and Bob exchanged a look. He blushed. You smirked. Then you crossed the room, and without missing a beat, Bob reached out and pulled you into him. His arm slid over your shoulders like muscle memory, tucking you against his side with an ease that made everyone in the room groan. He looked down at you with that soft, dopey grin, like a damn teenager who just scored the girl of his dreams.

Yelena let out the loudest groan of all. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Look at you—so in love. Yuck!” She made a dramatic gagging noise. “This is vile. I feel violated.”

Bob chuckled.

Bucky didn’t even look. He just threw his head back. “Jesus Christ, please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”

Yelena didn’t miss a beat. “Honestly, Buck? I’m surprised she can still walk after what I heard last night.”

Bob choked violently.

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his hoodie, muffling a wheeze.

Bob cleared his throat, red as a tomato. “Okay, wow.”

Bucky clapped his hands, hard. “OKAY! Great. That’s enough. Breakfast. Anyone?”

Walker, still pale, raised a hand. “I need alcohol.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “You know what? Make it two. Double.”

Yelena leaned back, completely unbothered, tossing a chip in her mouth. “God, I love this team.”

And you? You looked around—at the chaos, the bickering, the laughter—and felt it settle deep in your chest.

You loved them too.

With all your heart.

    ⊹             ⊹            ⊹             ⊹            ⊹          ⊹             ⊹             ⊹

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[slut4sugu]

⊹ ࣪ ˖౨ৎ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭... 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐢𝐞 <𝟑

𐙚. total ass guy; This man cannot go five seconds without smacking the Mario coins out of your ass. Literally. You’d think he was winding his arm back like a baseball pitch the way it stings for a solid five minutes—but nope, he’s just heavy-handed as hell. God forbid you walk around the penthouse in shorts or tights. That’s an open invitation for him to make you jump like a cartoon character.

𐙚. never lets you see the receipt/price tag on something you wanna buy; He never lets you see the receipt, ever. You’d think shopping was a heist with how you try to sneak a peek at the price tag before he catches you. If you do manage to see it, he’ll pinch your cheeks like you’re five and hit you with a “Why you looking?”—before buying it for you in two colors and telling the associate to wrap it up “real pretty.”

𐙚. surprisingly knows about nails; You made a joke once, asking whether you should get a red-bottom stiletto or a pink glittery coffin set. He didn’t even blink—just gave you a look and went: “Red bottom. Square. With rhinestones. Don’t play with me. There’s already cash in your purse.” …Sir????

𐙚. lowkey sassy asf; While Ryo usually lets his judgment show through an unimpressed side-eye or a scoff, sometimes… sometimes you get the pleasure of hearing him be downright sassy.

𐙚 “The fuck are you talking about? That shit is ugly.” 𐙚 “That was your ex? Did he sneak onto earth?” 𐙚 You have to walk away before he sees you wheezing.

𐙚. throws you over his shoulder when you have an attitude; It’s instinct at this point. You raise your voice, roll your eyes, stomp away—boom, you’re upside down. He’s walking around like it’s nothing while you’re kicking and yelling “PUT ME DOWN.” He won’t. He’s chuckling. Slaps your ass mid-walk too. “Talk crazy again. I dare you.”

𐙚. doesn’t like sharing food—except with you; He’ll side-eye anyone who asks for a fry, but you? You can literally eat off his plate and he won’t say a word. He’ll just flick your forehead and go, “You’re lucky you’re cute brat.” Bonus points if you feed him too. He’ll open his mouth lazily and say, “Hurry up, I’m not tryna be romantic, I’m tryna eat.”

𐙚. acts like you’re so annoying but lowkey worships the ground you walk on; He’ll be like “Why are you so needy?” while simultaneously wrapping you in a blanket, giving you a foot massage, and ordering your favorite food without being asked. Literally complains while doing everything for you.

𐙚. randomly flexes how strong he is; Opens jars with one hand. Lifts the whole couch just to get your phone. Carries all the groceries without breaking a sweat. Smirks every time you’re like “Goddamn, okay.” “Keep looking like that and I’ll show you what else I can carry.”

𐙚. so, so handsy; Not even just sexual—he always has to be touching you. Hand around your neck while you sit on his lap. Thumb brushing your thigh in the car. Rubbing slow circles into your back while you sleep. And yes, he still slaps your ass every time you walk past. “Don’t act surprised. You knew what this was.”

𐙚. calls you a menace daily—but he’s in love. - “You’re a headache in heels.” - “You cause me stress and I like it. That’s the problem.” - “I should’ve left you in that dressing room when you said ‘I only want one thing’ and - pointed at the whole store.” - But he never leaves. He never would. You’re his favorite chaos.

[dannyriccsystem]

CUDDLE-BUGS!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: How the drivers like to cuddle :)

OVERALL W.C: 2.1K

WARNINGS: Fluff, slightly suggestive in a few of them

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, KA12, CL16, PA17, YT22, AA23, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81, OB87

NOTE: Featuring Paul Aron as a special treat for the lots of fans he has here…

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

Oh this boy LOVES cuddling. Max is big on physical affection and you actually can’t convince me otherwise. He’s constantly sprawled across the sofa cushions with his head on your lap, and if you dare not play with his hair instantly, he will literally grab your hand and put it on his head like a silent command. He’s like a cat; as soon as you stop touching him, he’ll nuzzle against you until you continue.

Cue the Maxplaining. He’s rambling, talking with his hands while he looks up at the ceiling. You watch with a fond expression, brushing strands of hair away from his face while he goes on and on about the car and the physics behind it and all the great overtakes he’s witnessed. You’re listening, but not retaining the information, because all you can think about are his pretty eyes and how cute he is when he’s ranting.

When you’re both laying down, Max likes to be tucked into you. He usually has his nose buried in your neck, taking in the soft scent of your perfume. He’ll pepper you with lazy kisses; he only stops when he falls asleep, which usually doesn’t take that long. He’s knocked out in an instant. There’s something about you that lulls him to sleep almost instantly.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

This is the spooning truther. Daniel loves spooning, he thinks it’s so intimate and close. But here’s the grand question of the day: Is he the big spoon or the little spoon?

Well. Both.

It really depends. I think most days he’s the big spoon. He likes holding you in his muscular arms. It makes you feel extra small, which is a bonus in its own. He likes whispering little jokes and quips in your ear, and making you squirm when he lightly tickles your sides occasionally.

But sometimes he likes to be held too. He likes when your much smaller arms wrap around him, and he gets to feel vulnerable. Even if it’s just for a little bit. You’re warm as you snuggle him from behind, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. He likes how you cradle him and hold him like he’s the only person in the world.

So, yeah. This giant softie likes to be on the receiving end of your hugs every now and then. Be kind to him and let him show his soft side.

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Lando streaming with his camera off, only because you’re asleep on his lap. His audience is wondering why his voice has lowered tenfold, and why his rage-quitting moments have been reduced to a soft bang of his fist on the desk followed by a gentle sigh.

Little do they know, your thighs are straddling him with your face tucked into the crook of his neck, snoring away. He’s cradling your figure with one hand, and using the other to play the game, which explains why his quality of performance has gone way down. He’s rubbing circles onto your back, occasionally kissing your scalp and forehead. He’ll lean away from the mic to whisper in your ear when you stir to consciousness, lulling you back into your slumber.

He loves the fact that you’re somewhat clingy with him. He loves how you have to be close to him—so much that you’re willing to just fall asleep right there on his lap. He’s burning the memory into his brain because he never wants to forget your cute sleepy face :)

—

KIMI ANTONELLI - KA12

I think Kimi’s hard to cuddle with sometimes. He’s always moving, and always talking. One second you’re spooning, the next he has his back to yours, and then he’s on top of you like a blanket, and then he rolls over and you’re on top of him… Yeah. Can’t hold still.

“Did I tell you about what Ollie said to me today?” He’d muse to your sleepy self, and before you could even utter a groggy no, he’d be telling you anyway. You often want to tell him to shut up and go to sleep, but he has that big dorky smile on his face and you just can’t say no.

Even long after you’ve fallen asleep, he continues yapping. It’s not until he actually realizes you’re happily snoring away that he finally quiets down and goes to sleep himself. He always asks if you find it annoying, but in reality his joyous voice and his fluctuating heartbeat, that you can hear with your head on his chest, are usually what ultimately lull you to sleep.

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

This boy needs a hug and you can tell. Whenever he comes home, no matter where he’s gone off to, it’s practically become a ritual for him to walk in pathetically, tail tucked between his legs. You’ve nearly conditioned him, and he doesn’t even realize it. The first time it happened was just a mere coincidence: he was genuinely upset, and you welcomed him with a warm bed and open arms.

Then it kept happening, and eventually you realized that he pretended to be upset every time he came home so that he could snuggle up against you and have you baby him all night. You have to wonder if Charles even realizes this anymore. It’s just part of your nightly routine at this point.

He practically flops on top of you as soon as you send him that little smile and open your arms. He buries his face in your neck, arms wrapped around your abdomen. All of a sudden that sad expression has been replaced by a shitty grin that tells you he won. This is heaven. He just doesn’t realize that you absolutely know what he’s up to…

—

PAUL ARON - PA17

Paul is a delight to cuddle with. An absolute delight. He’s quiet, respectful, and very affectionate. As soon as he sees you pull your current book out, he’s diving onto the bed to situate himself beside you. He has one arm thrown across your stomach, and his head resting on your shoulder. He sleepily studies your face, occasionally peeking at the words on the page.

His hands wander for sure, but not in a weird way. Lightly calloused palms spread out over your stomach, scratching you like you’re a dog. When you start to play with his curls, he essentially loses his grip on staying awake. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep at that point. Your fingers curl around his hair, playing with individual locks and blonde swirls.

Pepper his face with kisses once he’s asleep. He likes waking up to go to the bathroom, and finding that his face is covered in your lipstick. Absolute perfection. He doesn’t even bother wiping it off, he just joins you in bed again and happily dozes off again.

—

YUKI TSUNODA - YT22

I think it depends on Yuki’s mood. He’s either all over you, or he’s falling asleep as far away as possible. It’s not even like a… Yuki’s angry so he doesn’t want to cuddle. It's just that some days he’s not up for it, and that’s perfectly fine with you.

However, no matter what position you fall asleep in, you two almost always wake up in each other’s arms again. He’ll fall asleep saying he wants some space, and then you wake up and he’s squeezing you like you’re his personal stuffed animal, entirely unconscious whilst doing so. He may be small, but he has a mighty grip on you.

Not big on PDA, but when you’re alone together, he loves being all over you essentially. Let the guy climb you like a tree.

—

ALEX ALBON - AA23

Alex is one of those people that loves to be cuddling… Constantly. But his favorite is at the beach. Both of you could be sprawled out on a large towel or blanket, taking in the sun, and suddenly he’s pulling you to his side and clinging to you like a damn barnacle. He’s a gentleman, too. He’s always asking if you’re comfortable, and how he can get you to be comfortable if not.

Once you try to pull away, he tends to get a bit whiny. He’s pulling you back in his arms and pretending like you’ve really hurt his feelings by daring to get up. He’ll drag it on, too. “Sighh,” With the clutch of his chest as you wriggle around in his hold. “I can’t believe you hate me… Is it because I stink? Sighh…”

He’ll let you go, but not without a lot of complaining. It would be easier to just give him what he wants, honestly. But at the end of the day he really just wants to snuggle up behind you and fall asleep like that, your body pressed to his.

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Unfortunately cuddling with Lewis always leads to a wholesome make out session. Or, maybe that’s more fortunate than anything. You plant yourself atop him, legs on either side of his lap. When you lean in to rest your head, you find yourself being pulled into a kiss instead.

You peck his lips momentarily, but he’s hungry and he keeps pulling you in for more whilst you share soft laughter. It could potentially develop into something more, but there’s always some obstacle. A few times you’ve accidentally bitten his lip a little too hard, and you both break away to laugh instead.

Cuddling is nice afterwards. He holds you like you’re his entire world— because you are. He’s both gentle and rough, soft and warm— Lewis is a dream. He’s the dream. He’s perfect.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

Carlos is a very traditional cuddler. When the two of you watch a movie together, he’ll casually throw his arm over your shoulder and tug you closer, usually kissing your scalp in the moment. He loves having you curled up next to him with your head on his chest.

It’s at this point he kind of stops focusing on the movie, and his attention diverts to you. Your smell, your sleepy eyes, your little giggles whenever something funny happens… Now he can’t seem to focus on anything but you, because he just is so infatuated with you.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the night ends in cheeky little kisses. If you’re lucky, maybe a bit more. He can’t help the way you make him feel.

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

George does not mind PDA, and he definitely favors a good lap cuddle. I think if you were both attending a late night event, he’d let you rest on his lap, even if others were watching. Your legs are thrown over his, and your face is nestled against his chest. He has one arm around you, and the other is over your lap to gently rub your thigh.

Other people used to stare, but everyone’s used to it by now. It’s not like you guys are being gross and secretly kissing and touching and giggling. You’re simply just asleep on his lap, and he’s softly rubbing your skin to help you stay that way. It’s cute.

If you don’t wake up, George will even carry you back to the car. He keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives because he knows it brings you comfort. Your joy is his top priority. Always.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar shamelessly loves to be between your thighs.

Now, don’t get me wrong here. Not in a dirty way. He likes to lay his head back on your stomach with your legs on either side of him, framing his face. It’s oddly comforting to be lightly squeezed by your legs, he has to admit. Play with his hair a bit too, he could sleep there forever.

Sometimes the roles swap though. You find yourself between his meaty legs, encased by pure muscle. It’s like heaven, situating yourself there. However… Not to be crude, but he does have to keep his thoughts tame during the process, otherwise you’ve both got a mess to handle.

He’s not a huge cuddle bug I’d say, but when Oscar is in the mood for some intimate touching, it’s… Between your legs. Not like that! Most of the time.

—

OLIVER BEARMAN - OB87

He’s been eyeing you all night. Everytime you ask him what’s up, he denies it and says he was just zoning out, but there’s definitely something on Ollie’s mind. You think you have him figured out, but he’s not giving you much to work with… So you test it out.

You mutter a rather loud “it’s cold in here,” and it’s like he’s a sleeper agent being awoken by those code words. He turns to you quickly, and suddenly he’s up from his position on a nearby chair. He walks over to his bed, and flops down right on top of you, all 6 feet and 2 inches of Ollie smothering you.

He even pulls a blanket up on top of that. He’ll bury his face in your chest, a stupid grin covering his face. He’s right where he wants to be.

[traffys-heart]

one piece men + making out hcs | nswf-ish

while i work on the match-ups have some more hcs abt our fav boys. btw how do u guys feel abt repeating characters? i was really trying to avoid doubling up matches but w over 50 of u unless marine fodder #78 wants to get some i think i might have use some ppl twice. apologies for the inadequacies o(TヘTo)

ps: i have a community now, if u want u can join here (o´▽o)

characters: monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinsmoke sanji, portgas d. ace, sabo, eustass kid, killer, trafalgar d. law

cw: lowercase, gn! reader, alludes to sex, boners, biting, virgin! loser! law

┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

—

monkey d. luffy

luffy is really enthusiastic when the two of u make out. he doesn't mind if there are other ppl around and would always try to seek u out during parties. something abt the afterglow of a battle + being around his favorite ppl just fires him up to wrap u up in his rubbery arms and kiss away ur surprised gasps. luffy usually tastes like meat, sweet barbecue sauce, and a hint of whatever tropical drink he was guzzling down prior.

his stretchy abilities easily allow him to feel closer than u then a normal body could. coiling his arm around ur waist multiple times like a statement belt only to pull u impossibly closer so he can shove his tongue deeper down ur throat makes his head kinda light and eyelids heavy. occasionally u explore his mouth too, but he always cheats and stretches his tongue forcing himself to take control.

bonus: he has definitely gotten carried away before and gotten you two actually tongue tied. in his own passion of open kisses he found u struggling to pull away, panicked and wide-eyed as you pointed to the apparent knot between ur tongues.

roronoa zoro

zoro is a messy lover. when he gets his calloused hands on u he makes sure to hold ur face as gently as he knows how. his lips are soft and he tastes strongly of sake and variations of cheaper booze. u could get drunk off his mouth from feeling and lingering alcohol together. his hands never stop cradling ur face, he enjoys the soft moment of intimacy throughout so much violence in his life.

while he handles u with care, his tongue could be fighting u like a marine. similar to his captain, he much would rather push himself into ur mouth than have u take the lead. he also enjoys having u in his lap, while he rocks u back n forth. the motions of u rubbing his strong arms and chest while he loses himself in ur lips may lead to something else up in the crow's nest.

vinesmoke sanji

sanji prides himself on being a gentleman and yet all of his manners fly out the window when u push ur tongue into his mouth. his facial hair tickles ur face and sends tingles to the rest of ur body while his hands struggle on deciding whether to rest on ur waist or face. he tastes like mint, as his hygiene is impeccable, and pre-timeskip his upper lip may or may not have tasted like shaving cream.

the blond would gladly let u guide him through the motions as move ur tongues together. he would never brute force himself between ur lips and adores how sweetly u place chaste kisses on the corners of his mouth before u reach him. he would love to keep u as close as possible, however even after a few minutes of making out ur chef is going to need to sort out the growing tent in his pants.

portgas d. ace

i think ace was shy at first and allowed u to take the reins due to his lack of experience. not only would the makeout sesh be hot (haha) but sloppy too. strings of saliva would fall from both ur lips as u pant for air and ace runs a hand through his messy hair. blown out pupils stare at ur mouth expectantly like a patient puppy waiting to be told he can have his treat.

in terms of taste he probably just tastes like his last meal and charred bits of food. ace is going to be insatiable once u get him hooked on the feeling on ur tongues intertwining and mouths moving against each other in ways that send sparks down his spine and into his shorts. I doubt he would mention his erection, but it's not like u can't exactly tell.

sabo

ugh. sabo is a yapper and unfortunately not even making out can get him to shut up. hot open mouthed kisses pressed against his stupidly perfect lips would only lead to a cheeky smile and commentary on his luck. sabo tastes like English breakfast tea, and while his appetite is almost as crazy as his brothers he often cleanses his palate with the hot beverage. while his arms circle ur waist he makes sure to strip himself of his leather gloves if he hasn't already, wanting to feel ur skin on his own.

u should be careful not to rile him up too much or he might burn ur tongue. he hasn't had his devil fruit for long and deep emotion can easily set him off. sabo enjoys making out best when ur on top of him while he's lying down. during leisure moments in the Revolutionary army he wants nothing more than to spend his days lazily sliding his tongue against urs and trying to memorize the cavern of ur mouth.

eustass kid

kid is the type to pat his lap while he spreads his legs and gesture for u to come sit. and I would absolutely fall for it every single time. despite placing u on his knee the guy is 6'8 so i doubt ur gonna be taller than him. small kisses on his lipstick clad lips only act to annoy him because u both know what he really wants from ur mouth. when he finally gets bored of ur games he decides to bite ur lip and use ur surprise to bring ur open mouth to his own.

he has a lovely tongue piercing that sends a contrast of cold metallic steel whenever he runs it across ur own. sometimes he'll take his goggles off and let his bangs fall in front of face, tickling ur forehead in the process. while he is a rough lover, this is one of the view times where he lets his guard down and indulges himself in another. if u weren't wearing any lipstick beforehand he'll make sure u are by the end of this.

killer

n/a: killer wears a mask so u can't make out :(

jk I wouldn't be that mean to the 8 killer fans out there! if he does ever remove his mask and share something so personal like his own face to u, the first thing he wants to do is finally kiss u. and pirates aren't known to be the most self retraining ppl so ofc ur sweet kisses would lead into a steamy make out session with the blond. for some reason i can imagine this happening on the floor as the both of u awkwardly stumble around on ur knees until u fall into his lap.

as he gains more confidence he would move his hand behind ur head to press u closer to him. he spent so long watching ur lips grace everyone else in the crew with smiles and kisses on the cheek he can't seem to stop himself from wanting to reap all the times he should've taken u in his arms and he didn't. in terms of taste, unfortunately due to his diet full of pasta he will be tasting entirely like spaghetti.

trafalgar d. law

law has watched movies and read books where people make out but actually acting out the scene himself? entirely different playing field. he would be sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his bed as u stare up at him curiously. u've given each other quick pecks before (all that have led to wonderful wank bank material) but now it was time to get serious and fulfill a long time dream of his.

after hyping himself up for a few seconds he turns to u and u begin to crawl towards him on the bed. finally making out for law is overwhelming, erotic, and kinda sweaty. he can't stop his palms from sweating and he doesn't want to weird u out by putting his damp hands on ur body so he awkwardly keeps them by his side. he's already planning his escape to the bathroom after this encounter but it's totally worth it, esp bc the two of u r watching sora, warrior of the sea: the germs of germa after this!

—

[sangunary]

Hear me out, yandere platonic batfam x reader who has a weak immune system, i think the reader will keep her sickness away from the family, her only source of comfort is her friends and for the batfam i think they will go yandere when zeny collapses maybe And then there goes full yandere, like you will be monitored 24/7, strict rule and blablabla

- Your Love Is Too Sweet

Yandere Batfam x Sick Reader

SYPNOSIS: Your family love's you too much to listen to your pathetic plea for the sweet taste of death.

Warning: NOT FOR SENSETIVE READER!

It all began when you were at the ripe age of ten, during school while chasing your friends around the hall your legs gave up on you. Your vision began to blur and saw black patches.

With your little hand you hold onto the wall to support you, the wind knock out of your lungs.

Something heavy was pressing down at your lungs even tho you tried to stood up straight and look up, hoping for more oxygen.

It was so sudden and unexpected, you have been fine and suddenly clutching onto the wall seeking for oxygen. It was a pathetic scene to look at but when it past your friends helped you to clam down.

When you arrived at the eerily haunting manor you called home, you immediately seek for comfort.

"...Dick? Are you busy?"

Your little voice ring out throughout the room. Your last family never listened to you speak, too busy sleeping on the couch or on the ground, their eyelids open in a way it shouldn't be possible.

They were always busy and you ended up having to take care of your baby brother, who wasn't biological your brother but dna meant nothing to a child.

But, you had a new family and your new dad told you to forget so you can have a better future. But you couldn't help but miss them, atleast your mom still listen just she only listen when she took her medicine.

"Sorry, birdie... I have to talk to Kory, go talk to Jay yah? He's at the cave"

Dick with his phone still on his ear, quickly turned your body around and push you out the living room as he nudge you to start walking.

You understand why he was busy with Kory. Lately, Kory doesn't visit anymore...

The last time she visited she went home mad after Barbara mentioned something. You didn't really understand as Damian did cover your ear with his hands, from his expression it seem like a normal conversation but from their body language... opposite story.

After that, nobody mentioned Kory or Dick will cry in his old room, you could clearly hear him apologising and sobbing since your room was next to his.

While picking at your hands you slowly walked towards the entrance of the cave, although you admire your family for prospecting the city, lately you realised how everybody was so disconnected to the family.

It felt like they only have family reunion because it was traditional and not because they wanted to catch up with everyone.

The whole family was indeed present today because Joker escaped from Arkham again... But they all acted like guests visiting their far cousin.

"Jay...? Could you please listen?"

You asked as you sat next to him on the ground, watching up at him fixing his motorcycle.

"Sure, what is it?"

With the opening you began to speak, talking about how you have been feeling under the weather alot.

Sometimes you would wake up and just puke, but you didn't wake anybody up because you felt like it's your responsibility to take care of yourself. Quietly cleaning yourself up and going back to bed.

How you have lost sleep because you kept getting sleep paralysis and how the monster was your biological mother. How she would morphed into this creatures that loves to scream into your ears.

How your mother would carry your baby brother, as their skin began to merged with eachother as you heard bone moving or breaking. It was a hard scene but you couldn't look away.

But, you couldn't do anything but pray to God and go back to bed. You didn't want to burden anyone with your stupid hallucinations.

Jason would replied with 'oh, sucks', 'good', 'hm', 'oh,... He wasn't listening and you just got up and left.

Tim wasn't much help either, the moment you enter his room you always left with atleast three errands from him.

Throw away some paper, get him coffee and tell Alfred that Tim was still in the house so he wouldn't forget to make him dinner as well.

So, you didn't even put him on your list.

He only see you as an errand kid. You doubt he would waste his time to listen to you speak.

"Dad?"

You called for Bruce as you enter his office, filled with pictures so his kids but they felt drain of emotions.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I felt sick today"

"Go tell Alfred, sweetheart"

Right, always Alfred but never him. The supposed father.

You couldn't help but felt a huge Disappointment on your heart.

The best batman, the worst father.

He knew the family was slowly drifting away but he was too busy with joker and ivy to even try to find solutions. Too busy saving the city to even save the family he vouch to protect.

With a heavy heart you left, didn't even seek for Alfred he himself was busy.

Having to collect the broken glasses of the family, trying to tape it back. To have the once lively family back to normal.

Damian, too inexperienced in emotions and his grandfather have been trying to take him back.

Stephanie, she was going through alot and she asked to be left alone.

Cass, you and her have no connection. Knowing that she tried to not scared you by avoiding you.

Barbara, the whole city is on her shoulder she and doesn't have time for kids like you.

Duke, depressed after his girlfriend cheated on him.

Even tho they themselves were heros, they couldn't save themselves from crumbling into pieces.

For year's you have been silently taking medicine after watching videos and self diagnosing yourself.

Cleaning after yourself at night when you had an accident, buying medicine from shady places. You tried everything to fix your body, but barely nothing worked.

You always fell into sickness the moment the season changed, it get abit cold, virus is around and even just from standing too long under the sun.

Your friends were your only source of comfort as they would bring you some sickness pill or even painkiller to stop your stomachache.

Your family was falling apart and your friends kindly took you into each of their family's and treated you like their own.

They were truly God sent. And you were greatful, trying your best to spend as much as time you could with your new found family.

At night while studying you would fall asleep and you prefer to sleep on the cold wooden desk than on your bed. You don't get bed dreams when you're not resting on your bed.

You hated your bed at times, because you always see your brother and mother. Their skin becoming one, your brother sweet voice would turn into one that sounds like a wild animal and a baby shared a voice box.

Your mother or the one from your hallucinations would try to touch or caress your face, but it was drain of affection and emotion.

It felt like metal being dragged across your cheeks, her messy hair highlighting her eyes and the nasty yellow-ish slash under her eyelids.

And your brother body was at her upper waist towards her upper belly, she was never good at holding him. She was always trembling and the amount of black bruises on her arms made her uncomfortable, to the point that she avoids having direct skin contact with you or your brother.

Even without those nightmare, your stomachache was enough to make you squirm around at your bed so you instead always choose to study during any moment.

With drools down your mouth and book still open, you would wake up with a blanket on your body. Somebody did check in on you, which is surprising as everybody in the family were going through dirt.

But one day you collapse suddenly.

It was at the Manor, while looking at the pictures of your family. Everybody was present even aunt katie, a big smile and you in the middle with a shy smile.

Your first day with them, after you lost your world. Bruce gave you a new one, where you can start from the beginning.

But, everything just crumble down into pieces after one year in the family.

Bruce gave you a world that was born to crumble. Everyone were so distant now, even Christmas left like a drought.

You overheard Alfred talking To Bruce about this matter. Telling him on how he shouldn't just watch as his family is slowly breaking into shards, how he would regret is sooner.

Bruce argues that they were just modling out of their shell, becoming a new person. Escaping from his hands and finding their own path.

Alfred told him, no matter how old or young they are they will always be his kid. Kid's that need their Father to help them become into a brand new person, they needed his hands to hold theirs so they won't be afraid to fall.

Bruce was stubborn, seeing himself as the villain in his kid's life. He doesn't want to be involved in their life because he would definitely ruin it, and if that happens there is no point in Batman if he would just be a bad guy to his kids.

After you collapse you woke up to a place that looked like an hospital but looking at the machine hooked up to you was definitely not one.

Several amounts of wire that drilled through your skin to supply you with the essential to keep you breathing, began to felt like machines sucking every cell out of your body.

The cold metal against your back felt like your skin was merging with it and even lifting even a finger sent immense pain through out your body.

You couldn't tell how long you have been laying there but, it had taken a toll on your body.

The familiar scent of medicine and a weird scent of rotting corpse filled your nostril. You couldn't help but cover your mouth and nose to stop the noise but it always remain there.

Your nails were long, lip felt chap and everything felt new. You couldn't move your hand so freely and even struggle to move your left leg.

Beside you Cass was sleeping. Her hand holding your right tightly Like you would slip away like a balloon if she wasn't to hold onto you.

But when you move your leg she jolted awake. Now you understood.

Cass was the one who checked up on you at night, the one to cover you in blanket and left pills when she observed that you have a fever.

"You are awake!?"

She seem delighted, you felt like you could see a ghast of anxiety leaving her body as you tried to speak.

But nothing came out.

"It's alright. Rest. I am here"

She spoke gently, her hand still on yours. The fear you used to phantom seems you disappear. She wasn't so bad afterall.

After your slumber, each of your siblings came in one by one to not put pressure onto you.

Dick was with Kory who smother you with hugs and kisses on her forehead and cheeks, while Dick asked her to not burry you in affection too early as you might still be in pain.

They repatch their relationship because after you collapse and Stephanie found you, Dick went to her seeking for comfort.

He was stressed out about being a cop and w vigilante barely getting sleeps and all the inhuman behaviour he witnessed were hitting him harder. He knew that his previous family was falling apart and he couldn't do anything... And you the youngest being in coma took a devastating toll on him.

But, Kory listen to him, forgave him and help him took care of you.

Jason look alot better as well. Gave you some treat and told you about the outlaws.

How, he found a meaningful purpose in life. He finally understood why you spend so much time with those brat from school... He would too if he were you.

He also left a small plushie lf superman but alot more bigger and great say's it was from bizzaro, a letter and a gift from Arthemis and a keychain from Roy? He said the real present from Roy would be given when you could drink.

Tim on the other hand, turns out he was in a relationship . After you were in a coma, he started to become more distant from everyone. Whenever anyone entered his room he would looked back hoping to see your little figure. But it was hopeless.

He lost touch and just overwork so he wouldn't have a complete breakdown every minute. And Kon dragged him out of his shell, after a big fight which ended up with both of them tearing at eachother and Kon just confessed.

The same guy who love's to ruin your freshly combed hair and messed with it / freshly ironed clothes and wrinkle it.

Damian was alot more better with emotions now, finding his true path in life and defeating his grandfather.... All that while you were in a coma.

He did briefly mentioned having friends now since you being in a coma awaken something inside of him. He realised how little time some people have so... He volunteered to work in the hospital after a terrible accident and accidentally found a new passion.

Everyone in the family seems to be in good term while you were in a coma. You didn't know if u should be sad or happy since you did miss all the good things.

But at time past everything just went terrible for you.

You could still couldn't move much and you ended up in a wheelchair and they would fought over who gets to hang out with you. You couldn't meet your friends who were extremely worried about you, in the name of protection.

When you felt like your health was peaking the next day you'll be laying down at the same cold mattress, stomach hurting, tears all over your face and having Alfred to inject you with those green liquid.

Those green liquid seems to be the cure to your every problem, although whenever you asked about it no one would speak just a pat and telling you to sleep.

It was getting concerning. Sometimes at night you would always dreamt of the same thing how your mother and baby brother died, she wouldn't let go of him even tho you begged her to.

She hold onto her like her life depends on it... And before you could do anything the explosion engulfed them both... The aftermath wasn't pretty.

Their body melted into eachother... How you saw your mother finger move towards your face, it felt like a horror film. Where the whole movie was centred around you, suffering one after another.

"Bird?"

Jason called out your name, he was one of the people who wouldn't leave you alone at all.

His hand was on your head as he tried to brain your hair for the second time.

"hm?"

you couldn't reply much as you did actually just went through a horrible migraine that came out of the blue.

"Do you wish to be free sometimes?"

He asked, which was quite odd. You looka t his face with didn't tell much either.

"Am I not free?"

You asked curiously, the white blanket that was covering you was now only covering half of your body. As you did sit up straight.

His hand immediately went back to his, as the brain he have been working on for hours with alot of error came undone. His disappointment was clear but he didn't speak up.

Rather he knew the braid would end up looking stiff and maybe even look like a candy caine. Although he wasn't the best at it, it was his best shot at comforting you.

"Nothing, just curious... I'll stay tonight. Can't have you crying at three in the morning cause I definitely won't help you out"

You look at him as he lay down on the other bed which Bruce installed... Saying you need to be under monitor at all times.

"Jay... please what's going on?"

You pleaded, from the way everyone have been Acting you knew only he would tell you the truth.

"You didn't survive... you didn't went to coma"

He began, still he was very calm.

"Your heart failed... I couldn't take it and with the rest except for B... We brought you to the Lazarus pit... But, you... Attacked us, Damian hit you and you went into a coma"

He explained as he stared at the wall infront of him. He seems eerily calm for what he was confessing for.

"We've been injecting you with it because you'll die if we stop, but it's the only reason why you're getting all those symptoms. Those headache and nightmares. But, we do it for your own good"

It makes sense now. How they banned you from seeing anyone out side the family as you have been pronounced dead already.

The headache, the nightmare, your body felling into a deep sleep suddenly, the nose bleed. Everything was because they have been injecting you with the that thing.

The same liquid that brought back Jason was the very same that brought you back. But, alot more problems follow you.

How blood would randomly seep out of your nose and nails, your organs felt like they were rearranging themselves.

Every passing hour felt like your body was slowly rotting from the inside like how ut was supposed to be.

Alfred came into the room with a string on his hand. You couldn't stop the swet from forming, your body temperature was extremely High and everything felt like they were from some cold place.

"Please, Alfred... Just end this. I can't continue this madness"

You clutch onto the bed sheet as dark red blood drip onto the mattress.

The pit didn't exactly fixed you like how it did for Jason. It just put your soul and brain back to power. It didn't fix about the fact that you were dead. You were a walking corpse with consciousness .

You grab onto his arm, he was your only hope for being free from your body.

The same body that was rotting from the inside, your body didn't belong to you any longer... You could feel them decomposing.

Your ribs slowly falling apart, your heart even tho beating was rotting slowly. And everything hurt.

"Please... I can't live like this..."

You clutch onto your heart as you could felt the vein snapping and tearing itself one by one... piece by piece.

"Sorry Master, you do not know what is good for you. Without you the family won't be the same... And I know how much it meant for you to see them together. Sometimes pain is needed to achieve what you want"

He took your wrist and pierce the metal through your skin as he inject the substance.

"Now... Go to sleep, when you wake up everything will be normal again. You could see the sun again. We are waiting for you"

Your eyes began to gave up. As you couldn't even mutter a word out.

You would have yo repeat the cycle forever.

Whenever you began to rot they would refresh you.

Cause a family without you is nothing.

[jungwnies]

voicemails | charles leclerc

୨ৎ : featuring : boyfriend!charles x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : charles, the man who loves saving all your voicemails just to hear your voice when he misses you

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : so i lowkey forgot to upload yesterday .. whoops 😭 charles qp2, im proud but i hope ferrari can pull through for the race and get p1 he deserves it :(

you didn’t think much of it when charles missed your call. it happened sometimes—travel, media, meetings. his schedule could get intense, and you’d long ago stopped reading into the occasional missed ring.

so you left a voicemail. nothing fancy.

“hi baby,” you said softly, your voice a little sleepy. “no reason for the call really. i just miss you. that’s all. i’ll talk to you soon, okay? i love you.”

you hung up, tossed your phone onto the couch, and moved on with your day.

but halfway across the world, in a hotel room too cold and far too quiet, charles listened to your message three times before even thinking about moving.

and then, like he always did, he saved it.

it wasn’t the first one. not even close.

you found out by accident, days later, while borrowing his phone to look something up. he was in the shower, humming off-key to some playlist you'd made for him, and you were scrolling when the screen lit up.

a folder titled: y/n’s voicemails.

you blinked.

curious, you tapped it open.

16 saved entries.

sixteen.

some were short. some you didn’t even remember leaving. one was just you laughing because you’d accidentally pocket-dialed him and ended up narrating your entire walk home.

and yet… they were all there.

you pressed play on one from months ago.

“hey, i know you’re probably in the sim right now, but i just wanted to say i made that pasta you love and accidentally spilled all the sauce. please pretend to be impressed when i show you the mess later. okay. that’s all. love you, idiot.”

you smiled, heart warm and full.

when charles came back into the room, towel around his shoulders, he paused at the sight of you curled up on the bed, his phone pressed to your ear.

“you saved them,” you said quietly, blinking up at him.

he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “i didn’t mean for you to find those.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

he sat beside you, lifting your legs into his lap. “because they’re for me. when i miss you. when i can’t fall asleep. when everything feels too loud, and i need to remember what soft sounds like.”

your throat tightened. “charles…”

“i know they’re silly. i just—your voice calms me. even when it’s just you yelling about burnt cookies or asking if we have almond milk.”

you leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then his jaw, then the corner of his mouth.

“it’s not silly,” you whispered. “it’s perfect.”

he smiled, eyes soft and a little shy. “so… keep leaving them?”

you nodded. “always.”

and he pulled you into his arms like it was the only place he ever wanted to be.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 7

paige x azzi

warning: blood, violence

word count; 7.1k

a/n: i was so excited to write this that i damn near stayed up overnight. most of my anons are freaking out about this chapter so i’m just gonna say be patient with both of them and i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼 leave comments/reactions/ideas if you’d like to :)

—————————————————————————

The first round of the playoffs brought a sold-out crowd to Crypto Arena, the air inside filled with the kind of tension only a California showdown could promise. The Sparks versus the Valkyries. Some were college teammates turned rivals, friends turned into competitors once they stepped between the lines. It was the matchup everyone in California wanted and nobody expected it to happen this early.

Outside, the late September sun was cruel, even for California. Heat shimmered off the court where the bright lights were doing nothing to ease the warmth that clung to the walls inside the arena, where the cooling systems were working overtime. Still, nothing could cut through the crazy energy inside. Fans were packed shoulder to shoulder in the sold out crowd, the bass from the Sparks warmup playlist lighting up their chests.

On the court, the Sparks were already loose and were just trying to pass time until the game started.

Rickea was spinning a ball on her finger while nudging Cam to get her to look, who was busy trying to play soccer with Rae who to no avail couldn’t stop soaring the ball everywhere but where Cam was standing. Azzi dribbled lazily at the top of the key with half-focus, her eyes drifting toward the tunnel more than the rim even though she was trying to play it cool.

Contrary to what she was trying to do, Azzi in fact didn’t play it cool when Paige walked in. Resting above clean white Air Force 1s were some baggy grey sweatpants that hung low on her hips, sagging perfectly enough to show the waistband of her cotton Nike boxers. She had on a black tank top that clung to her torso slightly from the heat in all the right places, her arms looked defined under the arena lights like she’d just finished a workout before coming to the game. A silver chain rested against her collarbone, and the diamonds danced with each step she took, and what had become her signature huggie earrings topped off the look. There was sweat that beaded lightly at her temple but refused to fall, like even the heat had no choice but to compliment her.

Azzi lost her handle on the ball she had been dribbling and it rolled away.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle Paige for walking in like that, completely nonchalant, like she didn’t know what she was doing. Or drag her into the locker room to make the faint hickey still lingering under her jaw worse and maybe add a few more for all the lingering eyes in the arena to see.

Instead, Azzi shook her head as she licked her bottom lip, walking over to grab her water bottle, muttering under her breath about how ‘unbelievable’ Paige was.

Paige sank into her courtside seat with one leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee as she glanced down to respond to something on her phone. After a few taps she slid it into the pocket of her sweats and finally looked up.

Her gaze swept over the court before pausing on her technically little sister who was, mid-laugh, seemingly at something Rae did who was chasing a basketball. Paige gave Cam a small nod, in acknowledgment when she looked over but her eyes didn’t stay on her for long.

They drifted until they found Azzi already watching her.

Paige’s jaw ticked and her tongue subtly peeked out to wet her bottom lip as she dragged her eyes over Azzi with a sluggishness that could only be labeled as intentional. Her low blue eyes moved from Azzi’s shoes to her legs, her hips, her jersey, then lingered right at her plump lips. Heat crept up Azzi’s neck, her eyebrows creasing together as she tried to figure out why Paige looked like she was moving through molasses as she stared at her. Then Azzi noticed her red-rimmed blue eyes that were just glassy enough to confirm what she suspected.

“Oh, she’s high as hell,” Rae said with a grin, following Azzi’s gaze.

Rickea looked over to see what they were talking about before saying, “Damn why she eyeing you like that? Y'all need to run back whatever yall did at that cabin clearly.”

Azzi rolled her eyes as she dribbled, her cheeks warming up but she blamed it on the heat in the arena. “Can y’all chill?”

“Nah bro look,” Rae continued, nudging Azzi a little. “She not even blinking. Probably don’t even know we’re talking about her. You must’ve put it on her.”

Before Azzi could respond, a basketball flew out of nowhere and hit Rae in the thigh. “Can you not?” Cam said completely, deadpan. “That’s literally disgusting.”

Rae laughed as she rubbed her leg, raising both hands like she was innocent. “Relax. We’re just admiring your sexy ass sister's inability to act normal around Azzi now.”

Azzi’s head snapped in Rae’s direction. “Okay, ‘sexy ass’ is a crazy choice of words.”

Rae grinned. “Ohhh, my bad. Forgot she’s your girl now.”

Azzi then followed what Cam did and threw her ball at Rae’s leg before saying, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Rae said, “Ow,” and threw her hands up again. “I’m being assaulted. This can be labeled as workplace bullying, you know.”

Rickea snorted. “You’ll survive with a lil thigh bruise.”

“I’m just saying,” Rae continued on, undeterred, “if my girl ever looked at me the way Paige is looking at you, I’d be skipping warmups for a lil pregame boost of confidence.”

“Facts,” Rickea agreed, spinning the ball in her hand before bunting it lazily to Cam. “You see how slow she was licking her lips? That was, like, 'let me remember exactly what you taste like' energy. James would’ve had my legs wide open.”

Azzi’s mouth dropped. “Alright can we not? Let’s move on.”

Cam shook her head, already regretting this entire conversation. “Thank you Azzi. Can we not talk about my sister’s mouth? Or, like, anything else related to…that ever again.”

“Sorry,” Rickea said with zero sincerity. “Lil Paigey came in here looking like a thirst trap I had to troll.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and her cheeks still felt warm.

A whistle blew from the scorer’s table just as the buzzer sounded indicating that the game was about to start.

The four of them jogged toward the bench for introductions, their laughter from the conversation still hanging positively in the air. As Azzi glanced back one more time toward the sideline, Paige caught her eye again.

She was still watching her and had the most subtle smirk on her face.

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling as she turned her focus to the huddle where her coach was giving them a few last game plan reminders.

The matchup had been circled on calendars the moment the bracket dropped. An exciting California showdown in the first round of the WNBA playoffs. Some were convinced it was rigged for views but it didn’t matter. Sparks vs. Valkyries. L.A. vs. San Francisco.

With a starting core as young and flexible as Azzi, Cam, Rickea, and Rae, the Sparks had become one of the most exciting teams to watch during the season and that energy carried into the postseason for most. What made them so dangerous wasn’t just their natural talent, it was the unpredictability of the team. On any given night, the offense could run through any one of them. No team had an answer for all four of them and if the chemistry clicked for all of them at once, it was a nightmare for defenses.

From the jump, it was clear tonight was Azzi’s night though. She was locked in, slipping through screens with perfect timing, reading the Valkyries defense like a book she’d read a thousand times. Her jumper tonight looked beautiful everytime she released the ball, clean with an almost mechanical precision. Every shot snapped in the net over and over again and all she did was smile as she back peddled to get on defense. Her teammates did all the yelling for her. By the third quarter, she was sitting on 32 points, shooting a ridiculous 7 for 8 from three. It wasn’t just her scoring that made her a nightmare for the Valkyries tonight.

It was the way she moved. She was light and controlled the tempo of the offense with her constant off ball movement, courtesy of her time at UConn and her mentor Steph. It was like the court was hers.

Paige watched her completely in awe the entire game. She didn’t move or react much from her courtside seat. She didn’t cheer too loud when everyone else in the arena stood to scream about an exciting play, didn’t react when the courtside camera panned over her because she refused to leave Azzi. She tracked every motion, every pivot, every flick of her wrist, even the way she swiftly whipped her thigh before a catch and shoot. It was like Paige was studying film and learning Azzi in real time. And there was something about watching Azzi completely in her element like this that made it hard for Paige to remember anything else.

The third quarter was winding down when the ball went out of bounds, in front of the courtside sideline.

Azzi jogged over to inbound it, stepping almost directly in front of where Paige was sitting with her legs spread.

When Azzi got in front of her Paige didn’t blink. She didn’t mean to do anything truthfully. Paige was always hyper aware of being out in public, controlling her reactions. But this time her eyes drifted. Starting at Azzi’s jaw, then down her neck, lingering on the sweat that was slowly sliding down it. Skimming over the slope of her shoulders and down the length of her back. Her gaze lingered entirely too long to seem anywhere near friendly as she tracked every muscle that flexed on Azzi’s arm, the way her shorts clung just right to her butt, her thighs. Paige didn’t even realize she was doing it but Azzi definitely felt it, at this point she felt like she had a sixth sense for when Paige’s eyes were on her.

It was like a slow burn crawling up her spine, the awareness of blue-eyes prickling her skin even as she faced the court. Her fingers tightened around the ball, her jaw ticking as she waited for them to fix the clock. It took everything in her not to turn around to see the way Paige was looking at her.

She took a steady breath, thanked God over and over in her head when she heard the ref’s whistle, and snapped the ball into play like nothing happened. Even if every cell in her body said otherwise.

With eight minutes left in the fourth the Sparks were up by twenty-two and both coaching staffs called it. The Sparks starters had done their job, controlled the game from start to finish, and they’d earned their rest until the next home game.

Azzi jogged off the court last, high-fiving her teammates, with sweat glistening down her temple as she settled on the bench. She took a long exhale after drinking her gatorade and whipping the sweat off of her face. She stretched her legs out and her chest was rising and falling from the tempo of the game as her natural adrenaline began to settle.

Across the court, Paige’s eyes followed her every step of her exit from the game. From the moment Azzi crossed half court and patted her teammates back who was checkin in for her to the way she peeled down her knee pads before sitting down.

When Azzi looked up, she caught her staring. Of course didn’t look away, she held her gaze. Her expression was unreadable like always but her eyes, her eyes said more than her expressions ever could. There was a softness there, it wasn’t a loud display but it was a look that tugged at something beneath Azzi’s ribs, something that made her heart feel like it skipped a few beats before remembering that it was supposed to be keeping her alive. A slow, lopsided smile played in Paige’s eyes, it wasn’t on her lips but Azzi saw it anyway and it made her grin.

Azzi raised one of her eyebrows, tilting her head ever so slightly, as if to say ‘Really?’

Paige just blinked back, one corner of her mouth twitching.

For the rest of the quarter, their eyes kept drifting. It was never long enough to make a scene, never blatant like Paige had done earlier, but always pulling back to each other like they were opposite magnets. Like they physically couldn’t help but look at the other while being in the same room. Paige’s gaze would linger after a timeout when Azzi laughed at something Rickea said. Azzi would glance toward courtside when Paige would lean down to grab her water bottle, watching until she saw her swallow the liquid and put it back on the floor. They weren’t speaking but something was definitely being said.

When the final buzzer echoed through the arena, the Sparks sealed a 92–76 win, giving them a 1–0 lead in the series. Azzi was one of the first to stand up already knowing where her eyes were going and of course Paige was already looking.

Azzi untucked her jersey and easily slid through the security and media making their way on the court as she made her way to the opposite sideline. There was still a little bit of sweat that clung to her neck, making her curls there damp. When Paige saw Azzi approaching she stood up from her seat.

When Azzi reached her, she should’ve been surprised but truthfully she wasn’t when Paige stepped into the hug without any complaints. Her arms slid around Azzi’s waist and settled low on her back, her fingers pressing against the fabric of her jersey.

Azzi tucked her chin into Paige’s shoulder and her lips brushed against her ear when she said, “Thank you for coming.”

Paige just hummed in acknowledgment and the sound melted into Azzi’s skin to keep her warm.

They didn’t part right away and anyone who was watching could see the slight intimacy in the hug. Paige’s thumb brushed circles on Azzi’s back, like she had no plans of letting go first and Azzi was just about to say something about how obnoxiously good Paige looked sitting there all night when Rickea’s voice caused them to pull away.

“Wow, that’s crazy,” Rickea said loudly, walking over like all she wanted to do was stir the pot. “Where my hug at Paigey?”

Paige blinked, turning her head toward her, not even pretending to look enthusiastic. “I don’t know you.”

Rickea’s jaw dropped. “Wowwwww. So that’s how it is now that you got a lil action?”

Paige just blinked at her.

Cam shook her head at their usual antics and looked at Paige. “Why haven’t I seen you once since you’ve been back?”

Rae spoke before Paige could answer. “She was probably hiding them fat ass hickeys from you Cam.”

Paige said dryly. “It’s one and I’m grown.”

Azzi’s lips twitched at the lie and her eyes naturally drifted down to Paige’s tank top, where she knew a few more were lingering just out of sight. When she realized what she was doing her gaze flicked away quickly, and Paige’s mouth curled slightly knowing exactly where Azzi was looking.

Before the group could settle into their usual rhythm of annoying Paige, the comms team called from the tunnel. “Ladies, media’s ready for you!”

Rickea groaned dramatically and started walking backwards. “Paige I swear I better get a hug after this or I’m snitching to TMZ.”

Cam tossed her towel over her shoulder and pointed at Paige on her way past. “We’re circling back about you avoiding me.”

Azzi lingered behind as the others jogged off, keeping her eyes on Paige like she wanted to say something. Paige met her gaze and raised her eyebrow. “What you got to say?”

Azzi finally smiled and it was soft and crooked, showing how genuine it was. “It’s not just one.”

Paige chuckled. “Damn, how you know that?”

Azzi shrugged like she wasn’t going to give Paige the satisfaction. “I wanna see you tomorrow.”

Paige nodded. “Lemme come over then.”

Azzi bit her bottom lip, trying and failing to hide the way Paige’s calm reply affected her. She took a few steps backward towards the tunnel as her gaze lingering on Paige like she wasn’t quite ready to go. She said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she turned and jogged toward the tunnel, leaving Paige standing there with her hands in her pockets watching her.

The Sparks wrapped up the first round against the Valkyries in six games. A 4–2 series that stretched across two weeks, that was packed with physical matchups and hot-blooded crowds, made more intense by the California rivalry of two up and coming teams. The WNBA’s new playoff format, mirroring the NBA’s spacing, meant there were pockets of rest between each game. Two or three days between each one. Just enough time for a day of recovery or in Azzi’s case just enough time for her to drift into Paige’s orbit. And she did consistently.

During the small breaks, Azzi didn’t even pretend to play it cool or act like she didn’t want to be around Paige. Her free time, when it wasn’t spent watching film or at practice, was spent with Paige. It was never anything extravagant: lazy mornings at Paige’s place, finding her already in the gym and dragging her back to the bed under the guise of needing body heat in her cold room. Spontaneous grocery runs when they realized neither house had food that ended with a pint of melting ice cream between them, half-watched movies they forgot to finish. When they were watching film, for Azzi’s games or Paige’s next opponent, Paige would casually drape an arm around Azzi’s shoulders, while her other hand scribbled plays on a notepad for Azzi, and Azzi would just stare at her. Because somewhere along the way, she started noticing that behind all the stoicism and sarcasm, Paige was…extremely soft, gentle with her. The blonde was thoughtful in an almost annoyingly sweet way that usually had Azzi’s cheeks hurting. She noticed the way Paige always had a hoodie in her backseat because Azzi always got cold, or how she’d stock her fridge with Azzi’s favorite coconut yogurt even though she wouldn’t be caught dead eating it herself.

Paige, for her part, was falling hard, had already fallen head over hills honestly. But in classic Paige fashion, she didn’t say a word. She just held Azzi a little longer each night whispering something obnoxious in her ear just to hear her laugh. She kissed her like she was memorizing her. And she let her stay around even when she was agitated with the world and starting to get wound up because of her fight.

The second round against the Storm was tougher. Seattle was a more seasoned team and they pushed them to the brink. Seven games of back-and-forth basketball, ugly fouls, technicals, ejections, and down-to-the-wire finishes that went into overtime in three of the games. Somehow the Sparks pulled it out, all of them playing gritty with an unseen determination. Azzi had been amazing on both ends of the court, driven by the team's momentum and something quieter she didn’t need to name.

Somewhere in the middle of it—Azzi’s 100% sure it was after the second home game, just before they flew out to Seattle. She and Paige were at a small, tucked-away Italian spot because Paige wanted to take her on a date before not seeing her for a few days. Paige was cutting into her lasagna, unbothered that Azzi was eating most of her food off her plate instead of her own, when she asked Azzi if she wanted to be her girlfriend.

There was no preamble comment. No unnecessary nerves. Just Paige looking Azzi in the eyes and saying, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Azzi blinked, mid bite of her food. She wanted to immediately say yes, had wanted to ask Paige herself since the cabin but she said, “You’re serious?” just to make sure.

Paige nodded calmly. “I mean, we’ve been talking for a minute. And we’re…well, you know.” She gestured vaguely to them always being together. “And the way we’ve been—”

Azzi had to reach across the table, placing her hand over Paige’s mouth knowing she was probably about to say something inappropriate. “Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend. Stop talking before you ruin it.”

Paige grinned behind Azzi’s hand, pleased with herself.

Everything was rolling on and off the court. The Sparks were gaining momentum, Azzi was thriving, and Paige made everything else in her life feel lighter.

The team decided to celebrate their series over the Storm and the LA club was packed—sweaty bodies pressed together under lights, the bass thumping deep enough to rattle rib cages of those standing close enough to the speakers. It was one of those nights where everyone in the city seemed to be out, and the Sparks had claimed their own roped-off section in the back. They had velvet couches, bottles lined up in ice, and there was enough noise to drown out even your own thoughts.

Paige didn’t want to be there. She had another fight scheduled and the closer it got, the more tightly coiled she felt. Her body was on edge everyday and her brain was wired the moment she opened her eyes. Normally, she’d be at home, hitting one of the heavy bags until her knuckles ached, and she’d end the night wrapped around Azzi on her couch until Azzi inevitably fell asleep despite her promises of making it through whatever movie she put on. But then Azzi pouted at her, with her bottom lip jutting out and her brown eyes big, telling Paige she didn’t want to go to the club alone. That’s how Paige ended up standing in the middle of a club in downtown LA, dressed in all black, watching her girlfriend grin under the strobe lights like the universe wouldn’t ever dare say no to her.

At the bar, a mixed drink was offered to her, something dark and glittering on the rim with a lime wedge but Paige shook her head, barely glancing at it.

“It’ll make me feel bad,” she said softly, leaning into Azzi’s ear so she could hear her over the music.

Azzi just nodded and pushed the drink to someone else before she pulled Paige into a kiss, her nails scraping the blonde’s scalp slightly. Paige hummed against her lips before letting herself be tugged back into the section, back into the fold of Azzi’s teammates and friends who were having loud drunken conversations.

For a while, everything was perfect. Azzi sat on Paige’s lap at one point, idly running her fingers along the back of her neck while Rickea recounted the final minutes of Game 7 like it was her own personal hell, Rae was dancing with someone she didn’t introduce, and Cam was vibing in her usual way. It was all just background noise to the way Azzi kept looking at Paige though. Like she was the only calmness in the hectic night they were having. Azzi kissed her neck whispering, “Thank you for coming up with me.” Paige squeezed her thigh she was holding and kissed her shoulder in response.

Then Cam stood up saying, “I gotta step out real quick,”

Paige looked towards her saying, “By yourself?” as she sat up on the couch a little straighter.

Cam nodded. “I’ll be two seconds, don't worry about it.”

Paige didn’t want her going by herself so she said, “Hold on.”

She leaned in to kiss Azzi gently on the cheek before sliding her off her lap easily. “Be right back.”

Azzi tilted her head up, her eyes drifting between Paige and Cam. “You okay?”

Paige gave her a small nod, leaning down to give her a kiss. “Yeah I just don’t want Cam going out there by herself.”

Azzi nodded and watched Paige slip out of the section following Cam outside the club.

Outside, Cam was leaning against the wall of the club with her phone pressed to her ear as she spoke to Ben. Her voice was casual so it was probably just the two of them checking in but Paige didn’t really care to eavesdrop. She just stood next to her silently, watching cars blur past and drunken people stumble into the club and others complain that they couldn’t get in. The air was cooler outside, it felt nice compared to the heat of the club and she flexed her jaw once before closing her eyes and letting her shoulders settle as she rested her head against the wall.

Cam ended the call a few minutes later and glanced at her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, opening her eyes.

Cam nodded as they easily made their way back through the bouncers and the velvet rope, the heat of the club slamming into them again almost immediately. When they reached the section, Paige noticed Azzi was no longer there and her eyes scanned the club from her vantage point. Eventually she caught a glimpse of Rickea’s and Azzi’s frame next to her at the bar.

But besides that she saw some drunk dude leaning a little too close to Azzi talking to her animatedly even though she clearly wasn’t listening to whatever was coming out of his mouth.

Paige calmly slid through the crowd as she stepped past people dancing to get toward the bar.

She announced her presence before slipping her hand around Azzi’s waist not wanting to catch her off guard. Offering a “Wassup,” in Azzi’s ear.

Azzi turned, smiling softly as her body leaned toward Paige like gravity itself made the decision. “Hey.”

The guy who was definitely too far gone, noticed the interruption and frowned. “Yo, I was talking to her.”

Paige didn’t acknowledge him keeping her gaze on Azzi as hse checked on her. “You good?”

Azzi nodded, smiling softly at her. “Yeah.”

The guy was still standing too close swaying where he stood as he waited for Azzi to give him the time of day.

Paige turned her head toward him. “She with me.”

The guy scoffed, swaying a little. “She sure as hell didn’t look like she was yours standing here by herself. Look like she could do better with a man who could do something for her.”

The comment made Paige’s jaw tick and she turned her full body towards him. It was almost uncanny how fast her eyes changed from the softness they just held for Azzi. “What the fuck you just say to me?”

The guy grinned, sloppy and proud of himself as he hiccuped. “You heard me. You look like the soft type. Probably couldn’t do shit to stop me if I wanted to have her right now.”

When Paige heard those last words her entire posture changed and she looked like she could kill him in that moment. “I want you to try it,” she said way too calmly for the situation. “Gimme a reason to beat your ass without getting arrested.”

From the section, Cam’s posture stiffened and Rae’s eyebrows furrowed when they saw what was unfolding. Without saying anything both of them started moving toward the bar.

Azzi’s hand pulled against Paige’s stomach from behind her, trying to get her to step back. “It’s fine, baby,” she said gently. “He’s drunk.”

Paige didn’t take her eyes off the man in front of her. Her fingers twitched at her side like she was itching for him to say something else.

Rickea stepped around all of them putting herself between Paige and the man, her height an easy barrier as Azzi rubbed circles on Paige’s stomach now, trying to soothe her.

Paige eventually tore her eyes away from him and Rickea let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. Paige didn’t say a word she just gave a sharp exhale as she cracked her knuckles moving to walk away.

But of course, the dude didn’t know when to quit.

As they moved to head back to the section, he called out after her. “Damn I didn’t know you had two of 'em. I could probably take a turn at both if I had my boys with me.”

Paige turned as the tension in her spine snapped as she moved halfway toward him ready to swing but Cam and Rae were suddenly there putting their hands on her shoulders, pushing her back the other way.

“Paige, for real just let it go,” Rae said loud enough for her to hear.

“You’re good, he’s just talking,” Cam added as she nudged her back.

The guy was still mouthing off behind them, and spectators were starting to look at the scene unfold. A completely inebriated man and a bunch of 6 foot women easily drawing eyes.

Paige let Cam and Rae push her in the opposite direction as she walked backwards still staring at him. Azzi kept one hand laced with hers the whole way back and Rickea walked in front of everyone clearing a path.

No one said it, but they knew the night was over.

When they got outside Cam reached into Paige’s pocket herself to get her valet ticket while Rae and Rickea leaned against the nearby railing. Azzi was curled into Paige’s side despite her being rigid. She hadn’t said a word since they left the club and her stare was distant like she was keeping her mind somewhere else so she couldn’t process how pissed off she was.

Azzi’s fingers traced across Paige’s face like she loved to do as she pressed a kiss to her jaw. “He’s not worth it, don’t even worry about it,” she whispered. “I’m okay. We’re good.”

Paige didn’t answer her but her hand held Azzi’s waist a little tighter, and she kissed the top of her head.

Just as the valet pulled up with Paige’s matte black Escalade she was driving tonight because her other car didn’t have enough room for everyone, obnoxious laughter rang out behind them.

A group of guys stumbled out of the club doors. They were loud, sloppy and one of them was half-carrying the drunk dude from earlier.

Paige’s jaw tightened again as she closed her eyes trying to calm herself down, security naturally stepped between them, trying to keep a barrier and give them enough time to step into the car.

Azzi could feel Paige spiraling next to her so she just tried to pull her towards the car but as they were about to step off of the curb there was a harsh smack to Azzi’s ass. It was quick and disgusting as he stumbled by with glassy eyes. The contact was loud enough to cut through the chaos of his just as obnoxious friends laughing.

For a split second, everything seemed like it froze until all hell broke loose.

Before anyone could reach out and grab her Paige slipped past security easily and an audible sound echoed as her fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backwards into one of his friends who barely caught him in time.

But she didn’t stop after the first swing. She grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up like he didn’t weigh anything and threw two more punches. His head snapped back and blood was already rushing from his nose as his friends stumbled forward to intervene, but they were too drunk and too slow to even process what was happening fully.

Another punch landed clean against his cheekbone causing it to bust open before security finally surged forward, locking their arms around Paige’s torso and pulling her back.

“The fuck is wrong with you? Didn’t I tell yo stupid ass” Paige yelled, still trying to push forward. Her arms twisted against security’s hold, her split open fists still clenched.

Cam was standing in front of her when they let her go and pressed her palms into her shoulders tightly. “Paige.Chill. It’s done. He’s done.”

Rickea looped her arm around Paige’s and started pulling her back. “Come on. Walk with me. I need some air,” she said.

Reluctantly—barely—Paige let herself be pulled away.

Back near the curb, Rae stood by Azzi, keeping a cautious eye on the guy still groaning in pain on the ground. “You good?”

Azzi didn’t answer. She just blinked in confusion at how fast things went sideways, her eyes darting from the guy, to his friends trying to help him up mumbling about how he shouldn’t have touched her, to the smears of blood on the sidewalk. Her stomach turned and she felt sick to her stomach.

She looked over her shoulder to see Paige halfway down the block with Rickea on one side and Cam on the other side talking to her probably about nothing trying to pull her out of her head.

All Azzi could do was stand there, her hand rising to her face as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to process what the hell just happened.

…

After that night outside the club, something felt off. Not wrong. Just kind of…off.

She and Paige were still good. Still soft and warm in the moments they got to share but time suddenly became the enemy. Between traveling for the playoffs and Paige locking in on her next fight, their texts grew a little shorter and calls grew less frequent. Azzi told herself it was fine that they were both just busy. Focused in the way that made her flip her phone over when she was eating with her team and looked down to see a message from Paige saying: I miss you. It didn’t mean anything she was just living in the moment and would text back later.

The series against the Liberty barely felt like a series at all. You blinked and it was over. The Sparks lost 4–1, and Azzi swore she played like shit in every game. Her mind kept drifting to everything but basketball. Moving between flashbacks of blood on the ground, Paige apologizing to her so delicately when they got home and holding her like she was protecting her from the world when they went to sleep that night. The feelings in her chest since the cabin she still hadn’t figured out how to name, her throat feeling like sandpaper more and more each day.

Now she was back in L.A., the season was over, a month and a half of playoffs behind her and a hollow space where adrenaline used to live every other night.

No games scheduled for tomorrow. No practices. No more next round to keep her distracted.

Just a lot of empty time and a headache every second of every day.

It had been a week since they lost when she got to Paige’s house one night, it was pretty late but she couldn’t sleep and just wanted Paige to hold her. Too late for the lights in Paige’s home gym to still be on. But they were leaking through the windows like warning signals.

Azzi let herself in quietly, sneakers shuffling softly across the backyard. She followed the rhythmic sound of punches landing—sounds she’d started to grow familiar with.

When she walked in Paige’s back was to her and her hoodie sleeves were rolled up, her fists flying like she hadn’t taken a break in hours.

Azzi leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “It’s almost midnight.”

Paige didn’t stop. “I know.”

“Then come inside with me.”

“I will in a little bit,” Paige said. “Just…not yet.”

Azzi sighed, stepping closer. “Paige please.”

Still, Paige kept going, breathing sharp as she threw punches at the back. “I really just need a minute.”

Azzi frowned at the denial, the tension in the room already heavy from both of them being wound up for different reasons. “I know you’ve been in here for more than a minute. What are you trying to beat out of yourself baby?”

That made Paige pause for a second. Her arms dropped to her side but her shoulders were still tight.

Azzi took another step toward her. “You don’t have to punish yourself every time life gets loud.”

“It’s not that,” Paige said, her voice indicating how frustrated she was. “I just need space for like five more minutes beautiful.”

Azzi shook her head, trying to stay calm. “You’ve had nothing but space for weeks.”

Silence.

Azzi let out a shaky breath, choosing her next words carefully. “You know you haven’t said a word about the club that night. Not once.”

Paige turned to face her slowly, her eyebrows furrowed. “What about it?”

Azzi’s arms dropped to her sides, her voice rising a little. “What about it? You beat the shit out of somebody in the middle of L.A. and I’m supposed to just…ignore it?”

Paige’s jaw flexed the frustration she was already trying to let out starting to grow. “He disrespected you, Azzi.”

“And you think I can’t handle that?” Azzi snapped. “You think I needed you to save me? To lose it in public like that?”

“He put his hands on you.” Paige said calmly. “You just wanted me to let that slide? You wanted me…somebody who gets paid to fight for a living…to sit there and do nothing when somebody violates you?”

“No, Paige that’s not what I’m saying! I wanted you to not completely black out, to walk away! You snapped. That wasn’t about me.”

“I was protecting you Azzi.”

Azzi laughed at the words like what Paige said was comical. Her anger is valid but a little misdirected in the moment. “No, you were trying to prove something. To him, to yourself—I don’t even know.”

Paige looked away, her jaw tight as she swallowed hard. “You don’t get it.”

Azzi stepped forward. “Then tell me! What don’t I get, Paige?! What the fuck have I been missing for the past three weeks?”

Paige’s voice rose slightly, frustration starting to bleed through. “You don’t know what it’s like to constantly feel like you’re fighting your own fucking head.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “No, I just know what it’s like to be with someone who shuts me out. Who tries to handle everything with her fists instead of her words.”

Paige’s voice cracked. “I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“But you did Paige!” Azzi yelled, cutting her off. “You did! Not just at the club. Every time you disappear in your head for a few hours. Every time you pretend like you’re fine and make me feel crazy for knowing you’re not!”

There was silence after Azzi said that. She stood there breathing a little harshly, her eyes glossy and Paige looked at her like she was trying to find the right words, but all she could do was move towards her slowly, cautiously like approaching a wounded animal.

She reached out, lifting her hands wanting to cradle Azzi’s face, her voice trembling. “I don’t wanna fight. I’m trying. I’m trying, Azzi—”

But Azzi flinched when Paige got close enough. Not dramatically. Just a tiny, instinctive pullback. Enough to stop Paige exactly where she was. She froze mid-motion. Her hands hung in the air for a moment before falling to her sides numbly.

Something in her shattered. Right there, in front of Azzi. Like glass cracking behind her eyes.

Not just her heart. That would’ve been too simple to feel. It felt like her entire soul fractured all at once. Something deeper than the bones she’s broken, deeper than the blood she’s spilled, collapsed under the weight of that split second. The one silent message her brain started screaming at her. She’s scared of you.

Her chest caved in like her body forgot that it was supposed to breathe for her.

“I would never…” Paige’s voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I would never hurt you baby.”

Azzi’s face fell instantly, regret surging through her like a wave crashing over her, drowning out every other emotion she had been feeling. But it was too late, the damage had already been done.

Paige took a few steps back, her movements unsteady like she was trying to retreat into herself before she shattered in front of Azzi. Her breath hitched and got stuck. It was like her entire mind had gone static; every thought, every instinct the human body naturally had flickering out like a dying light. Her brain a fragile mosaic breaking apart from the inside.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and the words cracked in her throat, merely making it past her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

Her hands trembled as she ripped off her gloves, as if they all of a sudden burned her skin. One fell on the floor and the other stayed clinched in her shaking hand.

“Baby…” Azzi reached out, desperate to take it back, to fix it somehow, but Paige shook her head gently.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, her voice getting stuck on every syllable. “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t…I would never.” Each of her apologies came out softer, more strained, like she was starting to choke on them. Her gaze never went back to meet Azzi’s. She couldn’t look at her.

“I’m just gonna go,” Paige whispered, her voice splintering at the edges.

“No—Paige, wait. This is your house,” Azzi said desperately as she stepped forward again.

But Paige only shook her head again, a sad, almost weightless smile flickering on her face. “It’s late, I don’t want you to…just…stay. Sleep here.”

Her tears were brimming now, her composure unraveling in real time. She offered one last, “I’m so sorry beautiful.”

Before Azzi could respond, before she could reach out or say anything to get Paige to stay she turned and left.

The sound of the gym door clicked shut behind her and Azzi stood frozen in place, unable to move, her heart chest splitting clean down the middle as the silence swallowed the room that smelled too much like Paige.

Outside the loud rumble of her Audi engine cut through the stillness of midnight and a moment later Azzi heard it pull away.

She stood there alone not knowing what to do but let the tears fall down her face, Paige’s warm house suddenly too quiet, too cold.

[okwonyo]

PERSONAL pjs

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗃𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌

𝟏𝟒𝟑𝟗𝒾──── ceo!jay 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff secret relationship 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

rbs ！ ✶ 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 for @boyfhee ◜ ᴗ ◝

“mr.park,” you force a smile at your boss. you watch, through your smiling eyes, your colleagues slowly vanishing the more the closer the man gets. he seems obviously not interested in anyone but you. “i left a note on your desk telling you that i was taking my break early, didn’t you—”

with a barely controlled tone that resonates in the now empty hall, jay cuts you in your sentence, “why are you avoiding me?”

your fake smile drops immediately. you want to slam your hand in front of his mouth and tell him to shut up because there might be people around. you want to yell and tell him to not be an indiscreet idiot.

but you know how to be discreet, so you just hush; “can’t you be anymore loud?” you wish you could say something more, but someone passes by and, under jay’s amused eyes, you force a smile yet again. “listen,” you start, quietly. “i don’t have time for this, okay?”

your boss obviously wants to say something back. you turn around before he can speak, “see you later, mr. park.”

to be frank, your mistake is to underestimate the man that park jongeseong is. if he is your boss today, if he is controlling the company you work in, if he works above you, it’s definitely not because he is used to giving up. his persistence is off the roof. the admiration he receives comes from the way he always gets what he wants.

therefore, he does watch you leave him behind. and he thinks about letting you leave, but he refuses the idea. he could yell your name across the hall, speak so loudly that the message would not only reach you but the entire building. he decides that he doesn’t want to use his authority on you just yet.

jay’s steps follow yours quickly. although, you do everything in your power to get away from him as quickly as possible, your heels are nothing against his long legs. his large steps reach you in a few seconds, his big hand grips onto your forearm tightly and he pulls you into the janitor’s closet as if you weigh nothing.

behind the closed door, he pins you against the wall as he usually does, “you haven’t answered my calls nor my texts, why is that?”

you don’t answer just yet. your eyes drags over his white button up, guessing he took off his suit’s vest, your gaze stays focused on his black cravat for a while. you speak before the urge to pull it so your lips can meet becomes too strong, “mr. park, i already told—”

“don’t call me that unless we are kissing, princess” he speaks over you again.

you decide to ignore both him and the warmth that creeps on your face at the call of the petname, “—you, i am busy.”

jay falls silent, his eyes burning holes through your soul. you look at the wall behind him, carefully ignoring how intense his stare is getting. “hey,” you ignore him, still not deciding locking eyes with him. you sigh when he holds your chin between his thumb and index finger to tilt your head up, “look at me.”

without forgetting to heavy sigh, you do as you were told. your heartbeat goes ridiculously faster when you look at the one you call ‘mr. park’ in the eyes. it’s stupid how your mouth is quick to get dry, how your hands get sweaty, how your entire body tickles because of how close is his.

you always end up acting like a teenager in heat around him, “what?”

“i really want to kiss you,” he smirks, leaning closer but he stops before your mouths touch. he looks at your lips without shame, touching your lower lip with his thumb, “but i know you won’t let me, so stop being a brat and tell me what’s wrong.”

your bottled up frustration gets the best of you. this added to how nervous he makes you feel, you just sigh, “i can’t do it anymore.”

“what?” you notice faint worry in his voice, “you want to stop?” he furrows his brow, clearly confused, “is that why are you are telling me?”

“no! i mean—yes!” you groan, weakly pushing him away from you. you can’t think with him so close to you, “i don’t know!”

you take in huge care in not running your hand down your face to not ruin your makeup. but you run your fingers through your hair instead, then cup your own face gently to calm your blushing skin down. even your hands are hot, so it doesn’t really help.

“can you talk to me, please?”

“jay, i can’t do this anymore,” you rush out. “i am not a teenager, i can’t spend my entire day kissing my whatevership in the janitor closet as if i’m hiding from my parents while i’m supposed to do my actual job!”

you do admit that it was very fun at the start. when your company’s executive called you in his office one late night, begging you to give him a reason to not pin you against his desk and kiss you senseless. you didn’t give him any, so you let him do as he promised.

the giggles, the hiding, the whispers; they were all fun at the start. dizzingly exciting for a few weeks. but it got old. “that’s–that’s not what i want.”

“and what do you want?” you wipe his face to his direction. jay looks at you, his hands in his pocket, head slightly titled to the side and he looks so helpless. he steps when you stay quiet for too long, “tell me what you wish for and i will give it to you, in a heartbeat.”

your mouth is open. you take a big breath, looking for the words you need, “i want something real,” your hands fall to your side. “i–i want dates, i want to sleep with each other’s, i want going to work together, i want–i want a relationship, jay.”

your boss, the man you hide once hid in the restroom to make out with, looks speechless. he seems surprised and defeated, “have you even read my messages?” he asks. you didn’t, neither did you listen to his ten voicemails. “i have been begging for your attention for over a week now.”

he takes a step closer to you, jailing you between his tall figure and the wall once again. “do you think i would do all of this if i didn’t want dates, sleeping at each other’s, going to work together?” your mouth falls agape. “i can cook for you, i can help you put on your shoes, i can buy you everything that you want; if only you let me and talk to me.”

it’s your turn to be defeated and slightly embarrassed for your bratty behavior. your take time to understand the new information thay got shared with you. you feel ashamed for being so in your head, forgetting to hear him out and making him chase after you. you were being mean. “o–oh.”

jay chuckles, taking his hands off his pocket to hold your hips. fortunately for you, if he is this rich it’s because he learnt how to be patient with his desires. he doesn’t seem to take your behavior at heart with his he pulls you closer to him. “but enough talking for now, hm?” he leans in.

“mr. park,” you wrap his arms around his neck, giggling against his lips.

he groans, “shit, i love when you call me that, baby.”

he sighs in your mouth when your lips touch. jay has an habit of letting his hands wander all over your body, which made your knees weak the very first time you kissed. his hands moves from your hips to your waist, then back to your hips as he tongue slides into your mouth.

you can feel his heart beating faster when he ends up embracing your form, his body pressed against yours. you hug his neck tighter, in the utmost need of being closer to him. desperately more than you already are.

as jay steals your breath away, you feel the ground under you getting further from your feet. jay lifts you up to kiss you better— to break the passionate kiss into a few pecks on your lips as you smile and multiple kisses all over your face.

“i’ll pick you up for our date tonight at nine,” he tells you after putting you down. he kisses your cheek, “okay, princess?”

a huge smile creeps on your face, you bite it down, “okay.”

exactly what you wanted.

분지 ܃ congratulations on the baby on the way, cael ! 💌 i really like this work so i hope it does well >< please give me some feedback 🎀

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist open

[ggidolsmuts]

AirBnB - Red Velvet Seulgi, ITZY Yeji

"This is a nice neighborhood!"

"Yeah." You look around the quiet European village. "So nice and quiet, I'm glad your company chose to film part of your MV here."

"And I'm glad you could take the time off to come with me!" Yeji slinks her arm through yours, pulling you close. You were initially debating if you should go with Yeji on what is a work trip for her, but you don't regret it now, especially when you see the intimate housing she's secured for the two of you. "Here we are." It's a cozy little two bedroom, complete with kitchenette and a small living room.

"Oh, it's a little small," Yeji frowns as you pull the luggage in. "Not much room to spread out."

"It's fine, you won't be here for the most part right? It's enough for me work in, I can use the spare room as a study."

"Are you sure? We can still grab a hotel in the village center. I thought the living room would be more spacious."

"No no, this is good. Don't stress over it." You pull Yeji in for a hug. "What's important is the person I'm here with, not where I'm at."

"Says the guy who had trouble with the visa."

"Who knew that 'Following gorgeous girlfriend on work trip' was not a valid reason to visit?" Yeji boops you on the nose as the two of you get to unpacking. When you finish both of you slump on the couch, tired.

"Oof, I did not think we brought that much stuff."

"Me neither, but at least it's done. Dinner?" You check the time and shake your head.

"I think they're closed by now, shops close early here."

"Really?" Yeji scrolls through Google Maps, only for her expression to fall as she goes through every restaurant nearby. "Oh well, at least I brought ramyun."

"I thought I told you not to, I was going to bring them!"

"I brought it in case you forgot!"

"Well, I guess we have too much ramyun then, you could've used that space for your makeup or something."

"Nah I asked manager unnie to bring most of it, but yay ramyun!" Yeji enthusiastically starts boiling water, humming as she thinks about the ramyun she's about to make. "Ugh this might be my one time to eat ramyun, I'm going to have to watch what I eat when we start filming."

"I'll sneak you snacks, or have something for you when you come back then."

"You are horrible," Yeji says it ever so sweetly. "I'm supposed to on a business trip, I have to be professional!"

"Well you're not at work now, I think you can afford to be a little... Unprofessional." Your hands rested over her flat midriff, thumbs playing underneath the waistband of her jeans.

"I did cook some ramyun so... Do you want to come over for some ramyun?" Yeji asks the classic line cheekily.

"Already here babe." Your stomachs growl in protest. "Maybe we should eat first though."

"Yeah, you're going to need some extra energy!" You raise an eyebrow at her words. "I've never had sex outside of Korea, gotta make the best of this trip."

"We should wait a few days then, let me pick up the local language and I'll be saying filthy things you won't even understand."

"Wonderful. While you build that Duolingo streak, maybe you can say a few things I will understand later tonight."

"I always do." The sweet and dirty moment is interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who's that?"

"No idea, maybe the owner of the place, forgot something here? Let me take a look." You peck Yeji on the cheek and go to the door only to find a stunning lady in front of you, surely this can't be the owner?

"Oh hi, are you the owner?" "Are you the owner?" Both of you ask at once.

"Eh? I'm here with reservation." She flashes a printout in front of him, her mind racing. There must have been some mistake, why is someone else here?

"We booked this place for the week." He answers back.

"No that can't be right, let me call the owner." Hurriedly she pulls out her phone, praying it isn't true. She's heard of nightmare stories like these, where an unscrupulous owner double books a place, allowing them to make double the money, and leaving the inconvenienced parties to figure it out themselves.

"Who is it babe?" She hears a female voice call out from the apartment.

"Ah, someone else apparently booked this place too."

"Oh, we should call the owner then."

"Yeah she's doing it."

"Does she want to come in?"

"I'll ask." You wait for her to put down her phone, and in the back of your head you have a nagging feeling—she looks incredibly familiar.

"No response, great."

"Do you want to come in? Just to put your bags down while we figure it out?"

"Yeah sure, that'd be great, I don't know what's going on. Something like this has never happened before." You help the visitor with her luggage as you let her in, and you almost walk into her as she stops right at the entrance.

"Yeji?"

"Huh? Seulgi unnie?" 

"Small world, to think I'd run into you here!" Seulgi's completely wrong-footed by the development, but she greets Yeji happily, grateful to be seeing someone she recognizes. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to film for my MV, shh don't tell anyone!" Seulgi nods understandingly. "What about you?"

"Same actually." She holds up a finger to her lips as well.

"Oh my god that's so good to hear, I loved your solo debut!"

"Thank you! And this is..." Seulgi addresses the odd one out in the apartment.

"Ah, he's umm—" Yeji's quickly burning up, what should she say, she's not that close to Seulgi.

"I'm her manager, nice to meet you." He reaches out and offers a hand.

"Oh, huh, I thought I heard her call you 'babe' earlier." Yeji almost drops the fork in her hand.

"Ah, that's my name, it's unusual, get a lot of stares because of it. Yeji can you get Seulgi something to drink?" You quickly deflect Seulgi's line of thought, offering her a seat at the dining table.

"Oh, yes of course!"

"You can't get a hold of the owner?" you ask, trying to keep Seulgi's focus on her predicament.

"Thanks Yeji. Yes, they're not picking up, argh! What do I do now?!"

"Is there a hotel nearby that has a room? And then get a refund for this later." You offer, and Seulgi nods and starts looking, and her expression slowly sours.

"No, there's nothing in this town that's available." She downs her water in one shot. "Thanks, I'll be on my way then, gotta get in touch with my team, maybe I'll stay with them, or stay in the city and travel out here for the shoot."

"Are you sure? Why don't you just stay here for the night unnie?"

"Really? That's okay with you?"

"Yeah, right op— Babe?"

"Yeah, Yeji and I can take a room, and you can have the other room."

"You and Yeji will... share a room?" Shit, right, you're supposed to be her manager.

"Er yes, there's a sofa bed in there too, quite common in small towns like these, we've slept together before." You wince internally, but it was too late, the words were already out. Thankfully Seulgi's too caught up in accepting the solution to her problems to notice.

"Ah really? If you're really okay with it..." Both you and Yeji nod insistently, and you make sure to help her bring her luggage to "her" room.

"We're making some ramyun unnie, do you want some too?"

"Is that okay? Thank you!"

The three of you split two portions of noodles, and you retreat to your room after to let them talk shop. Yeji ducks into the room after an hour later.

"Hi babe, did you shower?"

"Mmhmm, go ahead." Yeji does so before getting under the sheets with you.

"So, did we get found out?" you mumble as she snuggles against you.

"What do you mean?"

"She's your sunbae right? I'm sure I'm not the first manager that's called "Babe" she's run into."

"You think so? Maybe it's more common? I don't know, she didn't say anything about you, I think she buys it."

"Either she's naive, or you're naive love."

"It's fine, she'll be settled tomorrow, and then you can talk filthy to me every night." Yeji grabs your hand, stopping it from drifting across her thigh.

"Every night? You're asking a lot from me."

"Wait till you see me in the outfits I'm supposed to shoot in."

"God, you can't say that and expect me to sleep properly." You slip your hand underneath her flimsy t-shirt.

"Stop! No more tonight, we don't know how thin the walls are!" Yeji slaps your hand, reprimanding you with a hurried harsh hush.

But unfortunately for both of you, it turns out that you two might not be alone for the other nights either, as you find Seulgi waiting for the two of you the next morning.

"So I spoke to the owner, they offered to refund me fully, and you 75% off, all we need to do is not report them on the app."

"Ugh, fine. Did they offer alternative accommodations? Or do you still need to look for that?" Seulgi shakes her head sadly.

"They offered to look but also said to not get my hopes up, there was always only a few hotels, and this is peak season. It's why they decided to offer their place on the app too, good money."

"Figures, where are you going to stay then?"

"I was hoping I could stay here? It'd be just a lot easier if I don't have to stress about it. I know I'm not paying anything, so I'm happy to split whatever's left of your bill after the discount. I don't mind taking half, it's a good deal since they're taking so much off."

"That's true but, Yeji and I would like some priv—" Yeji pinches your side and cuts you off.

"That would be great unnie! I was hoping you would stay, we'd both have each other for company, right?" Yeji's pointed look is your cue to chime in.

"Uh yeah, that'd be great, you could give Yeji advice on her shoot as well."

"Oh no, she's doing great already! But thank you, I'm glad that's sorted then!" Seulgi heads back to her room, leaving you to stare at Yeji disbelievingly.

"You were going to say 'privacy'! What would she think then?" your girlfriend retorts.

"Ugh you're right." You prepare breakfast for Yeji, making a little extra for Seulgi as well, and as they prepare to head out for their respective shoots, Yeji hangs back just a little bit, stealing a kiss as Seulgi leaves first.

"I'll try to get back early, we'll have to get our fun in while she's not around." She heads out, only to run into Seulgi still near the building entrance.

"Oh Yeji, is Babe not coming with you?"

"Babe? Oh, the manager? No, he's er, coordinating stuff with the company, I can find my way there myself."

"Yeah? Oh after your shoot we should see if there's any good scenic spots around town, we can take pictures for each other!"

"Oh umm yeah, that'd be great unnie!"

Seulgi, to her credit and Yeji's debit, is blissfully unaware. With a nice junior idol to enjoy the scenic city with, there's nothing she wants to do more than to hang out with her! She invites her on her daily runs, scouts out local cafes that they can check out, the different parks dotted around the area, everything is perfect!

Although, sometimes she can be mysteriously hard to find.

"Oh, hi Babe!"

"Hnn—uh? Oh hello Seulgi!" She catches Yeji's manager leaning against the kitchen island. Slowly he twists around to face her. "Have a good shoot?"

"Yeah, is Yeji around?"

"Yeji? Umm hmm... umm umm, no she's not, she stepped out for a run, said she ate too much last night."

"Oh, okay." His expression is a little odd though. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Huhhng? Yeah, just a little under the weather."

"Oh no, do you need any medicine? I have some that you could use."

"No, I'm good, thank you!"

"Sure, please don't hesitate to ask, I'm sure Yeji depends on you a lot."

"Ghhk!" You forget just how much Yeji's depending on you to pull your cock out of her mouth so she can breathe. Your shaft is covered in her drool, and it drips down her jaw, her mouth forced open the whole time you've been speaking to Seulgi.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That sound?"

"Sorry, that was me trying to hold my cough back." You quickly fake a cough, pulling your hips slightly back and unpinning Yeji's throat from the furniture.

"Are you sure you don't need medicine? It's not good to get sick abroad."

"I have medicine I can take, I'll be sure to take it, thank you though!" You try to wrap the conversation up quickly, and thankfully Seulgi nods and heads into her room, allowing you to talk to Yeji. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just couldn't really swallow." She wipes her mouth before diving back in.

"Wait, Seulgi's here!"

"Just finish before she comes back out!" That wouldn't be a problem, as Yeji knows just how you like your tip licked, flicked, and sucked. It is on you to muffle your moan as you start to empty your load down her throat.

"Ugh god..."

"Are you okay?" You almost jump and pop out of Yeji's mouth, Seulgi's back out again!

"Yeah, just er... some bad news from home."

"Oh no, I hope everything's fine!" She approaches you, offering her sympathy, but any closer and Yeji would be discovered.

"It is, sorry!" You hold your hands at arms length. "I just umm, need a moment to myself."

"Right, okay, I'm here if you need a shoulder to lean on."

She's so kind! Is what you would've thought, if Yeji didn't choose that moment to swirl her tongue around your tip, cleaning you thoroughly as Seulgi watched, completely unaware. "Th-Thanks, sorry, please don't worry about me and go about your day."

"Oh, umm, okay." Uncertainly Seulgi answers and heads out again, and you allow yourself to slump forward as Yeji pops your soft member out of her mouth.

"That was close!" Yeji laughs as she gets out from under you.

"Yeah well, you're the one who wanted to finish me off."

"Are you telling me you wanted to be blue balled all night after Seulgi's back?"

"No, but I suppose you want me to repay the favor before she comes back?"

"You read my mind." You share a kiss with Yeji as she shimmies her shorts down, and as you sink to your knees you pull her panties down with you.

Seulgi slaps her forehead at her own stupidity, she left her airpods back at home! She trudges up the stairs to the apartment, only to be met with a yelp when she opens the door.

"Ah! I-I thought you were going out unnie!" Yeji's in the exact same position as her manager earlier, leaning forward over the flat surface.

"Yeah I forgot my airpods, were you here earlier?"

"N-No, I just got back!"

"Really? I didn't see you on the way out just now! Where's Babe?"

"I took the building's— Hnngh! Back door. Oppa's in the room, he said he wasn't feeling well so..." Yeji couldn't hide her soft moan as you press your tongue against her slit, and thankfully Seulgi doesn't notice Yeji's eyes rolling up when you begin playing with her back door, fingers drifting around it.

"Yeah I saw him just now, he did not look good. Should I get something for him?" 

"No need, I'll take care of him!" Seulgi quickly ducks into her room to grab the airpod and waves goodbye to Yeji, a little distracted. Did Yeji just call him oppa?

"Oppa that's too much!" Yeji whines.

"You said back door, so..." You get back to licking her pussy, rendering her incapable of a quip back. Your neck is sore from looking up between her legs, but it is made easier as Yeji disappears from anyone's view, knees sinking to the floor as she full on sits on your face—the only things visible from a potential Seulgi are her fingers, still gripping the top of the counter.

"Oh fuck, you eat me out so good!" She rides your face rapidly, eager to finally get herself off on this trip. A lick, flick, and suck of her clit, and Yeji's thighs close around your head—they tremble around you, making you shake slightly, adding to her pleasure. She can't help but cry out, letting herself go, sinking further on your face as her legs go weak. When she's done she swings herself off you, slumped against the kitchen island as she gathers herself.

"God I needed that."

"Same," you agree, helping Yeji to her feet.

"I wish we could do more, but no telling when she's back."

"Me too, maybe we can stay a few days longer, say your flight got delayed or something?"

"Maybe, now go to bed and pretend to be sick before Seulgi comes back and catches us like this!"

Seulgi doesn't catch them in the act, but she certainly caught Yeji's ecstatic shout as she came. She had forgotten something else, and cursing her own forgetfulness Seulgi quickly headed back before stopping dead in her tracks. Yeji's cry was sharp and pointed, yet the moan after was ground out, sounding absolutely and thoroughly satisfied.

Isn't Babe in there with her? She wonders, surely he heard it! Unless...

Maybe he was asleep because he was sick and didn't hear it. The naive little angel on her shoulder thought out loud.

He's in on it, responsible for it even, oh he's getting her off good! The lusty little succubus between her legs speaks up to her.

He's her manager, that'd be unprofessional! The naive angel barks back, scandalized.

Oh please, he's her boyfriend, when was the last time you cooked ramyun for your manager? Seulgi knew the little devil in her head was right. She had known all along that Babe wasn't Yeji's manager (That probably isn't even his name! the naive angel in her finally realizes), but she just wanted to give Yeji the benefit of the doubt, to not think about her boyfriend giving something else to her. Starved for attention recently, the little devil in her grew quickly with each such thought.

Yeji sounded so satisfied didn't she? Seulgi whirls around, quickly heading the other way, forgetting about what she forgot, her mind filled with Yeji's noises that the lust devil won't let her forget.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up!

But the need doesn't go away—it manifests itself viciously in a vicarious need to know that Yeji gets fucked. Seulgi makes sure to tell the couple when she's out, and when she'll be back. If she's done early, she'll wait outside the apartment, split in two between eavesdropping, trying to see if she can catch the sounds of their activities and feeding her own needs, and trying to be the good sunbae, recognizing and giving them the privacy they need.

Once she's back in the apartment her eyes are sharp, Yeji might very well think that Seulgi's trying to catch them in the act, but no, Seulgi just wants her own satisfaction—any redness on Yeji's knees, or a t-shirt pulled slightly further up to hide a hickey, her hair maybe slightly mussed and messy. The dead giveaways that make Seulgi wet are the bowleggedness that Yeji tries to hide, the lipstick mark that Babe doesn't wipe off cleanly, the sudden additional load of laundry that they do in the apartment.

And yet she can't get her own satisfaction—between Yeji coming and going and her boyfriend staying in and working remotely, Seulgi has no time to herself! She does it mid-shower, the sound of running water barely enough to cover her whines and whimpers, but it is nowhere close to what Yeji gets—not nearly as loud or as satisfying surely. So Seulgi simmers, letting off steam in the shower when she can, waiting, hoping for the inevitable boilover.

It comes in the most unexpected of circumstances, one that Seulgi didn't even plan for.

"Nngh..." Seulgi mumbles as she stretches her arms, waking up in the late morning. She's still sleepy, but she wakes up immediately when she can hear their voices through the shared wall.

"And you're sure she's not home?"

"Definitely, I went out for a quick run, and her shoes were not there!" Seulgi's eyes fly to her freshly wiped footwear—she had brought them in for cleaning after getting them muddy last night. They are silent for a while, but it quickly becomes clear what's happening when Yeji's whine pierces through the wall, followed by Babe's low moan. Safe in their false security of Seulgi not being home, they are not soft, and Seulgi hears every word, whimper, and wail.

"Fuck me, oh fuck me I'm cumming!" Yeji gets off fast, and Seulgi is quick to kick off her pajama bottoms, sliding a hand between her legs—she's too horny to think, hearing them basically going at it directly. She's only conscious enough to muffle her sounds, fingers running up and down her slit and thumb pressing on her clit. She gets herself to the edge of orgasm, but it seems to end a little too early for her as she hears Babe's moan suddenly close to the wall.

"Oh yeah, drink it all." There is a long drawn out silence, peppered with a few groans, before finally Seulgi audibly hears Yeji gasp, his cock finally taken out of her—just how much did he cum?

"God I wish Minju were here." She hears Yeji say. Minju? Kim Minju?

"I know I know, I taste better coming from her." Seulgi's eyes are wide open, what is he saying?! "But if she's here, we both know I wouldn't get anything done."

"You'd get a lot of her done. You two mix the best." Seulgi's hand stops moving, shocked by the revelation. Yeji's boyfriend is openly having sex with Minju, and Yeji is okay with it? And he tastes better coming from her? Does Yeji... oh god!

"Imagine how you would taste coming from Seulgi unnie."

"Yeji..."

"She looks so tight, have you seen her abs?" Seulgi's sticky fingers drift over her hard midriff—what is Yeji saying now?

"She's your sunbae—"

"So? Don't tell me you don't find her hot, even I find her hot."

"She is, but things will get awkward, how would you face her at music shows?"

"Oh I see Chaeryeong all the time and face her fine. You say that like I don't see the others at music shows already, even Hitomi is debuting again!" First Minju, now Chaeryeong and Hitomi? The little devil in Seulgi now really wants to see what she's missing out on—Yeji's satisfied enough that she's fine with him fooling around, if anything, she seems to be the instigator!

"Can you imagine, that tight naked body writhing underneath you?" As Yeji says it Seulgi's imagining it as well, fingers dipping back down her body. "Do you think she likes it hard? Or is she more of a rider, imagine that waist riding on top of you."

"Yeji—"

"Oh please, you're hard again already." Seulgi bites back a whimper as she fingers herself, the thought of him getting hard thinking about her getting her wetter—it's part of her job to be hot and attractive, but knowing the effect she has on someone when they're right there is different.

"Enough!" He growls, and there is a bang and a moan from Yeji. There is no fanfare, no more fantasizing, and Seulgi hears the headboard begin to knock constantly on the shared wall. They're outright fucking, and Seulgi adds another finger in herself when Yeji wails.

"You're so fucking big!"

The rest of it is unintelligible, but the "ohs" and "ahs" she can make out more than tell Seulgi just how thoroughly Yeji's getting railed. It turns Seulgi on that she's partially responsible for this, that thinking about her is making them fuck that hard. The headboard banging begins to get faster and faster, and Yeji manages a high-pitched whine.

"Cum in me!" Seulgi's mind goes blank, imagining herself in Yeji's place, fingers going faster and faster, loud wet sounds coming from between her legs. She grabs a pillow and screams into it when she hears his deep groan, imagining him filling her up and climaxing with him. There's no holding back her pleasure, and Seulgi bucks her hips and let's herself go, squirting all over the sheets as her heels dig into the bed. The moans and gasps of the couple across the wall fill her head as they finish, and Seulgi continues to rub herself, getting every last drop out of her.

"Fuck yes..." she moans loudly as she comes down, too in the clouds to realize what she just did.

"Was that—" You and Yeji look at each other.

"You said she wasn't here!" you hiss, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Her shoes were not there!" Yeji quickly gets under the sheets, as if fearful of getting caught naked by Seulgi. "Do you think she heard?"

"Well if we heard her, she definitely heard us, we weren't exactly being quiet."

"Shit, this is bad! Oh no we were talking about her like that!"

"You did, I didn't say anything. Well, she did sound like she was enjoying herself. Who would say 'Fuck yes' like that?"

"You think... she was getting off on us?"

"Maybe? Or maybe she just woke up, and she didn't hear us."

"You think we just heard her, and not the other way around?"

"We have to hope." The two of you agree to not bring it up with Seulgi, and to deflect if she asks. It doesn't last long though, as you run into her ready to start her own extra load of laundry later that day.

"Oh, hello, you go ahead."

"Hello Babe, I think we can do both?"

"Oh, umm sure." Awkwardly you put you and Yeji's fluid-stained clothes in there, and you can't help but notice the stained bedsheets already in the tumbler.

"There we go," Seulgi says as she hits start. "You and Yeji do each other today?"

"Sorry?"

"Are you and Yeji doing anything today?" Whew, you thought you heard her say "do each other".

"N-No, she doesn't have any schedules planned."

"Yes, but what about you and Yeji?"

"I— I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please, I'm not stupid, I know you're not her manager. I'm not even sure if your name's Babe, but I'll call you that for now."

"Er, right, thanks. If you could keep quiet about me and Yeji that'd be much appreciated."

"Oh of course, that's your personal life, what you and Yeji say and do, no one needs to know about that." Seulgi says it in a way that makes you think she knows about what you and Yeji did.

"Right."

"After all, Minju, Chaeryeong, and Hitomi can all keep quiet, as her sunbae I assure you I am more discreet." Your blood runs cold, and then hot, how did she know about them, the only way Seulgi would know is because—

Shit.

"Y-You heard everything?"

"Maybe? I don't know when you two started. I heard you two talking about my shoes when I woke up." You groan internally, realizing that she heard almost everything.

"Damn, er, sorry we woke you up."

"No problem, it was an interesting morning." With the cards all out in the open you play it straight with Seulgi.

"I gather you had your fun too?" You tilt your head towards the laundry. "We heard you briefly too."

"W-What?" Now it's her turn to blush. "What did I say?"

"You just sounded satisfied."

"Oh, well... So much for being discreet."

"Do you want more? I understand if you don't want things to get weird between you and Yeji but, we can arrive at an understanding."

"Understanding?"

"You heard what you heard, and we heard what we heard. If you want to hear more of us, I'm sure Yeji would understand."

"You'd be happy huh, getting to fuck Yeji, knowing that I'm listening the whole time?"

"Yeji's probably happier than I am about that. Plus you wouldn't be the first to listen to us."

"What—" Seulgi processes the new information, before blushing a little deeper. "I see."

"You just let us know if it becomes too much."

The next few days become much more enjoyable for everyone involved. With the understanding in place Yeji becomes much more handsy, teasing and riling you up whenever she could. It started off safe, and you would hold it till night time, where Yeji would simply kick off her shorts and allow you easy access. There was no need to be quiet, and soon Seulgi can hear the crash of your hips into Yeji straight through the wall. Shortly after the two of you finished you would hear a moan or two, the signal that Seulgi got off. She would be muted some nights, while other nights she would be louder, almost correlating with how tired she looked before she said good night to the two of you.

By the end of the trip though, as long as Seulgi wasn't in direct view, all bets were off. Yeji continued to rile you up, teasing and showing Seulgi just how you liked it, and as soon as Seulgi entered her room you would rip off whatever Yeji was wearing and fuck her on the nearest surface in the living room. You had no idea if Seulgi peeked, but you do know that you never heard her door close.

"Hnngh she's right there oppa!" Yeji whispers urgently—the two of you were at the kitchen island, and you're pressing her against the countertop, sliding her shorts down already. Seulgi was laying on the couch, facing away from the two of you. You held Yeji by her arms, and when you pressed your cockhead into her there was nothing she could do to hide her moan.

"You're so deep in me!" Yeji whines, and the two of you watch Seulgi's thighs spread on the couch—Seulgi was adamant about only listening, but no one ever said anything about you and Yeji watching her.

"Yeah? You like it when I'm deep in you?" you say loudly, hamming it up for Seulgi's benefit.

"Yeah, ah! You're longer than my fingers, wider too, it's like three fingers stuffed in me all at once!" The two of you watch Seulgi plug three fingers into herself, and you're not sure if she's scooting down the couch to get more comfortable, but it certainly gives the two of you a better view.

"So fucking hot, how are you so tight?" you utter into Yeji's neck.

"Because you haven't fucked me in sooooo long!" Yeji drawls. "I need you to really fuck me." You slam into her hard, making sure the sound of your bodies colliding get to Seulgi.

"You're going to be bruised, do you want to take it to the bedroom?"

"No, I'm going to be sore anyways, just fuck me already!"

Seulgi fingers herself as the noises behind her get more and more obscene. Yeji's words just made her think about the last time she was with someone, and the only answer she can come up with right now is Too fucking long ago! Yeji's devolving with every moan—she had heard Yeji moaning before through the walls, and part of her wondered if Yeji's embellishing it for her to listen to, but now Seulgi knows there's nothing made up about it. If anything, it's too natural, too raw, the way Yeji moans, the gasps and grunts mixing as Seulgi imagines you hilting yourself deep inside her, forcing sounds out that could never be engineered or faked. She's so close to her own climax, trying not to explode, to not make a mess of the couch they share.

"Nngh I, I'm gonna cum!" Yeji cries, and a sudden splatter of liquid fills Seulgi's ears, triggering her own orgasm.

"F-F-Fuck, oh fuck!" She's powerless to stop the gush of fluids exiting her own body, and her hand moves in a blur, spraying her squirt everywhere unapologetically. As Seulgi comes down from her own orgasm she hears Yeji whimpering, hypersensitive from her own peak.

"Cum in me, do it, do it!" A grunt and a groan from him, and Seulgi hears Yeji being filled up, the sigh she releases utterly satisfying, a coo of contentment. The sound of their finish goes straight to her very core, and in her own blissful state something finally crumbles, Seulgi's inhibitions and reluctance dissolve—she wants it, wants it real bad.

You and Yeji quietly try to get back to your bedroom, to keep the facade up, but you both hear it—Seulgi's soft plea from behind you, just before the two of you enter the bedroom.

"I want it, the real thing." Yeji nods eagerly, and you're never saying no to a woman like Seulgi.

"Tomorrow—" you start.

"Tonight." Seulgi stands up, her thighs shining with slick. She watches a little bit of you leak out from Yeji—she neglected to put her panties back on. "Or now. I can't wait, I'm going to regret asking, I know it."

"You won't. We'll clean up a little first, and then start?" The slight delay wrongfoots Seulgi—she was planning on getting straight into it, to let herself be taken along as soon as possible.

"Right, okay." Seulgi is left standing there naked and a little out-of-it, figuring out what to do next.

"Aren't you going to join us?"

You didn't have to worry about getting hard again, as sharing a shower with Seulgi and Yeji and watching the water run down their lithe bodies does wonders for getting you "up and running". Just the act of cleaning you off is enough to get you hard again, and Seulgi's eyes have been glued to it since.

"We're going to take care of you unnie." Yeji wraps a tower around her hair. "Can you get her body oppa?"

"Sure." You wrap Seulgi with a towel from behind, and you take the chance to feel her through the towel, squeezing her chest, feeling her react already. Her abs are firm and hard as you work your way down, and you dry each of her taut thighs separately, making sure to get right up to where they met her hips before stopping—there's no drying the wetness there.

Up top Yeji's whispering in her ear the whole time, telling her how she's going to be split open, how you're both going to enjoy her tight body, and how she's going to want it again and again. All truths. Yeji kisses her neck, leaving Seulgi a trembling anticipating wreck.

"I'm going to dry my hair, but I'll join you two soon." Seulgi lets herself be lead to bed, and she's gently but firmly pushed down. Your lips are on her neck, and with a touch on her thighs she spreads them eagerly. Seulgi gasps as your hardness touches her skin, hard, hot and...

"Y-You're big."

"Why do you think Yeji moans like she does?" Seulgi blushes, grabbing you with a hand and wondering if she could wrap her hand around you—just barely. You put your hand around hers, guiding your tip to her entrance. Seulgi squirms as you nudge her lips with your cockhead, resting it there and holding yourself back from just pushing in and taking her in one shot.

"You do it." Her hand drifts down your shaft, and holding on to your hilt, she pulls you in with a bit of help from your hips.

"Hnngh..." Seulgi has to force herself to relax as the pressure between her thighs grow—there's no way you're only three fingers wide! As she feeds your dick into her pussy she gradually releases her grip on you, one finger at a time lifted off your cock until her hand is free to grip your shoulder. You do the final bit for her, grunting as you're balls deep in Seulgi's pink velvet wrap.

"Fuck you're really really tight."

"I— Ah! Thank you!" Seulgi manages, moaning as you pull back and push forward with an experimental thrust. "Yeji!" Your raven-haired girlfriend has crawled on to the bed naked, hands cradling Seulgi's head in her lap.

"She really does look hot squirming like this." Yeji reaches for her unnie's tits, playing with them through tweaks and pinches. "Make her squirm more." You draw your hips back, and with your hands leaving red marks on Seulgi's thighs you thrust forward and pull her towards you, fully filling her in one hard thrust.

"Nngh oh god!" Seulgi cries, the lightning bolt of pleasure and thunder-like sting after splitting her mind in two, striking at her very core. She grips the sheets, her low moans expectant as you pull back, only to rise to a satisfying cry when when you slam back in, rocking her against Yeji's lap again and again. At some point Yeji's thighs open up, and Seulgi's head is on the bed, watching her junior's tight body loom over her, slithering down Serulgi's own form. A warm breath on her pussy makes her shudder—Yeji's breathing on her!

"Do you want to taste?" you ask Yeji, pulling back, allowing her to lick Seulgi's juices off your shaft.

"She tastes good." Yeji follows up by rubbing Seulgi's clit, making her squirm even more. Your thrusting slows down, allowing Yeji to get to work.

"Ah!" Seulgi bucks her hips, sending more pleasure through her when she feels Yeji's tongue and finger on her clit. Somehow Yeji knows just how far to push Seulgi to the edge before drawing back, giving her a brief respite for the storm that follows. Seulgi finds herself making the same sounds she heard Yeji make as you get back to pounding her at a brisk pace.

"Ngh ngh ngh hnnngh! Ack, oh g— mmm!" The pressure holding her pussy open is suddenly gone, and Seulgi's still in cloud nine as you clean your cock with Yeji's mouth, letting her suck Seulgi's cream and slick off you before you're plunging back into her now red velvet embrace. As her mouth hangs open a tang of salty sweetness hits her tongue—Yeji's openly dripping on to her, and in her current state Seulgi has no inhibitions at all.

"Ohhh!" Your girlfriend moans as her hips are pulled onto Seulgi's face aggressively, feeling the effects of her sunbae's tongue licking messily on her slit. You fuck Seulgi as Yeji plays with her clit, and then you're fucking Yeji's mouth as Seulgi plays with her pussy—an obscene sixty-nine plus one, filling the hole in each number. Seulgi's contracting around you haphazardly, and she's due an explosive orgasm. You press a hand to her mons, and Seulgi's throat tears in a scream as you pound her even harder, your cock pushing against her cervix, making her feel like you're straight up moving her womb around to your wishes. It's uncanny, uncomfortable, but supremely fulfilling—you're as deep as anyone can get inside her, and she's quite literally putty around your cock.

Seulgi grunts, and Yeji's surprised by the sudden squirt splashing against your hips, followed by the uncontrolled seepage of cream from her pussy as you fuck her through the orgasm, a ring of white around your shaft. Seulgi's groans and moans vibrate through Yeji, letting her feel Seulgi's orgasm directly.

"Shit, gonna cum!" you mutter as you look at Yeji's pleasured expression.

"Wait!" She quickly turns around, addressing her cockdrunk colleague. "Unnie, he can cum in you right?"

"Huh..." Seulgi simply blinks at her, not really processing Yeji's words.

"I want to see him cum in you, you want that too right?" Before Seulgi can answer though, she sees Yeji's head snap back, her eyes rolling into her head briefly, and then the same satisfied moan that haunted her since she heard it that first time.

No!

In your urgency you saw Yeji's slit flushed and spread right in front of you, and you simply grabbed her hair and came in the pussy you know you could always count on to take it. Already close from Seulgi's mouthwork Yeji cums with you, tugging and milking your load. You pull out after, letting Yeji collapse on to Seulgi.

"Now now, no need to pressure Seulgi into making a decision." Seulgi shudders as she feels your cum leak out of Yeji, thick and heavy and hot as soon as it drips out of her pussy and onto her own skin.

"No, I— I want it. Wanted it," Seulgi corrects herself, her mind still dazzled from her climax. Yeji whines briefly, and then it is Seulgi's turn to whine as two fingers are shoved into her.

"You can have some." The digits rotate in her, and Seulgi realizes that you're smearing your cum all over her walls manually.

"Fuck!"

"Give her a taste oppa..." Yeji sighs into Seulgi's neck, and her breath hitches as you plunge into her again to get more cum. Seulgi licks her lips unconsciously when you present your fingers to her face, and she sucks them clean obediently.

"Good?" she nods.

"Unnie, if you want the real thing, we have to get him hard again," Yeji whispers in her ear.

"How?"

"Follow my lead." 

Yeji calls out to you, and you're already half hard at the sight in front of you. Yeji's still on top of Seulgi, but two fingers spread her pussy lips, symmetric with Seulgi's spread lips below her. "Do you think you have another round in you? I think Seulgi unnie has something she wants to say."

"Dump your cum in me..." she says, her voice wavering a little. Her cheeks are burning, she's never said anything like that to anyone! She gasps as Yeji runs her fingers along her lips, spreading them further apart, exposing the distinct lack of thick cum on her walls. Yeji whispers more in her ear, and Seulgi follows through.

"Please fuck your two cumdumps and... use this one properly."

You can't say no to that. You start with Yeji, and she knows just how to squeeze you to get you fully hard again—this isn't the first, nor will it be the last time that she gets you going for a second round quickly. Coated with her slick and your own cum, you plunge into Seulgi, the unholy gooeyness on your shaft making her spine tingle. Then it's Yeji's slick, your cum, and Seulgi's slick, going back into Yeji's pussy. And then it's Yeji's slick, your cum, Seulgi's slick, and then a second layer of Yeji's slick, back into Seulgi's messy hole. And then—

"Fuck!" Seulgi pussy tightens around your cock as Yeji plays with her tits and kisses her neck.

Just use her, Yeji mouths silently, and you give her one more thrust in appreciation before focusing on Seulgi.

"Ahhh! Don't stop, please don't stop!" She's wailing now, silenced only by Yeji kissing her. It's a dual assault by you and your girlfriend—Yeji's lips on her neck and fingers on her tits, nips, and clit; your cock rubbing on her slick walls, her g-spot, and cervix. You bottom out and grind against her, leaking precum into her womb, and Seulgi's collapsing around your cock, nails digging into Yeji as she climaxes again. When you're close you signal to Yeji to get off, and you lean over Seulgi, enjoying the feel of her juicy thighs squeezing your sides, ankles locked around your hips.

"Gonna cum in you."

"Yes, fuck me—" You kiss her fiercely, but a stinging nip on your lip makes you pull back. "I didn't finish. Fuck me up." Having said her piece Seulgi gives in to your kiss, allowing you to fuck her top and bottom, your tongue thrashing and tangling with hers. Sweat pours from the both of you, soaking into the sheets as you pound her tight body into the creaking springs of the bed. You grab her short hair and tug, exposing her neck and leaving an angry hickey—Seulgi's so lost in it she doesn't even protest, her eyes beginning to roll back. You leave one more on her chest, and she's holding you there, letting you breathe her raw needy scent as she cries hoarsely, losing her voice as quickly as she's losing her mind.

*Crack*

A spring or two give up at just the right time, and you're pressing Seulgi into the bed as the tension in your body snaps, firing rope after rope of cum deep into her. Stuck beneath you she can only tremble violently as the sudden warmth in her becomes white hot pleasure up her spine, triggering her own orgasm. She squeezes everything around you, clenching your cock in time with your pulses, limbs trying to hold you close as she milks you.

"D-Don't move!" But you do, pushing the last of your cum into her and sloshing the rest, the connection between the two of you getting messier and stickier as her own mix of cream and slick leak out. Her legs finally unlock from around you, and you pull back to make way for Yeji.

"Your turn." Yeji takes her spot between Seulgi's legs and begins lapping up your combined fluids. "Taste good?"

"Delicious."

"Give Seulgi a taste." She does just that, gathering the creamy load in her mouth before kissing Seulgi—the older idol twitches as the salty liquid hits her tongue, but then she relaxes, kissing Yeji and letting the lewd mixture slide down her throat. 

"D-Delicious," Seulgi manages to gasp, still recovering from her climax. Yeji gets back to cleaning her, and she's thorough, licking and eating Seulgi up until Seulgi's thighs are shiny and quivering from overstimulation.

"Do you regret it?" you ask Seulgi, handing both of them a glass of water.

"No, I think. I... I'm gonna need a few days." She winces as she feels your mark on her neck.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's okay, I have makeup for it." After the debauchery Seulgi's beginning to blush, her inhibitions and sense of propriety returning. She just had sex with her idol junior and her boyfriend, what is she thinking! "I'll umm, go clean up in my room."

"Right. You can use the shower first if you want."

"That would be good, thanks." Seulgi gathers up her clothes slowly, wobbling on her feet. You cuddle with Yeji, listening to the shower running and giving Seulgi her privacy.

"Think we went overboard?" you mutter into her hair.

"I don't know, maybe? I don't think I've seen anyone cum that hard... It was hot." Yeji's still breathing a little heavy, and you realize she didn't quite get herself there while you finished with Seulgi.

"It was." You rub her slit slowly. "We should take a shower after she's done too."

"Yes please." When she hears Seulgi's room door close Yeji pulls you into the shower immediately, and with the water running on full blast you give her a thorough fingering, making her cum loudly and wetly until she's satisfied and squirming away from your hand.

"The shower was hotter," you say as you and Yeji cuddle, finally clean and ready for bed—you get the side with broken springs of course ("You made your bed, now sleep in it!").

"Tch, no need to placate me, watching the two of you was definitely the hottest part of the trip. Think she'll go for it again?"

"I don't know, she seemed rattled afterwards, I don't think she regrets it, but she also doesn't think it's a good idea?"

"We'll see, I'll try to speak to her, maybe before we go back to Korea."

Unfortunately, either intentionally or by work scheduling Seulgi avoids the both of you pretty much most of the last day or two of her trip, and the only words either of you manage to get in was a "Have a good flight!" as she leaves the night before you. You and Yeji return to Korea, and nothing happens for a while until Yeji's promotions overlap with Seulgi's—you're in Yeji's waiting room when Seulgi knocks on the door.

"Oh, is this Yeji's room? Oh, hi," Seulgi cheeks are a little red. "I was looking for her to do the dance challenge with."

"You just missed her, she'll be back soon."

"Okay, great. So are you her manager actually?" Seulgi asks after the short awkward silence.

"When she can talk her way into bringing me backstage, yes."

"I see." Seulgi fidgets for a bit, before taking a deep breath and making her decision. "Are you and Yeji free on the weekend?"

"I think so? After the music shows at least."

"Right, same here. So I just got a new mattress, and I live alone, I was wondering if you two could—"

"Oh, you need help moving it? Sure, I have a car, I can pick it up and bring it over if you need the help."

"Oh no no, there's no need for that, I—"

"Seulgi, we can come back later, there's someone else available to do the challenge right now!" Comes her manager's voice.

"Right, coming!" She spreads her arms. "It's good to see you."

"Umm yes, of course." Seulgi pulls you in close, as if giving you a friendly goodbye hug.

"I was hoping you two could help me break the old one."

A/N: As usual I'm late on the timing, Irene and Seulgi already due to come out lol. The AirBnB moniker was too good to miss out on, so I got around to it eventually! I also wrote a parallel piece called AirGnG, but it's just Yeji and Seulgi, and the smut dynamics are different, so give that a read too, thanks for reading!

[joelsrose]

For the Hour

Being a hooker in Jackson isn’t glamorous, but it pays in coffee, bullets, and the good kind of winter gloves. So when your regular—Tommy—asks if you’d see his brother, you don't hesitate in saying yes.

omg this is literally 11k words im ded - warnings: literally porn with a plot, sex work (mention of terms hooker etc), explicit smut (18+), unprotected sex, age gap (Joel is in his 50s), subby!Joel energy, soft dom reader, emotional vulnerability, Joel has a bad back and feelings, praise kink.

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You caught your breath as the last wave of pleasure ebbed from your body, chest rising and falling in a slow, quiet rhythm while Tommy lingered there a moment longer, his breath warm against your neck as he let out a low groan, still half-drunk on the high you’d given him. The morning light filtered in through the tattered blinds, casting soft golden slats across the tangled mess of limbs and discarded clothes strewn across the hardwood floor. Somewhere, from the corridor or maybe the neighbors', drifted the scent of burnt coffee—bitter, familiar, grounding.

Tommy sat up with a grunt, running a hand through his damp hair as he muttered, “Shit,” under his breath, his voice still heavy with sleep and satisfaction. He glanced over at you with a lazy grin, tugging his jeans from the floor. “Remind me to come by more often.”

You laughed—quiet, genuine—watching him as he passed you a towel and leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t part of the deal, not really. But then, Tommy had always blurred the lines—sweet in the way men like him weren’t meant to be, not in this town, not in your world.

“You’re already my best customer,” you murmured, eyes gleaming as you took the towel and began to clean yourself up, your voice laced with a teasing fondness, the kind reserved for people who came back again and again not just for the sex, but for something else they couldn’t name.

He stood with a quiet exhale, tugging his flannel over his broad shoulders, his belly soft where it peeked above the denim as he buttoned his jeans. His eyes lingered on you a second longer, not quite lecherous, not quite innocent either—just… watching, like he didn’t want to leave just yet, like he hadn’t quite figured out what you meant to him.

He watched you, gaze lingering over the bare slope of your chest, the way your skin caught the muted morning light spilling through the cracked blinds, casting golden lines across the sheets like something sacred.

You didn’t bother covering up—not with Tommy. The two of you had done this too many times, in too many rooms, on too many mornings like this, for there to be any shame left between you. There was something quiet in it now, a kind of unspoken understanding that had formed over time—not love, not quite friendship, but an intimacy that lived in the space between laughter and the sound of a zipper being drawn.

As he buckled his belt, fingers fumbling slightly around the worn leather, he cleared his throat like he was trying to shake something from it, something heavier than dust.

“Do you, uh…” he started, then hesitated, licking his lips like the question might taste strange coming out. “Do you have an age limit or somethin’?”

You tilted your head, brow lifting in easy amusement as you smiled faintly. “Sorry?”

He laughed, soft and awkward, and rubbed the side of his nose—a nervous little tick you’d seen before, like his body gave him away even when his voice didn’t. “I mean—with what you do,” he said, trying to sound casual but missing the mark by an inch. “With your… services. You got a limit, or...?”

“For my services?” you repeated, feigning offense, a teasing lilt in your voice as you leaned back against the headboard. “You make it sound so formal.”

“Quit,” he muttered, a laugh under his breath, but there was something beneath it—something that wasn’t quite a joke.

You smiled at him again, slower this time, more real. “Not really,” you said with a shrug, reaching for the towel more out of habit than modesty. “As long as they’re sweet... can get it up... and make sure they pay well.”

Because in Jackson, payment wasn’t green bills or cards anymore—those belonged to a world that had crumbled with the last election and the first outbreak. Now, people paid in what mattered. A tin of that good jam made from the summer’s last raspberries. A half-empty bag of coffee beans that still smelled like mornings from before. Gloves thick enough to survive the frost that rolled in from the mountains. Cans of peaches, salt for the roads, shotgun shells, antibiotics, clean socks. Favors. Names. Protection. A seat near the fire.

He chuckled at that, the tension easing from his shoulders like you’d let him off some invisible hook.

You tilted your head again, watching him as you sat forward slightly, your hair sliding over your shoulder in a loose, dark curtain. His eyes caught on it—just for a second, but enough to notice.

“So,” you said softly, the teasing edge slipping just slightly from your voice, replaced by something gentler—curiosity with a tilt of wariness, a shift in the air between you. “Why’re you askin’?”

Tommy exhaled with a quiet huff, running a hand back through his hair and catching the loose strands that had fallen from his ponytail, fingers dragging through it with a kind of frustrated carelessness.

“It’s just…” he started, voice trailing off before picking back up again with a sigh. “My brother. Joel. I think he could, you know—benefit from... all this.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, hand cutting through the air as his eyes flitted across your still-bare body, lingering but not ogling, like he was trying to make a point without being crude.

Joel.

The name landed with a quiet thud, familiar but unexpected.

Of course you’d seen him around—Jackson wasn’t big enough for anyone to stay invisible for long. He was older, that much was clear; wore the years like a weight across his shoulders and a scowl that never quite left his face. Always furrowed at the brow, jaw set like he was bracing for a blow that hadn’t come yet. Handsome in a rough-edged, quietly dangerous way—not like Tommy, whose smile came easy and whose touch always felt a little more like comfort than command.

Sometimes, when you looked at them side by side, you forgot they were cut from the same cloth. Same blood. Same broken world.

You let out a breath of laughter, amused and maybe a little intrigued, as you rose to your feet, the light catching along the soft curves of your body, bare and unashamed, each step toward him slow and fluid, the kind of motion meant to be watched. Your hips swayed with the ease of someone who knew exactly how she moved, your skin still flushed from the morning, the remnants of pleasure humming faintly in your limbs. Sensual without trying to be. Just a woman in her own skin.

“Your brother,” you said with a soft, knowing smirk, brushing your fingers gently through the messy strands of hair that had fallen across Tommy’s forehead, still damp with the sweat of sex and sleep and something in between. The gesture was easy, instinctive—your touch lingering only a moment before it drifted lower, settling at the nape of his neck where your fingers curled loosely, not to pull him close, but simply to stay connected. “Doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d pay a visit to a hooker.”

Your voice was teasing, light on the surface, but there was something deeper threaded beneath it—some quiet question you didn’t ask aloud.

Tommy’s hands found your waist without hesitation, as if drawn there by muscle memory more than intent. His touch was broad, familiar, grounding—palms warm against your skin, a little rough from the kind of labor this world demanded of men like him, the kind of years that wore into the bones. There was nothing hurried about the way he held you, nothing that spoke of possession in the traditional sense, but it was there nonetheless—a kind of unspoken tether, something formed not from love or lust but from routine, from comfort, from the simple ache of being human in a place that had taken too much.

Whatever this was between you and Tommy—it didn’t have a name. There’d never been promises or claims, no plans made or futures built. But the line between business and something softer had blurred a long time ago, and neither of you had ever bothered to draw it back again. It was easier this way.

He looked down at you, lips quirking into a crooked grin that didn’t quite make it to his eyes, which always seemed just a little too tired, like he hadn’t had a real night’s sleep in years. “Yeah,” he murmured, the words softer now, almost thoughtful. “He ain’t. But maybe that’s exactly why he needs it.”

You hummed quietly in response, letting your hands slide from his neck down to his chest, fingers resting lightly over his heartbeat. You tilted your face up to meet his, chin angled just slightly, and the distance between you felt at once too close and not close enough.

“He’s fifty-six,” Tommy said, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth crooked and amused, eyes crinkling just a little as he shook his head. “Old bastard,” he added with a chuckle, like he was fond of the man but couldn’t help teasing him anyway, like it was easier to speak in jokes than admit the weight behind the thought—that time had moved on without asking, and they were all just trying to catch up.

You let out a dramatic gasp, sharp and playful, one hand flying to your chest as though genuinely scandalized, though the glint in your eyes gave you away immediately. “Tommy,” you said, drawing out his name in that mock-offended tone you knew always pulled a smile from him, “what kind of girl do you take me for?”

Your voice was honey-drenched, rich with pretend indignation, all wide, fluttering eyes and arched brows, even as you stood in front of him still completely bare, the golden morning light licking across your skin like it had been invited.

Tommy’s grin tugged crooked across his lips, slow and easy, like it had nowhere else to be. “The kind of girl who says she’s shocked,” he drawled, eyes dipping meaningfully down your body, “while standin’ butt-naked in my arms.”

And then, as if to punctuate his point, he gave your ass a firm, unapologetic slap, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Now put some clothes on,” he added, voice light but still edged with that gravelly fondness he tried to hide. “Before I end up stayin’ another hour and missin’ patrol—again.”

You yelped, laughing as you twisted away from his touch, jumping back into the warmth of the tangled bedspread, sheets twisted like vines beneath you. His handprint still tingled on your skin, a reminder of how close things could still burn even after the fire was out.

Tommy bent to grab his jacket off the chair, slinging it over one arm as he turned toward the door, but then paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder with that half-smile he always wore when he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he meant.

“So, Joel?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t trying to care too much. “You’ll see him?”

You met his gaze, all ease and softness now, letting your weight sink back into the bed as you pulled the sheet loosely over your thighs. You smiled, slow and sure.

“I’ll see him.”

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Tommy sat at the far end of the Tipsy Bison’s bar, his knee bouncing beneath the table with a restlessness that betrayed more than he meant it to, jittery and twitchy like the truth was sitting in his lap and he didn’t know where to put it. His beer sat mostly untouched in front of him, beads of condensation sliding lazily down the bottle’s neck, forgotten. Across from him, Joel nursed his second glass of whiskey with the kind of single-minded focus that suggested he was trying not to think too hard about anything else.

Joel was mid-grumble, voice low and gravelly, muttering into his glass like it had personally offended him. “These kids on patrol,” he said, shaking his head, “they’re damn near still in diapers—think they know everything, but can’t read a fuckin’ map to save their lives. I had to double back twice today. And my knees…” he trailed off with a grimace, reaching down to rub one as if the act alone could conjure youth. “Shit don’t work like it used to.”

Tommy blinked, and then—without really meaning to, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them—he blurted, “Hey, you should go see this masseuse I know.”

Joel paused mid-sip, squinting over the rim of his glass like Tommy had just spoken in tongues. “Masseuse?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual but already feeling the weight of what he wasn’t saying begin to gather in his chest. “She’s real good. Works outta her place. Kinda… therapeutic.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. You did use your hands. You did know how to relieve tension. But if Joel had even the faintest idea of the things you did inside that soft little house of yours—the same one with the blue curtains and the jasmine Tommy had planted out front in exchange for a particularly memorable morning—he would’ve spit his drink out on the floor, gotten up, and walked home on those bad knees just to scold Tommy like they were kids again.

Because Joel, bless him, would’ve done what Joel always did—squint real hard, say something like “Jesus Christ, Tommy,” then go on about morals and dignity and how the world’s gone to hell.

So no, Tommy didn’t tell him everything.

Didn’t tell him about the soft, lilting laugh you had, or the way your door was always unlocked for him. Didn’t mention the way you said his name when he showed up late, or the sweet little things you did with your mouth that had nothing to do with pressure points. And he sure as hell didn’t mention the way you made him feel—warm and wanted and like the end of the world hadn’t already come and gone.

“Why the hell would I need a massage?” Joel muttered, voice rough as gravel as he leaned back in his chair, scowl etched deep between his brows. “What I need is for people to stop assignin’ me shifts with goddamn teenagers who can’t tell north from their own ass, and a patrol route that doesn’t run me straight into a fuckin’ ravine.”

Tommy scoffed, lifting his beer but not bothering to drink from it, eyes rolling as he shook his head. “You just spent the last thirty minutes complainin’ about your back, Joel.”

Joel shot him a look—sharp, defensive—the kind that had scared men once, back when fear was still a luxury. “That don’t mean I want some stranger touchin’ it,” he said, shoulders stiffening as he reached instinctively for his glass again. “Ain’t lookin’ to have someone mess it up worse than it already is.”

Tommy flinched at the word—touching—and it landed wrong, punched straight into his gut like a sucker hit. Not because Joel meant anything by it, but because he did. And before he could shut it down, there it was again—you—bent over him, lips parted, breath hot against his neck, your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow like you had all the time in the world. The soft sound you made when you sank down on him, the way your tits bounced against his chest, warm and slick, and how your fingers dragged down his spine, nails scratching just enough to make his hips jerk. His cock twitched, hard and immediate, a pulse of heat shooting through him that had no place in this conversation.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present. “Come on,” Tommy urged, voice lighter now, too easy to be innocent. “She’s real good. Not just in the way you’re thinkin’, either. She’s sweet. Quiet. One of those girls you don’t really notice till you do, and then it’s like you can’t stop.”

Joel arched a brow, unimpressed, suspicion already creeping into the lines of his face. “That so.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said quickly, pushing past the moment. “Real good hands. Knows what she’s doin’. And I’m tellin’ you—first one’s on the house. She won’t even charge you.”

Joel grunted, unconvinced, but didn’t push the conversation away completely. He just shifted in his chair, bones cracking, and muttered something under his breath about not likin’ surprises.

And Tommy—well, Tommy just smiled into his beer again, trying not to think about how you’d looked the last time he left your place, tangled in sheets and flushed with sleep, calling his name like it was something soft.

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Joel stood stiffly on your porch, the wood creaking beneath his boots as he pressed his thick fingers into the knot burrowed deep in the side of his neck, muttering low, gravel-soaked profanities beneath his breath—half at the knot, half at Tommy, and half at himself for agreeing to this in the first place. The porch was too damn pretty for cursing—lined with flower boxes overflowing with jasmine and wild mint, and some old rocking chair that looked like it had actually been made for sitting, not surviving.

He knocked twice—sharp, reluctant—and already regretted whatever the hell Tommy had gotten him into.

The door swung open almost immediately, like you’d been waiting on the other side, like you’d known he’d hesitate and come anyway.

Joel failed—spectacularly—to hide his reaction.

Tommy had mentioned you were a woman, sure. He had not mentioned that you were the kind of woman who made men forget how to breathe. The morning light spilled in behind him, framing you in gold like some holy sin, soft and warm, the robe you wore cinched lazily at the waist like it wasn’t trying to hide anything, just loosely draped to suggest comfort—but his eyes caught the line of your collarbone, the way the fabric parted ever so slightly, and dropped, uninvited, to the swell of your cleavage.

He clenched his jaw, hard.

What the fuck kinda masseuse looks like this?

He’d been expecting someone else entirely—some no-nonsense, middle-aged woman with short gray hair and orthopedic sandals, maybe a raspy smoker’s laugh and a mug that said #1 Back Cracker, someone who would offer him over-steeped tea and tell him stories about her son in the army or her time stationed in Kabul. He hadn’t planned for this—for lace peeking out from under your robe, for legs bare and smooth in the glow of a Jackson sunrise, for you smiling at him like you already knew he didn’t have the guts to walk away.

“Joel, right?” you asked, your voice light, almost teasing, as you leaned a little deeper into the doorway, the name tasting curious on your tongue. “Tommy’s brother?”

“Oh—yeah,” Joel said quickly, the syllable catching on the rough edge of his throat as he blinked like he was just remembering where he was. His boots scuffed slightly against the floor as he shifted his weight, shoulders twitching with a discomfort he clearly didn’t know how to hide. “I, uh… Tommy said you do massages.”

The words came out like a question, like he wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth himself—and maybe he wasn’t.

You paused, something flickering behind your eyes as your lips parted—then closed again. A breath. A scoff. Quiet, sharp, and laced with a kind of tired amusement as your gaze flicked briefly to the floor. Of course Tommy hadn’t told him the truth. Of course Tommy had sent his older brother to your door with that same boyish grin and a half-assed lie, hoping Joel wouldn’t figure it out until it was far too late to back out gracefully.

He hadn’t told him that this wasn’t just a massage.

He hadn’t told him that he was coming over to have sex with a woman—with you—and not in some hurried, transactional way, but slow, deliberate, intimate. The kind of encounter that lingered on the skin long after the door closed behind them.

You bit your lip without thinking, the movement soft and sensual, more out of habit than seduction—but it was still enough to make Joel glance away, like he’d seen too much too quickly and didn’t know where to look anymore.

“Well,” you murmured, shifting your weight from one bare leg to the other, the silk of your robe whispering across your thigh like it, too, was trying to decide what kind of evening this was going to be. “Come on in.”

You didn’t confirm or deny his assumption—just stepped aside and let him walk into the space where everything might change.

And Joel—standing there on your pretty porch, fingers twitching at his sides, jaw locked and eyes anywhere but your mouth—hadn’t figured out how to say no.

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Joel stood stiffly in your bedroom, hands twitching uselessly at his sides, his body held like a man trying not to breathe too deeply in someone else's space—already half turned toward the door, as if he could will an exit into existence before you returned.

His eyes moved over the room like he was trying not to look at anything too closely, but there was no hiding the tension in the line of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched every few seconds like he was already regretting stepping foot inside.

The room wasn’t what he’d expected—and not just because it was your bedroom, though that alone had made his pulse stutter. That part could’ve been explained away, justified somehow—people did all kinds of things out of their homes in Jackson. But it was the way the space was set up that made his throat feel dry.

The bed, wide and inviting, draped in soft cream linens that looked freshly smoothed, was positioned at the center of everything, with candles flickering gently along the dresser, casting long golden shadows across the floor. There were no towels. No oils lined up neatly on a cart. No clinical sterility to hide behind. Just plush throw pillows, lace-trimmed curtains, a faint trace of perfume lingering in the air, and the undeniable hum of something not quite professional.

And you—Jesus Christ, you—had offered him coffee or water, your voice light and easy like it wasn’t a loaded question, and he, too dazed to think, had said yes. You’d disappeared into the kitchen, and he’d barely exhaled since. He wasn’t sure if he was sweating or just uncomfortable in his own damn skin, but every part of him was screaming that he didn’t belong here—that you were too pretty, too soft, too young to be touching a man like him.

You, meanwhile, were grateful for the excuse to step away, your heels silent as you moved through the house, trying to get your own heart rate under control.

You knew it wouldn’t take Joel long to figure it out—that you weren’t really a masseuse, that this wasn’t some wholesome back-cracking session with a side of eucalyptus oil. That lingerie didn’t belong under robes worn for healing. And yet here you were, wearing it anyway, lace brushing against your skin with every step, wondering how long it would take before he got up and left.

When you stepped back into the room, he was still standing—just as rigid, just as uncertain. “Sit,” you said gently, offering a small, practiced smile, your tone breezy enough to keep the moment from collapsing under its own weight. “Please.”

Joel nodded once, tight-lipped, and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed like it might burn him. His knees were wide, his elbows stiff, his eyes trained directly ahead—on nothing at all—like he was trying very hard not to see any part of you.

You approached slowly, extending the glass of water toward him, the condensation already beginning to bead along the side.

He took it with a quiet murmur of thanks, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment—just a flicker, but enough for you to feel the heat of him, the way he flinched ever so slightly like he wasn’t used to being touched without intention.

“So, uh…” Joel began, voice low and hesitant, the sound rough like it had scraped its way out of his throat. He rubbed a hand along the side of his neck, eyes flicking briefly up to yours before landing somewhere over your shoulder, already looking like he regretted speaking at all. “How long you been doin’ all this?”

The words hung awkwardly in the air between you, heavy with implication but wrapped in a poor attempt at small talk—something Joel Miller was not known for. You could tell it took effort for him to say anything at all, that his instinct was to sit in silence and let the tension pass like a storm front, but some part of him—some flicker of politeness or nerves—had nudged him into conversation.

Your eyes widened just a little, caught off guard by the question, and then you blinked, like you needed a moment to remember who you were supposed to be in this room. “Oh—yeah,” you said, stumbling just slightly over the words. “Since I got to Jackson, really. Started pretty soon after I arrived.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. You had been doing this since you arrived—though massage had never been the core of it.

Joel nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with thought, and you could see him working through the gaps, filling in the blanks with whatever image he had in his mind. “So you, uh… didn’t have any proper trainin’? From before?”

You shook your head, lips parting as your answer tripped a little over your breath. “No. I—uh. No, it’s all… self-taught.”

His eyes lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, then shifted away again, landing on the corner of the bed, then the curtain, then the floor—anywhere but you. “Right,” he said finally, like it was the only thing he could think to say, like maybe he’d already asked too much.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold, but it was thick with uncertainty—his, mostly. His knee bounced once. His fingers tapped the glass in his hand. You could feel the weight of his restraint like smoke in the room, curling into the corners of the furniture, slipping under your robe.

You took a small step forward, smoothing your hands down the front of your robe out of instinct rather than necessity, and offered him a gentle smile—nothing suggestive, just a flicker of softness to meet his discomfort.

“Okay,” you said, voice quieter now, almost tender. “It might be easier if you take your shirt off.”

Joel’s eyes snapped back to yours—not wide, not shocked, just hesitant. Cautious in a way that wasn’t rooted in modesty but something deeper, older, worn thin over time like denim at the knees.

Still, he nodded, slow and uncertain, and reached for the buttons of his flannel, hands broad and calloused, fingers stiff with age and overuse. They moved with that steady, familiar rhythm of a man who'd spent most of his life taking off shirts for work, not for anyone watching. The ache in his knuckles—probably arthritis—tugged at him with every movement, but he didn’t stop.

He just tried not to think about how long it had been since anyone had seen him like this—shirtless, stripped down, exposed in a way that wasn’t about survival. He tried not to wonder whether his body, changed by time and burden, would make you flinch. Whether the soft at his waist, the scars, the salt-and-pepper spread of hair across his chest would make you look away.

You turned away—not out of modesty, not to create distance, but to offer him something rare in this kind of space. The grace of privacy. The freedom to choose, or not choose.

Behind you, there was a quiet rustle—cloth shifting, boots scuffing gently against the floor, the faintest creak of the bed frame as his weight shifted.

“I’m ready,” Joel said at last, his voice low and gruff, the words shaped more like a sigh than a decision, like he was forcing them through clenched teeth.

You turned around slowly, hands folded softly in front of you, gaze lifting to meet him—and stilled for just a moment at the sight.

He was broader than Tommy. Thicker through the chest and shoulders, his body weathered with age and labor in a way that wasn’t unkind, just honest. The kind of build earned from years of carrying things—wood, gear, grief. His torso was lined with muscle that didn’t try to impress, but spoke of endurance, strength without vanity. Sparse hair dusted across his chest, silver threaded through dark, and a thin scar trailed down from his left shoulder toward his ribs, pale and healed and unspoken.

You cleared your throat gently, “You can lay on your tummy,” you murmured, voice soft, quiet.

He nodded once, eyes flicking away from yours, and with a heavy breath he lowered himself down, letting out a grunt as he adjusted his limbs, clearly not used to surrendering his body to anything but pain or sleep.

You dipped onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you knelt beside his frame, your knees brushing the sheets. He was tense—every muscle held taut, like even now, he didn’t know how to truly let go.

You reached out carefully, hands warm and deliberate, and let your palms press gently against the slope of his shoulders. The moment your skin touched his, he flinched—not sharply, not out of fear, but with the quiet recoil of a man unused to kindness. Of someone who hadn’t been touched gently in years—not without urgency, not without purpose.

“That hurt?” you asked softly, letting your fingers still against his back, giving him space to answer.

“No,” he murmured, voice muffled against the pillow, gruff and strangely quiet. “It’s just—”

You waited. He didn’t finish.

So you started to move again, slow and careful, letting your hands glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, down the rigid line of his spine, easing into the hard knots along his lower back. His skin was warm, rough in places, scarred in others, but beneath your fingers you felt something deeper—a kind of held breath, a body that had been bracing for too long.

And then—just there—just below his ribs, your thumbs pressed into a tight knot of muscle and he let out a sound. Low. Unintentional. Somewhere between a grunt and a breathless sigh, like the smallest piece of him had slipped loose without his permission.

You paused.

Not because he told you to, but because something in the room shifted—just slightly, but enough. The silence grew thicker, not with discomfort, but with heat. A different kind of tension settled beneath your palms, no longer just physical but charged.

You leaned forward, just barely—close enough that your breath warmed the curve of his neck. “That okay?” you asked, your voice low, velvet-soft.

He nodded, but didn’t speak.

So you let your hands drift lower. Slower. Testing. Exploring. And when your fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans, you felt him tense again—but not the same way. Not from pain. Not from unease.

From want.

A breath caught in his chest. His fingers curled in the sheets.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

You let your hands linger at the small of his back, then slowly, deliberately, splayed your palms across the wide stretch of his hips, fingertips grazing just beneath the worn hem of his jeans. The heat coming off him was no longer the warmth of skin—it was heavier now.

“Turn over,” you murmured, your voice barely more than breath, a suggestion wrapped in silk.

Joel hesitated—but only for a beat—before he shifted beneath your touch, his breath hitching slightly as he rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. His chest rose and fell with quiet tension, each breath like he was trying to steady something inside of him that had already tipped. His hair was mussed from the pillow, his ears flushed red, and he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze—his eyes somewhere near your shoulder, like he couldn’t decide if this was the moment he should speak or simply stay.

You looked at him—really looked—and it hit you with a kind of quiet intensity you hadn’t expected. Rugged. Shy. Ruined with restraint. For one suspended second, you felt your breath catch—your body going still with the weight of what you were about to admit.

“I’m not really a massage therapist,” you murmured, the truth threading from your lips like smoke, soft and unembellished.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise ghosting across his features—but he didn’t flinch, didn’t yell, didn’t get up and storm out the way you thought he might. He didn’t raise his voice or accuse you or spit something cruel. He just sat there—this man you’d heard whispered about around town, the one with the sharp jaw and the sharp aim, the one who’d killed infected like it was nothing, like breathing—and he blushed. His ears pinked. His throat bobbed. And for a man who was supposed to be all grit and gravel and gunpowder, he suddenly looked so soft.

Your gaze dropped.

And there it was—undeniable, obscene even—his cock straining thick and swollen against the front of his jeans, the fabric doing a poor job of hiding just how wrecked he already was. You could see the wet spot where he’d already leaked through, dark and damp and desperate, the denim pulled tight across the aching outline of him like his body couldn’t help betraying how badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted you.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice low and cracked, almost pained, one hand dragging down his face like he could scrub the arousal off with enough pressure. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

The apology hit your chest like a bruise—small and self-conscious and entirely Joel. Like he couldn’t imagine that his desire was allowed, like he thought being this turned on was somehow shameful. Like he wasn’t sure if wanting made him pathetic.

It was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never apologized for being hard. He wore it like a joke, a badge, always ready with some cocky little line—“That one’s your fault, sweetheart”—as he adjusted himself without blinking. He got hard, you both laughed, he’d kiss your shoulder or slap your ass and go right back to whatever he was doing, comfortable in his skin, in his want, in the way he took up space.

You reached for him before that shame could bloom any further, your hand wrapping gently around his wrist—steadying him, grounding him—and you leaned in close, voice soft and sure and edged in something deeper.

“Don’t,” you whispered, letting your fingers slide slowly up his forearm. “Don’t apologize.”

Your gaze dropped again, drinking in the sight of him—his flushed neck, the way his thighs had tensed, how his cock twitched hard under your stare like it hurt to be untouched.

And then—without breaking eye contact—you sank slowly to your knees between his thighs, the sheets rustling beneath you as your robe slipped open just enough to reveal the tops of your breasts, the soft glow of your skin catching the light. Joel’s breath hitched sharply in his chest, and he didn’t move—didn’t lean in, didn’t pull away—he just watched, wide-eyed and stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he was afraid that moving might wake him up.

“That’s why I’m here,” you murmured, your voice low, velvet-smooth as your fingers glided up the inside of his thigh. You could feel the heat radiating off him now—thick, pulsing heat—and you swore his legs trembled just slightly under your touch, like his body had been starving for this, aching longer than he’d ever dared admit. “To take care of you.”

You reached for his belt then, undoing the worn leather with slow, reverent hands, letting the soft clink of the buckle echo in the stillness. He sucked in a breath at the sound alone, as though it unraveled something inside him.

Before you even freed him, you pressed your palm gently over the bulge in his jeans—and fuck, he twitched beneath your touch, cock rock-hard and leaking, the wet spot soaking through the denim where he’d already been dripping for you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word trembling out of him like he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to say it. “This—this ain’t right.”

You looked up at him from between his legs, your position deliberate, your eyes steady and warm. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shy away. You just smiled softly, your voice velvet-wrapped and laced in heat. “Why not?”

Joel’s gaze dropped—first to your mouth, then to your hand still palmed over the thick, pulsing bulge in his jeans. His chest rose in quick, shallow breaths, like he was trying to breathe through wanting. “You’re—fuck—you’re a hooker?”

His voice cracked on the word, like it embarrassed him to say it out loud. Like it made him feel ashamed to be this turned on by someone he wasn’t supposed to deserve.

But you didn’t pull back.

You didn’t offer shame or explanations. You kept your hand right where it was—pressing gently against the thick, leaking shape of his cock—and leaned in, close enough that your breath warmed the sensitive skin of his thigh through the fabric.

“I’m here,” you whispered, slow and steady, “to make you feel good.”

Joel opened his mouth, ready to argue, to throw up some sad scrap of pride or guilt—but you didn’t let him.

You kissed him instead.

Right on the inside of his clothed knee, a soft, filthy little kiss that made him twitch beneath your palm. So gentle. So patient. So goddamn unfair to a man who hadn’t been touched like this in years.

“Stop thinking so much,” you murmured, your lips brushing against him again. “Let me take care of you.”

There was a pause. A long one. You could feel it pulse between you—hesitation, thick and tight, the kind that came from deep inside a man who hadn’t let himself need in a long time. The want was there, throbbing—pressed up against years of restraint, of pride, of silence. But then Joel looked down at you—eyes wide, pupils blown, a little wild with it—and he nodded. Once. Sharp. Like the motion hurt.

“Okay,” he said. Then, barely audible—“Please.”

God, his voice on that word—so wrecked, so raw—you could’ve come from the sound alone.

You smiled, slow and warm, something curling in your chest, deep and satisfied. “Good boy.”

The words slipped out before you even thought them through—instinctive, soft, teasing. But the moment they left your mouth, you saw it hit him. His jaw clenched, his chest stilled, his breath catching like you’d yanked the air right out of him.

His eyes flicked away immediately, like he wasn’t sure what just happened or why it made his cock twitch so hard it strained visibly against his jeans. But it did. And he felt it.

He was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never waited. Never asked. He’d grip your thighs, mutter something cocky like “Bet you’re already wet for me,” and be halfway inside before you could catch your breath. He took control like it was his birthright—rough palms, fast kisses, always in command.

“Let’s get these off, huh?” you said gently, already reaching for the button on his jeans, your fingers working with slow precision, deliberate and unhurried, like you were unwrapping something rare.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, chest bare, arms braced behind him, watching you with a look that was part surrender, part disbelief.

You pulled the denim down, inch by inch, and then his boxers—already damp with arousal—until both were gathered around his thighs.

And then his cock sprang free.

Fuck.

It slapped up toward his stomach with weight, flushed and hard and glistening at the tip, fat drops of pre-come already trailing down the shaft. Not as long as Tommy, no—but thicker, meatier, with veins you could trace with your tongue and a curve that made your cunt clench just looking at it. The kind of cock that filled you. That stretched you.

Your mouth watered.

And below it—God. His pubes were wild, a thick thatch of dark hair streaked with silver, coarse and completely untouched, like he hadn’t even thought to groom because he never imagined someone might want to see him like this. And that happy trail? Not neat. Not delicate. Just a messy line of hair leading down from his soft stomach to the base of his cock—feral, raw, real, like the rest of him. This wasn’t a man who prepped for pleasure. This was a man who had been surviving.

And still—he was so fucking hard for you.

Visibly twitching with every breath you took.

Your hand found his thigh first, the heat of him pulsing beneath your palm, solid and thick beneath your touch. You let your fingers trace the curve of his muscle, the hair there soft and coarse at once, and you felt the faintest tremble as you leaned in closer, your breath warming the head of his cock just enough to make him twitch.

“You’re so big, Joel,” you murmured, your voice slow, low, reverent, like you were saying it just for him and no one else. “You’re already dripping for me, baby,” you added with a little smile, dragging your thumb across the head—slow, teasing, making his hips jerk like he hadn’t even meant to move.

His breath caught, chest rising like he’d been hit, eyes locked on you in disbelief. “Christ,” he rasped, the word escaping him like it physically hurt to hold it in. His hand twitched where it braced against the bed, knuckles white, jaw tense, his eyes dragging over you like he was afraid to blink and miss anything.

Then, softly, sweetly—you tilted your head, lips just brushing the inside of his thigh.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” you asked, the question falling from your lips like silk, delicate but charged, heavy with intention.

Joel opened his mouth. Closed it again. Swallowed hard.

“I—” he stammered, and then exhaled like it cost him something. “Shit… can I… can I see you first?”

The request was so gentle, so earnest, it cracked something inside you. There was no demand in it. No entitlement. Just the soft ache of a man who hadn’t been given softness in a long time, if ever. He wanted to see you. Not just touch, not just take—see. He wanted you to be real to him, wanted to remember how you looked in this moment, flushed and glowing and his, if only for now.

You couldn’t help but smile. “See me?” you echoed softly, lifting your eyes to meet his.

He nodded—barely—a small, shaky dip of his chin like anything more might shatter the moment. And when he spoke, his voice was rough, low, wrecked, caught between awe and the kind of ache that sat low in a man’s belly. “Yeah… if that’s okay,” he said. “I just—fuck. I wanna remember it.”

You straightened slowly, your breath soft and even, fingers slipping to the sash of your robe. The silk felt cool against your skin, a faint whisper as it slid beneath your touch. You untied it with quiet grace, letting the knot fall loose, the fabric parting to reveal the delicate lace beneath—your lingerie soft and sheer, clinging to you like second skin.

Joel’s eyes were on you now—truly on you—and the way he looked made your stomach flip. Not hungry. Not greedy. Just wide-eyed and reverent, like you were something holy he didn’t know how to touch without ruining.

You stepped closer.

His hands rose slowly, hesitantly, the way a starving man might reach for fruit he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. His fingers brushed your hips with the barest pressure—calloused and trembling, like even that much contact might be too much. His thumbs ghosted along your skin, just beneath the lace, pressing in gently like he needed proof that you were real and not some fevered hallucination his mind had conjured from loneliness and want.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough but quiet, like it hurt to say aloud—like he was asking permission just to want you. His eyes lifted to yours, and they were so fucking open, something vulnerable flickering there, raw and unguarded, as if a single word from you might send him crumbling.

You nodded, slowly, letting your smile bloom soft and slow—something deeper than heat, something that said yes, I want this too.

Your fingers threaded into his hair—thick and unruly, streaked with silver at the temples—and the second your nails grazed his scalp, he broke. Not loudly. Not all at once. But in the way his breath hitched, in the way his knees seemed to go soft beneath him, in the way his entire body leaned into your touch like it was the first good thing he’d felt in years.

His shoulders dropped like a weight had slid off of them, like your hands alone were holding him upright. He didn’t move his own—just kept them resting on your hips, loose and trembling, like he was scared if he held tighter, you might pull away.

And when you tugged gently at the strands, he let out the softest, smallest sound—a whimper, barely there, but so raw it made your chest ache.

He tilted his head into your palm like he couldn’t help it. Like your touch was oxygen. Like he needed it more than he needed to come.

Like he’d been waiting for this—not just your body, but your hands, your care, your permission to be held—for far, far too long.

“You can take this off,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your fingers toyed with the straps of your lingerie. “If you want.”

He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly, his eyes flicking up to yours again—wide, hesitant, a little stunned.

“You sure?” he asked, and God—his voice when he said it, thick with that gravelly drawl and threaded with something so soft it made your chest ache. His eyes were almost pleading—puppy-dog eyes, sweet and unsure, hidden under all that gruff exterior. The kind of look that said he wanted it so badly he couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding as your teeth grazed your lower lip, voice as open and bare as the skin he hadn’t touched yet. “I want you to see me.”

His eyes stayed locked to yours, dark and wide and uncertain, but he nodded—just once, soft and small—his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Okay.”

You moved slowly, carefully, like the moment might break if you shifted too fast. Your knees sank into the bed, and you straddled him gently, your body folding around his like a promise, like something he wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn’t stop wanting. His cock—hard and flushed and waiting—pressed up against the thin fabric between your thighs, heat meeting heat, and you felt him twitch slightly, breath catching in that way that made you ache for him.

He was still so nervous, so unsure, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to want this, if you truly meant what you’d said—so you leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, your mouth brushing against his like you were giving him time to change his mind.

He didn’t.

Joel kissed you back with a kind of desperation that nearly undid you—like he was starving for it, like every nerve in his body remembered what his mind had forced itself to forget. His lips were rough, a little clumsy, but so eager, so full of want it made your knees weak. His hands gripped your hips first—tight, tentative—but then one of them slid slowly up your back, the movement stiff and unpracticed.

You felt his fingers fumble at the clasp of your bra.

Slow. Awkward.

A clink. A pause.

Then another tug that clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

You smiled into the kiss, unable to help the way your lips curved gently against his. The affection in your chest bloomed too big to contain.

“Need a hand, baby?” you murmured, teasing soft and warm.

Joel froze.

Literally froze, like you’d just caught him red-handed doing something far more scandalous than trying to get your bra off.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes—cheeks flushed, lips kissed raw, brows furrowed in mortified concentration. His hand was still awkwardly stuck on the clasp like it might bite him.

“Shit—God, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse, the shame already rising like a tide in his chest. “It’s just… I haven’t—fuck, it’s been a while. A long while.”

Your heart swelled. Not with pity—but with something softer. Deeper.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you whispered, your voice like balm, soft and steady. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

He huffed quietly, almost laughed—but it didn’t carry humor, just something strained and bruised, something that lived in the hollow of his chest. He shook his head, gaze dropping as he muttered, “I’m sure the other men you’re with…”

“Joel,” you said firmly, cutting him off before the sentence could reach its end, your voice soft but full of weight. You leaned in a little, pressing your forehead gently to his, forcing him to look at you, to feel how present you were. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now but you. Okay?”

His breath shuddered out of him in response, his eyes closing like he was holding that truth against his ribs, trying to believe it. After a moment, he nodded, the smallest, quietest movement—just enough to say he heard you. Just enough to say okay.

You smiled at him then, slow and warm, and leaned back just slightly. “Now,” you murmured, fingers slipping behind your back with practiced ease, “let’s get this off.”

Your hands worked quickly, but not rushed—there was no shame in the movement, no hesitation, no apology. Just the quiet, practiced confidence of a woman who knew exactly how powerful she was. The clasp of your bra came undone with a soft snap, the straps sliding down your arms with sinful grace before the lace slipped away completely, falling to the floor like it had never deserved to touch your skin in the first place.

And then—you were bare.

Joel’s breath caught so violently in his chest he almost choked on it.

Your tits were fucking perfect. Full and high, soft but heavy, flushed with heat, nipples tight and begging to be sucked. Lit by the golden light filtering through the room, they looked practically edible—glistening, mouth-watering, obscene in how pretty they were. They swayed gently with every breath you took, right at his eye level as you sat astride him, so close he could’ve buried his face between them and died happy.

But he didn’t.

He just stared.

Wide-eyed, jaw slack, pupils blown so dark they nearly swallowed the color. Like he wasn’t sure whether to worship or drop to his knees. Like it was his first time seeing a naked woman and you were every fantasy he’d ever had—all of it—wrapped in silk, sweat, and sin.

And fuck, the way he looked at you?

It made you wet. Soaking. Aching.

Because his gaze wasn’t greedy. It was wrecked. Full of awe. Full of reverence, like you were something holy and he was already praying.

His tongue flicked out, instinctive, desperate—wetting his lips like he could taste you just from looking.

And finally—hoarse, broken, like it physically hurt to say it—he murmured, “You’re… beautiful.”

You smiled at him then, your hands still resting gently at the back of his head, your fingers idly curling through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re handsome,” you said, and meant it—because even flustered, even blushing, even sitting there with guilt in his eyes and wonder on his face, Joel was beautiful. In a way he didn’t know how to carry. In a way you ached to show him.

He shook his head a little at that, bashful, like the compliment didn’t belong to him, like he didn’t know where to put it.

You leaned in slightly, shifting your weight just enough to press your chest a little closer to him, your breasts soft and warm in the space between you, your skin nearly touching his. “You can touch them,” you whispered, your voice low, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as your breath shivered across it. “I like when people use their mouth.”

Your fingers slipped deeper into his hair, gently tugging at the roots, anchoring him in the moment, steadying him against the flood rising between you.

“Whatever you wanna do,” you whispered. “It’s yours.”

His breath shuddered in response—just a single exhale—but it sounded wrecked, like you’d just undone something in him that had been locked tight for years.

His hands rose slowly, big and broad and calloused, shaking just slightly as he brought them to your chest. And when he finally cupped your tits—gently, reverently, like they might melt in his palms—you swore you saw his lips part in pure awe.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples—light, tentative—and his gaze flicked up to meet yours, wrecked and open and begging for approval.

You nodded.

And he leaned in.

Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair as his mouth closed around your nipple, warm and wet and so gentle at first, like he was still afraid he might do it wrong. But the moment he sucked—just a little, just enough to pull a quiet gasp from your lips—you whimpered, the sound leaving you before you could stop it, breathy and broken and so full of want it made his cock twitch against the inside of your thigh.

He froze for just a heartbeat, pulling back only slightly to glance up at you, lips still parted, a little swollen now, his eyes dark with something soft and searching.

“Am I…” he paused, his voice rough and low, so unsure, like the words tasted foreign in his mouth. “Am I doing good?”

God. God.

Your chest rose with the breath you sucked in, your eyes already glossed with it, your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded—hard, fast, desperate for him to understand just how much he was ruining you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, voice trembling, your hips already rocking forward, chasing friction. “Fuck, Joel… you’re making me feel so good.”

His eyes widened slightly at the praise, his breath catching in his throat, like he didn’t know how to carry those words—but needed to.

You cupped his face then, pulled him back to your chest, your thighs squeezing tighter around him as his hands cradled your hips and his mouth returned to your breast with more purpose now, more hunger.

He moaned against your skin, low and desperate, sucking softly, his tongue flicking over your nipple just to hear the way your breath stuttered.

“Shit,” you breathed, voice barely holding together, your body already flushed and trembling from the way he touched you like you were something precious, something sacred he didn’t know how to handle but wanted to try.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your thumb brushing gently over his flushed cheek, your chest still rising fast from the weight of his mouth. “Lie down,” you murmured, the command soft but firm, wrapped in something far more tender than dominance. “Get comfortable.”

Joel obeyed without a word, shifting beneath you with a quiet grunt as his back met the sheets, but his eyes—God, his eyes—never left you. They dragged down your body like a prayer, following the way your hands slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, baring yourself to him inch by inch until there was nothing left between you. His breath hitched audibly when he saw you, the heat of your pussy glistening in the low light, your thighs already slick with want, your confidence quiet but undeniable.

You crawled back onto the bed, slow and deliberate, your knees parting as you straddled his thighs again, his cock thick and flushed and waiting, twitching slightly where it rested against his stomach. Your breasts—red and swollen and slick from his mouth—bounced gently with each movement, catching the light like they’d been made for him.

And then—just as you were about to reach for him again—Joel sat up.

“Wait,” he said, voice low and rough, and a little breathless.

You stilled, your hands settling on his chest, your brows lifting slightly. “Yeah?” you murmured, brushing your thumb along the curve of his shoulder.

He looked at you—so shy, so unsure, like a man who didn’t know if he was allowed to ask. His cheeks were flushed, his lashes low, his voice softer now than you’d ever heard it.

“Can I…” he hesitated, swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll last long if you—if you use your mouth. Can I just—can I be inside you?”

You smiled, “Of course you can,” you whispered against his mouth, your lips brushing his with a sweetness that made him sigh into you, the sound barely audible but heavy with relief, like the permission alone had eased something he’d been holding for far too long. “I want you to.”

But before he could move—before he could even think—you reached down, your hand slipping between your bodies, finding his and lacing your fingers together. Gently, deliberately, you guided his hand downward, slower than necessary, not for hesitation but for effect—for connection—until his fingers rested at the slick heat of your entrance.

“Here,” you said, voice breathy, your eyes locked to his. “Feel.”

Joel’s eyes snapped to yours, wide and glassy, full of disbelief, like he hadn’t expected you to give him this, too. His throat worked around a hard swallow, the tips of his fingers twitching against the soaked warmth of your cunt, already glistening for him.

“For me?” he asked, the words almost reverent.

You nodded, biting your lip, your breath hitching as his fingertip brushed just barely against your entrance. “For you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with heat. “I’m so wet, Joel. For you.”

He made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat—part groan, part plea—and you could feel how badly he wanted this, how hard he was fighting to hold on to whatever control he still had.

“I—” he started, and then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Shit. My back’s bad. And my knees—”

You smiled, warm and teasing, as you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice turning playful as you reached for his cock and lined him up against your soaked entrance. “Gonna make me do all the work, huh?” you teased, your hips already rolling slightly, letting the thick head of him slip just barely into your folds.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, flustered, completely undone now, blinking up at you like you’d just caught him stealing something precious.

“I’m joking, Joel,” you said with a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping into his hair, your lips brushing his as you began to sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch burning in the most perfect way. “Relax. Let me bounce on your cock.”

Joel exhaled like he’d been punched in the chest, his hands gripping your hips instinctively, not to control—but to anchor. His eyes were locked on yours, wide and dark and filled with something that looked dangerously close to awe.

And then you sank down—fully—his cock stretching you wide, thick and throbbing and buried so deep it felt like you couldn’t possibly take more.

Your cunt clenched tight around him, soaked and fluttering with every inch he filled, your thighs trembling from the fullness. You held still, just for a moment—breathing with him, grounding yourself—as your body adjusted to the sweet, overwhelming ache of having all of him inside you.

And Joel?

He fucking unraveled.

His head tipped back against the pillow, jaw slack, throat arched, eyes squeezed shut as he let out the most broken, shaky moan you'd ever heard tear from his chest.

“F-fuck—oh my God,” he gasped, the words tumbling out of him like they weren’t meant to be said out loud. “Fuck—sweetheart—I—I can’t—”

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them—torn between holding you down and worshipping you. His whole body trembled beneath you, his thighs tight, chest rising in frantic, ragged bursts like he was trying not to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed again, voice high and wrecked, cracking under the weight of it all—awe, hunger, helpless fucking need. “You’re—fuck—you’re so tight—so warm—I can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t—”

He looked up at you like you were about to ruin him—eyes wide and glossy, mouth open, chest rising fast.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice shaking so badly you felt it in your cunt. “Don’t—don’t move yet. I—I need a second.”

You nodded gently, cradling his face, letting him breathe through it—letting his cock throb deep inside you as your walls fluttered around him, gripping like a fucking vice.

But when he finally exhaled, when the tension in his shoulders dropped just enough—you moved.

A slow, teasing grind of your hips. One long, drawn-out rock that pressed your clit right against the base of his cock, dragging every inch of him against the softest, tightest parts of you.

Joel gasped.

His eyes slammed shut, his fingers digging into your hips like he didn’t know whether to pull you down or beg you to stop.

“You okay, baby?” you whispered, lips brushing his cheek.

He nodded—too fast, too desperate—his head barely bobbing before he choked out, “Yeah, just—fuck, slow down—please. I ain’t gonna last long if you—”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, anchoring him in the heat between your bodies, and whispered against his lips, “That’s okay. You don’t have to last long, Joel.”

Another grind. Wetter this time.

His breath hitched violently.

“Just let me make you feel good.”

And then you rolled your hips again—slower this time, deeper—and his hands shook on your skin, his whole body going tight beneath you as he gasped and swore again, his voice barely holding together.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, one hand slipping up to your waist, fingers trembling, the other rising to your chest like he couldn’t help it. You guided him, curling his hand around your breast, moaning as his thumb grazed your nipple.

“Touch me, Joel,” you whispered. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

And he was—his cock throbbing inside you, his mouth open, eyes wide and overwhelmed, his voice breaking as he tried to keep himself from losing it. But your pussy was gripping him so tight, soaking and pulsing and grinding down with every slow, filthy roll of your hips—and he was ruined.

“Shit—darlin, please—I can’t—” Joel gasped beneath you, voice catching as his fingers dug into your hips, trying desperately to still you, to slow you down, to regain any control over the way your body was grinding down onto his, slick and hot and perfect around him. His head fell back against the pillow, his chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut like he was holding on by a thread.

But you didn’t stop.

You moved faster now, hips rolling deep and steady, your thighs trembling from the pace, your cunt clenching around him with every thrust. Joel’s hands flew to your waist, gripping you hard, like he could physically slow you down—but even as his fingers dug into your skin, his hips bucked up to meet you, chasing your rhythm like his body had stopped listening to him.

“Darlin’,” he gasped, voice fraying, wrecked, “you gotta stop—I’m serious—fuck, you gotta slow down or I’m gonna—”

But you didn’t stop.

You moved harder.

And Joel’s breath hitched, eyes wide, mouth open like he was trying to warn you and couldn’t remember how.

“Shit—shit,—stop movin’—I can’t—I’m not gonna hold it—fuck, I’m gonna come—you’re gonna make me come.”

His voice cracked on the last word, his grip trembling as he tried to slow you, tried to guide you off him—but his cock twitched violently inside you, and his hips snapped up in betrayal, chasing that edge like he couldn’t help it.

And then he broke.

With a sharp, shuddering gasp, his whole body arched beneath you, thighs shaking, eyes squeezing shut as he came hard, release spilling into you in thick, pulsing waves. His hands clamped down on your hips, not to stop you anymore—but to hold on, to anchor himself as the pleasure tore through him, brutal and sudden.

His jaw clenched, breath catching in his throat as he moaned low and hoarse, like he was in pain from how good it was.

You gasped softly at the warmth spreading inside you, the way his cock twitched with every pulse of it, the way he moaned your name—broken, wrecked—like a prayer against your collarbone, his breath shuddering as it spilled from him.

And then—he pulled you in.

His arms wrapped tight around your waist, dragging you down against his chest, like he needed you closer, needed to be grounded in the heat of your skin. His face buried in your neck, breath ragged, hot and frantic, his whole body still trembling with the aftershocks. He held onto you like he thought he might float away if he didn’t—fingers digging into your back, too tight, too desperate.

You didn’t move.

You just stroked your fingers slowly through his hair, soft and patient, cradling the back of his head like he was something fragile, like you were holding a man coming undone quietly in your arms.

And Joel? He didn’t even lift his head.

He couldn’t.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven waves, his cock still buried inside you, twitching with sensitivity, every part of him too much—too raw, too fast, too gone. He pressed his face deeper into the curve of your neck, like maybe if he hid long enough, you wouldn’t see how red his cheeks were.

“Fuck,” he rasped finally, voice hoarse, choked, mortified. “I—shit. I’m so sorry.”

The words were slurred, mumbled into your skin, thick with shame, like they physically hurt to say.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I wasn’t trying to—fuck, I didn’t think I’d—”

He cut himself off, groaning in frustration, still unable to look at you. Like he was bracing for disappointment. Like you were gonna laugh. Like he’d failed some unspoken test.

“I didn’t mean to come that fast,” he whispered. “That’s… not how I wanted to do this.”

“Shh,” you whispered softly, stroking his hair a little slower now, your touch more comfort than seduction. “You don’t have to be sorry, Joel.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, your gaze tender, reverent. “You did so good for me,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth, your voice a hush of affection. “Made me feel so good. So warm.”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unsure, and when he looked at you—really looked—he almost broke again.

“Look at me,” you whispered, thumb brushing his cheek. “Please.”

And when he did, you kissed him—slow, deep, soft enough to make him sigh against your lips. His mouth opened to you like instinct, and he almost whimpered into it, the sound desperate and sweet, like his heart was leaking out through the press of your mouths. He held onto you tighter then, arms curling around your waist, pulling you down against him like he didn’t want any space left between your bodies.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

He just breathed.

Held.

Tried to remember what it felt like to be this close to another person without losing something.

And then—so quietly you almost missed it—he whispered, “I don’t wanna go.”

The words cracked something in you. Not lust. Not even longing. Just something bare and soft and aching.

You kissed his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and whispered back, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

He stayed.

Wrapped around you, still trembling, still catching his breath, holding you like you were the only safe place left in the world.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

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[noredemptionhere]

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 𖤝 𝚆𝙸𝙵𝙴!𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙺𝙰 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼!𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

tags: modern setting, fluff, too much fluff.

𖤝| sevika won’t let you leave angry. not the room, not the house, not even her side. if you try, she just blocks the door with her body, calm, unmoving. “we’re not done,” she says, but there’s no threat in it. just finality. she doesn’t shout. she doesn’t argue. she waits you out like a storm, and you always break first.

𖤝| the first time you went full cuteness aggression and pinned her down kissing her face like an attack, she let you. quietly. didn’t say a word. but when you stopped she flipped you. suddenly she’s the one kissing you over and over like she snapped. teeth grazing your lip. eyes half lidded. voice low “no tapping out now.”

𖤝| sevika has exactly one hoodie she lets you steal. you wore it once and she never took it back because she saw how soft you looked in it and it made her weak. now, when you’re in it, she stares a little too long. if you try to give it back, she just grunts and walks away. you’re never giving it back.

𖤝| you keep climbing her in quiet moments. sitting on her lap while she’s reading. hugging her from behind when she’s washing something. she acts unbothered, but at a certain point, she just slams the book down, hauls you over her shoulder, and says “you want attention? you got it.” and disappears into the bedroom with you over her shoulder.

𖤝| she’s careful with her strength around you. too careful. like she’s scared of cracking you open. she opens jars before you even reach for them. carries things before you even ask. when you say you can do it yourself, she nods.. but doesn’t move. just stands there, watching. waiting. and eventually, you let her.

𖤝| you kiss her bicep every time she flexes. doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose or not. she lifts a box? kiss. stretches her arms? kiss. scratches her head? “wow, so pretty.” another kiss. she pretends to act casual about it. secretly flexes more.

𖤝| sevika never tells you when she’s angry at someone else. but you notice the way she tightens her grip when she brushes your hair that night. how the strokes lose rhythm. how her breathing changes. she’s careful not to take it out on you, but it leaks through anyway. and you learn to ask less questions on those nights. to be still. to give her space.

𖤝| she has the nerve to look this good when she sleeps. shirt riding up, one arm behind her head, mouth slightly open. so of course, you crawl on top of her at 3am, kiss her ten times in a row, then whisper “you’re killing me.” she stirs. half opens one eye. “good.”

𖤝| sevika doesn’t like when you dream of other people. not lovers—anyone. when you wake up and tell her you saw your mother, your old friend, a teacher from childhood.. her gaze sharpens. she asks what they said. how they made you feel. and the next night, she holds you tighter. harder. like she’s trying to squeeze the memory out of you before it sticks.

𖤝| sevika never tells you she’s angry. she just stops touching you. not cruelly, not obviously—she’s still there, still present, still herself—but her hands don’t find you in passing. she doesn’t tuck your hair behind your ear, doesn’t brush crumbs off your chin. you feel it immediately. the absence. and it hurts more than yelling ever could.

𖤝| sevika keeps your baby picture in her wallet. you didn’t give it to her. she found it somewhere.. old, worn, tucked into a book you forgot. she didn’t ask. just slipped it into the fold behind her mints. now it’s always with her. when you noticed it, it made your heart flutter.

𖤝| she now accepts that she is your personal body pillow. you spoon her. you lie across her. you lie on top of her. she’ll just be flipping through the pages of her book while you’re starfished across her torso. sometimes she lifts your arm so she can read under it.

𖤝| you’re constantly climbing on her lap, even mid-conversation. she’ll be talking to you about something or someone and you just quietly sit in her lap like a cat. she doesn’t stop talking. doesn’t react. just rests a hand on your thigh like this is perfectly normal.

𖤝| she tries to act unaffected when you smother her with kisses. you kiss her cheek fourteen times in a row and she just blinks like nothing’s happening. but the second you stop? “that’s it?” she doesn’t even look at you when she says it. you kiss her fourteen more times.

𖤝| one day, you try to be normal. no biting. no climbing. just sitting beside her, hands folded, behaving. after ten minutes she grabs your wrist, pulls you into her lap, almost mad. “what’s wrong with you.” you say “i’m giving you a break.” she deadass looks offended. “i don’t want a fucking break.”

𖤝| sevika pretends she’s bothered when you hang off her like a backpack but her hands always find your thighs to hold you in place. you’re clinging to her back like “hi :)” while she’s trying to cook, and she just sighs and shakes her head, but always kisses you at the end of it.

𖤝| she can tell when you’re needy just by the way your toes curl while you stand in the kitchen, your long nightgown brushing the floor, sleeves too big, your fingers twisting in the fabric. you don’t say anything. you never do. you just look at her with those glossy eyes, lips parted, thighs pressed tight. and she’s on you in seconds. lifts you onto the counter and says, “c’mere, crybaby.“

𖤝| you cling when you’re upset, too, and she knows exactly what to do. no questions. just picks you up, sets you on the couch, pulls you into her chest. one hand rubbing your back, the other cradling your head. “i’ve got you,” she says, and you believe her. because when she says that, the whole world goes quiet, and your heart goes lighter for a moment.

𖤝| you say “babe” fifty times an hour and she answers every single time. sometimes with a grunt, sometimes with a flat “what now,” sometimes with a gentle “yes, sweetheart?” and sometimes, she just pulls you into her lap without answering at all because she knows you don’t really need anything. you just wanted her attention.

𖤝| she always tries to carry all the groceries herself. no matter how many. no matter how heavy. you offer to help, and she goes, “i got it.” ten seconds later she’s grunting under seventeen bags like a mule, refusing to make two trips. “don’t look at me,” she huffs.

𖤝| she takes the “eat the last bite of my food” thing as a personal challenge. you’ll leave one bite of cake on your plate, go to the bathroom, and come back to find her chewing suspiciously. “where’s the cake?” you ask. she shrugs. “gravity.”

𖤝| you’ve convinced her to watch trashy reality shows. she says she hates them. she complains the whole time. but if you talk over the drama for even a second, she pauses it like a schoolteacher and goes, “you’re gonna miss the good part.”

𖤝| one time, sevika came home after a long, brutal day.. she comes home late. later than usual. her back hurts, her shoulder’s stiff, and the joints in her prosthetic are clicking in that way that makes her feel ancient. her keys jangle, and she’s already halfway through a groan. except you happened-

standing dead center in the living room.

in your nightgown.

past your ankles.

sleeves draped over your hands like some sad little heirloom doll.

eyes puffy. hair wild. lips trembling.

you look like a haunted Victorian ghost who just crawled out of the floorboards.

sevika freezes.

and you say it.

you say it like you’ve been waiting centuries:

“are you cheating on me?”

she blinks. keys still dangling from her fingers.

“…the fuck?”

you take a step closer. the nightgown rustles. it sounds like a threat.

“you didn’t answer my texts,” you say, almost breathless. “or my other texts. and then you liked that girl’s picture.”

sevika just squints at you. “what girl?”

you shrug. desperate and grieved. “she had a neck.”

there’s a pause. a long one.

“…everyone has a neck.” her voice is so flat.. like she just woke up or something.

you blink. like that genuinely never occurred to you.

then your lip wobbles again like you might cry or perform a dark spell.

sevika sighs. long. slow. the tired kind that comes from a full day of chaos only to come home to.. more chaos. nightgown-wearing chaos. she lets the keys hit the floor with a dull clink and walks toward you.

“baby,” she mutters, eyes soft now. “you think i’m cheating on the girl who looks like a kicked bunny and accuses strangers of having necks?”

you blink again. then whisper, defiant

“…maybe.”

there’s a twitch at her lip. like she’s trying not to smile. like she wants to laugh and cry and throw you over her shoulder all at once.

“you want me to prove it?”

you nod. sniffly. bravely.

she just scoops you up.

no warning. no argument.

one arm under your knees, the other around your back. lifts you like it’s easy. like you’re made of clouds and dramatics.

you squeak—actually squeak—like a startled kitten.

“what are you doing?!”

“proving it.” she says it like it’s obvious. like it’s the only rational response to your witch trial.

you clutch at her jacket, all nightgown and flailing sleeves and messy hair. she carries you to the couch and sits with you in her lap like she’s bracing for war and your love is the weighted blanket holding her together.

her hand is splayed across your back, fingers warm through the fabric. the other supports your thighs. her face presses against your temple.

“mmhmm,” she mutters, low and sarcastic. “cheating on you. that’s why i’m holding my delusional little marshmallow like this.”

you pout. whine. nuzzle into her collar. “i’m not delusional.”

“baby,” she sighs, brushing your hair back and kissing your cheek. “you accused a stranger of having a neck.”

you glare up at her. absolutely betrayed. “and you liked it.”

sevika just looks at you. quiet. soft. half exhausted and half in love with whatever ridiculous gremlin fate bound her to. Her mouth twitches again. she leans down.

one kiss to your forehead. another to your nose.

then a longer, lingering kiss to your lips. she pulls back just a little. “next time you get dramatic,” she whispers, voice husky, “at least wait until I’m not about to drop dead.”