#while i was still standing there. to my face

[buckysleftbicep]

bent and bruised (2) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avengers!bucky barnes x fem!ex-hydra!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, very heavy angst, non-con/dub-con themes under captivity (flashback), unprotected sex, non-consensual experimentation (HYDRA), injury, head trauma, grief (tw: ptsd, some scenes of sexual violence)

summary: you were built by HYDRA to please the soldier—then left for dead. years later, bucky sees your face again. but no amount of time can erase the way you once whispered his name through tears. inspired by this request

word count: 4.7k

author's note: hi my sweethearts, gosh, i am so grateful for the support this series has received so far <333 it means the entire world to me 💓 i hope this chapter doesn't flop and that you will enjoy it 🥰. love ya guys and stay safe out there!

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The low hum of voices echoed through the compound’s hangar, interrupted now and then by the clink of gear being loaded and the sharp zip of a gun being holstered. 

Alexei was in the middle of another one of his half-hearted jabs at John’s shield—something about it looking more like a taco than anything remotely tactical. 

John had rolled his eyes as he holstered his weapon, muttering, “I’m working on fixing the damn thing,” while Yelena chuckled and shook her head beside him.

The sound of it all—the jokes, the chatter, the warmth—felt distant to Bucky.

He stepped inside, boots heavy against the polished floor, but none of them noticed.

Not yet.

Not with the way his shoulders were tensed, his frame rigid, like he’d been carved from stone just to withstand what was coming. His eyes swept the hangar, scanning every shadow, every figure.

Looking for you.

It had taken him fifteen full minutes to get off the bench in the armory. Fifteen minutes of sitting there, head in his hands, heart thudding like a damn war drum as he tried to convince himself to stand up. 

To move. To face this. To face you.

He should’ve told Val he wanted out, should’ve said it the second he saw your name flash across that fucking screen. 

Should’ve walked out and never looked back. 

Because how the fuck was he supposed to look you in the eye? How was he supposed to breathe when the same woman he’d touched—no, practically ruined—was going to stand beside him?

He didn’t know what he would say. What he could say. 

'Sorry' certainly didn’t cover the kind of damage HYDRA had made of both of you.

Before his mind could spiral further, the heavy doors at the far end of the hangar slid open with a groan of hydraulics.

And there you were.

Walking just behind Val, your steps even, purposeful, every inch of you carved exactly from his memory. The black combat suit you wore clung to your form, hugging the curve of your hips, your thighs all the places his hands had once known too well. 

His lungs clenched.

Bucky didn’t blink. He couldn’t.

His mind betrayed him instantly—because there, beneath the bright fluorescents of the hangar, you weren’t just the new agent. 

You were the woman HYDRA had forced into his cell. Again and again. 

You were the soft curve of hips beneath calloused fingers, you were the gasp that echoed off concrete walls as he pressed himself into you like a man starved, like he was drowning and your body was the only air he’d ever known and could ever want.

He remembered the way his metal hand would clamp tight around your waist, pulling you into him as he thrust into you, breathless. 

The way you cried out, not in pain, because somehow you never stopped choosing him—and how your voice would tremble when you whispered his name. 

‘James’.

Or maybe it was that night. One of those many fucking nights they shoved you into his cell like you were some thing. A tool, a salve for their asset. You had stumbled in, eyes dazed, skin bruised, and he had been standing at the edge of the table, too numb to speak, too hollow to move. 

And you had still come to him, always to him, hand reaching up to cup his face. That same hand—delicate, trembling—resting on the scruff of his jaw as you whispered, “It’s okay, James.”

It had never been okay.

Yelena’s voice jolted him from the memory.

“She seems like your type.”

She bumped her elbow into his arm with a teasing grin, but Bucky only forced a tight smile. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you stepped closer to the team.

Val’s voice rang out. “Everyone, this is (Y/N). She’ll be joining the team starting today. I’ve briefed her on the mission.”

The air in Bucky’s lungs felt sharp, brittle.

Val turned toward you again. “This is the man I told you about. Barnes. He’ll be leading today’s op. You’ll follow his command.”

You nodded once, gaze lifting—and for the first time, your eyes met his.

And you froze.

Those cerulean eyes. 

You could have sworn you had seen them before. Maybe not here, not in this hangar with its glossy black floors and buzzing halogens. 

But somewhere. Somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere your name had been whispered, you couldn’t place it, couldn’t name it. 

But something in you stirred.

“Hi,” Bucky said. Voice low, gravel-thick.

You swallowed. A strange buzzing filled your head—a static hum behind your temples. “Hi.”

You extended your hand toward him.

He hesitated for a split second too long before taking it.

His fingers closed around yours—solid, warm, calloused—and your breath caught in your throat. It was too familiar, that touch, that shape, that ache.

As if those hands had once mapped your body like it was holy ground. As if your fingers had once tangled in his hair, desperate and shaking. As if that spark firing up your arm wasn’t just chemistry, but recognition.

You didn’t flinch, but your grip tightened slightly, as though holding on might make the answer come faster.

Bucky looked at your joined hands, then back at your face. His fingers lingered on yours longer than they should have—like he was afraid. Like letting go would make you vanish again.

Then he did let go.

Slowly, almost regretfully.

Like a man watching the only photograph of someone he loved burn away in the wind.

Before the silence could swallow you both, Yelena stepped forward, clapping her hands together.

“Don’t mind him. He broods a lot.”

You let out a breath of laughter, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I brood too. Think we’ll get along just fine.”

Bucky froze, just for a second.

Like your laughter had knocked all the damn air from his lungs.

It was soft—barely more than a breath, but it curled through the hangar like smoke, warm and alive and so achingly familiar that it split him open. His head turned slightly, eyes tracking the curve of your smile like it was a constellation he hadn’t seen in decades.

God.

That sound.

He’d heard it before. In another life. 

In a different kind of silence, the quiet between touches in a cell that had felt more like a coffin. He remembered the way you used to smile against his throat, breathless and half-sobbed after they left you both alone. 

The way it would crack through the weight of everything, make him feel, for just a moment, like maybe, just fucking maybe, the world hadn’t ended yet.

And now, here you were.

Smiling at Yelena. Laughing.

Alive.

Bucky swallowed hard, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile. More like a memory surfacing behind his eyes. His hand flexed at his side, vibranium fingers curling against his palm.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

But inside him, something stirred.

Something that hadn’t dared to hope in a very, very long time.

Val didn’t skip a beat. “Save the introductions for the jet. Wheels up in fifteen. You’ll be briefed further en route.”

You nodded and turned, moving toward the waiting aircraft.

Bucky followed you, a silent shadow at your back.

He hadn’t said it. Hadn’t told you.

And he wasn’t sure if he ever would.

Because if you remembered—you ever remembered what they did, what he did—you might never look at him the same again.

And that possibility? 

That was a kind of death all its own.

The inside of the jet hummed with quiet efficiency—the soft mechanical drone of the engines blending with the occasional shuffle of boots and the rustle of files being opened.

Leather seats lined both sides of the aircraft, their surfaces worn with use, stitched tight. Overhead lights cast sterile, pale beams down the cabin, cutting long, lonely shadows across the floor.

The rest of the team settled in quickly. John leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, muttering something under his breath. Yelena tucked her legs beneath her, always coiled, always alert. Ava checked and re-checked the safety on her weapon while Alexei loudly crunched on something he definitely wasn’t supposed to bring aboard.

It all felt routine. Too routine.

And Bucky hated how easily the world kept turning.

He sat at the front of the cabin, head down, eyes locked on the debrief folder in his hands. Or at least pretending to be. The paper barely registered. 

His mind was elsewhere. No. Not elsewhere.

He was listening—to your footsteps.

You moved differently than the others. Quieter. Controlled. Like a soldier who had been trained to make herself small. As if every movement had once been monitored, punished, refined until silence became survival.

He watched your shadow cross into the aisle, the measured precision in the way your feet stepped, the hesitation in your pause. He forced himself to tear his eyes away, fingers reaching for the stack of files Val had handed him. 

He distributed them down the row without a word. One to John. Another to Ava. Then Yelena.

Then you.

His hand brushed yours when he passed the folder.

Barely a touch.

But it ignited something inside you.

The second his skin grazed yours, your brain ignited. Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t warmth or attraction—it was heat. A flash fire, raw and consuming.

Something behind your eyes cracked wide open.

A memory. 

Cold metal beneath your back. The bite of restraints, not tight but firm. Hands—large, calloused—wrapped around your wrists. Not cruel, not hurting, just holding, almost gentle, steadying you, grounding you.

Your body arched beneath another. Not in fear.

No.

In desperation. In surrender.

And a voice. A voice you hadn’t heard in years. Low, frayed, soaked in desperation as it said your name—not a command. 

A name. Your name.

"(Y/N)."

The folder slipped slightly in your grip. Your fingers shook. You blinked hard, breath catching in your throat as you tried to shove the pieces of yourself back into the dark. But they clawed forward. Screamed.

Like ghosts banging their fists against the inside of your skull.

You curled your hands into fists in your lap, your knuckles bone-white against your skin.

The images kept coming.

A cell, a chair. Pain. Darkness. The scrape of your back against a table as someone moved over you. Not hurting, never hurting, not that time.

Desperate hands, metal fingers trembling, a voice cracking on a promise.

"I’ll keep them away from you. I swear."

But you couldn’t see the face.

Fuck.

You just couldn’t see the face.

Just static, just fog. Just the outline of something that should have been familiar, something that should have been yours.

You gasped softly, pressing your palms to your thighs to ground yourself, to force yourself back into the present.

Ava’s voice came like a soft bell in the fog.

“You okay?”

You turned your head slightly, eyes struggling to focus. She was watching you — brow drawn in concern, mouth tight.

You nodded, a shallow breath catching. “Yeah. Just…” You hesitated, then lifted your eyes to hers. “Since I got out of cryo, I keep getting these… flashes. Memories. From when HYDRA had control over my mind”. 

Your voice was barely a whisper, almost like if you said it too loud, it would become too real.

Ava softened, something haunted flickering behind her lashes. “I guess that’s normal. Sometimes it comes back, you know it doesn’t make sense at first. But it will”. 

You nodded again, grateful. But the ache didn’t fade.

It sat in your ribs like a knife.

And at the front of the cabin, Bucky didn’t move, he didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

But he heard every word.

His hands were white-knuckled on the console, grip digging into the metal like he could anchor himself there, like the tremor in his chest might tear him apart if he let go.

He wanted to go to you.

To cross the aisle, to take your face in his hands and tell you the truth—that it was him. That he remembered. Every touch, every whisper, every night they put you in his cell like you were some warped excuse of a peace offering and he had tried, god he had tried, to make it something human.

But how could he say it?

How could he tell you when the truth came dipped in the poison of what they did? What he was made into? What they made of you?

He stayed frozen.

Silent.

Twenty minutes before touchdown, he stood up and gave the final briefing. His voice was steady. Military-sharp. But his throat was raw.

“Files detail target locations. Weapons stored in the sublevels. We copy what we can. We blow the rest. No civilians, no witnesses.”

He let his gaze drag across the team.

And then it settled on you.

“You’re with me,” he said.

His voice was low. Gentle. Like he didn’t trust it.

“Stay close.”

You looked at him. And for a second, the world tilted.

Something about the way he watched you made your heart lurch. Ache.

You didn’t know why.

But you nodded.

“Got it.”

The sky outside the jet was black—not the soft, star-scattered black of peace, but the thick, oppressive kind that swallowed light whole.

The ramp hissed as it lowered, metal groaning beneath the pressure of years and weight and memory. 

Wind rushed inside, cold and sharp, smelling of pine, earth.

The trees that surrounded the landing zone were wild and gnarled, their branches clawing at the darkness like they were trying to hold it back.

Somewhere ahead, hidden beneath layers of time and rot, the compound waited.

You descended in formation, steps synchronised with muscle memory. 

Not one of you spoke— the kind of silence that only trained soldiers carried, like a second skin. Bucky led point, his broad back a dark silhouette ahead of you, and your boots echoed his in rhythm, falling into place like they had always belonged behind his. 

As if your body still remembered something your mind refused to.

Yelena and John peeled off to the north access tunnel, moving in a low, practiced crouch. Ava and Alexei split east to handle the perimeter. The comm in your ear crackled to life with Bob’s voice, crisp and calm.

“Standing by for your all-clear before setting charges.”

Then—there it was.

The compound loomed up out of the trees like a tombstone, hulking, hollow and dead.

It looked like a god fallen from grace, eaten alive by vines and rot. Ivy crawled like veins up its fractured concrete skin. Steel girders jutted out like ribs, rusting, skeletal. 

Your chest tightened. You knew this place.

Not from files or briefings or memory cards, you knew it in your bones, in your god damn nightmares. 

The same grimy gray of the walls—you’d seen them before. The holding cell. The chair, the whisper of syringes, the electricity being fed into your brain. The taste of metal in your mouth when they made you scream, again and again.

You didn’t say a word.

But your grip on your weapon turned white-knuckled.

“I got your six, James,” you said softly.

Bucky stumbled in his stride, just barely, barely enough for anyone else to notice, but he noticed.

Because you’d said his name.

James.

You’d said it like it was sacred, like it was something you remembered in a dream.

He didn’t look back, he just swallowed hard and nodded, tightening the strap across his chest.

The two of you slipped deeper into the compound, weaving through hallways that stank of mildew and old death. Each corridor was lined with peeling paint and rusted doors, some of them still sealed shut, some of them hanging open like gaping mouths. Water dripped from somewhere overhead as your breath fogged the stale air.

The file room stood at the end of a corridor, marked in faded Cyrillic along a warped steel frame. You couldn’t read the letters, but something about them lodged deep in your gut—a soundless scream you couldn’t remember how to form.

Bucky scanned the hall. Raised a hand.

Clear.

He stepped forward, pushed the door in. The hinges groaned.

Inside, the room buzzed with old tech. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, sickly green.

Terminals lined the far wall, their screens blinking with scrolling code, as if someone had only just stepped away. Drawers were sealed shut under years of corrosion. Dust lay heavy on the air.

“Clear,” Bucky said again, voice gruff.

You moved to the central console, exhaling slowly, pulled the thumb drive from your vest, slotting it into the port.

The machine paused. Whirred.

Then the screen lit, a progress bar began crawling forward at a glacial pace.

Silence fell. But not the calm kind.

This was the kind of silence that rang in your ears, that filled your lungs like smoke. 

You stared at the screen.

Then turned your head. Just slightly.

“Were you captured by HYDRA too?”

Bucky’s head rose slowly, like someone lifting a weight.

Your voice—your tone—it hit him like a blade between the ribs. Not because of the question.

But because of the way you asked it.

Soft, almost cautious, like you already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” he said, and his voice cracked just a little. “How did you know?”

You didn’t look away. “Val showed me your file, said I should be familiar with the man leading me.”

He flinched. Not visibly.

Because that was all you knew of him. A file, a summary, some story someone else wrote. You didn’t know his hands, his mouth or the way he used to breathe your name like it was his only salvation.

And that—that was the cruelest part.

“Did you ever get them back?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“The memories?” he asked and you nod.

“Most, but not all.”

You looked away, throat tightening.

“I can’t remember what happened before they put me in cryo,” you murmured. “It keeps coming in flashes. Like… fragments. Feelings. Images I-I don’t understand.”

He took a step closer.

“What do you see?”

You hesitated.” Then spoke.

“A man.”

You didn’t lift your eyes.

“I think HYDRA, they put me with him”. You exhaled sharply.

“I think I loved him. Or maybe I wanted to. I don’t know. I-I can’t remember his face. Just parts of his voice”.

Bucky couldn’t breathe.

Because you were talking about him.

And you didn’t know it.

You were reaching through the dark, grasping at shadows, and he was right there—a foot away—but still unreachable.

He wanted to tell you.

That it was him. That he remembered everything. That you weren’t alone.

But how could he? How could he say it and still live with himself?

The computer pinged.

TRANSFER COMPLETE.

You reached forward, pulled the thumb drive out with steady fingers.

John’s voice burst through the comms. “Bucky, new girl—we’ve got seven minutes to detonation. Get your asses out.”

Bucky moved first.

Pressed the exit switch. The door unlocked with a click.

He didn’t think.

His hand found the small of your back—just enough contact to guide you forward.

Even through your suit, it seared.

And you didn’t pull away.

You never had.

The hallway outside the file room reeked of dust and death. You moved in tandem.

Bucky’s hand was still there, resting firm and steady at the small of your back. A phantom heat that sank through the layers of kevlar and cloth to settle into your spine. 

Your heartbeat was just beginning to slow from the breathless weight of everything that had come before—the mission, the files, the memories you couldn’t place—when the world shattered.

“Engaging self-destruct protocol, countdown initiated. Twenty seconds to detonation.”

The calm, robotic voice echoed off the walls.

The lights above snapped from sterile white to blood red. An alarm began to blare, shrill and merciless, rattling your bones with every pulse.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

“Run!” he barked.

His voice sliced through the noise, sharp and commanding.

You bolted—no hesitation, no questions. Your boots slammed against the tile as you turned, muscles screaming. He grabbed your arm with a strength that was firm but never cruel, yanked you behind him, and slammed open the stairwell door with a crash.

The air inside was hotter. Tighter. The stairwell was narrow, concrete and iron, and the walls vibrated like the whole building was breathing its last breath.

Second floor. Too fucking high.

You heard the first detonation somewhere deep below, a hollow boom that shook the railing beneath your hands. Another rumble followed, closer. The heat of it licked up the stairwell.

Bucky’s voice gritted through the comms. “Everyone out. Now. The system’s triggered detonation early, the damn place is coming down.”

“Copy,” John replied. “Jet’s hot. We’re moving.”

Your legs burned. Every step was agony, not from pain, but urgency. The kind that made your vision narrow to the edges of movement. You didn’t look back, but you could feel it behind you. Fire, collapse. A monster of flame crawling up the walls.

You rounded the landing. Another flight, another detonation. The building groaned, practically screaming.

“Don’t stop!” Bucky shouted.

You didn’t. You cleared the final step, burst into the corridor.

The exit was in sight.

Then —

Everything blew.

A roar ripped through the stairwell, deafening. The sound was a living thing. A wave of heat and steel and fury surged forward, ripping up the floor, bursting through the walls. The blast hit your back like a freight train.

For one sickening moment, you were airborne—weightless—flung forward like a ragdoll.

And then you weren’t.

Because Bucky was faster.

He reached for you mid-air, arms closing around your waist with brutal urgency. He twisted, turned, shoved you against his chest and curled his body around yours just as the landing above gave way.

The world disappeared.

Concrete shattered.

You fell. But you didn’t feel it.

Bucky slammed into the floor first—shoulder and back, vibranium and bone meeting concrete with sickening force. His breath exploded from his lungs, teeth gritted against the sound that tried to rip free.

His arms never let go, you lay limp against him, body cradled in his arms like something precious.

Then everything went still.

The flames crackled somewhere behind the collapse.

And you didn’t move.

“Fuck—” Bucky rasped, the word barely audible.

His body screamed with pain, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing fucking mattered.

Not when your body lay still against his. Not when he felt the warmth of your blood seeping through your sleeve, not when he looked down and saw your eyes closed, your lashes streaked with soot, a slow trail of red painting its way down your temple.

“(Y/N)?” he gasped. His voice broke. “Hey. Hey—come on—”

You didn’t answer.

His heart plummeted. He tore off one of his gloves, fingers shaking, and pressed two against the side of your neck.

There, pulse.

Weak. But there. Still breathing.

His jaw clenched, his eyes burned.

He lifted his comm, voice cracking through the static.

“Bob—I need a medic, now. She’s down. Head trauma, east stairwell”. 

He shifted slightly, cradling you tighter to his chest, shielding you as more debris rained down from above. His vibranium arm curved around you, protective, solid, unyielding. 

He looked down at you.

Your skin was pale beneath the grime, your lips were parted slightly, breath too shallow.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. 

You didn’t remember him. Your mind, scrambled and scarred by years of manipulation, held no place for the man who used to breathe your name like it was the only word he knew. 

But Bucky—he remembered everything.

Every stolen breath in the dark. Every time your fingers laced with his like a lifeline. Every whisper, every cry, every night you clung to him like the world outside didn’t exist. 

And now, here you were, unconscious in his arms, slipping through his fingers like smoke he couldn’t trap, couldn’t hold. Panic rose in his chest like floodwater, but he pushed it down. He held you tighter instead, his arms trembling as he drew you closer, and lowered his forehead to yours—grounding himself in the only thing that had ever made him feel real. 

You.

“I just got you back,” he said, barely breathing. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me now.”

The jet smelled like antiseptic and blood.

The cold, sterile tang of medical supplies mixed with the metallic bite of iron, clinging to the air like a second skin.

The hum of the engines beneath the floor vibrated through the soles of Bucky’s boots, a low, constant reminder that they were still moving—that time hadn’t stopped, even if he wished it would.

You lay stretched out on one of the stretchers in the rear of the aircraft. Your skin was too pale beneath the dim cabin lights, lips chapped, sweat beading at your hairline. Ash smeared across your cheekbone, a clear oxygen mask covered your mouth and nose, fogging slightly with each shallow breath you took.

Your head had been wrapped hastily in bandages. The gauze was already stained dark at your temple, red blooming through white like a warning.

Beside you, Bucky sat motionless.

Still in his gear, still coated in soot and blood and the weight of too many near-misses.

A line of dried blood streaked down his cheek where something—a shard of concrete, maybe had grazed him. He hadn’t let the medics near him. Hadn’t let anyone touch him.

He didn’t flinch when they asked. Didn’t speak when they insisted.

Because his eyes hadn’t left you.

His vibranium hand was wrapped around the edge of your stretcher, fingers clenched so tightly that the metal groaned. Like if he held on hard enough, he could keep you tethered to the jet, to him. 

“You should sit down,” one of the medics said gently from behind him.

Bucky didn’t turn. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t care.

Not when you looked like that. Not when your chest rose in barely-there movements. Not when your voice—the one that used to whisper his name like an answer to all of his damn prayers had gone silent again..

Bucky remembered everything.

He remembered the hitch of your breath when his fingers brushed the inside of your thigh. The way your lips used to part with a gasp when he kissed your neck. The way your hands—trembling, always trembling—would hold his hand like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. 

You used to kiss the scar on his shoulder. The one they put there. You used to press your mouth against it in the dark and whisper, "It’s not your fault," over and over again like maybe if you said it enough, he’d start to believe it.

Sometimes he did.

HYDRA had taken so much from him. But you—you had given him something back.

Humanity.

A reason.

And they had ripped you away from him. Erased him from your mind like he was just another symptom of your programming.

He stared at you now, heart a lead weight in his chest.

Your fingers twitched once. A small, involuntary movement. Not enough.

He watched the slow rise and fall of your chest, counted every breath and clung to them.

A part of him ached to touch you—to reach out and wrap his fingers around yours. To remind you. To say without words, I’m still here, you knew me once, you loved me once.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know what would be worse—you pulling away from him, or you not responding at all.

So he whispered.

Low. Raw. Barely more than breath.

“I’m sorry.”

For the memories you couldn’t hold onto and for the ones he couldn’t forget.

For every night he sat awake, remembering the way you used to fall asleep beside him, and wondering if you were still alive. If you were somewhere in cryo, cold and silent, your mind frozen in time.

But fate had delivered you back to him like a cruel trick, with your mind still shackled to the dark.

The engines thrummed beneath him, steady and uncaring.

You didn’t stir.

And Bucky sat vigil beside your broken body like a man guarding a ghost.

Not knowing if, when your eyes finally opened, you’d see him as a nightmare you couldn’t name or the man you used to love in the dark.

a/n: and chapter 2 is up! ❤️ if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or a reblog, thank you my loves!

taglist: @poisntree @moth-maam56 @ravenswritingroom @heymydearheart @secretdiaryofzai @whitelaxe @ficmeiguess

[cheftsunoda]

do you think you could do osc or lan with a sister reader who’s a little younger and recently got diagnosed with pcos or endometriosis and they promise to stick by her through surgeries and transfusions. if you’re not comfortable that’s completely fine. hope you’re taking care of yourself🩵

by your side — op81

oscar piastri x !sister reader

written blurbs

one thing about oscar— he will always be there when his sisters need him.

(a/n) : hi baby<3 i hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself as well pretty angel. i got diagnosed with endo very young so this request spoke to me and i started right away.

—

The knock on your apartment door is soft, rhythmic — the way only he ever knocks. You already know it’s Oscar before you even drag yourself up off the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket and barely balancing the heating pad against your lower abdomen.

“Coming,” you mumble, though your voice doesn’t carry very far.

Your legs feel weak when you stand, and you curse under your breath as a cramp twists deep in your stomach, the kind of pain that makes your knees buckle. You clutch the doorframe, swallowing the nausea as you shuffle to the entrance and unlock it.

When you open the door, Oscar grins — suitcase in one hand, takeaway in the other, his hair still messy from the flight. “There she is,” he says, already stepping forward to hug you, but he stops short when he sees your face.

“Hey,” you say, brushing it off like you always do. “Sorry, I was— I’ve just been on the couch all day. How was the race?”

But he’s already tilting his head, reading you like an open book. “You look pale. Are you okay?”

You force a smile. “Just my period. No big deal.”

Oscar steps inside and sets his things down. “You say that every month and every month you look like you’re being stabbed.”

You roll your eyes, half-laughing. “Because it feels like I am. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

His brow furrows, his eyes scanning your face more carefully now. You try to walk back toward the couch, but the moment you move, another sharp pain hits — this time so sudden and deep that your knees give out.

“Whoa—hey!” Oscar lunges forward and catches you just before you hit the floor, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. “Okay, that’s not nothing.”

You grip his sleeve, gasping as another cramp punches through you like a hot blade. The dizziness floods in next, your vision swimming, and you feel something warm trickling down your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, horrified, glancing down to see the blood soaking through your joggers.

Oscar doesn’t say anything for a second — just steadies you, pressing his hand against the small of your back. His other hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back up to him. He’s not panicked, not yelling, just calm and there, like he’s always been.

“YN,” he says gently, voice low and serious. “This is not just a bad period. You’re losing too much blood.”

You start to protest — “I’m probably just being dramatic—” — but he shuts it down immediately.

“No. Stop. You’re not being dramatic.” He brushes your hair out of your face, his jaw tight. “You’ve been like this too many times for it to be normal. I’m not letting you ride this out on a couch while you bleed through your clothes. We’re going to the hospital. Right now.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he cuts in firmly, then softens again. “You would never let me drive a car with the brakes failing. Don’t make me watch you push through this like it’s fine.”

You bite your lip, the tears finally gathering in your eyes — not because of the pain (well, not just), but because he sees you. Really sees you. And he doesn’t think you’re being weak or ridiculous. He just wants you to be okay. So you nod.

Oscar helps you to the bathroom first, giving you privacy but hovering outside the door, checking in every thirty seconds.

You change clothes with shaking hands, trying to clean yourself up, and when you emerge, he’s already grabbed your wallet, phone, keys, and even your fuzzy water bottle. He wraps your coat gently around your shoulders and holds it there until you push your arms through the sleeves. He guides you out to the car like you’re glass.

The whole drive to the hospital, he keeps glancing over at you, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for yours across the center console. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your hand, grounding you while you lean your head against the window, pain radiating through your body in waves.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper at one point. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

Oscar’s grip on your hand tightens slightly.

“You could never ruin anything,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my little sister. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

And just like that, you let the tears fall. Because even in the worst pain of your life, you’re safe. Because Oscar Piastri, cool and composed Formula 1 driver, is also just your big brother — the one who’d fly halfway across the world and still carry you to the hospital without blinking.

And no matter how scary this all feels right now, you know one thing for sure—you’re not facing it alone.

—

The hospital lighting is too bright and too cold, and the antiseptic smell hits you the second they wheel you through triage. Oscar stays beside you the whole time — one hand in yours, the other gripping the strap of his backpack like it’s keeping him grounded. He speaks to the nurses when your voice trembles, helps you answer questions you don’t have the energy to process. When the doctor asks how long your periods have been this painful, Oscar answers before you can lie about it.

“Years,” he says quietly. “But it’s gotten worse lately. A lot worse.”

They admit you for observation, order bloodwork and scans, start an IV. The pain is still blooming like fire in your abdomen, but the medication makes it easier to breathe. You close your eyes for a while, trying to rest, but you can feel the tension in Oscar’s hand — he hasn’t let go once.

When you open your eyes again, he’s scrolling on his phone, eyebrows drawn together, his knee bouncing restlessly.

“You okay?” you rasp, voice rough.

He snaps his head up and forces a smile. “I should be asking you that.”

You give him a weak shrug. “I’m fine… I think.”

Oscar doesn’t look convinced, but instead of arguing, he pulls out his phone again. “I’m calling Mum.”

“No—Oscar, don’t—” you try to sit up, embarrassed, but he gives you a stern look.

“She’s going to want to be here,” he says. “And you don’t have to do this alone.”

You sigh and sink back against the pillows, heart softening. You never win when he uses that voice — the protective big brother tone laced with quiet worry.

He steps outside to make the call, and when he returns a few minutes later, his expression is gentler. “She’s on her way. Should be here in like… thirty minutes?”

You nod, suddenly blinking back tears. For once, you’re too tired to pretend you’re not scared.

Oscar sits beside your bed, leaning forward to brush your hair back from your face. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

And he doesn’t. Even when your eyes flutter closed again, he stays — holding your hand, helping the nurse tuck the blanket around your feet, even adjusting the beeping IV machine when it gets too loud.

By the time Nicole arrives, your eyes are heavy-lidded from the meds but your heart jumps when you hear her voice.

“Baby,” she says, rushing into the room.

Oscar immediately stands to let her sit beside you. She leans over to hug you carefully, brushing her lips over your forehead as her hand cradles your cheek. You can feel her fingers tremble just slightly.

“I’m okay, Mum,” you mumble, blinking up at her.

“I know, sweetheart,” she whispers. “You’re going to be okay. You’ve got us.”

Oscar places a gentle hand on her shoulder, then leans down to whisper in your ear. “I’m gonna run to make a call real quick, alright? You’ve got Mum now.”

You nod, barely registering the words, but still feeling the warmth of his presence linger even after he’s gone.

Nicole stays with you, smoothing your hair and tucking the blanket around your arms like she used to when you were little. You finally let the tears slip out — a mix of fear, relief, and exhaustion — and she just pulls your hand into hers.

“I should’ve pushed harder when you said your periods were bad,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, darling.”

You shake your head. “I thought I was just weak.”

Nicole’s eyes shine with tears. “You are not weak. You’re strong for making it this far.”

You don’t say anything, but her words wrap around you like a lullaby.

About twenty minutes later, Oscar returns — a little out of breath, cheeks flushed, carrying a paper bag in one hand and something small wrapped in tissue paper in the other.

“Okay,” he says, grinning a little as he walks over. “So the gift shop doesn’t exactly stock gold medals for world’s toughest little sisters, but—”

He pulls out a stuffed animal. It’s a tiny plush hot water bottle shaped like a cartoon uterus, complete with a smiley face and little arms.

Nicole lets out a quiet laugh. “Oh my god.”

You blink at it, and then at him.

Oscar shrugs. “It felt… on brand.”

You burst out laughing through the ache in your stomach, and then immediately wince.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you groan.

He hands it over sheepishly. “It’s soft. You can punch it when the cramps hit again.”

You clutch it to your chest, your smile tired but real. “Thanks, Oz.”

“There’s more,” he says, digging into the paper bag. “Snacks, mint gum, and some weird electrolyte drink I didn’t recognize but the guy at the counter said it helps after transfusions.”

Nicole gives him a fond look, squeezing his arm. “You’re a good brother.”

Oscar just shrugs again, clearly a little overwhelmed. “She’s my little sister. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He sits back down beside you, one hand curled around your blanket-covered ankle, the plush uterus tucked safely in your arms. The room is quiet, warm. Even with the beeping machines and the sterile smell, you feel safe.

You glance between your mum and your brother, both watching you with the same soft, worried eyes.

Maybe things are about to get complicated — maybe you’ll need surgery, treatments, answers you don’t have yet. But right now? You’re not alone. Not for one second. And that’s more comforting than anything else they could give you.

—

You don’t know how long it’s been since they started running tests — maybe hours, maybe days. Time feels strange when you’re waiting for answers you’re not sure you even want.

Oscar hasn’t left your side. He sleeps in the chair beside your bed, feet propped up awkwardly on the edge, hoodie bunched up like a pillow behind his head. At some point during the night, you woke up crying from the pain again, and he was already awake — rubbing your back, shushing you gently like you were little again, like you hadn’t grown up at all.

Now it’s morning. Your hospital room is quieter than before. There’s a dull throb where the IV pokes into your arm, and the cramps haven’t disappeared, just dulled a little under the meds.

When the door opens, you know the doctor isn’t coming in with nothing.

Oscar straightens immediately, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, reaching over instinctively for your hand. You grab it, grateful for the contact.

“Hi, YN,” the doctor says kindly, a folder tucked under one arm. “Oscar, I presume?”

He nods. “Yeah. Her brother.”

The doctor pulls up the stool beside your bed, the air shifting with the weight of whatever she’s about to say.

“We’ve got some preliminary results back from your scans and bloodwork,” she says gently. “And we believe you’re dealing with a condition called endometriosis.”

The word lands like a pin in your chest — not sharp, not heavy, just… sudden. Too familiar in some vague, faraway way, like something you once read but never thought would apply to you.

Oscar squeezes your hand, grounding you.

The doctor continues, her tone soft and practiced. “It’s a chronic condition where tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows outside of it. It can cause severe pain, heavy bleeding, nausea, fatigue — a lot of what you’ve been experiencing.”

You blink, feeling strangely numb. Like you should be crying, but your brain hasn’t caught up yet.

“Right now, we can’t say for sure how advanced it is without a laparoscopy — that’s a minor surgical procedure where we look internally — but based on your symptoms, it’s likely been developing for years.”

Oscar’s thumb is rubbing slow, gentle circles over the back of your hand. He doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

The doctor keeps talking — about management plans, hormone therapy, possible surgery, transfusions, long-term care — but your vision’s gone blurry now, eyes swimming with unshed tears. When she finally leaves to give you a moment, the silence in the room feels too loud. You don’t know how to start. You just look at Oscar.

“I have a disease,” you whisper. “A chronic one. That doesn’t go away.”

Oscar’s already moving. He climbs into the hospital bed without hesitation, careful of your IV line and your blanket, and pulls you into him, tucking your head under his chin like he used to when you were a kid having a nightmare.

“You’re still you,” he murmurs. “You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Your tears finally break, hot and silent. You let yourself cry into his hoodie, his arms wrapped tight around you like they’re the only thing holding you together.

“I thought I was just being weak,” you sob. “I thought I was being dramatic—”

Oscar pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red and glassy but steady.

“No. Don’t ever say that again.”

You sniff, but he’s already wiping the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“You’ve been living with this for years,” he says, voice quiet but fierce. “And still going to class, still working, still making dumb jokes on FaceTime even when you looked like you were in pain.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “That’s not weak. That’s badass.”

You let out a watery laugh, curling further into his chest. “They said I might need surgery. Like… actual surgery.”

“I’ll be there,” he says immediately. “Every appointment. Every transfusion. Every surgery. I swear.”

“You’re busy, Oz. You’re always traveling—”

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice cracks just a little. “You’re my baby sister. I’ll find a way.”

You hold onto him tighter, heart aching in a thousand directions at once — fear, relief, love.

Oscar rests his chin on your head, his arms firm and secure around you.

“We’re in this together,” he whispers. “You’re not going through this alone.”

And somehow, even in this sterile hospital room, with a diagnosis that feels like the beginning of a mountain you didn’t ask to climb — you believe him.

Because this is Oscar. And with him here, you know you’ll be okay.

—

You wake up before sunrise the day of your surgery, the hospital room dim and silent except for the rhythmic beep of the monitors. You barely slept. Not from the pain this time, but from the anxiety — thick and restless in your chest.

The door creaks open just as you shift upright, and in slips Oscar, holding a takeaway coffee tray and wearing his favorite hoodie — the old Mclaren one with the faded logo and sleeves he’s stretched from years of nervous fidgeting.

“Hey,” he says softly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. “You awake?”

You nod, your voice croaky. “Did you sleep at all?”

He hands you a bottle of water and shrugs. “Not really. Didn’t want to miss this.”

You smile weakly, unscrewing the cap. Your stomach is a knot, twisting and tight — you haven’t been allowed to eat since the night before, and everything inside you feels like it’s humming with nerves.

“Where’s Mum?”

“Downstairs grabbing Hattie from the parking garage,” he says, sitting on the edge of your bed. “She flew in last night. Didn’t want you to go through this without your favorite sister.”

You snort. “She’s not even top two.”

Oscar grins, nudging your foot gently through the blanket. “That’s the spirit.”

Just as he says it, the door opens again and in walks Nicole, breathless and smiling despite the tension in her eyes. Hattie’s behind her, hair frizzed from travel and a comically large duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

“Look who I found trying to bribe the nurse for early access,” Nicole says.

Hattie drops her bag with a dramatic thud and rushes over. “You better not be doing this just for attention.”

You roll your eyes. “I mean, if the surgery comes with a sympathy puppy…”

Oscar coughs. “I veto that.”

Nicole leans in to kiss your forehead and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Her touch is steady, but her hand lingers on your shoulder like she doesn’t want to let go. “You ready, sweetheart?”

You look between them — your mother’s warm eyes, Hattie’s usual overcompensating sass that hides how much she’s worried, and Oscar, seated beside you, hands clasped together like he’s trying to pray but doesn’t know how.

“No,” you say honestly. “But I’m going anyway.”

They don’t try to change your mind or sugarcoat it. They just stay close. When the nurse comes in with your surgical gown and consent forms, it hits you all over again — this is real. This is happening. Your hands shake a little as you change. Oscar helps you tie the back of the gown, careful and quiet.

Once you’re back in bed, an anesthesiologist arrives to go over the plan. Words blur — laparoscopy, sedation, recovery time — but Oscar listens closely, nodding and asking questions you didn’t even think to ask.

When the doctor says, “Any final questions?” your voice wavers.

“Will it hurt after?”

“There’ll be some pain, yes,” she answers honestly. “But we’ll help manage it. And you’ll finally be on your way to feeling better.”

You nod, swallowing hard.

The nurse comes to wheel you out not long after. Nicole hugs you tightly, murmuring in your ear, “You’re brave. So, so brave.”

Hattie squeezes your hand and says, “I’ll be here when you wake up. And I’ll probably eat all your Jell-O.”

But it’s Oscar who makes your chest tighten. He walks beside the gurney all the way to the OR doors, his hand on yours, his eyes fixed on your face like he’s memorizing every inch.

When the nurse gently tells him, “This is where we stop,” he doesn’t let go immediately.

He leans down, kisses your forehead, and says quietly, “I’ll be right here when you wake up. You don’t have to be scared. I’ve got you, always.”

You whisper, “Promise?”

“Swear on my car.”

That makes you laugh through your tears, and then you’re being wheeled away, watching the ceiling tiles pass overhead. His hand slips out of yours, but the warmth lingers.

—

You come to hours later, groggy and dry-mouthed, blinking against the harsh light.

“Hey, hey,” a voice whispers beside you, low and familiar.

You turn your head slowly and find Oscar seated beside your bed, hoodie wrinkled, hair tousled, eyes red.

He’s holding your hand again.

“Mum and Hattie went to get some food,” he says softly. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Your throat’s too dry to speak, but the tears come anyway. Not from pain — from the overwhelming relief of not being alone.

“They said the surgery went well,” he continues. “They found a lot of the tissue, but they were able to clean most of it up. You’re going to feel rough for a bit, but it’s… it’s going to be better now. I’m so proud of you.”

He reaches down and pulls something from his backpack — a small, lavender-colored plushie shaped like a smiling ovary.

“Gift shop had an upgrade from the uterus,” he says with a soft grin. “It was either this or a sloth wearing a stethoscope.”

You let out a weak laugh and clutch it to your chest.

Oscar leans in, brushing your hair back again. “You did it. And I’ll be here for every step after this. No matter how long it takes.”

You close your eyes, fingers tightening around his. You believe him.

—

You don’t realize how exhausting healing is until you’re actually doing it. Your body aches in a new way now — less sharp, less cruel than before the surgery, but still sore and sluggish and heavy in a way that leaves you winded just walking to the bathroom and back.

Oscar insisted you recover at Mum’s house. Said it’d be easier than your apartment, and Nicole had already made up the guest bedroom with fresh sheets, a heating pad plugged in, and your favorite hoodie folded at the foot of the bed. Oscar’s hoodie, actually.

It’s your fourth day home, and Oscar has appointed himself as your unofficial nurse-slash-entertainment manager. You’ve only been awake for five minutes when he comes barreling into your room — knocking once before pushing the door open with his elbow, hands full of supplies.

“Morning,” he says cheerfully, balancing a tray with tea, toast, your meds, and a little ceramic bowl of strawberries. “You hungry? Or at least hungry-adjacent?”

You blink at him sleepily. “Why are you so chirpy? Did you sleep?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, setting the tray down on your bedside table. “Mum made me watch a documentary about the migration patterns of penguins at 2 a.m. I’m traumatized. But we move.”

You huff a laugh and sit up slowly, wincing a little as your stomach pulls.

Oscar’s there instantly, helping you shift the pillows behind your back, his hands gentle.

“Alright, pain level?” he asks, watching you carefully. “Ten being ‘this sucks’ and one being ‘Oscar, let me go back to karting and beat you again.’”

You smirk. “Five. But leaning toward four now that there’s tea.”

He grins. “Knew I was your favorite nurse.”

He hands you the mug with both hands, like he’s worried you’ll drop it, then busies himself organizing your pills on a napkin like a little pharmacist. It’s over-the-top, but sweet. He even separated your iron from the anti-nausea meds because he “Googled that drug interactions are real, YN.”

You sip your tea and watch him move around your room like he belongs there — like he’s been doing this his whole life. Maybe he kind of has. After breakfast and meds, he pulls your fuzzy blanket up over you and sits on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked underneath him.

“I, uh… got you something else.”

You raise an eyebrow. “If it’s another plush ovary, I’m cutting you off.”

He laughs. “No, no—although that was a great purchase. This one’s more functional.”

From behind his back, he pulls out a soft lavender heating pad — embroidered.

“You… embroidered this?”

He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Okay, Mum helped with the stitching part. I just picked the font.”

You run your fingers over it, overcome by something wordless.

“I thought you could use it when I’m not around,” he says, quieter now. “But just so you remember, even if I’m in Japan or Belgium or wherever… I’m still on your team.”

Your eyes well up before you can stop them.

Oscar notices instantly. “Oh no, don’t cry. It’s too early in the day for tears, and I didn’t bring tissues.”

You set the heating pad on your lap and lean forward to hug him — carefully, but tight.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He hugs you back just as tightly. “Anytime, sis.”

There’s a knock on the door and Hattie pokes her head in, holding a pack of chocolate digestives and her laptop.

“Right. You two ready for today’s movie marathon or what?”

Nicole’s voice echoes from downstairs. “Start with something cheerful this time, Hattie! Last night’s war film was not healing.”

You and Oscar both laugh.

And as he helps you shift over to make room for Hattie, then climbs into bed beside you like old times — heating pad on, tea refilled, your mum humming in the kitchen — you realize this is what healing looks like.

Not just the meds or the surgery or the rest. But this. The love. The laughter. The people who show up for you when you can’t show up for yourself. And with Oscar beside you, steady and safe, you finally believe you’ll get through this.

—

The waiting room is brighter than you remember. Maybe it’s the way the sun is hitting the glass this morning. Or maybe it’s just that this time, you’re not here curled up in a ball, white-knuckled from pain. You’re sitting up straight in a hoodie that actually feels comfortable, with Oscar beside you flipping through a Top Gear magazine like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Did you know,” he says suddenly, “that someone once drove a pickup truck across the English Channel?”

You blink at him.

He shrugs. “I feel like we could do that. If we had the right snacks.”

You smile. Not a forced one — a real, relaxed kind of smile that feels good. Easy. The nurse calls your name and Oscar stands when you do, ready like always. He doesn’t even ask if you want him to come in. He just walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours, a quiet pillar of comfort.

The exam room is smaller than the one you were in pre-surgery. Warmer, somehow. You sit up on the padded table and swing your feet slightly while Oscar takes the chair beside it, elbows on his knees, watching you carefully.

You can tell he’s nervous. Probably trying not to show it, but you’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his jaw.

The doctor enters with a gentle knock, smiling as she reviews your chart. “Alright, YN. Let’s talk about how you’re doing.”

You nod, shifting slightly as she listens to your breathing, checks the small surgical incisions across your lower abdomen, and asks about your pain levels.

“Still tender,” you admit. “But nothing like before. It’s manageable.”

She smiles. “That’s really good to hear. Your healing is right on track. The swelling’s down, there’s no signs of infection, and the tissue they removed looked consistent with what we expected. I’m happy with your recovery so far.”

Oscar exhales beside you, visibly relieved.

You glance at him and nudge his knee with yours. “Told you I’d survive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still wanted to wrap you in bubble wrap for a few weeks.”

The doctor gives a soft laugh before her expression sobers slightly.

“There is one thing, though. During and after the surgery, you lost more blood than we anticipated. Not dangerously so — but enough that your hemoglobin levels are still on the low side.”

You sit up straighter. “So what does that mean?”

“We’re going to need to schedule another iron transfusion,” she says gently. “Nothing urgent, but it’ll help speed your recovery and give your body the support it needs. It’s fairly routine in cases like this.”

You nod slowly, trying to absorb it.

Oscar looks at you, then back at the doctor. “Same process as last time?”

“Yes. A few hours, IV drip, some monitoring after. And we’ll recheck your levels a week or two after to make sure they’re improving.”

Your fingers twitch on your lap, and Oscar immediately reaches over, lacing his fingers through yours.

“We got this.”

You look at him, surprised — not because you didn’t expect it, but because it still makes your heart ache, in the best way.

“Thank you,” you say softly, and he gives your hand a little squeeze.

The doctor gives you a detailed printout of your progress, answers your questions, and leaves you with a light pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile.

When she’s gone, the room falls quiet for a moment.

You look down at your hand in Oscar’s and murmur, “I really thought it would all be over after the surgery.”

He squeezes your hand again. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint, right?”

You nod slowly, exhaling. “It’s just hard. Being reminded I’m not done yet.”

Oscar nudges your shoulder. “Hey. You’ve already come this far. You made it through the worst part. This?” He gestures around the room. “This is just the victory lap.”

You raise an eyebrow. “With IVs and blood transfusions?”

“With snacks and trashy reality TV to binge during your transfusion,” he corrects.

You laugh, leaning your head gently on his shoulder. “You’re the worst nurse.”

“But the best brother.”

You hum in agreement, heart a little lighter. Because no matter how many steps are left on this journey, you won’t be walking them alone.

—

You already knew Oscar wouldn’t be able to make it. He told you last night, voice tight with guilt over the phone. A last minute commitment with the team. Something he couldn’t move, even after trying to reschedule twice. You knew he felt awful, even if he didn’t say it out loud — he never misses anything for you.

“I’ll still go,” you told him, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s just a transfusion, Oz. I’ll bring a book and headphones. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not going alone,” he said immediately.

And that was that. Which is why, fifteen minutes before your appointment, you open your front door to find Lily standing on the porch with an oversized tote bag slung over her shoulder and a bright pink smoothie in each hand.

“Hi, my love,” she beams. “I come bearing iron support and excessive amounts of snacks.”

You blink at her, genuinely touched. “Wait—he sent you?”

She grins. “Oscar knew I’d be better at distracting you with gossip and trash TV than he would be. Also, I volunteered. There’s no universe where I let you do this on your own.”

You don’t even bother to hide the way your heart melts. Lily is sunshine — full stop. Where Oscar is steady and quiet, Lily is color and chaos and unfiltered warmth. You adore her, and she’s made it very clear the feeling is mutual.

At the hospital, she helps check you in, carries your hoodie, and even flirts with the receptionist to get you the comfiest chair in the transfusion suite. You’re laughing by the time you settle into the recliner.

They hook up your IV quickly, and the nurse goes over the process like she’s done a thousand times — because she has. Still, you flinch a little when the needle goes in. Lily grabs your hand and starts narrating an absolutely ridiculous story about Oscar.

You snort and she passes you the blanket she brought from her car — it’s fleecy and smells like lavender detergent. She’s brought enough snacks to feed a family of four, two different streaming options, and a deck of Uno cards she claims she never loses at. The first hour flies. Halfway through the second, your phone buzzes in your lap. Oscar.

You grin instantly and answer, flipping the camera toward you and Lily.

“Helloooooo,” Lily chimes, practically bouncing in her seat. “Guess who’s behaving like the best nurse in the world?”

Oscar’s face lights up on the screen. “Oh my god, thank god. I was about to call the hospital and beg for them to let me in.”

You laugh, adjusting the phone so he can see both of you. “You mean you weren’t going to break into the clinic and hide under my chair?”

“Honestly? It crossed my mind.”

“She’s doing great,” Lily tells him, squeezing your hand. “Vitals are strong. Spirits are high. We’re watching the worst reality show I could find.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “If she comes home quoting Love Island, I’m blaming you.”

You lean in a little closer to the camera. “I miss you.”

His voice softens. “I miss you too. I’m so proud of you, YN. You’re doing so well. I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll bring doughnuts and a stupid movie and we’ll just hang out, okay?”

You nod, throat a little tight. “Okay.”

Lily gives you a knowing look and reaches out to brush your hair gently back from your face. “Alright, lover boy,” she says to the screen. “Time to let the patient finish her iron infusion in peace. Go win your meeting.”

Oscar blows a kiss into the camera and says, “I love you, sis,” before he hangs up.

You blink back a few tears and turn to Lily.

“Hey,” she says immediately, brushing a tear from your cheek with her thumb. “He might not be here in person, but you’ve got both of us in your corner. And I’m not just here because he asked. I’m here because I care. About you.”

You nod, heart full and overwhelmed in the best way. “Thank you.”

Lily smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Now. Deal the cards, loser. You’re about to get wrecked at Uno.”

—

a few weeks later…

It starts with a text to Lily.

you think Oscar would mind if I came to the race this weekend?

I’m finally feeling like myself again. I want to be there.

She calls you thirty seconds later.

“No, he wouldn’t mind,” she says, voice already thick with excitement. “He’d lose his mind. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

You look at yourself in the mirror — a hoodie that isn’t medical-themed, color back in your cheeks, sparkle in your eyes. “Yeah,” you say, and you mean it. “I feel… good. I feel strong.”

“I’m picking you up at 6 a.m. sharp,” she says. “Don’t tell your brother. We’re going full on surprise moment.”

—

The paddock smells like tire rubber, engine oil, and sunlight — a scent you didn’t realize you missed until you breathed it in again.

Your heart thuds in your chest as you walk with Lily through the team area. You’re not even halfway to the garage when one of the engineers spots you and does a double take.

“YN? Holy hell — you’re here?!”

You laugh. “Guess I clean up well.”

They rush over to hug you, and a few other crew members catch on, calling your name, beaming like they’re seeing a ghost — in the best way. You hadn’t expected this. The welcome. The warmth.

“Where’s Oscar?” you ask, heart fluttering.

“In the garage,” someone says. “He’s probably—”

Before they can finish, you hear Lily gasp.

“Oh my god, look.”

You follow her gaze toward the front of Oscar’s garage, where the crew is setting out his race helmet. The usual design. But your eyes lock instantly onto something new.

A yellow ribbon is painted onto the side. Delicate. Bright. Bold against the curve of the shell.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Lily watches you silently, eyes already misty. “He did it last week,” she whispers. “He told them he wanted something permanent. Said you’d worn your pain so quietly, and he wanted the world to see your strength.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until she reaches for your hand.

Just then, Oscar turns the corner, walking fast toward the car.

He doesn’t see you at first.

But then he freezes — eyes locking on yours like it takes him a second to believe you’re actually real.

“YN?”

You smile through your tears. “Surprise.”

He’s already across the garage before you can blink, arms wrapped tightly around you, lifting you a little off the ground despite your soft protest.

“You’re here,” he says into your shoulder, voice cracking. “You’re really here.”

“I told you I’d be back at a race,” you whisper, arms around his neck. “I kept my promise.”

He sets you down gently, hands still on your arms like he’s anchoring himself.

“You look good,” he says softly, brushing a tear from under your eye with his thumb. “Strong.”

“I feel strong,” you say. “Thanks to you. And Mum. And Hattie. And Lily.”

Oscar turns slightly so you can both look at the helmet on the table nearby. You trace the ribbon with your eyes — the same color you wore around your wrist during your recovery, the same color as the little hair tie he kept on his gear bag while you were in the hospital.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “You never said anything.”

He shrugs, blinking fast. “Didn’t need to. I just wanted to race with you beside me. Every lap. Every corner.”

You bite your lip, overwhelmed in the best way. “I love you, Oz.”

His smile is soft, boyish. “I love you too. Always.”

Lily appears beside you, camera in hand. “Okay, siblings. Give me a smile or I will cry so hard I fog up the lens.”

Oscar immediately pulls you into his side, head bumping against yours as Lily snaps a photo. One that would later become your phone background — the ribbon clear as day on the helmet behind you both.

As the race starts later that afternoon, you’re sat next to Lily in the pit wall chairs, headphones on, nerves buzzing — but also, for the first time in a long time, peaceful.

Because no matter how hard the last few months have been, you’re here. And Oscar’s carrying your strength with him. Right there on his helmet. For the whole world to see.

—

[deliwrites]

𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕆𝕦𝕣𝕤 // Saja Boys & Huntr/x

// DATE // 30th of June 2025 → 1st of July 2025 // PAIRING // Huntr/x x Fem!Reader x Saja Boys // WARNING // !!!Mention of a su*c*de attempt through song lyrics!!!, Morally gray actions, involuntary chocking, harassment, more award show shit that I struggle to write xD // WORDS // 3.3k+ // SUMMARY // At a music awards show, Y/n unexpectedly wins a coveted prize, thrusting her into the spotlight with a powerful, raw performance that captivates everyone — but behind the scenes, tensions simmer as old wounds and unseen dangers threaten to unravel her hard-won success.

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three //

“There are only a few awards left to be given to some truly incredible artists!” Minjun says almost like he’s sad it’s nearly over.

“Oh absolutely,” Seyeon nods enthusiastically. “You know what I look most forward to?”

“What’s that, Seyeon?”

“The performance the next winner will be giving us!”

“Oh my, you’re right!” Minjun gasps in playful realization. “And it’s for none other than the ‘Heartfelt Voice Award’! I hope you guys are ready to cry. Because I sure am!”

“Wait…” panic settles into my chest. “Can- can you guys-“ I can't finish as breathing becomes to difficult. Even if it wasn’t certain yet, I couldn’t stop the panic at having to perform so unexpectedly.

“What’s wrong?” Romance asks, noticing the fast rising and falling of my chest.

“-Undo it.”

“Undo what?” Miras voice is laced with worry.

“I- I,” I stammer, my eyes not leaving the hosts as an envelope is brought to them. Watching the envelope like I can see through it and read the name on it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Rumi pulls me into her chest, grounding me. “Take a deep breath,” she takes one waiting for me to take one with her. Then gently lets it out, I do the same but mine is shaky. “Try again.”

“I can’t perform,” I whisper, voice trembling, shaking my head finally turning to look at her. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can!” Jinu says with a confident grin on his face. I just shake my head.

“Y/N!!” The shout of my name startles me. I freeze, eyes returning to the stage. My picture presented on the big screen. The hosts look somewhat puzzled. As do I.

There is polite clapping as Rumi gently nudges me to get up. I leave my small clutch with them, looking back at them as I hesitantly start walking. “You’ve got this!” Zoey says giving me two thumbs up, beaming.

“She wasn’t supposed to win,” it’s a grumble that she doesn’t hear while she slowly makes her way to the stage. But the others do. Eight pairs of eyes turn toward the voice. Jaewon. Staring daggers at the back of his head. None of them say anything… but the message is clear. Standing up, clapping louder than anyone else in the room. A push. A warning. And she needs it. Every last bit of it.

My legs feel like they might give out with every step I take, my heart still bounding in my chest. Once I reach the stage and am given the award I awkwardly stand in front of the mic. “Thank you, I-“ my words falter, my eyes meeting a glaring Jaewon. But then excited movement from above him brings a smile to my face. A wave, encouraging smiles and a nod that says ‘you can do this’ from Jinu. “I didn’t expect to win tonight,” I say honestly. “But it is truly an honor, thank you so much to those who listen to my songs, support me and especially voted tonight,” looking at the award as the words settle within me. “Really… thank you,” Stepping back from the mic I’m met with more applause a bit more sincere this time.

“Let me take that real quick,” Seyeon says gently, taking the award from my hands. “Good luck!” With that she and Minjun disappear at the side of the stage. The lights dim just enough to shift the mood, and then my song starts playing. Closing my eyes, I take one last breath and sing.

Finally hit the ground I'm at the bottom now Never thought I could be this low Felt like falling down an endless hole No, I don't see the light And I don't hear God Crawling in the dark Now my limbs are cold Screaming out "Help" but it just echoes

A silence falls over the room. Everyone listening with bated breath. All consumed by the unexpected depth of my voice. By the ache woven into every note, the weight of words no one dares to speak out loud.

Only one way out of here I don't think I can reach it Everything I hold dear Erased by all of my demons My sorry is sincere I've just lost all of my reasons Reasons left to stay

When I open my eyes, I’m stunned to find I’ve become the center of attention. No one is talking, everyone is quite literally staring. Wide eyed, stunned faces, confused but pleasantly surprised. As if they expected a whisper but got a storm.

So, if this is goodbye Please, don't count my cry as a sin No, I don't wanna die But it keeps getting harder to live And I put up a fight But now I've got nothing to give So, if this is goodbye, goodbye, goodbye I hope someday to see you again

The song is emotional and raw. It captures everyone in the room even the ones who didn’t know her before this very moment. She had already captured their attention when she walked in. Clumsy, quiet, walking with uncertainty. But hearing her sing this song live, it hit different.

It’s like a string got pulled tight between them and her. A need to protect. To have. To understand. And something more dangerous; an obsession.

There's nothing you could've said Nothing you could've done different It was always between me and my head Never meant to hurt you in the process But I just can't keep holding on Wish I could believe that things will get better Wish I could just flip a switch in my mind Then I could fix how I feel altogether Then I could mean it when I say I'm fine It's never that easy and neither is life Don't think I wanted to leave you behind I tried, I tried, I tried

This song, it wasn’t for Jaewon. That much was obvious. But who was it to?

The answer.

Herself.

So, if this is goodbye Please, don't count my cry as a sin No, I don't wanna die But it keeps getting harder to live And I put up a fight But now I've got nothing to give Nothing, nothing So, if this is goodbye, goodbye, goodbye I hope someday to see you again If this is goodbye I'll see you If this is goodbye Open up my eyes I don't know where I am And everything is blurry My mom's holding my hand Turns out I was in a hurry But God had other plans He said my goodbye was early Now I've got a second chance

I stood in pure silence for a moment. Everyone shocked at the emotional impact this song had on them. In the end a couple of tears were shed.

“That… was…” Seyeon enters the stage once more. Tissue in hand. Letting out a sigh as she shakes her head struggling to find the right word. “… beautiful,” is what she settles for. That seems to put the room back in motion as applause suddenly, loudly rings around the room.

Startled, tears gather in my eyes. “Thank you,” I smile through tears.

“This award,” Minjun starts as he too returns. Holding up my award. “Is extremely well deserved,” I thank them once more before exiting the stage. Climbing my way back up the stairs. I’m stared at, even get a bow here and there as I pass them. I bow back like I don’t deserve their respect.

When I get back to my seat Zoey and Rumi are crying while Mira is obviously holding back her tears.

“That was so… ethereal,” Zoey sniffles. Standing up to pull me in a hug. “You deserved this award! Even if you didn’t think so.”

Taking her phone from her clutch while she talked to the girls was almost too easy. Even when she sat back down she hadn’t noticed how Baby easily manipulated the device to unlock with his demon powers. First he found her phone number, saving it in his own phone.

The causality of how he handled it and the guys keeping her distracted made it go unnoticed for much longer. The guys had quickly noticed what their maknae was up to. Making sure he would get it done. Easily installing spying software, hiding it from her, but making sure it worked from his own device. It wasn’t about invading her privacy. It was about keeping her safe.

By the time she reached for her clutch again, it was back in it place, exactly where she thought she’d left it. Missing the pointed look Mira gave the maknae as if to tell him he better share what he finds.

“Wow,” I sigh, grabbing my clutch, using it as a fan. “Thank you,” glancing both ways trying to meet their eyes. As I thank them for their - undeserved - support. “I would not have been able to do that if it wasn’t for you,” a blush tinting my cheeks but I blame it on the heat in here. In reality there is air conditioning in the room making sure everyone was comfortable.

“Of course,” Abby smirks, but I know he’s genuine.

“It’s nothing, you needed a push,” Mira shrugs casually. “You deserved it.”

“Thank you, anyway,” I make sure they know I’m being sincere. “But I really need the bathroom now,” I chuckle awkwardly receiving understanding chuckles back. Getting up I follow the signs to the bathroom.

Inside the bathroom, I take a moment to freshen up a bit, I look at myself in the mirror. A genuine smile still playing on my lips. “I did it,” I mutter, barely believing my own words. “I actually won.”

Taking my phone from my clutch, my notification wall is full. There are new followers on every social media platform I have. Mentions of my performance. Clips, screenshots, reactions. And of course all the posts the Saja Boys and Huntr/x created to support me and my song.

Mentions of my other songs too. People finding them, loving them. It makes me feel warm. Loved. Seen.

I exit the bathroom relax, distracted even. A bit too distracted apparently when I get the air literally knocked out of me. Pushed into the wall right at the archway to the venue hall.

“Wha-”

“Shut up!” I recognize the voice immediately. Anxiety lighting a fire in my being. Eyes wide, they find his. His face is contorted in anger. “You weren’t supposed to win,” his hand balls into a fist, rising, but he knows he’s still in public. Lowering the fist he grips my upper arm instead. Tight enough to create bruising, making me squirm and whine.

“Let go of me,” my voice is small. The fear in my eyes only making him chuckle.

“No, this is how you should have looked,” he continues, voices nearly growling the words at me. “I orchestrated this. Made sure you were nominated for a song no one even knew. Made it so you had to sit with those you looked up to,” tears form in my eyes. I knew it... I knew I shouldn’t have been here. His other hand lands on my shoulder, thumb laying at the base of my neck. Pressing hard, making it uncomfortable to talk or swallow.

It seems my arms decide that they now have the strength to try and push him away. But it doesn’t work. He’s stronger than me.

“You should have ran out of here, crying! Like the weakling you are,” his voice stays the same, unfazed by my trembling attempts to push him away from me. “How did you win?” there is real anger laced with genuine curiosity. Thumb pressing harder onto my throat.

“Because she deserves it,” the voice stuns both me and Jaewon. It’s Mystery. Before I can react, Jaewon quickly pulls me to his chest. I cough with the pressure now gone from my throat. He acts like he didn’t just have a bruising grip on me. Like all he wanted to do was hug me as a way to congratulate me on the win. Even if it was all a lie to protect his image.

The way Mystery was positioned had given Jaewon the false idea that no one had caught his cruel actions towards her. But Mystery knew. They all knew, even Huntr/x who were currently performing unable to protect what was theirs. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

“Oh, I wasn’t accusing,” Jaewon continues, feigning sincerity, but the sharp tone in his voice betrays him. “Congratulations on your win, Y/n,” the way he says my name. It's sharp and I know it’s a warning. Mystery takes my hand, pulling me closer to him so I’m not in Jaewon’s reach.

“Thanks,” it’s forced and breathless as it leaves my lips. I let Mystery lead me back to our seats. Trying to fake my confidence like nothing happened.

They all know something happened, but don’t point it out. From the way she walks and sits down stiffly. Trying to portray that genuine happiness she showed earlier. Only it doesn’t reach her eyes. They know now is not the time to talk about what they all witnessed. Instead, they watch quietly, guarding her in their own way.

The rest of the award show luckily goes by swimmingly. I hate to have to say goodbye to the eight who already meant a lot to me. Now more than I ever thought possible.

But I knew this was probably the first and only time I would get to talk to them. At least for a good while. The girls gave me a hug, squeezing me tightly. Letting me know once more that I deserved the win. I’m not sure how to say goodbye to the guys. Jinu just tsk’s, and pulls me in for a hug as well.

Even if he makes it seem nonchalant he can’t stop himself from breathing in her hair as she hugs him back.

Mystery makes sure to squeeze tightly, like a reminder that he’s there for her.

Baby playfully rolls his eyes at her, poking her sides to make her jump before giving his own hug. Gently petting the top of her head.

Abby smirks, teasing her. Saying that she only wants a hug so she can feel his abs. She chuckles genuinely, making all their hearts melt.

Last is Romance who will gladly take a hug, lingering for longer than needed. Placing a peck on her soft cheek, causing a soft flush to her face.

Missing the way the girls glare at the boys with envy.

My manager had been surprisingly quiet the next day. Normally he would start calling me the moment the sun woke.

Now it’s Monday, two days after the K-pop Rising Stars Awards. Still, it’s radio silence from my manager. I had messaged him myself to ask if he saw my win. He hadn’t even read it. Nothing.

With Luminara Entertainment right around the corner from the dorms, I headed there early. I needed answers. Arriving around 8 am, I waved at Juna at the reception desk. She smiled gently but there was something almost rehearsed in it. Shrugging off the feeling I head for the elevator making my way to Kyungsoo’s office.

Outside the office door I heard voices. So I at least knew he was in. Knocking softly on the wooden door, I wait. The conversation grew silent immediately. When Kyungsoo finally cracked the door open, his eyes barely met mine.

“Hey, I messaged, but I didn’t hear from you,” I tell him, confusion clear on my face. Partially because he’s just peeking out of a small slit in the door but mostly because I hadn’t heard from him.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” I can tell immediately that it’s not sincere. Voice flat, lacking his usually somewhat warmth. “I’ve just been really busy. Just continue working on your songs in the studio. I’ll check in with you soon,” before I could respond the door closed again.

Busy or not, it was clear I wasn’t a priority. He didn’t even congratulate me. Tension rose in my shoulders like something was up but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

His phone dings with a new familiar chime. Y/n opened her phone. Picking up his own from where it rested on the coffee table.

They had been given an off day after holding a concert on Sunday the day after the Award show. The five of them relaxing a bit. Though that wasn’t the only thing going on.

Mystery had done a full deep dive on Jaewon, turns out the only reason NIOR7 was doing as well as they were. Was because of daddy’s money.

Jinu, who sat next to Baby, recognized the sound too. All of them knew what it meant, having observed her activity since she left the venue. Including making sure she actually got home safe. Not leaving the outside of Luminara dorms until they saw her face in one of the windows.

A new message came in.

Jaewon Enjoying your win

She didn’t start typing, but didn’t move away from it either. Why had she not blocked him yet? As if she heard their thoughts, she excited the chat. Going to her blocked numbers. A list of at least seventeen blocked contacts showed up. All named Jaewon.

It didn’t matter whether she blocked him. He would just get a new number and keep tormenting her.

Jaewon Not for long, I'm sure

What does that even mean? What is he up to?

Abby who stood behind the couch looking at the screen with them. “I’ll call the girls.”

When they had gotten back to Honmoon Tower after making sure Y/n had gotten back safely. The girls insisted on making a pact. Not believing they would actually share everything with them if they didn’t make a pact. They vowed to keep each other updated on everything happening with Y/n. No secrets.

The pact sealed with a tattoo of a tiny flame appearing on their ribs as a reminder, and as punishment. If they were to forget to share something, important or not. The tattoo would slowly start burning, growing stronger the longer it takes. Only stopping when the information is shared.

All they heard was Abby saying ‘It’s about Y/n’ and they appeared in their living room. Worry clear on their faces. Dressed in gym clothes, a sheen of sweat covering their skin. Still a little breathless.

“What is it?” Zoey ask, finding a seat next to Baby as Abby hangs up the phone. Rolling his eyes at their appearance playfully.

“Jaewon, he just wont stop tormenting her,” Jinu explains. “I think it’s a threat but I can’t be sure,” taking Baby’s phone from him to show Jaewon’s last message to her.

“It has to be,” Mira confirms, obvious anger at the man harassing their girl. “What else can you do with this?” she asks, talking about the mirror image of Y/n’s phone.

“A lot,” Baby smirks. “When she’s asleep I can activate her phone and look through it.”

“And if she is using it? Can you listen to what she’s saying?”

“I could yeah,” Baby nods, going to the settings and activating the mic on her phone and the speaker on his own. Her voice immediately filling the space.

“What are you talking about?” I chuckle at the absurdity of my current situation. “You’re dropping me?”

“Yes, I am,” Kyungsoo says. There is uncertainty in his voice, his posture stiff. “Effective immediately.”

“What? But my contract-”

“It’s doesn’t matter,” he cuts me off. “Because of a morality clause. The label believes it’s best to part ways with the recent… controversies surrounding you.”

“Controversies? What controversies?” he avoids my gaze as I dig for more answers.

“That’s not for me to say,” he shrugs awkwardly casual. “You have 24 hours to get out of the dorms.”

“Twenty-fo- What? That’s not enough time! Where am I meant to go!?”

“You’ll figure it out,” with that he walks out, slamming the door to the studio.

“What?” my voice a quiet whisper as I sink back down onto the couch. “What am I gonna do?” I ask myself, my voice shaky.

Bzzz…. Bzzzz

Glancing at my phone which still sat on the coffee table where I left it when Kyungsoo came in.

Unknown Hey, how is your day? It’s Romance by the way.

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three //

Taglist:

@strayharmony943 @ghostlyworld @zariahthewitch @ateezswonderland @bunnytea10 @levifiance @katzline @ch1cky-093 @justanindiangirl12 @mxvoid26 @m-1mi @raineandcl0uds @mel3484 @apelepikozume @kangsae-byeokfan @zero-jpg @planetpearlsworld @sylus-h3ll @sy1ock

I hope everyone got tagged correctly!

[kukinkrim]

Would love to see Saga Boys with a Reader who’s voice can heals demon marks. Like, they’re a very rare type of hunter who’s born every thousand years or so. They can be an idol, a manager or just a normal person. Your choice!

song for the damned

saja boys x make-up artist!reader

themes: angst with comfort, post-concert

note: this is such an interesting idea! anon, your mind is beautiful

they were still demons; that fact didn’t change. not after that hellish concert, not after gwi-ma was sealed underground with the rest of demon kind, and not even after huntrix allowed them to live a life on the surface. they were still demons through and through. the patterns on their bodies were a constant reminder of that.

the truth was out.

but somehow, the public still loved them.

of course, the fandoms had their meltdowns. some people cried betrayal. they called them monsters, even tried to start a boycott. which wasn't at all surprising. they did try to eat their souls. but the majority? they stayed. the boys were still their idols, after all. still the voices they fell asleep to, the faces they cheered for, the music that made their hearts race.

but while the world seem to have forgiven them—they hadn’t forgiven themselves.

the intricate pruple patterns that curled around their bodies, crawling like flames up their necks, their backs, their ribs; it was a constant reminder of the shame that weighed their hearts. even with gwi-ma gone, it still reminded them of the contracts they made and the leash around their necks.

no matter how much the crowd screamed their names with love, the marks whispered louder. they were sinners. no good demons.

but you came along, waltzing in their little break room with a big bag full of make-up.

they weren’t supposed to like you this much. not at first.

you were just the new make-up artist. brought in post-apocalypse. their management team thought you’d be a temporary fix; a way to 'rebrand the boys with a softer touch' as they said. your job was simple: cover the marks, soften them up, and humanize the demons.

you don't think any amount of make-up could cover all that marks, though, but you said you were willing to give it a try.

what no one expected was that you would be the one to start healing them for real.

it was after a shoot when it happened. romance sat in the makeup chair, shirt off and his jacket tossed over a light stand. hair still wet from a rain scene he recorded.

you saw the mark on his chest for the first time, purple patterns coiling like a snake right over his heart and bodice. he caught you looking.

“ugly, right?” he said with a weak smile that i made your heart ache. “i know. you can just paint over it—”

you reached for a sponge, hesitating to pick it up. a part of you wanted to help him out—you have the power to do so, but a part of you also didn't want to show your secrets just yet.

romance sat slouched in the makeup chair, chest rising and falling with every uneven breath. the purple marks over his ribs pulsed faintly, like it had a heartbeat of its own. it looked angry today; twisting higher like it was feeding off his exhaustion.

you could see the way he avoided looking at it in the mirror. like if he didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be real.

a part of you wanted to help him. you could help him.

you haven't done it before. there wasn't exactly an opportunity to practice it. but you probably could. it's worth a try, right?

so you hovered there, fingers brushing the sponge.

“don’t bother,” romance muttered, mistaking your hesitation for reluctance. he looked away.

he thinks you're disgusted of the sight of him. “it won’t cover it. what's the point, right? i'm forever cursed to look like walking graffiti for eternity.”

you tried to laugh, but it came out too tight.

“i mean, it’s not… that bad,” you said weakly.

he glanced at you, one brow raised. “it looks like a squid tried to do calligraphy on my chest.”

you snorted before you could stop yourself.

ah, screw it. you thought.

you closed your make-up bag, earning a confused look from your client. and gently, you reached out to his arms, fingers brushing just above his chest. “i’m not promising anything,” you murmured.

romance blinked, his eyes glancing rowards your hand in confusion. “wait–what are you–"

and you sang.

it was barely a hum, really. a tune that slipped out like it had always been there, sitting beneath your tongue. and romance gasped when his patterns glow.

the purple ink rippled under your touch. slowly, and beautifully, it began to fade. the marks thinned, dissolving like smoke curling off his skin, fading into warmth and gold. his whole body relaxed like someone had lifted a boulder off his chest.

"what...?" he breathes out. romance stared at you, eyes wide. “what… what was that?”

you pulled your hand back, swallowing thickly. “nothing. just… something i do sometimes.”

“that wasn’t nothing,” he whispered, sitting up straighter, touching his chest. he stares at himself im the mirror in awe. “that felt like—uh, kind of like breathing for the first time in years.”

you busied yourself with the makeup kit, avoiding his gaze. “please don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“i’m absolutely making a big deal out of it,” he said, still staring at you like you just hung the stars. "your voice is magical!"

you sighed, shaking your head. "whatever. i need to go to the bathroom. i'll be back."

romance sat in silence in the middle of the room, still admiring himself on the mirror.

not soon after, his members started filing in. they came back one by one from shooting their solo scenes. they looked tired with sweat dripping down their foreheads, immediately slumping on the chairs they could hold on to.

romance, however, looked like he’d just had a religious experience.

naturally, this raised alarms.

“okay, romance, i see that face you're making. what did you break?” jinu asked first, garnering the attention of the other three.

"you look... different. i just can't tell what it is," abby squints his eyes, tapping a finger on his chin.

"why are you smiling like that?" baby asks, pretending to shiver. "it gives me the creeps."

romance ignored them all, still touching his chest, fingertips ghosting over where the his patterns had sat heavy just minutes ago. now gone. he remained quiet, staring at his reflection like he couldn't believe it was real.

jinu finally raised an eyebrow. “you good, man?"

romance looked up slowly, “we’ve got to keep her.”

everyone blinked.

“keep who?” mystery asked cautiously while he ramaged through the drawers for a snack. he glanced at romance once before deciding he's too hungry to look at anyone.

“our make-up artist.” romance said, turning to them with a strange urgency in his eyes. not caution nor fear, but his eyes were unusually shining. “she sang. like, really. i didn’t ask her to. she just… did. and the mark–it faded. i don’t know how, it just did."

for a moment, no one spoke.

"are you on drugs?" mystery whispers.

"i'm serious! see?" he gestures to his body that was clean. gone was the ugly, purple patterns that curled on his skin. the others came closer, making sure their friend wasn't going crazy and sure enough, he was telling the truth.

his marks were gone.

"so that's what's different!" abby exclaimed, "i thought you had a new haircut or something."

"she did that?” jinu asked, still in disbelief.

romance nodded sincerely.

"where is she now, then?"

baby sighed, slumping back into his chair. "maybe she ran away or something."

mystery crossed his arms, “so she’s been walking around here with healing power in her throat and didn’t tell us?”

“honestly?” abby grinned, “i kind of dig it.”

“we can’t let her go,” romance said firmly. “i don’t care if she only signed on for makeup. we are keeping her.”

“what do you mean, like, ‘keeping her’ like a pet or—"

“she’s human,” jinu reminded. “we can't keep her. we can’t force her to stay.”

romance looked like he was ready to argue, but then you poked your head into the room. "oh, good. you’re all back,” you said, smiling casually, unaware of their talk. “great. who’s next for touch-ups?”

all five demons fell quiet.

atleast, for a good few seconds before they were shoving each other back.

"me!” abby practically lunged out of his chair, tripping over mystery's leg in the process.

“i was next,” baby growled, standing up so fast his chair screeched. his hand gripped abby's arm trying to pull him back.

“you don’t even have makeup on,” mystery commented, elbowing his way past the teal-haired demon.

jinu raised both hands, already halfway to the door. “i'm first. technically, i have seniority. i am the leader.”

“technically, i don't care. i'm first!" abby yells, struggling to walk with demons clinging onto his leg and arm.

“i have a smudge,” mystery lied instantly, dragging a finger across his cheek to make one. "i need it fixed. the director said i need to. now. asap. please?"

you blinked, staring at them all like they had grown a second pair of heads.

“…okay,” you said slowly. “you guys are weirder than usual, but sure.” you slipped back inside the room and walked back to the makeup room.

there was a collective scramble behind you. chairs toppled. someone definitely stepped on someone else's foot. mystery may or may not have kicked abby’s shin that caused him to wail in pain.

by the time you reached your chair, all five of them were trying to be the first to sit in it. you don't even know why romance was still here. you finished with him a while ago. you crossed your arms.

“is this a joke?” you asked.

“absolutely not,” jinu said smoothly, already halfway into the seat before baby shoved him off.

“i just think it’s only fair we get the same vocal magic you gave him,” jinu groans, glaring at baby, before motioning to romance’s still-exposed chest—who, by the way, doesn't seem to have any intention of buttoning up.

you rolled your eyes. “oh my god. you're all being dramatic. i don't even know if it will work again.”

mystery stepped forward, “please. i haven’t slept in three days. i can't look at the mirror without hating myself. i need this.” that was the longest, most unhinged thing mystery has ever said to you.

“i think you need therapy.”

“maybe a song could do,” he added quickly.

you sighed, giving in. "alright, as long as you can agree on who goes first. i don't want any fighting, got it?"

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Chef's Kiss

Summary: LIs react when they take the compliment of "Chef's Kiss" very seriously (and literally) <3

Genre: Fluff

SYLUS

Sylus slides a plate of sous vide chicken salad toward you, the herbs glistening under a glossy dressing.

You take a bite- flavor bursts on your tongue, rich and perfectly balanced.

"Damn, this is incredible. Chef’s kiss," you grin, miming the gesture.

His crimson eyes darken. "Oh? Then pay properly." He tips your chin up with his fingers with practiced ease, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that has nothing to do with dinner.

When he pulls back, his thumb swipes your lower lip. "Now that's a garnish. Chef's special."

He feeds you another forkful, watching you with the attentive, doting gaze of an enamoured lover.

You chew, nodding in approval and giving him a thumbs up. “Mhm, s'great,”

His hand closes over yours, and he leans in to press another kiss to your lips, soft and with the hint of a smile. "Keep complimenting me. I’ll collect every kiss you owe."

(With Sylus being a man of his word, the salad ends up being forgotten when you opt to exchange the kitchen stool for his lap. He doesn't mind it in the slightest.)

______

ZAYNE

Zayne’s peanut sauce noodles are a messy masterpiece- spicy, nutty, and inexplicably perfect.

"You made this sauce?" you ask, dabbing the corner of your mouth with a tissue.

He wipes his hands on a tea towel, then joins you at the kitchen counter. "I mixed three store-bought bottles."

You wave a chopstick. "Still, genius. Chef’s kiss."

He pauses, then steps closer. "As you wish, my love." His presses a kiss to your cheek, sweet yet fleeting at the same time.

You point the chopsticks at him, then set them down. “That one- didn't do my compliment justice,”

You cup his face and he bends lower- until your lips meet his, the kiss warm and lingering. You gasp when his tongue swipes over your bottom lip- because suddenly, you taste the ghost of chili on him.

"Better?" he asks, pulling away.

“Now this is way better than the sauce,” you breathe. “And better than dessert,”

“Hm,” He steals another kiss before you can react. "Potential overstatement. But good to know."

_____

XAVIER

Xavier watches, starry-eyed, as you flip fried rice in the wok- a skill he’s yet to master after burning three attempts. You had to chase him away from the stove, and now he's hovering nearby while you switch off the stove.

You offer him a small bite, which he gladly takes.

"You’re amazing," he says afterwards. "Chef’s kiss."

You preen, standing on your tippy-toes to peck his lips- but his hand slides up your side to the small of your back.

"Wait, Xav-!"

His kiss is slow, deep, with his hands caging you against the counter now. When he pulls back, his blue eyes glittering with a heat that rivals that of the stove itself.

"I can see the chef is happy about the compliment," he murmurs. “And the taste-tester might need more than fried rice to stop this craving,”

Your hands fly over to grip Xavier's before he can lift you up- the motion being something you predict happening, because it's hardly the first time he's interrupted a mealtime this way.

“Honey, it's dinnertime,” you scold, yelping when he lifts you onto the counter anyway.

The rice is soon left forgotten, as he trails kisses down your neck. "Mmh, I know. I wonder what’s next on the menu?"

_____

RAFAYEL

You suspect Rafayel might’ve taken half the world's most coveted delicacies from the sea and thrown them into his pan, because it smells absolutely divine throughout his entire home.

You waltz close to him innocently, peering around his shoulder with the spoon hidden from view.

Then you sneak a bite from the paella mid-simmer, yelping as he swats your hand.

"Heathen! It’s not done yet!" He frowns at you.

You chew defiantly, holding up your index finger as you savour the flavours. "Worth it. Chef’s kiss."

He glares- then hooks a finger in your shirt collar, dragging you in. "Fine. But it's still missing a final ingredient,"

His kiss is bold, his soft lips pressing against yours as his palm cradles the back of your neck- unrelenting, and leaving you dizzy.

“It's love,” he sings, beaming at you.

You swat half-heartedly at his shoulder when he lets you go. “Nice try, Chef. Now I'm gonna steal food from the pan all the time,”

"Nope! Wellll- not unless you give me this sort of compliment," he taunts with a wink.

“So all I gotta do is tell you chef's kiss?” You ask, raising a brow.

“Indeed, cutie,” he says, before kissing you again.

______

CALEB

Caleb offers a crispy piece of karaage, blowing on it first. "Careful. Hot."

You nibble the edge, moaning at the crunch. "Perfection. Chef’s kiss."

His gaze snaps to yours, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Don't make sounds like that, pips," he says with a chuckle, placing the piece of fried chicken on your plate. When he looks at you again, his purple eyes are darker with intent. “Unless… you really wanna do somethin’ else now?”

You grin at him. “Food first. Then whatever comes later… we'll get to it,”

He hums, stepping closer, with the hint of a smirk on his lips. “And about your compliment to the chef…”

He seals his lips over yours, his hands coming up to rest on your waist as he pulls you closer.

Note: Lmk which one yall liked hehehe bc this was hella fun to write (personally would steal paella from raf any day) but would also make Zayne's spicy noodles bc that combo is 10/10. AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR READING!! Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <33

"The Chef loves it." He murmurs against your lips.

✨️

[pacifistsworstnightmare]

SHUT UP! — mha drabble

you & your kid think it'll be fun to pull a prank on dad together.. lets see how that goes

feat. katsuki, izuku, eijirou, shota, keigo, touya, & tomura

a/n : this is so silly. and has also been festering in my drafts since the beginning of june. it's 2:30am i gotta go to work now enjoy this

m.list !

BAKUGO KATSUKI — (¬_¬")

the plan had been set in motion: get him with the joke as soon as he gets home from patrol. you'd been a little wary at first, knowing he'd be tired and a lot more irritated than usual, but your son shrugged off your worries and said it'd be funny.

"'m home, fuck— s'rainy as fuck out there, feel like a wet dog." you're washing up some dishes in a sudsy sink in the kitchen when he gets home, loudly, and don't have much of a choice to not get wet before he's draping himself over you with a huffed out greeting.

"i'll get you a towel, hang tight—" you squirm out of the wall of muscle leaning up against you and turn to look past him towards your son— he's already nodding and grinning. little shit. "can you come dry these dishes for me while i get dad a towel?"

"shut up, mom." katsuki stiffens immediately, whipping his head around so fast his neck creaks a little to stare daggers at his son— turning to look at you in sheer disbelief for a second before back at the culprit.

"fuck he just say to you? the fuck you just say to your mother?" hes already beelining it towards the living room, dripping wet and miserable and definitely not in the mood to stand for you being disrespected. not that he ever really is.

your son gulps, realising that maybe his dad's reaction wasn't as funny as he'd hoped, and jumps up off the couch with his hands out in surrender.

"it's a joke! dad it's a joke, i promise! she's in on it!"

he's turning around to face you again when you wander into the living room with a towel over your arm laughing. laughing.

"hah? fuck're you two conspiring against me now for?"

"here, towel."

"thanks baby, 'nd you— don't talk to your ma like that, not even for jokes. i'll kick your ass, that's my wife."

"gross, dad."

"dry the goddamn dishes."

MIDORIYA IZUKU — ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

izuku's curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, watching something half-heartedly while the hum of you unpacking groceries fills the kitchen. the house is quiet, soft and warm from the rainy afternoon.

“babe, can you come help me put these groceries away?” you called.

from the other room, your daughter’s voice rings out, just a little too sharp.

“can you shut up, mom— ’m trying to watch something.”

izuku blinks. his head turned toward the hallway slowly, like maybe, he’d misheard it. he sits up straighter, remote forgotten in his lap.

“pardon? what was that?”

you can already hear the nervous shuffle of socks on the floor as your daughter peeks her head around the corner.

“izu—”

“no, what was that? is that any way to speak to mom? or anybody for that matter?”

you step out from the kitchen, grocery bag still half-unpacked in your hands. “izuku—”

“no, honey, wait please. have you ever heard me speak to mom like that? what makes you think that's okay?”

his voice wasn’t raised — it never needed to be. but there was something in his tone, that quiet disappointment, that makes your daughter’s face scrunch up instantly with regret.

“izu, sweetheart, we're just messing around— she wanted to see your reaction to something like this.”

“yeah! we were just joking dad, s'okay.”

izuku sighs softly through his nose. still steady. still so deeply earnest.

“being disrespectful to mom is not a funny joke.”

“okay, sorry dad.”

“no, apologise to mom.”

she turns sheepish eyes up at you, scuffing her toe against the floor.

“... sorry mom.”

“better.”

izuku leans back against the couch again, rubbing his temple — like that whole thirty seconds had taken a year off his life. but there's a faint smile tugging at his lips, already betraying how weak he was for both of you.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU — ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

he’s just come back from the gym, hair still damp, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hauling two grocery bags in one arm like it’s nothing. you’re finishing up dinner when he walks in and kisses your cheek like always.

“smells amazing, babe. need me to set the table?”

“nah, it’s okay,” you say, glancing toward your son. “can you dry the dishes for me while i finish this?”

your son— who had been buzzing with anticipation all afternoon— leans back in his chair and delivers it like a pro.

“shut up, mom.”

for a second, it doesn’t land. eijirou just kind of… pauses. like the words didn’t quite register.

then he turns around. slow. brows drawn, eyes confused in that deeply wounded way that only the kindest men get when their heart breaks in real time.

“what… did you just say to mom?”

your son is already scrambling. “wait— wait, it’s a joke, dad! it’s a prank! she told me to—!”

eijirou just stares. and somehow, that’s worse than yelling.

“that’s not funny, bud,” he says, voice low and serious. “that’s never funny.”

his tone is gentle. but heavy. and now your son looks like he’s about to cry.

you step in quickly, laughing, trying to smooth things over. “we just wanted to see what you’d do, promise. he doesn’t actually talk to me like that.”

“he better not,” eijirou says, arms crossed, trying so hard to stay chill but still visibly upset. “i don’t care what trend it is. don’t talk to women like that. ever.”

“okay! sorry mom,” your son blurts out.

eijirou sighs, rubbing the back of his neck like the whole thing aged him a little. “you're good, kid.”

your son nods quickly.

“cool,” he says, walking past to start setting the table anyway. “love you both.”

eijirou's still a little pouty during dinner. you catch him looking across the table like he’s checking to make sure no one’s actually upset. like he needs to hear you say you’re okay to unclench fully.

you lean over, kiss his cheek. “still your favorite girl, even if i rope our son into dumb shit?”

“always,” he mumbles. then, louder, to your son: “and you owe mom foot rubs. forever.”

“dad.”

“forever.”

AIZAWA SHOTA — /ᐠ - ˕ -マ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

you hear the front door click open, the soft scrape of shoes being toed off in the entryway. a second later, shota rounds the corner into the kitchen, hair damp from the rain, capture scarf lazily slung around his neck. he gives you a slow blink of greeting.

“hey,” you murmur, smiling as you load the last of the dishes into the washer. “dinner’s in the oven. can you go remind your daughter to wash up?”

before he can answer, her voice rings out from the hallway, sharp and snappy. “can you shut up, mom?”

there’s a beat of total silence. you don’t even turn around. you just hear the slow, deliberate sound of shota setting his phone down on the counter. the air shifts — heavy, still.

he walks into the living room, quiet as a shadow, and your daughter freezes mid-scroll on the couch. she had been so sure this would be funny — you'd even gone over the plan twice. but now she’s face-to-face with her dad’s dead-eyed stare and visibly regretting everything.

shota doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t even look angry. just tired. and disappointed.

“say it again.”

her confidence cracks immediately. “i— it was— we were just—”

his voice is flat. final.

“don’t talk to your mother like that.”

she crumbles like paper. you poke your head around the corner just in time to see her frantically whispering apologies and swearing it was all a joke. shota doesn’t respond — just turns around and trudges toward the bathroom like none of it happened.

you catch his eye as he passes you in the kitchen. he doesn’t say anything, but you can tell. he’s filing this away. she's not gonna try that one again.

TAKAMI KEIGO — ૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა

you’re wiping down the kitchen bench when keigo strolls in, feathers still twitching at his shoulders from his evening patrol. he always comes home like this — talking a mile a minute, tossing his gear wherever, already searching for snacks and smooches.

“smells good in here,” he says, peeking over your shoulder, hands skimming your waist. “hey, didja get those honey-dipped—”

“babe, can you help set the table?”

before he can answer, your daughter pipes up from the couch, her voice loud and loaded.

“can you shut up, mom?”

he stops mid-sentence. blinks once. and then looks over at her, smiling — a little too wide.

“you said huh, chickadee? run that one by me again, think i misheard ya.”

she freezes. the grin she was wearing slides right off her face.

“i—i was just kidding, it was a joke! mom told me to— it was a tiktok thing!”

keigo tilts his head, still smiling. “you telling me you meant to say that to my girl, for a tiktok thing?”

you groan softly. “kei—”

“because i know you’re not talking to my wife like that. not in this house. not even once.” his voice drops low and silky, the same voice he uses when he’s interrogating villains — which, unfortunately for your daughter, she’s heard on national television.

she’s already halfway to your side, hugging your arm and mumbling an apology.

keigo ruffles her hair on the way to the fridge. “that’s more like it. now say something nice about your mom, quick. balance the karma.”

your daughter stammers out something about your pretty hair, and keigo, grinning, tosses her a cold drink from the fridge.

“there ya go, much better. be sweet to the hands that feed you.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re so dramatic.”

he leans in to kiss your cheek. “dramatic for you, baby. always.”

TODOROKI TOUYA — (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

you’re stacking dishes in the sink when you call out over your shoulder, “you wanna take the trash out once you’re done playing, please?”

your daughter barely looks up from her tablet. “shut up, ’m busy.”

the room stills. you turn to look at her, but before you can say anything, touya’s voice cuts in from the hallway — quiet, but with that unmistakable edge.

“hello? whose fuckin’ house are you in? talking to my wife like that?"

he’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted just enough to show he’s serious. not raised-voice serious — just very unimpressed.

your daughter startles, eyes wide. “it was a joke—!”

“nah, don’t start that,” he says, stepping into the room slowly, like he’s keeping himself in check. “jokes’re supposed to be funny, kid. that wasn’t.”

she shifts her weight, looking between the two of you, starting to realize maybe she overshot it. “it was mom’s idea! why am i in trouble?”

touya glances at you. you raise your hands in a little whoops shrug.

“was mom’s idea, huh?” he says, sighing. “alright. then you’re both in trouble.”

uh oh.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA — ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

tomura's laser-focused on the game, perched forward with his elbows on his knees, controller twitching in his hands. your daughter’s camped beside him in a nest of snacks and pillows, barking callouts into her headset like she’s in a war zone.

you don’t even really mean it when you call out, “hey, you two wanna take the trash out when you're done?” you know your daughter's ready for her best performance yet

“shut up, mom.”

click.

“hey!” your daughter squawks. the screen’s gone dark. her teammates are yelling in the headset. the moment is ruined.

he’s sitting back now. deadpan. one brow lifted. like he’s deciding whether to ground her or just launch the whole xbox out the window.

“you say that again?” he says. voice dry. eyes not blinking. “please. i dare you.”

she's scrambling to fix it already. “it was a joke! mom told me to say it!”

he hums, setting the controller on the arm of the couch. “mm. and you listened. rookie move.”

he finally glances your way. “both of you are banned from internet culture. effective immediately.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you say.

he points at you. “you’re the ringleader.”

your daughter mumbles an apology, still pouting. he tugs her hoodie over her head and traps her in it.

“talk to your mom like that again, and i’m replacing the xbox with a chessboard.”

“you don’t even know how to play chess!”

“guess we'll be bored together.”

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!

[enwoso]

left with you | alessia russo x aussie!reader

due to popular demand by the people, here is a part two of right swipe, right time.

masterlist | read first -> right swipe, right time

alessia had timed it perfectly. or at least, in her mind, she thought she had.

the plan was simple, slip out of the changing room while most of the girls were still showering or dissecting tactics with the coaches, hoodie on, bag slung over her shoulder, eyes low and innocent.

the blonde looked casual. invisible. not like someone desperate to avoid being caught sneaking out for a post-training date.

alessia pushed through the side door into the open air and smiled, until she saw you.

you were already there, leaning against your car like some smug daydream, sunglasses perched on your nose which weren't really necessary as it wasn't the sunniest of days in london, one foot crossed over the other as you stood with two coffees in hand. roo sat half-asleep across the back seat, his back lying in direct hit of the sun through the window as his tail thumped lazily.

alessia narrowed her eyes, a small smile on her lips. "subtle."

you grinned the same lovesick smile you got every time you saw her. "i thought i was being subtle."

"you're literally posing like you're waiting to shoot an ad for oat milk." alessia got closer, your eyes scanning her outfit. her toned legs on show with the adidas shorts she wore paired with a crisp white t-shirt.

"maybe i am." you shrugged as you held out a cup. "iced latte, extra shot, one pump of vanilla. i figured you'd need the energy."

alessia nodding, a small pang in her chest at you getting her order spot on as she took the coffee, smirking. "you think i'm sneaking out to go nap?"

you leaned in as alessia took a sip of the coffee, just close enough that if there was anyone around they wouldnt hear your words. "i was hoping you were sneaking out to make out with me in your car."

alessia slightly choked on her coffee as she raised an eyebrow. "you really just say things, huh?"

"hey, blame your pretty face, russo. not me." you shrugged, a tight smirk on your lips. "i'm just reacting.”

"mhm i've noticed," alessia said, but her voice had gone all soft as she glanced down at the coffee, then back up. "you know this is the best part of my day, right?"

you tilted your head, pleased. "even better than scoring a screamer against chelsea?"

"i said what i said."

the two of you were close now, toe to toe, and alessia let herself lean in, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back again. "you gonna kiss me, or are you just gonna keep standing there looking like you belong in a bad netflix rom-com?"

you grinned a small laugh leaving your lips. "babe, i am the bad netflix rom-com."

and just as their lips met. soft, a little cocky, a little finally—a voice broke through the air.

"are you joking?! that's her?!" "it's tinder girl!"

alessia nearly dropped her coffee as she turned just in time to see kyra stop dead outside the training building, mouth wide, finger pointed directly at the two of you.

behind the young australian, a few others all wrapped in their own conversations to even notice kyra's outburst. steph, caitlin, katie, and vic, all fresh from training and clearly having caught the whole show much to their unknown.

caitlin was the first to see what kyra was making a fuss about, her jaw dropping in shock. "now way. it's the tinder aussie?!"

steph was squinting, already walking over. "so less she's brought you coffee and a dog. yeah, she's real."

katie looked like christmas had come early. "russo. you've been sneaking out for this?!"

alessia groaned as she leaned her head against your chest as you stood with a smug grin, enjoying seeing alessia squirm just that little bit. "can i not have one private moment?"

vic smirked. "not when your standing in a public car park, no."

kyra was now practically vibrating. "okay so, we need introductions. like now."

you straightened, clearly enjoying yourself, and held up a hand. "y/n. from sydney. flat white enthusiast. owner of roo. in love with your star striker."

steph gave you an approving nod, like a proud parent. "you've got guts. i like it."

"she's hot," kyra whispered too loudly to steph as everyone there heard.

"oi," alessia warned, stepping between them and you. "back off. she's mine."

you raised an eyebrow, visibly amused. "mine, huh?"

"like you don't already know"

caitlin stepped forward, all business. "alright. so, when's brunch? because now that we know you exist, you're officially one of us. aussie crew rules."

kyra nodded. "there's a group chat for us that's in london. you're getting added"

you gave alessia a smug little nudge. alessia crossed her arms. "you realise this is all going in the group chat, right?"

katie had already pulled out her phone. "oh it's already in the group chat."

vic peeked over her shoulder. "and steph's calling it 'russo's soft launch."

alessia groaned. you leaned in again, lips brushing her ear. "if this is the soft launch, imagine what the hard one looks like."

alessia flushed scarlet as she tried to bury her face in your shoulder once again as katie let out a howl of a laugh "oh my god, she's wheezing."

you reached for the door and opened it, gesturing grandly. "shall we?"

alessia climbed in, but not before looking at her teammates, all of them staring, laughing, taking pictures and notes like this was the most entertainment they'd had all week.

"y'know what," alessia said, "fine. gossip away. but my girl brought me coffee and a dog and looks like that."

you winked, arm leaning on the open door. "you forgot the part where i'm amazing in bed."

"oh my god," caitlin choked as a few sniggers could be heard from the group.

steph put her hands up. "your a good egg, y/n. the aussie's are definitely having brunch."

alessia shut the car door before anyone else could speak, face burning, heart racing and couldn't stop smiling.

[satorus-princess]

gimme some sugar (mama)

synopsis: oops, gojo fell for his sugar mama - you, the founder and owner of a renowned fashion company. his behaviour becomes oddly domestic, and his actions selfishly jealous when another fashion figure approaches you at one of your events. you aren't exclusive but he still gets claims on you, right?

cw (minors please dni): fem!reader, switch!reader and switch!gojo, age gap (reader early 30s, gojo early 20s), suggestive jokes, playful banter, possessive gojo, he’s so down bad, semi-public sex (backseat of a car, bathroom), mirror sex, fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, mommy kink, so much begging, spitting, creampie, a lil aftercare.

word count: 7.5k (i thought it was gonna be 5k... it has plot i promise)

a/n: if you saw this earlier, no you didn't

fem!reader x gojo satoru, canon-divergent au, nsfw

With a strawberry lollipop trapped between his lips, tongue lolling around the candied treat, Satoru stands in front of you. He peers at you with his crystal eyes over the lens of his sunglasses as you measure his hips and waist.

There’s a cheeky smirk strewn across his lips, knowing that you’re purposely ignoring the slight bulge in his chinos. “If you wanted to be so close to my dick, you could’ve just said so,” the words drip from his mouth almost sweeter than the lollipop now held between his fingers so he can speak.

You roll your eyes, telling your assistant the measurement of his waist as she writes it down in a notepad for you. “Shut it before the only thing going near your dick is your hand.”

“But I'm boreddd. There’s only so much time I can go without talking,” he huffs, slightly muffled as he sucks the lollipop back into his mouth, leaving a lump in his cheek. “Do I at least get a say in the suit I’m gonna wear?”

“Do you have any preferences?” you ask, standing straight and looking up at him. He takes a look over your work outfit - a blouse unbuttoned at the collar, tucked into an a-line skirt, and to bring it altogether, a cropped blazer.

His eyes flit back to your face. “Mhm, for the colour. Don’t you think I’d look sooo handsome in navy blue or black? Make my eyes pop, you know,” he grins.

“I’ll do navy blue for you,” you confirm, glancing at your assistant to wordlessly notify her of the colours.

“And what will you be wearing?”

“That’s for you to find out. You remember when the event is, right?”

“Yes, yes. Next Friday at 6 pm, you’ll pick me up at 5. And I can’t be late, or even fashionably late,” he says, repeating the words you had told him prior when you informed him of the event that he has to accompany you to.

The purpose of the event being a party of sorts, black-tie but also fun, and to build connections, or strengthen them.

“Good. Now, all I have to do is measure your shoulders, so turn around for me.”

“They’re quite broad, ya know. You might need a longer measuring tape,” he jokes, while doing as you say, his back towards you but you hear him snort in amusement.

You roll your eyes again, but this time a laugh slips out. “Who inflated your ego?”

“Me. After a terrible, terrible break-up, I urged myself to improve,” he sighs dramatically, a hand flying up to rest over his heart as if in pain. “Besides, I don’t hear you disagreeing. So, you inflate it even more, even if it’s unintentional.”

“Ugh, I’m my own worst enemy,” you mutter to yourself jokingly, knowing he can hear you. You tap his shoulder once you’re done gauging the length of his shoulders, letting him turn back around to face you, amusement playing on his features.

He snorts. “As if. I bet you pray to whatever deity to express your thanks for making us meet.”

“As if,” you mock him in response to his relentless teasing. So much for being the mature one.

You gather the measuring tape and roll it into a circle before placing it on your desk, which you lean against. You double-check the notes your assistant took to ensure that the measurements are correct before you thank and dismiss her. As soon as the door to your office closes behind her, Satoru steps towards you, almost trapping you against the desk as he rests a hand on your waist.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” he asks quietly, leaning in closer so that your foreheads are almost touching.

“Yeah, actually,” you whisper in a sensual tone before pausing and looking up at him mischievously. He misinterprets that as something inappropriate and you see his smirk widen before you land the blow. “I need you to go, so I can work.”

The bewildered expression on his face makes you laugh as he pulls back slightly, still confused and almost hurt. “C’monnn, you can’t just leave me to suffer from blue balls,” he complains, leaning back in to drop his head onto your shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at my dick.”

“I was not staring. It’s just quite… hard to overlook, it’s not my fault. Why were you hard anyway?”

“Are you seriously asking me that when your hands were incredibly close to it? It took everything in me not to grind against your hand.” He shifts his head, turning it so that he can inhale your sweet perfume before his lips press against the skin of your neck, his lips sticky from the lollipop he finished earlier. He starts above the collar of your blouse, trailing slow kisses up to your jaw, which he cups to tilt your head to the side.

He hears you swallow thickly, smirking against your skin as he knows your resolve is wavering. “I need to get back to work.”

“I’ll be quick, promise,” he murmurs.

Oh, you know this familiar pattern of events - Satoru getting horny, him swearing to be quick, and you ending up not going back to work because he, in fact, wasn’t quick. And somehow, you manage to fall for it each time.

“Satoru, you say that every time and it never is,” you remind him. “Well, you may be quick, but it’s never just one round.”

He gasps in offence at your subtle jab at his capabilities. “Hey! I’ll have you know I can last long. It’s not my fault your pussy squeezes me so tight, she doesn’t wanna let me go.”

“Whatever,” you brush off, preventing the conversation from going on a tangent. “Regardless, I really do need to get back to work. And I have to finish up the arrangements for my event, and make sure your outfit is made.”

He sighs defeatedly, stepping back away from you. “Fine, fine, I’ll let you work. I think I deserve double the amount of ice cream mochi for my distress.”

“I’ll do you one better, and give you double the amount of mochi and let you choose lingerie for me to wear the night of my event.”

His disappointment suddenly disappears, a grin filled with excitement replacing it. “The lingerie you’ll wear for me, right?”

“No, for my other sugar baby,” you joke sarcastically.

He gasps in mock incredulity. “You’d never have another sugar baby. I’m already enough of a handful.”

“Glad you’re self-aware.”

He pays no mind to your words, already thinking about the type of lingerie he wants to see you in. “Well, now that I have something to do, I can leave you to your work.” He presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, an action that you’re used to from his overly affectionate self, before he grabs his jacket from the chair it was draped over. “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

A while later, as you’re checking your emails, your phone buzzes on your desk, a notification from your bank to inform you of a purchase of just over £100. Then, another buzz, a message from Satoru.

Now all I need is my ice cream mochi ;) life is good

It’s become a consistent habit for you to roll your eyes ever since Satoru became your sugar baby, his antics never-ending and sometimes ridiculous. Well, this was on the milder side of his antics. You gave him permission to buy you whatever lingerie he wanted to see on you, after all. And considering his preferences, you assume that he picked out a baby blue set to match his eyes, of course.

You continue your paperwork before moving onto the event organisations, making sure that everything is in order for your fashion event - the food, the decorations, the invitations sent out. And Satoru’s suit.

In the room beside your office is your own studio to make clothes, separate from your fashion line. You take the notepad with his measurements and the details to make a start on it using the reference you had drawn earlier, ordering the material for the suit jacket. In the meantime, you make the slacks.

It’s a few hours later when you finally finish up at work and make your way home. The sound of clattering metal as soon as you step through the front door makes your eyebrow raise in suspicion until you hear music playing in the kitchen with a terribly familiar, tone-deaf voice singing louder than the lyrics.

As you approach the kitchen, you can’t help the amused smile on your lips which unconsciously softens when you realise that Satoru is cooking. A mingle of spices wafts through the air, sneaking into your nose as you stand in the doorway of your kitchen watching him sing while he stirs a pot with a wooden spoon.

“I’m working laaate ‘cause I’m a singerrr. Oh, he looks so cute wrapped ‘round my fingerrr--”

“Oh, you have a sugar daddy now, huh?” you snort, taking a few more steps to reach him and you see his tall figure jump slightly in surprise.

You stand behind him, tiptoeing to peek over his shoulder and get a glimpse of what he’s cooking, oblivious to the gentleness of his gaze as his eyes lock onto your curious face.

It takes him a moment before he focuses again, getting his thoughts back in order. But then, you turn your head to look up at him and he swears his heart falters; he could have been declared clinically dead for a second.

“Hey, the food. It might burn.”

“Huh? Oh, shit, my bad,” he mutters, turning the stove off and clearing his throat. “Anyways, what did you say earlier?”

“I asked if you have a sugar daddy now because of the song you were singing,” you repeat, reaching behind you to let down your hair from its bun and his blue eyes follow your movement. “Or did your crush finally ask you out?”

“Have you been talking to my friends? I am not gay.”

“Mhm, whatever floats your boat. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Well, it sounded like you had a lot of work to do today, so I assumed you’d get home late and probably too tired to make anything,” he says casually, moving around your spacious kitchen as if he lives there. “Why don’t you change and freshen up? I’ll plate up.”

The domesticity of the moment feels weirdly normal, familiar even, as if this is how it’s supposed to be. The only reason he even knows the passcode for your house is because he ridiculously proposed, “What if you need my company so badly and I’m stuck outside? That’s my job, isn’t it - to keep you company?” to which you questioned why you wouldn't let him in and he only changed the topic. He got his way in the end, regardless.

You simply nod, leaving the kitchen and going upstairs to your walk-in closet adjacent to your bedroom. There’s some of Satoru’s clothes scattered - just comfortable loungewear such as t-shirts and sweats - “just in case”, he had said. In case of what? You didn’t know. But you don’t notice them anymore, it’s something you see every day now even when he isn’t around.

Grabbing a pair of loose shorts and a tank top, you bring them with you to change into after taking a quick shower.

Soon, you’re making your way back downstairs in the kitchen and at the sound of your feet padding against the steps, Satoru gets a plate to spoon the herby, tomato pasta onto it. He grates cheese onto yours, the perfect amount that he knows from going to restaurants together and the few times he's made pasta for you prior.

As you both dig into the food that he made, a comfortable silence settles around you. But he finds himself stealing glances at you in between bites and for Satoru, silences don’t particularly last long.

“Soooo… how’s my suit coming along?” he asks, with genuine curiosity.

Your eyes flicker from your plate to him, a strange twist of your heart happening when your eyes meet his gleaming, azure ones. And for once, you find yourself unable to maintain eye contact. “I ordered the material for it, and got the slacks done at least.”

“Mhmm, and I still don’t get to know what you’re wearing?”

“No,” you reply bluntly, though with a teasing smile. His eyes drop briefly to your lips wrapped around your fork and he can still make out the slight, amused tilt of your mouth.

Satoru never thought of himself as one to enjoy surprises, well, not when it was directed at him. He’d rather indulge and not be stuck in suspense. 

But, oh, what a pleasant surprise this was.

He had swung his apartment door open without looking through the peephole, knowing it was you as you had messaged him that the car was parked outside his building. And he froze at the sight. He thought he might've died and gone to heaven. Or maybe died and reincarnated as a suitor to a princess.

A royal blue dress hugs your body loosely, draping down and skimming the floor, with cape-like sleeves and a leg slit on the side. It’s as if you bleed gold, staining the dress and making it shimmer in a similar way to his suit jacket.

If you weren’t so preoccupied with eyeing him dressed in his formal attire - dark slacks, a black button-down that he chose to keep unbuttoned at the collar, and a fitted navy blazer dusted with gold at the shoulders that catches in the light, cloaked over him the same way the starlit night sky envelops the day - you would've been able to notice the stars in his eyes.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teases with a smirk, fixing the cuffs of his shirt and straightening his suit jacket.

“Pfft, don’t act like you weren’t just ogling me with certain thoughts running through your mind.”

“Well, I’m not trying to hide it,” he quips back. “I thought I was accompanying my sugar mama, not a princess.”

“Oh my god, shut up, you’re so goofy.”

“Hey, I’m just saying it how I see it. You really do look… divinely stunning, you know.”

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“I look amazing, and you know it. I must have a real good fashion designer.” He winks at you.

Rolling your eyes, an amused huff leaves your lips in response. “Come on, we need to make a move.”

He nods, letting his gaze linger on you for a few moments longer before he grabs his keys and phone, tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. After locking his apartment, he follows you towards the elevator, eyes trailing along your figure and another smirk dances upon his lips.

“So, I’m expected to keep my hands off you at this event?” he asks once you’re both standing in the elevator as it travels down to the ground floor.

“Yes, of course.”

“Even after knowing that you’re wearing the lingerie I picked out for you under that pretty dress?”

“Yes, Satoru,” you sigh, despite the way your body aches and craves him since seeing him in that suit. And because of the anticipation that makes your skin tingle, knowing what’s to come after the event is over.

He exhales a dramatic sigh of his own, a subtle pout tugging at his mouth at the fact that he has to restrain himself, mumbling something about formalities. You snort, entertained, strolling out of the elevator and exiting the building where the car waits outside, your heels clacking against the concrete.

Satoru quickens his pace slightly to get a step ahead of you, reaching for the door handle of the backseat to open it for you and the small smile you give him makes him grin, eyes lighting up like you just handed him the moon. He slides in after you, sitting beside you with his arms and legs pressed against yours, and a hand rests on your thigh, almost dangerously high.

“The drive is about 45 minutes, right?” he murmurs, turning to face you as your driver, Ijichi, sets off smoothly.

When you nod in affirmation, he hums, leaning in further and the fresh, citrus scent of his cologne drifts into your senses.

The hand on your thigh sneaks between the slit of your dress to feel your skin beneath his fingertips as they trail upwards and the other hand presses a button, bringing the partition up to block the two of you from your driver’s view.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he mutters against your neck as he begins to press his lips along it, peppering it with kisses. “Luckily, I have 45 minutes to touch you before the event.”

You don't resist or push him away, you melt against him instead, tilting your head to the side as his lips make a trail from beneath your ear and down the side of your neck. The cape sleeves slide off your shoulders allowing him to continue his trail of kisses along the soft skin of your shoulders and further down to just above your breasts.

“I made sure the lingerie’s crotchless exactly for this reason,” he whispers against your skin, hot breath fanning it, mirroring the heat pooling between your thighs.

You knew it was for the easy access, and your suspicions are further confirmed when his fingertips tease your slit, soaked and sultry. He smiles at how wet you are for him, as his lips press one final kiss to your collarbone. His hand cups your jaw, turning your head towards him and he hungrily captures your lips with his, swallowing your moan when he slips a single finger inside.

A groan of his own escapes at the way your weeping walls suck his finger in eagerly. Curling and plunging slowly, he feels your juices dribble down his palm, a wet squelching sound filling the space.

“Fuck… you’ve been thinking about it as much as I have, haven’t you? Sitting all pretty in your dress, acting like you weren’t soaked,” he rasps in your ear as he tugs the lobe between his teeth, curling his fingers but not where you need him, purposely teasing.

“Just… stop fucking teasing,” you breathe out, voice laced with frustration.

Pulling back to look at you, his eyes scan your face with a smug smirk, memorising the pleasurable twist of your expression. “Yes, ma’am.”

Finally, his finger hits that sweet spot and your hips jerk against his hand. His index finger joins his middle one, stretching you out further with his dexterous fingers and increasing the volume of your arousal - the amount and acoustics.

“God, you’re so wet for me. Tell me what you were thinking about that got you so worked up,” he whispers, skimming his lips against your jaw and back up to your lips, ghosting a kiss.

“Mm, fuck… thought about riding you with your suit barely off. As soon as I get the chance.”

“Yeah? You’re barely restraining yourself, too?” You can hear the smirk in his voice without having to see his expression. The pace of his fingers speeds up slightly, maintaining the precision of nudging your sweet spot as his palm grinds against your clit.

Another sweet moan is brought forth from your lips and eagerly consumed by him. “K-keep going… s-so-- hngh!”

“Heh, where are your manners, mommy? Say ‘please’.”

“Fucking--… I’ll do it myself,” you curse breathily, trying to come off as intimidating but with the needy rock of your hips against his hand and the whine in your tone, it only urges him to tease you more. He lightly swats your hand away when you attempt to rub your clit.

“Ah, ah, I’m happy to please. It’s just one little word. Puh-a-lease,” he sing-songs in your ear, emphasising each syllable. His fingers move at an excruciatingly slow pace and a frustrated groan rips from your lips.

“Please, keep going. Please, make me cum,” you beg through gritted teeth, shooting him a small glare which quickly turns into a lewd show of your eyes rolling back when he gives you exactly what you need.

“Thereeee we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he rejoices. “You sound so pretty begging for me, mommy, wanna feel how hard I am?”

“Shut up, just shut up and make me cum.”

Something twitches in his slacks.

“Shit, that just made me harder. Heh. So mean and demanding.”

Despite his teasing, he gives in to your demands. He scissors his fingers inside of you, curling with each thrust as his thumb finds your swollen, neglected clit. Vigorously, he circles it with his thumb with a pressure that has your thighs trembling and your hips continue to buck against his hand, chasing the inevitable pleasure.

“S-Satoru… right there, right there, right fucking there… ah!”

“I know, pretty, I know. Let go for me, yeah?” He provokes softly, breath fanning your neck as he watches your expression contort with ecstasy.

A few more come-hither motions of his fingers and he feels your walls clench around them like a vice, juices gushing and soaking his fingers. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, eyes forced shut as your hips move against his hand, riding out your orgasm until your body begins to twitch, overstimulated.

“That’s it. So fucking pretty for me.”

He brushes his lips down your cheek in caressing kisses, soothing you as you come down from your high, breath shaky.

It doesn't take long before you're undoing the zip and button of his slacks, pulling his erection free. His fingers are still buried inside you, unmoving. But he slowly slides them out, evoking a soft whine from you.

“Oh, eager, are we? Aren't you gonna take me out to dinner first?” He chuckles quietly at his own joke. That morphs into a shuddering moan when your skilled hand wraps around his length, the continuously dripping precum aiding the glide. “Ah, shit. Your hand feels like heaven.”

With your other hand, you take his that was just inside you and bring his dripping fingers up to his lips. Wordlessly, without a second to waste, he parts his lips and eagerly sucks his own fingers in, your dewy sap setting his taste buds alight.

He moans at the taste, as if it’s the first time he’s been allowed to indulge in such a delicacy. His pink tongue rolls over his digits, drool running down them and he pushes them deeper, a choked gasp escaping him.

“Look at you - drooling all over your own fingers,” you mock, caressing his leaking slit with your thumb and his pelvis shoots upwards into your touch.

“F-fu-- nngh! J-just like that… So good to me. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” his voice is muffled around his fingers, but the neediness in his tone is evident.

After teasing his mushroom tip, you start to stroke him again, unexpectedly fast and a whine is pulled from his throat. His hips are nonstop thrusting into your touch, appetent for more, for you, for anything you have to offer to him. And you have no intentions of stopping, pulsing your grip around his cock with each stroke, mimicking the way your pussy would take him in.

Leaning back against the leather of the car seat, he’s completely limp under your touch. He’s still sucking on his fingers, making a show of it as he purposely causes himself to gag on them, his dick twitching in your grasp.

“Make me feel like a fucking virgin every time you touch me,” he groans, unable to control himself around you. Feeling hot all over, fingers jittery, breathing unsteady and heavy, dick dripping with more precum just at the sound of your voice.

He has to think about the news that was irrelevantly playing on the TV in the background this morning to stop himself from cumming too soon.

He doesn't even realise he's slurring a string of “Please, please, please… hah…”

Until you ask him, “What are you asking for, hm, pretty boy?”

He moans in response, fingers falling from his mouth and he traps his lower lip between his pearly whites. “I don't know. Fuck… anything. Give me anything. Just don't stop, please.”

Your hand begins to pump his cock faster, thumb rubbing his frenulum and his entire body convulses, sensitive. Leaning closer, you capture his lips with yours, kissing him slow and deep; a stark contrast to the way your hand furiously moves up and down his length.

“O-ohhh… Hah… Fucking ruined m-me… Takes so long to… fuck… make myself cum without you. Always hafta think about you. Always you. Only you,” he mumbles against your lips, panting.

Smirking, your lips brush against his as you respond quietly. “Me too,” you admit.

He whines. Loudly. Cock throbbing in your fist as precum dribbles heavily from the slit of his tip. His hips buck into your grip as if he has no control over them. His head lolls to the side, mouth fallen open, breathy moans dripping from his lips.

You think about him when you're getting yourself off? He's the one that manages to make you cum, even when he isn't there in person?

The simple admission is enough to make him lose his mind.

“Nngh… Shouldn't have said that. Shouldn’t-- Fuck, fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna cum for you. Can I cum, please?”

“Go ahead, pretty boy,” you say in a hushed voice.

But, not wanting to make a mess of either of your clothes or of the car, you lean down and wrap your glossed lips around the reddened, leaking head of his cock.

A surprised, yet aroused, gasp rips from his throat when he feels the humid warmth of your mouth and your slick tongue flicking just below his tip while your hand maintains the same pace to work him over to the edge.

A split second later, he's squirting thick ropes of ivory into your mouth, eyes fluttering closed as his throat bobs with strained groans as if the pleasure is too much to handle. His fingers dig into the leather of the seat, trying not to push your head down further.

“Oh my god… you fuckin’-- you… mmm, fuck…”

He cums a lot, almost enough to make you choke as you attempt to swallow it all. His body shudders with each rope of cum that shoots from his dick while he rambles incoherently. Something about how good that was, something about how much he loves it - you or the handjob? Who knows. You don't register it anyway.

Once he comes down from his intense high, you pull off and wipe anything that dribbled from your mouth. His sky-blue eyes lock onto your face, a gaze that looks like he's staring at an angel that bestowed a blessing onto him.

“You should really eat some more fruit that doesn't come in mochi,” you say after a couple of moments of him catching his breath.

Bursting into breathless laughter, he shakes his head with amusement. “Fuck off. You're the one that decided to swallow my cum,” he points out, chest still heaving with pants.

“Didn't wanna make a mess.” You shrug casually, taking out a small mirror and your lip gloss from your purse to reapply it.

For the last few minutes of the drive, both of you fix your attire and appearances, leaving no evidence of what happened on the way. Well, safe for the lip gloss stains on his mouth which you hastily grab tissue for, wiping it away as much as you can.

“Hey, easy. I think the just-fooled-around look is kinda sexy,” he humours, using the rearview mirror to rearrange his hair once the car is parked outside the venue and the partition is down again.

“Oh, yeah, it’d be a great idea for me to show up like that to my own event,” you retort sarcastically, and he snorts out a chuckle while reaching over to gently brush your hair back into place.

Once both appearances are fixed, Ijichi opens the backseat door. Satoru gets out first, tugging the hem of his suit jacket to straighten it before he stretches his hand out for you to take. Gingerly, you do, using his hand as leverage to step out of the car and he follows your elegant movements with a half-lidded gaze, appreciative but not lustful. Bordering on something romantic that he wouldn’t dare verbalise.

With your hand still held in his, he places it on his bicep and you don’t pull away which makes him smile, a warmth blooming in his chest. Both of you walk towards the venue where the event is taking place and you’re pleased that everything turned out the way you had planned.

The gold accents of your dress and his jacket shimmer under the grand chandelier that hangs in the middle of the room. While your eyes scan the room to make sure everything is in order, Satoru’s eyes linger on you. A longing gleaming in them. Lips parted as if he wants to say something.

He has to force himself to tear his gaze away from you, attempting to focus on the words that spill from your sweet lips. Are you talking to him or the staff? He has no clue.

“The guests should be here soon.”

“Mhm,” he hums absentmindedly in response.

At his barely verbal response, you turn your head towards him, sparing a curious glance his way. “Are you okay? Do you need fresh air? You look a little red.”

He shakes his head. “No, no… I’m fine. Just admiring how pretty everything looks,” he replies charmingly, brushing his knuckles over your hand that rests on his arm before letting his hand fall back to his side. “You really did an amazing job.”

“Thank you, Satoru,” you say softly, touched by his genuine words.

Soon enough, your guests begin to arrive, the ones who want to make a good impression by being on time.

Throughout the event, while you greet your guests and friends, Satoru never leaves your side. When your hand unintentionally drops from his arm, he immediately puts it back. He makes sure the short trail of your dress doesn’t get stepped on or soiled by anyone, including himself.

And he notices when your smile falters for just a second, the light in your eyes fading slightly. Despite being in a career and position that requires you to have to talk to people almost all day, every day, your social battery can start to drain quicker than you expect.

When a friend of yours, Nobara, ends the conversation and waves over to someone else she knows, Satoru hunches down slightly to lean in close to your ear. “Tired?” he questions quietly, already knowing the answer.

“A little,” you reply in the same hushed tone.

“I’ll get you something to drink. Stay here,” he offers. “Just water, I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

Your eyes flick up to him, appreciative of his thoughtfulness. Soft words of gratitude are spoken before he grins at you, happy to do anything for you. He would probably jump off a bridge if you asked him to. Maybe even step on Lego if you sprinkled in that smile of yours.

He filters through the groups of people dressed in fancy wear, with tunnel vision towards the refreshment table. He grabs two water bottles, the first for you and the second just in case you need more. His eyes languidly skim over the snacks on the table, contemplating what to pick up for you.

Individual cups of charcuterie catch his eye, and he picks up two of those, too.

He makes his way back to where he had left you, hoping you were still there. Once you come into sight, a wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. Not because of you, no, never because of you. But because of the male, a similar age to you, standing a bit too close to you, a sleazy grin thrown across his lips as he converses with you.

Satoru hurries his pace towards you, and the crack of a water bottle being squeezed in his hand is heard when he sees that same man run his filthy fingers over one of the cape sleeves of your dress.

Shortly, an arm is slung over your shoulders and you know only one person in the venue who would do that - your sugar baby. He tugs you into his side possessively, shooting a faux courteous smile to the older man before he faces you with a softer smile, real, sincere.

“Hey, I got you the water and a snack,” he says, opening the cap of the water bottle for you. “Whatcha talking about, huh?”

“Does it concern you?” the older man scowls, scrutinising Satoru and he eyes him back, cocking his head to the side as if offended.

“Uh, yeah, actually. It’s in my contract. Gotta know what’s going on in her work life,” he fibs confidently, sass evident in his tone.

“You’re her assistant?”

“You could say that. I do help with a lot of… work stresses,” he smirks. “Anywho, I’m gonna have to steal her away. There’s a bit of an emergency elsewhere. Something more important than this.”

Satoru doesn’t wait for a response from the man before he’s tugging you away from him and away from the main hall.

He barely even gives you a response when you ask where he's taking you.

However, you don't have to wait long for an answer when he has your dress hiked up over your hips, one of your legs propped onto the fancy bathroom counter as he grinds against your folds from behind through the crotchless part of your lingerie. Your sticky sweetness already stains the black fabric of his boxers where he’s undone his slacks just enough.

Soft lips embed feathery kisses into the skin of your nape, large hands roaming over your hips and thighs, goosebumps forming in their wake.

A pleasurable sigh emits from your lips when he nips at your neck and his clothed erection twitches against you. He sucks your skin into his mouth harshly, bound to leave a mark for several days - exactly his plan.

“Satoru, no marks,” you complain, knowing you’ll have to cover them up with makeup for work. Your eyes follow his antsy movements through the mirror you’re propped in front of; teeth, tongue and lips finding every bit of skin they can.

“Just this once. Just for me. Please,” he murmurs, tongue dragging down to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, teeth grazing against the perfume-infused flesh before he sucks.

As his hips continuously drag his bulge along your folds, his hands roam over your heated body, his lithe fingers travelling down to spread your sopping lips. He groans, sounding ruined already at the feeling of how wet you are for him. 

“So wet and I've barely touched you.”

“Then, fuck me already,” you mutter back, frustration mixed with desperation creeping into your voice.

“I’d tease you for being so desperate, but fuck, if I’m not as needy.”

Using his other hand, he pushes his boxers down and frees his lengthy cock that already drips with precum. He teases the tip over your slit, shuddering as your juices coat him and he can’t deprive himself from sinking into your pussy no longer, bottoming out in one thrust that has both your moans echoing in the bathroom.

The stretch is so delicious, lips bulging around his girth and he’s so deep it feels as if you can feel him in your throat, which must be why your words get lodged before they can exit your mouth. There’s a buzz in your ears so you don’t even hear Satoru’s almost-delirious words about how good you feel.

He has to take a few moments to ground himself and stop himself from going insane, his fingers twitching as he stills inside of you.

Every single time he’s slid his dick inside you, it has always felt like taking the first step through the gates of heaven. And this time is no different. A shaky pant escapes his pink lips when he feels your pussy clench around him as if trying to suck him in, begging for more wordlessly yet so loud when he stirs his cock inside you, an obnoxious schlop.

It’s a slow pace at first, savouring the drag as he withdraws until only his tip is inside before slowly thrusting back in, mouth watering at the way your walls massage his cock with each push and pull of his hips.

“Ngh, ah fuck… S-so fucking good… Always feels so good f’me. Only me,” he rambles, voice saturated with pleasure and something else your mind is too hazy to ponder on as he ruts into you from behind.

One large hand kneads the thigh of your leg that is pushed onto the counter, his grip so tight that his knuckles become ash-white. He’s already so debauched, so pussy-drunk, the apples of his cheeks flushed, skin becoming sticky with sweat, brain fuzzy with thoughts of only you, you, you.

“W-were you jealous?” you manage to stutter out the question that’s been on your mind, your eyes meeting his in the reflection as he latches onto the side of your neck, blue eyes darkened with lust flitting towards the mirror.

“Jealous?” he repeats, almost incredulously. “Is that even a question? Of course I was… hah… Don’t want anyone else seeing you like this… Hearing you ngh like this… Is that so bad?” Each sentence and question is punctuated with thrusts of his hips, faltering slightly when you clench around him so sinfully.

The ability to formulate a response is snatched away from you when the curve of his dick hooks up into the spongy spot within you, a saccharine moan falling from your lips as your fingers clutch the edge of the marble counter, another gush of arousal soaking him and he groans. His head falls forward to rest on your shoulder, his body burning all over with overwhelming ecstasy and melting, he can barely even keep himself up straight.

His lips imprint on the skin below your shoulder, moans vibrating against you as he maintains the steady pace despite his hips stuttering every now and then, the indulgent feeling of your cunt drenching him rendering him mindless. Literally. Barely any thoughts floating in his brain.

The energy between the two of you is charged with a different and foreign type of intimacy; one that’s less lustful and carnal, and more… passionately tender in some ways. The slow rocking of his hips into you, the way his lips travel along your skin reverently as if on a pilgrimage, the crooning utterances of your name that tumbles off his tongue and seeps into your flesh.

Obscene squelching mingles with the lewd cries that tear from both his and your mouths. He gyrates his hips, pelvis flush against your ass and you tremble in his hold, gasping loudly when he manages to hit all the sweetest spots inside you, your eyes briefly rolling back.

“‘T-Toru…”

“Oh, fuck, you sound so pretty moaning my name like that. Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Uh-huh… S’deep. Want more,” you whimper, not even caring about how pathetic you sound.

He laughs, almost hysterical, somewhat smug, completely drunk off of you and the pleasure. “Mm, I don’t think you’ve ever been this fucked-out and compliant for me. So fucking gorgeous like this. Not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that and sounding so… hngh… pretty. Driving me fuckin’ c-crazy.”

“You talk too much.”

You reach behind you to grab tufts of his hair, tugging his head up from your shoulder and angling your head to meet his lips in a messy kiss of teeth and tongue. A moan of his vibrates against your lips, allowing your tongue to tangle up with his in a passionate dance.

The pace of his hips quickens slightly, switching from calculated thrusts into your G-spot to completely needy, urgent movements, chasing that sweet, decadent release as he gets addicted to the taste of you and the feeling of your soft, candied lips.

“F-fuck… Spit in my mouth, please. Need it s-so bad,” he begs, almost whining as if he can’t wait any longer without it.

Your manicured fingers cup his jaw, thumb brushing his bottom lip as you gently force his mouth open even further. His tongue lolls out slightly, waiting impatiently, eager, desperate. And he groans loudly when your warm saliva lands in his mouth, immediately swallowing it like it’s the only thing that could quench his thirst.

“Ugh, how are you real? Like you were made for me. ‘M so lucky,” he babbles, hips moving with a mind of their own and fingers following a path down to play with your neglected clit.

It throbs and your pussy cries tears of joy when he circles it firmly, the dual stimulation making you reel from the pleasure. His chest is completely pressed against your back, his other hand still a vice on your thigh as he begins to pound into you, unable to control himself when your walls strangle his cock as the most euphoric method of torture.

“I-I’m gonna cum, fuck… Tell me I’m yours, please, say it,” he begs, whiny and breathy as he practically drills into you from behind with shallow thrusts delivered by his stuttering hips.

“Ah, oh my-- fuck… You’re mine,” you moan out, barely even thinking about the words you said when you can taste your peak on the tip of your tongue, eyes fluttering closed.

“O-ohhhh, shit. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours,” he repeats like a prayer while he cums like a tsunami crashing over him, dick twitching as he paints your walls white and his mouth drops open, incoherent groans and curses waterfalling from it. “Fu-- ah! Hnngh, squeezing me… Fuck… squeezing me so good…”

With hazy, half-lidded eyes, you catch sight of his own rolling back in the reflection, his head slightly tipped back, and his Adam’s apple bobs with each depraved sound that emanates from his bitten lips.

He looks absolutely heavenly. A ruined angel from a hedonistic heaven.

And you think you might be ascending to heaven, too, when your body convulses almost violently, pointed nails digging into your palms as you choke out a gasp of his name, doing all you can to hold back a scream as he doesn’t stop the stimulation on your clit, nor the onslaught of his hips.

Dripping all over his cock and down to his drawn-up balls, your walls cling onto him, sucking him back in with each small thrust to help ride out both of your orgasms. Legs buckling and upper body collapsing over the sink before he gropes your tit through your dress that’s exposing you in all the most scandalous ways if someone were to see the two of you.

“She’s fuckin’ milking me. Oh my god… T-take it all, baby… ‘S all for you, all yours,” his words gush out of his mouth while your juices gush out of you, his white cum frothing around his dick where you’re connected. It’s a lot. As if he was holding it alllll in for you. It starts to trickle down your thighs and patters onto the floor.

But he couldn't care less. Because an ethereal, succubus-like woman is making a sweet, beautiful mess on his (still-hard) cock, mewling his name, moulding to him.

He’s caught in a trance, hypnotised. Neither of you registers the twitch of his length hardening completely back to life inside you until you finally come down from your prolonged highs that could’ve been considered an exorcism.

You both work to bring oxygen back into your lungs and once his breaths become steady, he leaves a trail of kisses down your spine, words humming against your skin, “Do you think anyone would care if the host disappeared?”

You laugh, breathless, not even having the energy to roll your eyes. “Yes, probably. But I don’t really care. I want real food anyway.”

“Then, let’s sneak out. We’ll get some food and maybe have another round or two?” he suggests with a smirk, a slightly hopeful glint in his eyes when they meet yours in the mirror. 

He gently lowers your leg from the counter, caressing your thigh to soothe it and he reaches for tissues to clean you up the best he can, running them under warm water. Turning you around to face him and straighten your dress, he brushes your sweat-dampened hair back from your forehead and pecks your lips.

One of your eyebrows arches. “You’re insatiable.”

“What, can’t keep up, grandma?” he teases, referring to the 10-year age gap between the two of you.

“Oh, shut up and let’s go. We’ll see who can’t keep up.”

“Mm, yes, ma’am.”

[binmeister]

Can we get the Saja boys reacting to male bodyguard reader please. Imagine Abby trying his best to show off his muscles to the fans by posing and flexing while reader acts like a gentle and protects people from flying buttons coming from Abbys shirt. This gains reader more fans. Then there Baby demanding a piggyback from reader.

Working with the Saja Boys

Saja Boys x Bodyguard!Reader | Brief Huntr/x x Bodyguard!Reader

Needed to write more because you guys are so right... now I can’t stop thinking about Bodyguard!Reader reprimanding a bunch of demon hooligans - dad!friend type where the guys just kinda wanna be your friend by the end of everything because you’re actually.. chill?

Have some silly drabbles - enjoy ! (hopefully)

CW: not proofread, masc pronouns, a wee bit nonsensical

How’d this happen? Why exactly were you on bodyguard duty for the Saja Boys? A demon boy group that your mother would have you castrated for if she could for even entertaining the thought had it been your own. But it wasn’t. It was Bobby’s idea since he felt that the boys didn’t have enough protection from what he’s heard about their fan signing events, so he had offered up you to help them out. Because you’re reliable and dependable.

Yep. Thanks Bobby.

Which lead you to the current situation, standing outside of the building on alert and calmly asking fans if they could stay put and not push or shove each other. For their safety as well as the boys. But then you hear a fan scream out in front of you and you’re confused on why, then you feel a muscled arm swing over your shoulders and you feel the weight of Abs as he leans into you.

“Hey bud.” He chimes out, sly smirk on his face as he lets his golden eyes flash for a second and like he isn’t being a liability right now. He briefly glances at the fans in front of you and gives them a little wave with his free arm as fan service. Then you feel the arm slung heavy over your shoulders shift and he’s feeling up your opposing bicep which makes you freeze - what the hell?

“Oh you’re BUILT my guy.” He compliments as he steps back now, eyeing over your build with approval - what was your routine? How many hours do you spend working out to get this sturdy? Would you want to talk to him about it? Abs was a gym junky and everyone can collectively agree on that.

“...thanks...” You mumble out as you give him a quizzical stare, a little thrown off at his personality as you expected maybe a little more demonic slyness from him but the look he gave you as he eyed you was anything but hunger and more earnest curiosity. 

“CAN YOU SHOW OFF FOR US?” “PLEASE FLEX!” “ABBY I LOVE YOUUUU!” “YOU GUYS ARE SO HOT!”

Fans started to lose their minds a little at what they were seeing, two attractive men performing skin ship? YES! ‘Abby’ had stepped out of your space fully now and put his attention back onto the crowd of fans before you both and his signature smirk was still present on his face as he started to flex. Shirt clinging on for dear life and you realised the potential risk this could cause so what did you do? You stepped in front of him with your back to the fans and placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest where one of his shirt buttons was begging to hold on.

“Let’s not do this.” You muttered to him as you proceeded to spin him around with no resistance from him and guided him into the venue. All Abby did during this was wave at the fans as he was ushered away and he just let you continue pushing him, tilting his head back slightly to try and talk to you a little more.

“Do you wanna hit the gym after this?”

There was a second instance where you were assisting the Saja Boys, per Bobby’s request again of course because he just wanted to make more connections with other idols. Most groups and managers were intimidated to work with his girls and he really wanted it to work.

You were standing off to the side, once again waiting outside the venue and checking in with fans to make sure they’re alright. Finishing up a quick up and down of the block and asking if everyone was okay or if they needed water, knowing full well how dehydrated some people ended up being because they’re too excited to care for themselves. You’d made it back to the front entrance and were discussing things with another staff member when you felt a pair of hands on your upper back, and then the familiar weight of someone trying to jump on your back.

Instincts kicked in and you leaned forward slightly so whoever was trying to hitch a free ride off of you wouldn’t fall backwards and your arms hooked up a pair of legs that you were not familiar with. You froze. Who the hell is hitching a ride off of you exactly?

“I didn’t even have to ask, sick.” Came Baby‘s voice as he draped himself over you, head coming to rest on your shoulder as you tried to process what just happened. Did Zoey train you to just... give piggy backs instinctively? Baby swung his legs a little in your grasp, enjoying this a little too much but he was fascinated. Admittedly he’s wanted to do this every time he saw photos of that hunter girl clinging onto you and sometimes it hurt trying to get a piggyback off of Abs. That guys’ like a brick wall and Baby’s just a lil guy.

“Ohmygosh, did you guys see that?” “Waaaaait I didn’t know [Name] was close with the boys!” “OMG the girls finally let him have friends!!!”

Fans were whispering to each other and Baby’s heightened hearing heard all of it, meanwhile you were still in shock at what had gone on - the staff member next to you was also extremely surprised because they’ve never witnessed any of the Saja members be so casual with staff like this. Then that staff member was left reeling as their eyes bugged out of their head for a moment, watching as the teal haired idol crossed his legs around your waist and smirked at his fans while he did so.

Oh he’s having the time of his life.

Then you were called again to help some sort of short-staff issue the boys had at another impromptu event, at this rate you were sure they were just eating their staff members because how can this happen so frequently that they’re left in these situations? As much as you weren’t a fan of the fact they were demons - you couldn’t help feel a little bad for them. Sure they’re not human and could handle it if a fan acted out at them, but you’ve seen how crazy some saesangs can get - first hand experience on that. Your face scrunched up in memory of one of the attacks you had to endure and it was not a great time that was for sure.

The girls weren’t pleased that you were working at these events but you’d reassure them you were fine, Bobby trusted you and the girls could trust you too. Zoey had even tried puppy eye tactics to get you to not go but you chastised them and reminded them that yes they were demons but they were also still idols - the girls were well aware of the potential harm that could come to them in this field. They’d moped a little but let you go after that.

What you hadn’t known was that it was Jinu‘s idea to continuously get you to work for them, he thought if he took you away from the hunters - surely they’d crumble right? One of their supportive pillars was stolen from them by beings they detested. But he didn’t expect to get along with you as well as he did. The brief conversations you’d had with him were primarily professional, you didn’t care they were demons and simply treated them like the idols they were pretending to be. There had been an instance where a fan had attempted to get a little too touchy feely with Jinu and you’d stepped in, pulling him aside and gently grabbing the squirming fan to pull them away from the panel.

After that happened, you’d come back and leaned down a little to quietly check in with him to ask if he was alright. Did he need a break? Was he sure he didn’t need to step away for a second to take a breather? Just say your name if he needed you. Why were you.. so caring? He eased up a bit more around you after that. The two of you even started bantering when the boys were given a break from the fans, instead of hiding out with the other members - Jinu had stepped out of the dressing room they were given and went directly to you. Just to chat and hang out. Nothing nefarious for once.

Safe to say you two had unintentionally become friends.

There was a second instance of a joint fan-signing and before the event began you were giving the girls a lecture about how important it is to keep up their image, you didn’t care how much they wanted to beat up the boys or that they’re demons and don’t deserve kindness. As idols they needed to maintain an image and you were NOT going to let them ruin it. The wrath of your mother had seeped into your tone and the girls had all nodded along because they did not want to be on your bad side today.

The tables were lined up side by side, Mira was in between Romance and Abby - Zoey between Mystery and Baby and then Jinu and Rumi were stuck together at the end of the row. What the fans and multistans were not expecting was watching the chaotic dynamic that is Jinu and Rumi both aiming to get your attention during the event. 

Rumi would flag you down out of habit when she wanted to ask if it’s okay to accept a gift or get something checked, then you’d be hovering a little longer when Jinu tried to ask you or talk to you as well. The horror and betrayal was evident on her face as you exchanged pleasantries with Jinu and when you’d turned your back to go check in on the others - he turned and smirked at her.

Oh you son of a-

You hadn’t interacted directly with Mystery or Romance much from the last events you’d been involved with, but you knew the former was relatively well behaved and kept to himself. He was surprisingly respectful towards you and didn’t show any major forms of hostility. You recalled the time you’d walked behind the scenes during a brief break the boys were allotted and found Mystery dissociating in a corner, you’d called out to him and he blankly turned to you and let you guide him to their dressing room so he could safely zone out - a hand hovering over his lower back as you did so.

So what you didn’t expect really was for Mira and Romance to be at each others throats the entire time, Mira at least had the decency to thank her fans with shining eyes before going back to grumbling about how she’s gonna kill this stupid demon. To the point that you had stepped up behind her, hands reaching up and pinching at her cheeks to stun lock her. Romance looked up at you curiously, his expression stayed the same dreamy look that he’s had the entire time and he couldn’t help the little cheeky smile that crossed his mouth as he watched you calmly berate the girl in front of him.

“Behave.” You’d simply said as you finally let go of her cheeks and she rubbed at them, expression softening from the hard scowl she had before as she looked up at you in mock hurt like ‘but I didn’t do anything wrong..!’ and you returned that look with a stern one. Figuratively and maybe even literally putting your foot down on her antics, which caused her to huff for a moment before going back to her idol sona as she prepped to talk to the next fan in line.

Before you could fully turn away though Abby had caught your attention, hand raised in the air waiting for you to dap him up which you did so without question then finally stepping away behind the curtains as another staff member was waving to flag you down to sort something out. Mira stared in shock as you did this. When did you become friends with the Saja Boys?

Zoey was next to ask for your attention, she’d been shaking her marker for a couple minutes and it was definitely dried up and there were no spares nearby. She straightened up and looked around for you, eyes pleading when she finally caught your attention and held up her marker in the air pathetically. You didn’t make any grand gesture, instead just grabbing a couple of spare markers out of a backup stationary box hidden behind the curtains then walked up and handed them to her - being mindful to take the dried marker from her as you did.

Mystery had turned his head when he heard you approaching and nodded at you in greeting, small smile on his face before he turned back to pretend to listen to the fan yapping at him. Baby was leaned back in his chair, waiting for another fan to sit in front of him when he sees you and he smirks up at you and nods a greeting as well.

“Sup man.” He’d said coolly at you before he looked back at the fan that had just sat down in front of him. It makes Zoey pause as she looks at him, then back up to you, then back to him and her brain feels like it’s frying because WHAT? Why are you guys being all bro and cool like to each other. When did this happen? You didn’t tell them that you were friendly!

Before Zoey had a chance to complain you’d placed a hand on her head and ruffled it a little, instantly all her thoughts dispersed at the familiar contact and she was left whining about you messing up her hair as you had stepped away again and off to the side to keep an eye on the fan interactions.

Safe to say there were a looot of clips and recordings from this event.

[cameronsbabydoll]

i have a request for a blurb please: puppy reader waking rafe up in the middle of the night bc she has to pee and she’s too scared to go to the bathroom alone so he goes and he’s holding her hand while she’s peeing bc she won’t let go!! he’s just grumpy but knows he has to take care of her🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸🥸

PINK PAJAMAS, BIG TEARS

rafe cameron x puppy!reader

WARNINGS: ddlg dynamics, infantilization, potty-related content, established relationship, implied age regression, soft!grumpy rafe, clingy/submissive puppy!reader, pet names (puppy, mutt, baby, daddy), caretaking

it’s sometime past 3 a.m. when you start tugging at the sleeve of rafe’s shirt, voice barely a whisper as you mumble,
“daddy…”

he groans. low and annoyed. doesn’t even open his eyes yet, “what.”

“i have to go to the bathroom…”

“then go.”

“but it’s dark,” you sniffle, already getting teary. “what if there’s someone in the hallway?”

he’s awake now, blinking hard, jaw tight. he’s still half-asleep, hair messy, face grumpy as ever. but he sits up with a sigh, already reaching for your hand.
“c’mon, baby. before you piss the bed.”

you follow behind him like a puppy on a leash, bare feet on cold tile. when you get to the bathroom, you try to go in alone—really, you do—but you immediately panic when he starts to let go of your hand.

“n-no! stay!” you whine. “please? please hold my hand while i pee, i’m scared…”

he sighs again, harder this time, but his fingers don’t leave yours. he stays standing just outside the bathroom door while you sit on the toilet, pink pajama shorts tugged down around your thighs, and your little hand clutches his like he’s the only thing keeping the monsters away.

“jesus,” he mutters under his breath, looking away with a hand over his face. “can’t even piss without me next to you. this is insane.”

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed but not letting go. “i just feel safe when you’re with me…”

and he’s still tired. still grumpy. but his grip softens just a bit.

“…yeah, yeah. hurry up, baby.”

he gives your hand a squeeze. “and wash your hands after. i’m not holdin’ hands with my pissy little pup otherwise.”

you giggle, cheeks warm, heart fluttering. “yes, daddy.”

and when you finally come out, he carries you back to bed and lets you cuddle into his chest with his t-shirt clutched in your hand again.

“you’re not allowed to drink water before bed anymore,” he grumbles. but he’s already kissing the top of your head.

[sevsevteen]

first i just want you to know your works give me comfort 🥹 can i please ask a request a fic abt the boys being worried and basically just taking care of reader bc they sprained their ankle… i sprained my ankle 3 days ago and it still hurts so bad 😭

hello sweets~ i'm so sorry to hear that 💔 please get well soon !! REST UP & DRINK LOTS OF WATER !!! thank you for the compliment teehee this one is for you anon 😚

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

You never thought a sprained ankle could earn you royal treatment.

Two days ago - a bad landing during choreography run-through had landed you to where you were now. One second, you were spinning through the eight count, and the next, the world tilted as a sharp pain shot through your ankle, sending you straight to the floor with a cry.

Since then, you were banished from practice for the rest of the week, doctor’s (more like seungcheol's) orders. A sprain. Nothing serious, they said. Just rest, ice, and no unnecessary movement.

But apparently, to the members, that translated to: You are not allowed to lift a single finger.

The moment you woke up the next morning, Dino was already crouched by your bedside with a tray. “Rise and shine, it's time for breakfast.”

“Chan-ie, I can get up, you don’t have to—”

“Nope.” He waved a spoon in your face. “The hyungs specifically said you are not allowed to get out of bed.”

Seungkwan, from the doorway, chuckled at your confused expression.

Later in the afternoon, Joshua brought you coffee, Jeonghan fluffed your pillows every other hour, and Jun kept popping into your room every hour with a “need anything?” expression like he was your butler in training.

The only time you tried to stand and hobble to the bathroom, Seungcheol caught you mid-hop and lifted you to the bathroom like you weighed nothing.

“You guys know I’m not dying, right?” You muttered, cheeks red.

“That’s what you think,” Vernon said in passing, heading for the kitchen. “You almost gave us a heart attack in practice.”

Woozi appeared briefly to drop off your ice pack when you were back in bed - grumbling that if you kept dancing like you had a death wish, he was going to write you out of the next song entirely.

Minghao, too, spent the evening sitting beside you on the floor with a coloring book he claimed was for “mental rest,” though he kept handing you pages and not letting you use the black marker because he “wasn’t finished with it yet.”

It was chaotic, smothering, and oddly touching.

You lay back on the couch as Seokmin carefully adjusted your blanket, while Seungkwan passed you the TV remote - one the both of them used to fight over all the time.

"You’re all too much," you mumbled, heart full despite the ache in your ankle.

“Too much?” Jeonghan gasped. “We cancelled our date with Hyungwon for you.”

“It was Hoshi’s idea,” Seokmin whispered behind his hand.

“Okay, who’s on lunch duty?” Seungcheol clapped his hands. “She needs protein.”

“Why don’t we just keep her injured forever?” Mingyu grinned. “I haven’t seen everyone this helpful in months.”

“Eh?—”

.

It was 2:36 am, the dorm was quiet - a rare, sacred kind of quiet that you'd enjoyed after everyone spent a whole day fussing over your injury. Every member was out cold, sprawled across the couch, beds, mouths open and breathing soft.

You blinked up at the ceiling from your bed, the ache had simmered, dull, but still persistent. It wasn’t the pain keeping you up, though.

It was the hunger.

You’d skipped dinner, too tired to eat earlier, and now your stomach growled loud enough to make you flinch. You checked the clock again and sighed.

Too late to call anyone, too early to wait for breakfast.

The snacks on your shelf had long disappeared - thanks to Dino and Seokmin’s late-night cravings the day before.

You sat up slowly, biting your lip. Your ankle twinged, still tender under the wrap. They’d kill you if they knew you had gotten up. But were you supposed to just starve?

Your stomach answered with another growl.

“…Sorry, guys,” you muttered under your breath.

With the stealth of tip-toes and socks, you slipped on a hoodie, stuffing your wallet into its pocket. Masked up, you slowly limped to the front door, holding your breath with each step.

You avoided the creaky floorboard outside Hoshi’s room, opened the door quietly with a prayer, and finally slipped out into the night.

The cool air hit your face instantly.

You tugged your hood low and made your way down the street toward the nearest CU convenience store.

The moment you stepped inside, the fluorescent lights greeted you like a long-lost friend. You sighed in relief, heading straight to the ramen aisle.

“Come to me,” you whispered, cradling the cup noodles like it was sacred.

Ten minutes later, you sat outside the store on the bench, steaming ramen on the table, an apple juice beside you, and a triangle kimbap for dessert. You reckon you’d regret it in the morning when your face puffs up, but your soul was at peace.

That is…until a low voice broke the silence.

“You really thought we wouldn’t find out?”

You froze mid-slurp, looking up.

Standing in front of you under the lights were four very familiar silhouettes. Seungcheol. Wonwoo. Mingyu. And Dino, still in pajama pants and slippers, arms crossed with a pillow mark on his cheek.

“…Oh, hi.”

“No,” Seungcheol said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t ‘hi’ us.”

“I was hungry,” you argued. “I didn’t want to wake anyone!”

“And we said you’re not supposed to be walking without help,” Mingyu said, already crouching to check your ankle.

“She limped out the front door like no one would notice,” Dino mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I heard her. Thought it was a ghost.”

You sulked, blowing on your noodles. “…You’re all so dramatic.”

But even as they nagged - taking turns throwing away the trash, and insisting on piggybacking you home - you couldn’t help but grin.

They were dramatic.

And you were so glad they were.

--

[madebycloud]

ALL MINE

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you and jinx have been satisfying each other's needs with no labels, no strings attached. just two adults who have fun with each other every now and then. simple, right? or at least, simple in theory, right up until you start feeling jealous when you see her with someone else. (requested by anon) warnings/themes: MDNI 18+, fluff, slight angst, smut, G!P reader (don't like, don't read), friends with benefits/fuck buddies, unprotected p in v, college au, porn with some plot, cunnilingus, throat fucking, fingering, spanking, semi-public, creampies, one sided feelings but not really one sided, insecure!reader, kinda nerd!reader, R is so petty, R is so annoying, R is a dick, R is a pussy words: 13.5k

College sucks.

With the shitty attendance of professors, the endless workload, all those projects and essays and presentations, the tests and quizzes, shitty group work with shitty partners.

So much stress just for the possibility of a shitty grade.

...

Being an adult and balancing a life with school SUCKS.

But thankfully, there are a few things that make it bearable.

Like a certain blue-haired currently sitting at the edge of your desk, legs on either side of you, face flushed and biting her bottom lip as she muffles her moans. 

“F-fuck... you... you, d-damn—” The grip on your hair tightens and her back arches while your tongue slides up her needy slit. “Oh, that— that feels so good—”

Jinx tastes so sweet, so perfect, your hands rest on the pale skin of her thighs, keeping her legs from moving or closing in. Her eyes slam shut, head hangs back, her breathing hitch every time your tongue slips past her folds. 

“I'm gonna, ah f-fuck, I'm coming—” and before she has the chance to get out the rest of those words, her hips writhe and quiver, shaking with a climax that has you holding on to her thighs to keep her from slipping off the edge of your desk. 

She comes all over your tongue, and you keep licking her slowly, helping her through her high until she starts to push you off.  

You pull back and look up at the bluenette in front of you. There is a thin stream of her juices running down her quivering thighs that makes you want to keep going, but instead, you force yourself to lean back on your chair, watching her attempt to straighten up her skirt and collect herself. 

“F-fucking... jesus christ. I hate you.”

It's such a conflicting statement because her words are one thing, but the wrecked and completely satisfied look on her face says something else entirely.

“Yeah, I'm sure you do,” you say with a smirk and wipes your chin. “Can I go wash my face now? I've got a class in a bit.”

“Fine, go.” Jinx climbs off from your desk. There's a slight tremble in her legs (thanks to you) that she quickly tries to hide but fails anyway. She runs a hand through her hair, fixing it as she stands there. 

You get up from your chair and stretch first—college is doing a number on your back, you swear—and walk over to the sink in the corner of your dormitory room to wash your face, leaving her to recover.

Jinx had been in your room more than hers. One, because it's better than bunking with her annoying roomie. Two, because there is more privacy. Three, your room's walls are not as thin as hers, so you can let loose sometimes. The noises she made, the noises you both made...it was a good thing your room had decent soundproofing.

There are times that you do it in her room, if her roommate is not there, but more often than not, it's here in your dorm. You've had her bent over every possible surface, every possible place that you're certain she can't walk out the next day.

Your thoughts bring a little smirk to your face as you finish toweling your face dry, and that smirk stays there as you head back to where Jinx is sitting on the edge of your bed.

You could go for another round, you're still in the mood, really. But unfortunately, your next class starts in a few minutes.

You walk to your closet and pull out a fresh shirt, one that doesn't smell like Jinx yet. You throw the old one in the laundry, it's already marked by her anyway, and put on a new shirt.

“Gotta go, my class is starting soon.” You turn around as you pull the hem down. “Are you just gonna stay here?”

Jinx sighs before she shrugs. “I'll just stay here for a while. Maybe I'll take a nap or something.” 

“No classes for you today?”

“Nope, lucky enough not to have any classes.” She shrugs again and swings her legs back and forth. “I'm free.”

You nod then grab your backpack from the floor, slinging it on one shoulder.

Just as you reach for the door handle, Jinx calls out, “Hey.”

You stop and turn to look over at her. “Yeah?”

“Kat's throwing a party tomorrow.” Jinx leans back, both arms braced behind her, raising an eyebrow at you. “You coming?”

“I might.”

If you didn't have a ton of homework and papers to grind out, yeah, probably. Jinx knows that. She also knows that you have...other things that are more important than some party with a bunch of drunken and horny adults.

Yet Jinx smirks at your response, like you've given the answer she's been hoping for.

Jinx stands up and closes the distance between you, stopping a few inches away. “You should come... you could use a little break.” She lifts up a hand to dust off your shoulder as if there's any lint on it. “Let loose. Relax. Have a little fun for a change?”

A party...you haven't been to any parties since freshman year. No time. You haven't had the time to, not with your classes and work and the million other things that fill your schedule.

“College is eating at me alive and you want me to party, huh? I don't have time for that, you know that.”

Jinx laughs, and the hand on your shoulder slowly slides down over your chest, stopping right at your stomach. “One evening, is all I'm asking.”

How long has it been since the last time you've had a few hours... hell a few minutes... to just hang back and unwind? A 'break' these days means you grab some sleep, shower, and then go back to studying until your eyes water. 

“C'mon, just one evening. Have some fun. Besides...” She leans closer, lowering her head to the side of your neck. “I'd really, really, really love it if you come.”

Your skin practically crawls with the way her words and her breath caress your skin, and the way she whispers things like that...how can you say no to that?

Your shoulders sag, and you exhale in an audible sigh. “Fine,” you finally say. “I'll be there.”

Jinx pulls back her head, grinning widely, satisfied with her victory. “Okay, off you go then. Go to class now, shoo.”

You roll your eyes as she shoos you out the door, giving you a light tap on the shoulder to hurry.

It's not like you have much of a choice. You already know you're going to give in, and she knows it too.

“Don't make me regret this.”

“You won't!” Her voice calls out behind you once you step into the hallway of your dorm. “Promise!”

—

You step into the house where the party is, and jesus christ it's so damn loud. Your ears immediately start hurting because the music is blasting everywhere and you're not even sure how this place hasn't gotten noise complaints yet.

Looking around the living room, the first thing you notice is all the people are everywhere, all crammed into this one little place that it's almost suffocating to wade through.

Some people, you recognize. Katarina, for sure. She's sitting on a couch next to a guy with brown hair and they're both downing some sort of drinks in shot glasses.

A few others that you've had brief interactions with, but not enough to remember their names. Then there are the people that you don't know at all. Those guys are probably seniors. Or... maybe freshmen?

And there's one thing that is and has always been the same in college parties: the alcohol. Most of these people are here to drink, and there's plenty of it.

On the counter? A huge array of liquor bottles, some you've heard of and some you haven't. Probably the latter ones will mess you up real fast if you're not careful. On the fridge? It is packed full of beer, champagne (who the hell brings expensive champagne to a college party of all things?), and what is probably some type of jungle juice.

You're just about to turn around and go back to your lonely dorm when a different voice rings through the noise. “You came!”

You look directly in front of you, and lo and behold, Jinx was right there.

You wonder how the hell you didn't notice her earlier (maybe it was the noise, or maybe it was you being distracted by all the other people). She looks surprisingly sober too, considering she's at a college party. 

“I knew you would come,” Jinx says, grinning. “Just couldn't resist...could you?”

Jinx is wearing a short red plaid pleated skirt with a black leather belt, and black cropped top that stops just under her breasts, showing off her taut stomach and a small bit of midriff.

Her attire is almost like a goddamn crime because it looks like it shouldn't look good, but it actually does look good. It looks too good. She looks so fucking good that it should be illegal.

Jinx notices the way you're looking at her, and then a smirk crosses her face. “You like what you see?” She does a little twirl, as if to show it off for you.

Hell yeah. You like it a lot more than you should. Jinx's gorgeous and sexy as hell, and you know damn well that if she had been wearing this earlier in the day, you'd have skipped class to have your way with her.

“Mhm. I would love to just pick you up and fuck you against the wall here and now.”

The smirk on her lips somehow just seems to get even wider, then she cocks an eyebrow and tips her head to the side. “What's holding you back then?”

“Well, maybe the fact that there's a million people here and I have a lot of self-control.” Okay, maybe that self-control is being tested at this moment.

“Aww, that's not a fair excuse.” Jinx pouts and takes a step closer, making your eyes snap downward to what bit of her thighs she's showing off under the skirt. “I can tell that you want some privacy.” she trails her finger across your chest “And trust me, I want it too.”

Your patience snaps, and really, seriously, what's the worst that could happen? 

You grab her arm, maybe a little too tight, and she actually giggles when you turn and start briskly walking towards the stairs, pulling her behind you. 

You don't know this house at all, but there's no time to care because you want to get her alone now, and privacy won't be found downstairs. Luckily, the house is big, so not all the rooms have occupants, and with some searching, you find a spare room and open the door, pushing her inside.

“Impressive. You actually managed to—” Jinx is interrupted as soon as you shut the door behind you and lock it, then push Jinx up against it, pressing your body into hers, making her gasp and arch her back from the impact.

Even though she looks a little surprised, not a single protest leaves her mouth because all she can focus on is how your lips are instantly on her neck, trailing up and down and nipping across her throat. Jinx lifts her hands, fingers gripping the shoulders of your shirt. 

With one hand on her hip, you use the other to push her crop top and bra up, bunching it past her collarbone. You kiss her down, reaching the top of her breast. Wrapping your lips around her nipple, then you suck it gently while your free hand moves to the other, pinching and rolling her pink bud.

You pay attention to both—her pale skin covered in a light glaze of sweat. Each nipple is teased, alternating between a gentle, barely-there feel of your tongue and a more firm pressure as you pull them between your teeth, her moans your only guide.

When Jinx seems to be losing patience, you finally release her with a small pop noise, lifting your head up to look at her again. The smirk is gone from her face, lips parted, panting slightly as that hand on your shoulder tightens.

As you move closer, her lips part instinctively, and you take advantage of that as you claim her mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue snaking past her lips. 

Your hand wanders, going down to her hips, underneath that damnably short skirt, slipping past the fabric of her panties. Jinx gasps as your fingers slide across her folds. You curse at how wet she already is.

“You're dripping so much, Jinx,” you say against her mouth. You pull away, lips trailing down her neck until they reach her ear, biting it gently, earning you a breathy moan from her. “Have you been like this the whole night, or was it just when you saw me?”

Jinx's thighs twitch involuntarily when you circle your thumb, pressing on her clit. “You know the answer, idiot.”

You chuckle softly, then slowly push two fingers past her folds, making her hips jolt. Your knuckles flex and your fingers curl, as if getting acquainted with your new favorite place. 

Jinx giggles, just a little, before the sound dissolves into a soft moan. “Hurry up...” she pants.

You start up a rhythm, starting slow at first, wanting to take your time and make her wait, but her hips desperately trying to grind herself against your fingers just spur you on to go a little faster. 

“Be patient.” Yet, you speed up your pace, and she almost chokes when you crook your fingers. “You look like you're enjoying my fingers just fine.” 

“Fuck— yeah— I am,” she admits. Jinx's head falls against your shoulder, trembling hands moving to grip your biceps, clinging to you to keep herself from being slumped in a heap on the ground.

“Yeah?” A part of you is surprised she even admits that. After all, Jinx has quite the ego. “I can tell.”

Her walls flutter around you, gasping loudly and burying her face in your neck. Jinx presses her forehead onto your collarbone as she shudders each time your fingers thrust inside her.

You bite your lip to hide your grin—you love the sound of her whiny, needy noises, and she's so damn beautiful that you can really understand how she's the most hated person at school... and at the same time, the most desired. 

“Shh, someone might hear you,” you whisper, even though the music is pounding downstairs.

Jinx shakes her head, lifting her head up to kiss your neck and jaw. “Don't care.”

Anyone who's downstairs definitely won't be able to hear her over the music, but still. “If you're too loud, other people can hear you.”

Jinx's response is to laugh, a low chuckle that borders on a whine as she tries to push herself against your hand. “I don't care, okay? I just don't— mmmh, don't care, just shut up and keep going.”

You keep up with your rhythm, fingers moving rougher as you hear soft gasps and moans coming out from her. There's no time for gentleness, and there's definitely no room for any teasing. You're not about to waste much time when there's so little of it to begin with. 

“I'm gonna— gonna come—” A bite on her neck challenges her, dares her to let go. And that's exactly what she needs. She clenches around your fingers with a soft cry, making her weak-kneed and leaving that filthy mess of her juices coating your digits. 

You keep your fingers moving until you're certain that she's done, and when she finally does settle down, you pull your hand away, licking her slick off of them.

Jinx leans heavily against the door, catching her breath, trying to recover her bearings.

Watching her like this, all flushed and sweaty, makes you want to drag Jinx back to your place and just fuck her right there. You want to put her on your lap, grinding against you, watching her like a piece of art while you stretch her open.

Maybe you'd even tell her how good it feels to have your fingers curled up inside of her, how you can't get enough of how good she feels wrapped up in your arms,and how the taste of her on your tongue never fails to make you crave more. 

Maybe you'd even tell her how much you find yourself missing her when you're apart, how you spend more time searching for her across the campus. Maybe you'd even go as far as to admit out loud that you want to kiss her just as much as you want to eat her out.

...and yet you hold all of that stuff back because, in the end, you're not a fool. Jinx doesn't do nice things, sweet words or soft whispers. She's rough, blunt, harsh, a rough diamond, more trouble than she's worth.

Still, you can't stop yourself from wanting to pull her closer to you, just to hold on. So you do. Hands finding the bare skin of her waist, where her cropped top ends, and you let your fingers trail up and down that patch of bare skin.

“You okay?” 

The question just slips off your tongue, and the second it does, you cringe at how soft it sounds.. it's because of the stupid, weird feeling that's currently squeezing your heart.

“Shut up, that was-” Jinx starts to say, but she cuts herself off when she hears your question, eyes narrowing slightly and she just looks at you for a second, gaze calculating. Her expression then softens a bit, and she sighs. Maybe she likes how soft you sound, maybe she doesn’t. “Yeah. I'm okay.”

You feel better that Jinx actually says it, and you smile. “Good.” 

Jinx scoffs, but she returns the smile. It's just a small smile that most people would pass by, miss, forget, but it's there. Maybe you would have missed it too, except you know her, so you see it. That gives you some kind of stupid, foolish hope. And that stupid, foolish hope starts to make its way over. 

Slowly, the smile fades from both of your faces, and she's just looking at you.You don't know what she's looking for, but you hope she doesn't see too much.

You don't want her to see more than what she should, and you don't want her to know how much this (whatever the fuck this is), is starting to mean to you. You don't want her to realize that you've fallen for her, that you're more than just physically attracted to her. Because if she knew that, she might…do something. You're not even sure anymore what she'd do. And you don't know if you could handle whatever rejection she might come up with.

Maybe it's a good thing you don't know. You don't want to know. it's better if you just don't think of it. 

Jinx notices you just staring at her, then she rolls her eyes and snorts. “You're so disgusting, dude.” Her gaze then drifts down to the bulge straining your pants, and the smirk that crawls on her face makes your cock twitch. “Need some help with that?”

You huff out a laugh, though the smirk fades away when Jinx's hand touches your belt, and you hear the clinking as she's unbuckling it.

You catch her wrist, stopping her.

She scoffs. “I'm literally trying to be charitable here, and you won't let me?”

“...I don't want to make a mess.”

Jinx grins mischievously “You think a little mess will stop me?” and then she's dropping to her knees in front of you, hands undoing your belt. “You know I'm more than happy to clean up.”

She tugs your pants and underwear, dropping them down to your ankles. At this point, the only thing getting you through this is the knowledge that the door is locked.

Though, Jinx doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, she's almost smug about it, licking her lips when she sees how hard you are.

She chuckles. “Damn.” Jinx brings her hand up to your cock, running a finger over the tip, watching the small beads of pre cum drip out of the slit. “I know you won't last long.” She then moves her hand around the base and gives it a couple of pumps. “But I'll be nice and make it good for you.”

That earns her a low groan of approval, and you place your hands against the door behind her. “Be quick about it, then.”

Jinx clicks her tongue and laughs, pumping your cock faster. “Don't worry, gorgeous. I'll make this quick.” Without waiting for your response, she guides your already soaked tip across her lips, giving her a lip gloss before she wraps her mouth around it and slowly starts bobbing her head.

Your eyes flutter shut, but the visual is too good for you to keep your eyes closed for long. You look down at her, watching your length disappear between her lips. The bluenette never breaks the eye contact, swirling her tongue around the tip of your dick before she takes it up and down her throat. 

That pulls another moan-groan out of your mouth, but with the loud music, it's not like anyone downstairs is going to hear you. Still, you're trying to keep relatively quiet. 

Jinx, however, doesn't have that problem, and her loud slurping noise nearly sends you over. Even with your girth stretching her lips, she manages to give you a smirk. She slides her hands down, fingers massaging your balls as she takes your cock deeper into her tight throat. She just keeps moving her head, making sure her tongue is wrapped along your shaft while her eyes stay locked on yours.

“You've gotten good at this, baby...”

Jinx pulls back, lips shiny with pre-cum, licking at the corner of her mouth as saliva drools from her chin. “It's not like I've had any other practice. You're the only one I do this with.” She moves her hand, stroking you and spreading her saliva all over your cock. “Besides, it helps when you have a pretty big one.” She gives you a cheeky smile before her mouth is back on your tip, caressing the slit with a flat tongue. 

Despite trying to tease you, Jinx is starting to look desperate. She looks up at you as she starts bobbing her head at an almost reckless pace, sucking your dick deeper with more enthusiasm.

You're not going to last like this, you know it, and so does she. Your hands slip away from the door to cup her head, fingers curling around her braids as the muscles of your stomach tighten. You grip her hair hard as you start fucking her mouth, shoving your cock into her.

Jinx gags herself on your cock with every thrust of your hips, yet her throat willingly takes every inch of you. She looks like a mess, mascara running, drool dripping out of her mouth, and a bit of water in her eyes. Even so, she tries to get you closer, deeper, all the way to the base until her nose touches the skin of your pelvis.

“F-fuck, Jinx— I'm— I'm gonna—”

Jinx nods the best she can while your hands hold firmly to her braids. And that's all it takes. The sound of her name coming from your lips ends up buried by the sound of the party outside the door. You press your hips against her face, releasing your load down her throat, filling her mouth with your cum. 

She swallows every last drop until her stomach is full of you, then pulls her head back, your softening, spent cock out of her mouth. Her lips are swollen and glistening, a bit of your cum smeared on her chin. She wipes a finger across her lips, catching the few drops she missed, and licks it off.

After a few minutes of trying to catch your breath, you pull your pants back up and fasten your belt, then reach down to bring her up. 

She laughs—not her usual raucous, crazed laugh—and takes your hand, standing up on shaky legs. You then step back, giving her the space she needs to straighten up her clothing. Jinx smooths out her skirt and pulls her top and bra back into place before wrapping her arms around your waist. 

She rubs the side of her face against your chest, staining your shirt and smearing her makeup even more. “You ruined my hair.”

The hair is indeed a lost case, her braids now loose and messy. Jinx shakes her head in mild frustration, a few stray locks landing over her face. She huffs and blows them away. 

You grin, amused. “Maybe you shouldn't have worn it like this, then.”

“Don't be an ass. It took me forever to do my braids that way, and it was all ruined with your stupid hands pulling on them.” Jinx pushes away from you, groaning. “UGH, I gotta go to the bathroom.”

You snort, and she walks towards the door. She opens it and peeks outside. Once she's sure that no one's around, Jinx then slips out the door and out into the hall, and you follow behind as she heads off to the bathroom.

You lean against the wall outside, waiting, folding your arms over your chest. 

An hour or so later, Jinx returns, stopping in front of you with hands on her hips. “How do I look?”

You check her out. She looks much tidier than she did before. the makeup on her face is completely gone, her hair is neater, and her top and skirt are less rumpled.

You drop your arms as you push off the wall. “You look fine.” 

That, predictably, gets a scoff out of her. “Just fine? Not gorgeous, not stunning, not ravishing, not perfect, not a goddess? Just fine? I'm offended.”

You roll your eyes, but a grin slips through anyway. “I'm sorry. You look beautiful and ravishing and stunning. I think you're the most gorgeous, alluring, perfect woman in the world.”

Jinx smiles and flicks her braid, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Perfect,” she says. “Let's go.”

You follow her downstairs, which are a lot louder than they were before. You wince at the sound, already preparing yourself for more noise for the rest of the night.

Jinx notices and laughs. “Too loud for you?”

“Ugh, yes. I'm not sure my eardrums will survive the night.” 

Jinx laughs again, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. She glances around the house before turning to look at you. “Gotta go get a drink. You go and enjoy the party,” she says, before adding, “And if you happen to wanna leave, just stop and let me know before you do, okay?”

She pats your shoulder, turns and heads off to find a drink. You watch Jinx disappear into the crowd and find that your hand is on your shoulder, fingers rubbing at the spot where she just touched you.

Okay... that one's a bit weird and a little pathetic.

You give yourself a mental slap and turn away, trying to find something to divert your attention.

It's not hard to find something to look at. There's a group of people that are already getting drunk and starting to do stupid things like standing on tables and yelling. Some people are starting to play a card game near the counter, and there's a crowd of people that are cheering them on, and somewhere between all of this and Jinx disappearing behind the crowd, you decide that you really want a drink.

You walk over to the kitchen (where it's slightly better than the rest of the house, honestly). There's more room to breathe, and the noise is more bearable. 

You grab a cup near the punch bowl and fill it with some of whatever has been spiked in this thing, then take a drink.

“You need some help with that?” A new voice comes up behind you. You look over. Long blonde hair, pretty eyes with glasses. You've seen her around before but never really talked to her. “Uhm, Lux, by the way.”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I'm good, thanks.” You smile politely. “Just taking a break from the party. It's getting too loud in there.”

“Right?” Lux laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and then sighs. She comes up to the counter and hops up, then takes a gulp of her own drink. “Honestly? I don't know why I even came here, parties aren't really my thing.”

“Mhmm same.” You nod, relieved that someone feels the same as you. “My friend dragged me here. I'm usually not big on parties either, too many drunk people and loud people and—”

“—too much happening at once.” She finishes your sentence. “I totally get that.”

There's a moment of silence as you and Lux just drink your drinks. Then, she speaks up. “You don't really look familiar…” her eyebrows scrunching up a bit in confusion. “Do you, by any chance, know Jinx?”

“Yeah, I know her,” you say, a bit surprised that she asked. “I'm guessing you do too?”

“I do.” She gives you a small smile. “She and I used to be pretty close back in high school.”

Huh. you didn't know this. You tilt your head at the new information. “You guys don't talk anymore?” you ask out of curiosity.

Lux shrugs at your question. “We still talk sometimes... but not as much as we used to.” A pause. “Are you— are you two close at all?”

“We're close,” you answer without any hesitation. You're a bit curious about why Lux is asking so many questions about you and Jinx.

She nods at your answer. “I figured as much.” Lux looks like she wants to say more, but she suddenly looks in the living room, then a soft snort leaves her nose. 

You follow her gaze. And there, in the corner of the room, is Jinx, leaning over the billiard table, lining up a shot.

Except, she's not alone. Behind her is a man, his chin hovering just a few inches from her ear. One of his hands has come up and is cupping one of her elbows. He's telling her to aim at the eight-ball, even though Jinx's clearly not listening and is just laughing at whatever stupid joke he said.

You don't know why, but it pisses you off. Not just a little. A lot.

A scoff leaves your mouth and you turn your attention back to Lux, who is watching you closely. “They seem pretty close.”

Lux hums. “I guess.” She takes a drink from her glass as she looks a little closer at them. “I mean, they've always been like this.” What? Before you can ask, what the fuck does she mean by that, Lux already hops off the counter and smiles at you. “I better go. I think my brother might be looking for me.”

You nod, giving her back a polite smile. “Sure, um, have a good night.”

Lux waves at you before she walks out of the kitchen. You're left standing alone in front of the counter, sipping your drink and watching Jinx and that guy again. 

They look comfortable. Too comfortable. Jinx laughs again at something the man says to her. You can see how the guy is leaning close to Jinx, talking directly into her ear, and when he puts his hand on her back, your fingers tighten against your cup a bit.

...

You shouldn't really care. It's not like you're exclusive.

But you do care, and it pisses you off that you do.

...

This is so stupid. 

You know how stupid this is, how stupid you are for coming here.

You shouldn't have left that comfortable dorm full of silence and peaceful solitude and gone to this stupid party. You had work to do, after all, and you had come here for what? Only to find your not-so-girlfriend getting comfy and cozy with someone?

Before it really gets to you, you turn, push past people, then leave through the front door.

There's no reason to bother saying goodbye to Jinx. She's already got a guy to hang around, and she's doing just fine without you. You don't need to bother sticking around. You just need to get out of here and try to forget you even came.

It's cold outside. The harsh wind is a painful sting against your bare skin. You shiver, and yet you keep walking, trying to get away from this shithole as quickly as possible.

You're just about to mount your bike to pedal your sorry ass back to your dorm and maybe try to sleep off whatever shitty feelings you're feeling when you hear your name called out. You curse because you'd know that voice anywhere.

Jinx stops in front of you and looks at you with something that you wish you didn't notice. 

Concern. 

She looks genuinely concerned. 

“I thought you'd say goodbye, at least,” Jinx says, a little breathless from hurrying. “Are a you—” she stops to catch her breath. “Are you alright?”

You shrug, pretending to be calm, or at least attempting to. “I'm fine,” you mutter, looking off to the side. “I just…remembered I have this stupid paper due on monday.” 

That's bullshit. Jinx knows it, you know it, even your bike knows it. “You're a worse liar than I am.” Jinx steps closer and jabs her index finger against your chest. “What's really going on, huh?”

“Nothing.” 

She scoffs. “Stop bullshitting me. Just spill.”

“I said it's nothing, okay?!”

That came out harsher than you intended, and at the tone, Jinx immediately pulls her hand from your chest. She steps back, arms crossing in front of her, and looks at you.

Jinx has this stupid, damn expression, concern and maybe a sense of understanding all over her face, and you want to take her face in your hands and kiss her because you're being such an idiot, but you're also angry for reasons you don't really like to admit out loud.

You can't tell her you're mad as hell about a guy talking to her because you don't have any right to feel that way over someone who isn't even yours to begin with.

“Don't get snappy with me,” Jinx says. “I'm just trying to check up on you, dickhead.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

It comes out bitter and sharp, and Jinx flinches almost unnoticeably.

Her reaction makes your guilty conscience flare up. You're actually being rude to Jinx, and for what? For being concerned about you? For caring? For just wanting to check on you? You really have no idea what the hell is wrong with yourself, and before you can even try to force an apology out of your mouth, Jinx speaks up.

“Fine.” And in a way you hate yourself for noticing, but you swear you hear hurt in her voice. “I'll just go then.”

Jinx turns, and before you can get a word out, she's already walking away. She doesn't look back at you as she vanishes back inside.

...

You shouldn't have come to that stupid party in the first place.

—

A week. Seven days. 168 hours.

One miserable week of pretending to not care. One week of ignoring her. One week that seems to drag on for an entire year.

A week of sitting in lectures while trying not to think about her, only to fail at it. A week of walking past her in the corridors only to have your eyes linger on her for a second too long while you pretend to not look. A week of having to swallow back the urge to go to her dorm because goddamnit, you miss her.

You're actually getting a little bit sick of pretending. A little bit sick of trying to ignore the guilt gnawing away at your heart. And most importantly, you're really sick of not having someone warm to fall asleep next to. 

And yet, you didn't chase after her. 

You don't even bother to try. How can you? When you're the one who acted like an absolute shithead to her. You don't exactly deserve to even talk to her.

Jinx probably hates you. 

You groan to yourself and close the book. 

You came here to the library to study, not to sit around and wallow in your feelings like some heartbroken love-struck idiot. Which you are, BUT you could at least be a productive idiot.

You get up and gather your books and notes, stuffing them in your bag. You're done studying, for now, at least. You can try again tomorrow, hopefully when you don't have Jinx dancing around in your brain anymore.

You stretch, feeling your stiff muscles complain, then make your way out of the library. The campus is pretty empty this late at night. Most people are either drinking or asleep by now, which is fine by you. Less people to see you sneaking back to your lonely dorm.

Just as you round the corner, you feel a hand catch the crook of your elbow, firm hold, pulling you to a stop.

“Knew you'd be here.”

You whirl around, about to curse, only to be met with the one person you have been avoiding for the past week.

Jinx's hand keeps a tight grip on you, holding you in place without having to even try. 

She's wearing an oversized black shirt along with a pair of pajama pants covered in a pattern of little cartoon bombs with angry eyebrows.

Her eyes meet yours, and your heart does that stupid, fucking annoying thing, beating just a little too fast.

Holy shit. Get yourself together.

You look away, ignoring the rush of feelings that comes with just seeing her again. “I'm going home. What do you want?” You know how they sound—cold, distant. Nothing like you want to sound, but you can't even look at her without wanting to just reach out and touch her.

Jinx lets go of your arm and folds her arms over her chest and cocks her hip, giving you a pointed look. “I'll cut to the chase. Were you jealous of Stephen?”

“Who the fuck is Stephen?”

“You know, the guy I was playing with at the billboard the night of the party? Lux told me you saw us together. Is that why you threw a fucking tantrum because you were jealous?” You scoff, because it's true. Jinx rolls her eyes when you don't answer. “I'm not interested in Stephen, if that's what you're worried about, and he'd sooner die than even look at me like that.”

Then why the hell was he hanging on to her, touching her like that if he didn't—Oh. “Oh...”

“Oh,” Jinx mocks, copying your tone. “Is that what you got out of this? Really? Really?”

You huff, trying to maintain some dignity. “I'm not— doesn't matter. I have to go.” You walk past her, heading towards your dorm.

Jinx groans and follows after you. “You're really that jealous? over a guy who's into dick?” she says as she walks a few steps behind you. “Stephen is just a friend. I've known him since high school.”

You don't grace her with an answer as you walk forward. Yes, you're jealous, which doesn't make sense, because you and Jinx agreed to keep things between you casual. You stop in front of your door and search for your keys while cursing at yourself.

“Seriously? You ignored me for a week just because you were jealous? Just because I was speaking to a friend? A friend I have no attraction towards. A friend I see as like a brother?”

“I'm not.” You unlock the door and head inside. “I just don't like it when someone touches what isn't theirs.”

Jinx just snorts before following you into the room and immediately sits on one of your chairs. She props her feet up on your desk like she owns the place. “Not jealous? Then why do you care who touches what?”

You slam the door shut and drop your bag on the ground. “It bothered me, alr— stop putting your feet on my desk.” You swat her feet off the wood. “Seeing that guy touching you like that, it bothered me more than it should have, and I didn't like how I felt. Sue me.”

Jinx smirks at your words and stands up from the chair, sauntering towards you. “Why's that? afraid that someone's gonna steal me away?”

“I'm not afraid,” you lie and step back until you feel the edge of the bed hitting the back of your knees.

Jinx follows you until you're forced to sit, grinning widely as she stands over you. She chuckles and leans forward, putting her knee on the bed between your thighs. “No? You could've fooled me.”

You lean back, propped on your elbows as you look up at Jinx. A hand comes up to cup the side of your face. Her thumb brushes over your lip before trailing down your throat, chest, and hip, where she tugs on your belt loops and pops it open.

“It's cute how possessive you're being, but also kinda stupid.”

Jinx runs her fingers down the buttons of your pants, taking her time and teasing you. Once they're undone, she pushes them down. 

You bite back the low groans that try to crawl up your throat when you feel her knees brush against your clothed cock. She notices, then presses down on you even more, biting her lip like she just found something delicious to eat.

“Definitely stupid if you think I'm gonna let anyone come between us.” Jinx toys with the edge of your underwear, pulls it down, your cock springing up towards her. “Like I'd let someone else touch me when I've already got you to do it better, hm?”

She wraps her fingers around your shaft, just barely, just enough to tease. Her thumb rubs across the sensitive head. 

“Look at this,” Jinx murmurs, and you're pretty sure your brain will short-circuit when you hear her say, “I missed you.”

You hiss softly. You're not entirely sure if she means you or your cock, and honestly, does it even matter?

Jinx takes her hands off your dick and tuts, annoyed with your silence. “What's wrong? Don't wanna speak? Fine. I know for sure you won't be quiet when your dick's down my throat.” 

She slides off the bed and kneels down between your spread thighs, eyeing your dick shamelessly. Jinx wraps her fingers around you again, and when you buck your hips, she just laughs at you, the sound of it vibrates around your cock.

“Mmmh, so desperate for my attention. You should've just told me that you were being stupid and jealous. Could've saved yourself a week and gotten this sooner.”

Jinx pauses long enough to lean down, and—oh, fuck, you almost choke on a moan when you feel her tongue drag around the head of your cock, licking the precum.

“Don't say I haven't missed you, too, because I have. Just couldn't stand how childish you were being.”

Jinx sucks your tip, swirls her tongue around the slit, and swallows you until you can feel the tip of your cock brush against the back of her throat. Her hand slides down your shaft to fondle your balls. She moans around it, gagging on you as she tries to take more.

You thread your hand into her hair, gently at first, then tighten and pull on it so hard she moans again. Jinx takes your cue, moving with the rhythm you set, head bobbing to the pace you dictate as you shove your cock into her mouth. 

Glancing down, you see her lips are stretched wide around your cock, hollowed to the point where you can see the outline of your length through her skin. Your grip on her braids has worked loose her hair, the strands hanging around her face, framing her eyes.

You don't realize how loud you are until you hear yourself: “Fuck, Jinx... Jinx... Jinx, I'm—”

Hearing you call her name, Jinx grins as much as she can with her mouth stuffed full of your cock. Then she pulls back, giving your tip one teasing circle around the edge of her tongue before she lets you escape from her mouth. 

“Don't you dare ignore me ever again.” Jinx squeezes your balls just a bit, enough to serve as a silent warning. “Got it?”

“Got it,” you gasp, because right now, you'd promise basically any goddamn thing if she'd stop squeezing your balls.

Jinx hums, and the pressure eases off of your poor, abused family jewels. She pats your balls gently like a dog that's been good and leans her face down, her cheek brushing the sensitive head of your cock. 

“Good. You're smarter than I give you credit for.” Jinx drags her tongue up the underside of your shaft, all the way to the tip. “And here I thought your brain had been replaced with your other head.” She presses a kiss on the tip, the softest kiss, like a sweet reward. “Now, do you want it in my mouth again…or do you have something else in mind, hm?”

“You know what I want...” you groan, and your hips buck back towards her mouth reflexively.

Jinx smirks, giving your split-slicked cock another light kiss, this one a little firmer...but just a tease. “Oh yeah? Then why don't you tell me?”

You swallow, breathing hard. “I want… I want to fuck you, Jinx—”

A low, husky chuckle falls off her lips. Then, her fingers slip inside her pants. You can hear them rub against her and hear how wet she already is. 

“Is that what you really want?” Jinx asks, a sly smile on her lips as she slides her soaked fingers out of her pants, holding them up in front of her face. “Think you deserve it?”

Seeing her like this has your hands clenching the bedsheets tightly, and your cock throbs so painfully that it makes you curse, “F-fuck—  please, just… I want… I want to be inside you.”

Jinx's eyes go heavy-lidded at the sound of your curses, and then her focus drops to your aching, hard length. She smirks before she brings her fingers to her mouth, sucks them clean, swirling her tongue around her middle and forefinger, then slides between them up to the knuckle.

She moans softly, eyes closing for a while, letting the taste soak into her senses, and then they open again, locking onto you once more. 

“Oh, someone's eager.” Jinx pulls them out with a pop when she's done. “But, you know... I don't know if you really deserve it, you did ignore me for a week, after all. It really hurt my feelings.”

“I'm sorry,” you croak, watching her get off her knees. “I promise it won't happen. Not again. I won't shut you out. I won't avoid you. Just come here, please.”

Her hand pats your head in a condescending sort of way. “I know, but can you keep your word this time? Or are you just going to ditch me for a week again, you dumbfuck?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I wont. It was stupid. I was angry, but not at you and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Just, please. I want you. Need you.”

Jinx's expression softens, and so does her tone. She climbs on top of your lap, hands resting on your shoulders. “You're forgiven, but if you ignore me again, I'm cutting off your balls.”

You have no doubt that she will. “Understood.”

“Hmm, good,” Jinx murmurs before she threads her hand in your hair and leans down to kiss you. You gasp against her lips, making it easier for her tongue to slip into your mouth, and you open for her eagerly, without protest.

There are too many clothes, too much fabric, and it's starting to be a problem. Jinx seems to be thinking the same thing because she breaks the kiss to pull her shirt off, then tosses it aside to the pile of clothes that scattered at the bottom of the bed.

Your hand slips behind her, finding the clasp of her bra, then undo it, slipping the strap over her shoulders, her arms, before it drops to the floor. Running your lips over her collarbones, Jinx tips her head back, exposing more of her pale skin. You bite and kiss your way across her chest, stopping to pay attention to her pink nipples.

Jinx shudders as you lick her, flicking the bud with your tongue, fingers pulling your hair a little too hard, and you lift your head from her chest, grumbling softly. 

You bite her nipple in response, which causes her to gasp. “Oh fuck—” her voice softens and she giggles “—that feels good.”

Jinx grabs your face, pulling you away from her chest for another kiss. You taste your own blood as she captures your bottom lip with her teeth. You pull away, licking the tiny amount of blood from your lip, then wrap your arm around her hips and flip the both of you, pinning her to the mattress.

She just chuckles and spreads her legs wider, letting you kneel between them. You kiss her neck, pausing to suck on the soft skin of the junction between her neck and shoulder, hands moving down to her pants, pushing them off her hips. Jinx lifts them up to make it easier for you to strip her bare. Once it's off, you toss it to the floor. 

“So fucking perfect,” you say when you get a good look at her. “So wet, just for me, Jinx—”

Jinx shivers and her breath stutter, teeth sinking into her lip as you brush your fingers over her panties, feeling the dampness soak through her underwear. 

“Hurry— ah— get the condom and get it now,” she says impatiently, hooking her thumbs over the waistband of her panties and pulling them down her thighs, kicking them off.

You climb off the bed, dig through the drawer, then pull out a condom. Tearing the package open, you turn around and find Jinx has flipped over, stomach pressed against the sheets, looking back at you over her shoulder with her ass sticking up in the air.

Damn. 

You have to grab the base of your dick to keep yourself from losing it just from the sight of her. The condom hangs in your hand, and you're so distracted you almost don't hear the way she says, “If you don't be in me in ten seconds, I'll take matters into my own hands.”

That is what snaps you back. No way you're letting her use her fingers, especially when you already have your cock throbbing and leaking because of her.

“Yeah, I'm— I'm working on it, hold on, you impatient—” You stumble and climb back onto the bed, kneeling behind her. Hands a little clumsy as you roll on the condom. It's hard to think when your eyesight gets a little blurry from how horny you are.

“Just— fuck, come on—” Jinx pushes her hips back, and you run your hand over her ass, using your other hand to line yourself up, rubbing the head of your cock against her slit. “Just put it— ah fucking finally—” she gasps out as you push yourself in, bracing your hand on the mattress by her hip.

She's so wet that it's easy to slide your cock in. Her words are all you can hear as you push down a little onto the bed, kneeling down to kiss her shoulder blades. “You're perfect, so good, so perfect, your body, your voice, the way you look—”

“The way I feel?”

A grin curves your mouth into a sharp smile. “Especially the way you feel.” The words are pressed against the arch of her spine, tracing kisses down her back. 

Jinx giggles, which melts to a faint whimper when you snap your hips into her. She reaches back, grabbing your hip and digging into your skin. “Come on, you've done this before, shouldn't you be a bit more— ahh— a little better at it, you shithead.”

You huff out a small laugh. She's already impatient, always is, and you just got inside her. “It's just— it hasn't been that long.” Just a week, to be exact. But still. 

“Then you gotta make up for lost time,” Jinx replies breathily, wiggling her ass to urge you on. “Make it count.”

“Yeah,” you drawl, pulling out your aching, dripping cock until just the tip rests around the edge of her cunt before slamming your whole length back into her glistening hole, making her body jerk forward “I'll make it count.” 

You do it again and again, pulling out and driving yourself back into her, each motion more rigorous. Both hands move to hold her down by her shoulders, pushing her torso against the sheets as you fuck her deeper, burying yourself balls deep inside her.

“That's— that's what I thought— oh, fuck!” Jinx chokes out, eyes fluttering with every thrust. 

Her face is squished into the pillow, the fabric already messed up and damp from her drooling mouth, while her hands grip the sheets, fingers twisting in the cloth. 

She manages to reach out and grip the headboard. “Fuck— I missed your cock, missed you—”

Her voice sounds like she's high. High off your body. High off your cock. You wish like hell you got a record of her pretty mouth saying stuff like that. “Say it again. Tell me how much you missed this. How much you missed me.”

Jinx has the nerve to laugh, or tries to, but it quickly turns into a guttural groan, throat getting rough halfway through. “So, so much,” she says, hips rolling. “I missed you so fucking much. So many nights, alone, wishing you were here, touching me, filling me up— ah, like this.”

You take your hand off her shoulders, grip replaced by your arm wrapped around her chest to keep her balance, pulling her up onto her knees and pushing her against the headboard as you pound into her at such a rough and brutal pace. 

“I missed you too.” you breathe next to her ear, lips tracing the shell. “I'm so fucking stupid for ignoring you.” 

You kiss her shoulder, as if in apology, then slam your hips against hers with enough force to nearly send her head forward and colliding into the wall.

Jinx moans with her mouth hanging open, like she can barely breathe, as she braces herself against the headboard. Fingers digging into the wood so hard, it leaves scratches. She pushes back into you, meeting every single one of your thrusts with her own, forcing herself to take your cock as deep as she can. “Oh, fuck— you're so big— gonna make— fuck, I can't, I can't hold it—”

The heat builds up in your body, something hot and tight in your groin, and you can feel your body start trembling, starting from your toes. “Yeah, me too, baby— come with me, Jinx—”

Jinx leans her head backwards, back against your shoulder, head tilted just enough that your face is nuzzled into her cheek while your cock stretches her open. “T-touch me, please— I need you to touch me.”

You keep your pace, relentless and rough. Your hand leaves her waist, palm cupping her breasts, thumb rubbing over her nipple. The other hand goes down, fingers slipping in between her thighs, finding her clit and rubbing it in tight, small circles, in sync with the rocking of your hips, coaxing her to the edge.

Jinx turns her head, lips barely touching. “Ah, gonna— I'm gonna— oh—” her voice trembles, and she clenches around you before she comes, body arching back and trembling in your grip. Her juices spray all over the sheets, dripping down her thighs. 

You aren't far behind, groaning into her ear as your hips lose rhythm and spilling your load into the condom.

Sighing, Jinx falls forward on the sheets, and you drop your head, resting on her shoulder for a second as both of you try to get air back into your lungs and to bring your heart rate back down. Then Jinx smacks your hip lightly, so gently you pull out, collapsing onto the side with a groan, one arm wrapped around her waist.

You brush some of her hair out of her face, tucking some behind her ear before you lean closer, gently kissing her shoulder. “You okay?” 

Jinx doesn't answer. 

You push yourself up on one elbow, leaning the side of your head on your palm. “Water?” you try again, and this time there is a grunt to let you know that she heard you at least.

Jinx lifts her head and twists a bit to peer at you with one eye. “Yeah. Water sounds good, yeah. Bring me a towel as well, please, I don't want to move, my legs feel like jelly.”

You smile before kissing her shoulder once more, then slip out of bed, tossing the used condom into the garbage on your way to grab what she wants.Once you come back with a glass of water and a washcloth, Jinx has managed to pull herself a bit higher on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. 

You pass her the water first, watching as Jinx greedily gulps it down before she sets it on the nightstand. “Thanks.”

Then you sit down on the edge of the bed and use the washcloth to clean off the rest of her mess.  As you do, your mind drifts to the part you hate. Your feelings for her.

There are a lot of things Jinx could be, but to her core, she is a person obsessed with excitement and thrill. A thrill-seeker. A hedonist. She got bored easily. With her short attention span, it was a matter of time before she found something more interesting than you.

“Hey.” Her voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to see her staring at you with a slight frown on her lips “Why are you looking so serious all of a sudden?”

Fuck. 

You force a smile on your face and finish cleaning her up. “Mmmm, no real reason. Just thinking.” When you're done, you crumple up the cloth and toss it on the floor.

Jinx reads through your bullshit instantly, head tilting to the side, eyebrow arching in an oddly innocent, yet knowing gesture, and says “You're bullshitting me.” Then pats the open space on the bed next to her, beckoning you. “Come here.”

You almost roll your eyes affectionately and shift to sit back against the headboard next to her. Jinx scoots closer, resting her head on your shoulder, then drapes her leg over yours.

Jinx presses a kiss on your throat, then smiles when she brushes her nose against the underside of your jaw. “Stop thinking so much,” she says, voice soft in a way that she doesn't usually use. “You know I'm yours, right?”

“I know, but...” Just not the way you want her to be.

She pulls back to look at you, squinting her eyes. “But...?”

“I mean, not in a 'official way',” you say, then press a kiss on her forehead, trying to put up a nonchalant front. “Just a fun, you and me thing, no strings attached, right?” You try to play it off like a joke, as if the mere suggestion of being more than this makes you gag.

Jinx rolls her eyes and pulls out of your grip. “Wow, wow, 'just fun, no strings attached'? You're a dick, you know that?”

Inwardly, you berate yourself for that response, because she's right, that was kind of a dick thing of you to say, but you're so desperate not to have this slip away from you.

You grab her wrist, pulling her back to your side. “I'm just—” you flounder for a moment, “I'm just— I'm worried that you're gonna get tired of this eventually. You get bored of things way too easily—”

Jinx sighs and her face falls, and she looks more exhausted than anything. “And… you think I'm gonna get bored of you somehow?” The last part is spoken with a note of disbelief, then she shakes her head, as if she's trying to brush off some thoughts. “Damn it, dude— you're a complete idiot, you know that? I like you. Like…” she makes a vague, helpless gesture “I actually like your stupid ass and I don't know how to convince you of that.”

Something clenches in your chest, and you're not sure if it's your heart or your stomach, or maybe both, when you look at her. You've spent so long believing that this whole thing is temporary, only something casual, that the thought that you could be more to her never even crossed your mind.

“You—” You swallow, throat suddenly dry. “You like me as a friend... or...?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes again, and it helps the sudden rise of hope in your chest because it's a familiar gesture that you've always known. “Or?” Jinx deadpans. “How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time? Do I have to spell it out for you? Do I really have to say I like you, you thick-head, I'm not just messing around with you to pass the time—”

“No, I get it—” 

Jinx grabs your face in her hands, forcing you to look into her eyes. “I like you, dickhead. I want to be with you. Got it? Do I need to get that through that thick skull of yours? That is not that big of a concept to comprehend, is it? I care. About. You. I don't care if it's casual or official or whatever, I just want you, dumbass.”

You blink and then blink again because holyshitholyshitHOLYSHIT. It's just so insane how quickly everything you thought you'd figured out gets turned on its head, and all you're left with is trying to figure out how you were so dumb, so blind, so stupid-

Jinx is looking at you like that, all fierce and determined and beautiful, and that's when you remember that you should probably say something.

You're not the best with words, but you're so desperate to get everything straight to not lose her, so you grab her hips and pull her into your lap, wrapping your arms around her bare waist, and press your face into the crook of her shoulder.

Jinx huffs out a soft laugh, then wraps her legs around your waist, arms around your neck. “I like you, idiot. Not just as a friend. And if you ever say 'casual' and 'no strings attached' to me again, I'm strangling you with my bare hands—” she pauses when she feels something underneath “—why'd you get a boner all of a sudden, you dipshit?”

“That, uh—” You're a smart person, smart enough to know that your body's basic biological needs have… a very short and simple function, but it's still kind of embarrassing to have your body out of you like this. “Sorry, I couldn't help it, so just ignore it, please—”

“Are you serious? we're having a heartfelt conversation here and you get a boner like a fucking teenager? Like I said, idiot.” her fingers run over your collarbone, nails dragging lightly over bare skin. “And you're telling me to ignore it, as if it's not poking at me right now.”

“I can't help it if my dick has the shittiest timing, alright? It's not like I can just shut it down like a switch— mhmm fuck—” 

Jinx grinds her hips down in your lap. The wetness between her legs rubs against your length.

You swear to whatever god there may be, there is, because it takes everything you have not to make some kind of pathetic whimpering sound at the friction against your still-hard cock.

“Jinx, baby, you have to stop. I-I can't focus if you do that. I can't think straight if you're—”

“So don't think then, idiot. You're just thinking too much with that brain of yours again.” Jinx wraps her hand around your cock, then you almost choke when she moves, shifting until it's pressed firmly against her slit. “Just shut up for once, and just think with your dick.”

“You're— you're not even tired?”

“Not yet.” Jinx grins and gives your cock a little squeeze. “I can be good for more than one round, thought you already knew that.”

Holy shit…how long was she expecting you to last if you already know she's planning to wring you out like a goddamn towel? One of these days, your dick's going to have an actual heart attack from all the abuse it's been getting from her over the years, and you're never going to get it back up again.

You swallow at the thought, and she laughs under her breath at whatever face you must be making. “I did know that, but you were complaining about your legs feeling like jelly, so I just assumed you'd—”

“Shut up, I can do this,” Jinx says, and suddenly lifts herself up on her knees, using your shoulders for balance. “Shut up, okay? I need to make my point, get it through to you, that I like you. How I want to be with you. Not just a casual thing—”

“Wait, let me get the—”

“No. Let's just do it.”

…

“…without it?”

“Without it… if that's okay."

You don't think you've ever nodded that fast in your life. All you want is to prove to her over and over that you like her back, no strings attached or not.

“Good.” Jinx presses a kiss right on your cheek. “Now that we know that you're not just a dumbfuck with a pretty face,” she purrs, “how about you live up to the hype and pound me into the mattress until I can't walk, hmm?”

Her words go straight to your aching, throbbing cock, and that's when you realize that she is going to drive you to an early grave. “I think— I think I can manage that. But… um—” You lick your lips, eyes darting down to stare at her chest. “Turn around, please.”

Jinx smiles and pecks your lips in a quick kiss, then spins around, facing away from you. So fucking hot. She knows it too, throwing you a smug smile over her shoulder. Hands resting on your legs to support herself. 

Jinx raises herself up, takes your cock in her hand again, and runs the head of it through her slick folds before she lowers herself, sinking all the way down until you fill her up.

You throw your back against the headboard, head resting against the hard wood with a thunk. “Oh, fuck, Jinx—”

The condom's been a barrier for so long, you can't believe you're getting to feel her like this. Your bare cock buried deep inside her pussy is the best thing you've ever felt. Now it makes sense why she wanted to do it this way.

“Thought you said you wanted to make me live up to that dick, and now you're trying to make me lose it immediately?”

She has the audacity to giggle, followed by a soft sigh of pleasure, as she begins rocking her hips back and forth, squeezing tight around your cock. Your hands move up to grip the sharp edge of her hip bones while your eyes roam over her body. She keeps taking your length, adjusting to your size until she finally gets the hang of her rhythm. 

Jinx leans forward, back bent, ass pushed out, like she's making sure you can get a damn good view of how well she's taking you, your dick stretching her pussy out, all red and swollen, wet and shiny with her juice.

She looks back at you, eyes heavy-lidded, lips pressed to a wicked smile. “So... is this a good argument so far?”

You can only let out a groan. You have to admit, she's got a really, really strong argument, and you're going to let her rub it in.

“I'm taking that as a 'yes.'” Jinx chuckles, breathless from the cock spearing her open. “You seem to understand things better when you have concrete evidence right in front of you, hm? Maybe if I do it every day, things will finally stick in that thick skull of yours.”

You nod dumbly, too focused on the way her ass jiggles whenever it hits your pelvis. “Uh-huh. Y-you make a really good point. I need a lot of, uh, visual aids to get it into my thick skull. And practice. Lots of, um, practice. Maybe, uh, once a day or twice or— or god, maybe even three times if we really tried.”

The laugh you get out of her is worth your shitty attempt at dirty talk, and her mouth spreads into a cocky grin. “Maybe? 'Maybe'? Baby, I think we could do three times a day minimum and that's not even factoring all the other fun things I can do.”

You shiver at the images her words put in your head. “Y-yeah. We're... really gonna need to work on my stamina, too. And, like... my willpower. And... patience, yeah. God, your pussy is really gonna test all of those, isn't it—”

Jinx laughs again, which turns into a sharp gasp. She likes that. You get the impression that maybe you're learning how to say the right things. 

She starts to move faster, thighs burning as she keeps grinding and bouncing on your cock, riding you for all she's worth, nails sinking into your legs.

You bring both of your hands down to her ass, giving it a pat, which turns into a squeeze, then you pull her cheeks apart, spreading her wide. The pad of your thumb circles around her rim, watching how it twitch.

“You like that?” and when you press your thumb closer to her rim, like you're thinking of trying to push into that tight little hole, Jinx clenches, clamping down so hard, you can't help but groan.

“Like it? I'd be offended if you haven't noticed that I love it by now.” She clenches again to make her point. “Are you— are going to play with me like that all night, or are you going to do something more with that— ah!” She gasps when your hand spanks down on her ass hard enough to leave a red handprint across her pale skin. 

“Sorry— does it h—”

“Harder,” Jinx demands, arching her back, and you're not even really surprised when she says, “Spank me, you coward,” over her shoulder. 

Not missing a beat, you bring your hand down and smack her ass again and again and again, leaving an even redder mark. With each smack, her walls constrict, inner muscles clenching around your dick. The sound of your hand against her ass is the only thing you can hear, bouncing off the walls. 

Jinx's arms falter, dropping to her forearms as she fucks herself on your cock, one hand gripping the edge of the bed, bouncing faster and faster that you can hardly follow, as if she's going to crush you against the mattress underneath her. Your eyes dart down, seeing the other hand between her legs, and she rubs at her clit furiously, chasing that high.

“Ah, fuck— I think I'm gonna—” then, suddenly, she goes tense, her breathing hitches, and for a horrifying second you think you're in trouble, but then—Jinx cries out, and you realize she's coming, body shuddering and legs shaking. 

Grabbing both of her hips, you lift her up and meet her with the snap of your own, fucking the orgasm out of her. After her high, you pull out, and Jinx is left overstimulated and trembling.

You sit up, then wrap an arm around her middle, pulling her flushed back against your chest, hands caressing over her ribcage. 

Jinx huffs but goes still, and you kiss the side of her neck, lips traveling up to her jaw, finally landing on her ear. 

“Are you okay?”

She nods vaguely, catching her breath, then, a breathy laugh escapes her. “You didn't finish.”

“Yeah, can you help me?” you ask. “Please?”

“Mmmm.” Jinx's response sounds more like a purr, and she leans back in your grip, head tilting to the side, exposing more of her throat to your mouth, which presses more kisses to her skin. At your words, she says, “So polite,” the words are half-teasing and half-grateful. 

Her hand drifts down between her legs, grabbing the base of your shaft, her palm already a bit slick. “How—” she pauses to rub over your sensitive head with her fingers, sliding up and down the length, smearing the mess of her juices on your skin. “How do you want it, baby?”

You bite her earlobe at the pet name, fingers drifting from her hip, tracing over her skin, all the way down to her inner thigh. “...I wanna see you. Want to look at you.”

Jinx smiles before pressing one final kiss on your cheek. “Okay” She wriggles out of your grip, then rolls to the side, flopping onto the bed, bracing one hand on the headboard, the other on the mattress. She spreads her legs, giving you a view of her glistening slit, beckoning you to crawl over her.

You settle yourself between her legs, taking one of the pillows and shoving it under her ass. One of your hands grabs the back of her knee, pushing them forward until it's up, while the other strokes your cock, running the tip through her folds to gather some of her juices. 

Jinx bites down on her own lip as she shifts her hips, trying to get you to finally push into her. “Would you stop playing with yourself and put it in already? I'm literally right here. I have a perfectly good pussy that's wasted.”

Her words are as filthy as your thoughts, which, if possible, gets you even harder. Leaning forward, you take your hand off your dick and rest it on the pillow next to her head, using it as leverage while slowly pushing your hips forward, sinking back into her pussy. Her velvety walls clench around your girth as you drive deep into her from tip to hilt.

“You all right? Does this— Is it good?” you ask when you're all the way in.

“I think— I think you know the answer by now, baby.” Jinx lifts her hands to grab at your shoulders and locks her ankles behind your back, trying to pull you down. You let her, settling onto your elbows before you press a kiss on her shoulder.

Every sound that escapes her mouth—the ragged breathing, the gasps and sighs, the way Jinx moans your name—makes you go faster, deeper, and with every hard thrust, her breath turns hotter, heavier. You lean back just to watch the rhythmic bouncing of Jinx's breasts as you repeatedly drill yourself deeper inside her.

Goosebumps erupt on her skin as Jinx adjusts to your pace. A slender hand slides from your shoulders to your waist; she grips the edge of your shirt and drags it up to your mouth, keeping it out of the way. 

Your eyes meet hers, then bite the fabric, holding it with your teeth. The muscles in her stomach jump and move with each snap of your hips as you keep hammering into her relentlessly. 

Jinx presses her hand against your stomach, your abdomen tightens at the touch. “Fuck, you look so—” she breathes, tongue licking her lips. “You're so hot—” Her gaze moves, drifting away from your face to watch herself take you in, cock disappearing inside of her again and again. “You're— hah— too damn big. I can't— aah— I could see you under my stomach when you're this deep. You fill me up so well.”

Your teeth let go of the shirt, letting it fall onto her breasts. Her comment makes you shiver, the praise of her words causing you to bury your face into her neck. 

With her legs still wrapped around you, you thrust forward, knees and elbows digging into the mattress to spread her thighs wide open while you fuck her deeper, making sure Jinx takes your entire length, your balls slapping against her skin.

You pound into her with such force that the bed begins to rock, banging against the wall. The sound of the headboard scraping into the wall should probably make you worry, but the way she clenches around you is worth whatever you'll have to pay in repair costs.

The hand on your stomach slides lower, then a finger dips into her slick. Jinx rubs her own swollen clit, and you hear her wince. Too sensitive. You push your body back up, bracing on one elbow, then swat her hand, replacing it with your own, circling her clit with your fingers.

A long whine escapes her, and she tosses her head to the side when you apply more pressure to her sensitive, needy little bud. “Mmphh— baby, j-just like that!” Jinx gasps out back arching, pushing her chest up to meet yours.

You clench your jaw, cock twitching and pulsing inside her as you feel the heat pooling deep and spreading from your groin, through your stomach, up to your chest, and to the tips of your ears. “Jinx, I don't think I can last much longer—”

Jinx pulls your head down by the back of your neck and bites the crook of your shoulder. “Inside me— I want it, want it all, want to feel you— come on, fill me up. Make me yours.”

Hearing how she needs you, how much she wants you in her, is like a snap. The fingers around her swollen clit start to move faster, circling, rubbing, trying to match the pace of your thrusts.

Jinx comes in a matter of seconds, body shaking and legs trembling, hissing from the overstimulation. You follow soon after, gripping the sheets as you come inside her, yet you keep going, shoving back every drop of your cum that tries to spill out of her.

It's not until Jinx lightly pushes you off your shoulder that you finally stop. You slump forward, face first into the pillow next to her, breathing heavily.

Jinx shifts under you, laughing softly, then presses a kiss against your temple and says, “…Did I make my point clear, dumbass?” The only response you can give is a tired grunt, which makes her laugh again.

After gathering enough energy to lift your body from hers, you slide your cock out, then look down at the cum dripping from her and down the sheets.

Jinx looks at you and waggles her eyebrows like it's a game. She then reaches down to scoop the cum that's leaking from her, bringing those same fingers up to her lips. She sticks her fingers into her mouth and sucks them clean, moaning around them while keeping eye contact with you, as if the taste of your cum mixed with hers is her new favorite thing.

“Gross,” you manage to say, but it's more reflex than anything. There's no disgust, because the sight of her enjoying the way you taste on her tongue does something to you, which is how Jinx ends up laughing again and pinching your cheek. You huff and collapse onto the space next to her.

Jinx gets up and crawls over you, straddling your hips. You let out a sigh at her weight. “Come on...” she coos. “I still have a lot more visual aids to show you.” She leans back, hands bracing on your thighs, and the smile on her face makes you roll your eyes to the heavens.

“You're—” You swallow, blinking a few times. “You're... a really, really persuasive person. I don't think I have any more cum left in me...”

“Mmm, really now?” Jinx asks, and the sly glance she gives your dick tells you it wasn't a genuine question more than a challenge. “I think you've got plenty for me to play with.”

“Uh...” You glance down at your cock, eyes widening to see that it's hardening again despite just having come. “You're a bad influence on this body part, did you know that?”

“No, I didn't,” she drawls, eyes darkening as she watches your shaft harden in front of her. “But I'm definitely going to make a note of that.” The tip of her finger brushes up the length of your growing cock. “Looks like I'm doing a good job convincing that last bit of your brain that it can't live without me. I should work harder on the rest.”

“You're just— God. If I die from exhaustion tomorrow, you're paying for my burial.”

jinx:

[nogutsnogloria]

summary: the pressure to get pregnant is getting to you. jack slows it all down.

jack abbot x reader

a/n: winner of the poll from the other day. i am not too sure i love this but if i stare at it one more day the whole thing is getting deleted.

warnings: bad writing. struggling to conceive. talks of infertility. happy ending.

this is the period from hell. it’s the worst one you’ve had in a while, only adding fuel to the fire that you weren’t pregnant. another month of failure, another month having to tell jack your body can’t produce what the two of you have been hoping for.

the cramps, migraine, nausea, and slightly elevated body temperature are all punishment this month. you were curled in the bathroom on the floor but now have found your way out to the couch. jack is working night shift so you won’t see him until the morning where you can break the news. so you just curl up on the couch not even bothering for the comfort of bed and cry until you exhaust yourself out enough to fall asleep.

jack comes home at his usual time after shift. he notices the house is still dark which isn’t totally uncommon, you sleep past seven on occasion. so he unlocks the door and quietly enters the house, dropping his bag by the door and hanging his jacket up on the hook next to yours.

he is surprised by your sleeping figure on the couch in the living room as that is not where you should be sleeping. upon a quick inspection he can see that you have been there all night. he also notices your almost fetal position which is a tell tale sign to him that you are dealing with cramps, he would know more of the severity once he went and checked in the bathroom for which pain killer was used this time.

his heart breaks for you, he knows you have been taking each month harder than the last when it comes to not conceiving. his physician brain lets him see this more clinically. you have only been trying for six months which really isn’t long in the scheme of things especially considering how irregular your cycle was, he’s a bit older which might have a factor, but the two of you were just checked over and neither of you had anything to worry about while trying to conceive, the timing just hasn’t been quite right on both of your parts.

you just see it as your body not doing something it was made to do, and you don’t like to do things if you are not good at them, you would even call yourself a failure over a thing like this which jack hated. he wanted to give you a three hour lecture until you understand how this doesn’t make you a failure that this is an experiment where you two haven’t quite gotten the formula and science down perfect yet. he has half a mind to find every ovulation and pregnancy test that has been taunting you and hide them all where you won’t find them for a while. he still might do that when he wakes up in the afternoon because he knows that this pressure that you have put on yourself is not constructive and it’s just breaking you piece by piece, which is breaking him to stand by and helplessly watch.

he decides he will make himself a quick bite to eat before taking you to bed and sleeping whatever is going on off together. he’s busy plating his eggs when he feels you press the side of your face into his back wrapping your arms around his middle. he feels a small smile creep on his face at being wrapped around, he reaches behind him so that he can pull you into his side and kisses the side of your head. “good morning, love. do you want breakfast? i can share.” he feels you shake your head. “no thank you, i’m not hungry.” jack nods. “how are you feeling?” he rubs your back and looks down at you.

he can feel you frown into his side. “i got my period” jack knows that answer and the tone of your voice means the period is bad, the mental health is also bad. “how about we go back to bed and we talk about it when we wake up?” he feels you wrap your arms around him tighter. “i just woke up.” he moves his hand up and down your side again. “i know but i think we should go back to sleep for a bit, you couldn’t have had that great of a sleep on the couch, and i am going to be selfish and say i sleep better beside you anyways.” you look up and give him a little smile, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes which kills him a little but he knows you just need a bit of time.

he drags you into the bedroom and tucks you in with a kiss on the forehead. peeling away so that he can clean up after his shift. he sees on the bathroom counter is the prescription grade painkiller for the cramps and migraine that you probably won’t tell him you have. he quickly showers off his day and grabs a dose along with a glass of water for you and heads back to the bedroom.

you are back curled on your side with your back towards him so he comes over to your side with the water and meds. “ideally you’d eat something with this, i am not going to force food down your throat if you’re not feeling well which i can only assume what is happening here, but can i interest you in anything? one of those granola bars you pack in your lunch, the fruit snacks even?” you look at the medication in his hand and then up to his eyes. “can i please have a banana?” he smiles at you. “even better. i will be right back.” he comes back with a banana sliced with half the slices covered in peanut butter and hands you the plate. “thank you, i really don’t deserve you.” you sigh as you take a bite. jack tilts his head with a frown, because you deserve anything you want but he’s trying to find the right way to say it because he knows all you want right now isn’t as easy as a snack. you can’t ask be pregnant and it magically just show up on a plate.

jack grabs the ankle that you have poking out of the covers and gives it a squeeze. “i’m here for you. you know that right? you don’t need to be fighting this alone. the last thing i want is for you to be beating yourself up about this, we have both been checked and there is nothing medically stopping this from happening we just need to stop putting so much pressure on it. i think we should hide the tests under the sink for a couple of months and take a trip for the next ovulation period? maybe somewhere warm, just get away.”

you nod at him with tears in your eyes. “i think you’re right, i just don’t know how to not put pressure on it. the problem is that i want it more than anything, i don’t know if i can take the disappointment again.” jack crawls into bed so he can hold you close. he lays on his back and pulls you onto his chest so he can rub your back and massage your scalp, any form of comfort he can think to do. “you should probably hide the tests. if i know where they are I’m not so sure i will be able to ignore them.” he places a kiss to the top of your head. “i can do that, i will do it after we wake up.” he finally feels you relax in his arms. “i love you jack. thank you for being everything and more that i need.” you feel him drop another kiss to the side of your head. “i love you too. if you were all i get to have in this life i would die the happiest man over and over.”

when the two of you wake up in the afternoon jack goes and hides the tests you have stashed under the sink and places them up in a high cupboard that you never go into because you can’t reach. he pulls out his laptop and the two of you book a little trip to tulum for right when your next ovulation phase should technically be. when the time comes you are too busy counting all the freckles the sun has brought out on his body to even pay attention to what day it was in your cycle.

eight weeks after that you ask him to find one of the tests he hid only because you felt a little off, jack is pretty sure he knew 3 weeks ago but was waiting for you to clue in. you guess the saying “it happens when you aren’t trying” is true.

[33lol]

Experiment - Part 2

Pazzi (paige x azzi)

SMUT

warnings: some plot at the beginning, fluff, complete filth after, spitting, choking, biting, oral/strap sucking, slapping (tits, ass, pussy), strap usage, degradation, sex toys, squirting, being tied down and blindfolded, use of whip, handcuffs and restraints

MDNI

wc: 4.6k

Paige and Azzi woke up the next morning tangled in the sheets of Paige’s bed. Azzi’s face was tucked into Paige’s neck with her lips pressed against it. Paige had her hand across Azzi’s stomach, cradling her like she would somehow disappear.

The morning light began to peek through the blinds, stirring Azzi first, “Mmm so bright.” She scooted even further into Paige. Paige squeezed her hip tighter but couldn’t fall back into a peaceful sleep. She shifted slightly, grabbing her phone from the night stand, not moving too far from the girl next to her.

It was around 9:30 on Saturday, meaning they had nowhere to be. Practice was canceled, they didn’t have classes, and their teammates texted early in the group chat that some of them would be visiting home for the weekend.

Leaving Azzi and Paige having the whole dorm to themselves—just how they liked it. Paige took her hand and cradled Azzi’s face, running slow circles with her thumb across her cheek. “Baby wake up.”

Hearing “baby” coming from Paige’s mouth after the night they just had together immediately brought a crooked smile to Azzi’s face. “I like that word.”

Paige let out a soft giggle, “You are my baby. Especially now. Which is also what I wanna talk to you about.”

Azzi looked up at this curiously. “What baby?”

“I wanna take you out. I know we did things kind of out of order, which I don’t regret at all, but I still wanna make sure I do the rest right. So, I wanna take you out for real.”

Azzi looked at her, brown doe eyes meeting ocean blue ones—full of admiration and love. “Ok,” she said blushing. “That sounds nice.”

Paige smiled back at her. “I wanna do it as a day date today so we can have the evening to ourselves,” she said, smirking with a raised eyebrow.

Azzi blushed and hid her face with her hand. “Paige!”

“What!?” Paige said with a bright toothy grin feigning innocence. “I want today to be special. I’m going to make it special. Because you are special and you deserve it.”

“I love you P,” Azzi said softly looking up at her.

“And I love you.”

—————

When it hit around noon, Paige told Azzi to start getting ready. Paige picked their outfits, wanting them to coordinate. Azzi wore a light blue tank top with baggy black jeans—riding low on her waist showing off her belly button piercing that Paige was obsessed with—along with clean air forces. Paige wore a white cropped tank top with a black denim jacket over it and jorts. They also happened to be wearing each other’s favorite hairstyles—Paige with her slick back bun and Azzi having her goddess braids done.

Once they were ready, they walked to the car where Paige opened the door for Azzi. They got in the car and didn’t say much for a while, just marinating in each other’s company and vibing to some R&B. At some point into the drive, Azzi grew curious of what Paige had planned.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked looking over at Paige.

Paige answered, knowing Azzi didn’t like surprises because they made her anxious, “It’s a new restaurant about 20 minutes away. It’s supposed to be a nice outdoor spot with a pretty lookout view.”

Azzi smiled at Paige’s thoughtfulness of planning a fun date for them. She reached over for Paige’s hand and placed it on her thigh, resting hers on top. Paige kept her eyes on the road, but couldn’t hide the smile that bloomed on her face.

They got to the restaurant and were seated quickly, Paige having requested a table outside. It was nice enough outside that the sun was out but not beating down, and there was a breeze. At one point Paige saw Azzi shiver and gave her her jacket. Azzi didn’t protest, just smiled shyly and dipped her head.

Paige ordered for both of them—Azzi being extremely indecisive, Paige had done this for a while now. Azzi had a lemon chicken salad and Paige had chicken tenders with fries.

“You’re such a child,” Azzi laughed at her.

“I will change for no one,” Paige shot back with her lip quirked.

“Don’t. I love you as you are.”

Paige blushed and gave Azzi the smile that made her cheekbones pop. She got up from her seat and led Azzi to the lookout spot. They stood there looking at the view for a minute, but Paige was looking at Azzi more than she was the hills. She turned Azzi toward her and held her hips.

“I wanna ask you something ma”

Azzi looked slightly up at her, “Anything baby.”

Paige smirked, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Azzi’s face lit up and she jumped on Paige. Paige was taken aback but spun them around a few times and set her back down. “So is that a yes?”

“Yes Bighead!” Azzi beamed.

Later, when they were done and in the car again, Paige started driving in the opposite direction of their dorm.

“Are we going somewhere else?” Azzi asked her while looking out the window.

Paige smirked and turned her head toward Azzi, “I have one more stop on the list before we head back.”

They pulled up a couple minutes later to a building that was vaguely advertised and neutral in color called “Love Loud.” A sex shop.

“Where are we?” Azzi asked as Paige held the car door open for her.

Paige didn’t say anything and just guided her inside while holding the door.

When they walked in, Azzi's face lit up in shock. She turned to Paige who was just smiling and licking her lips. A worker greeted them and told them if they needed anything to ask her.

Paige leaned in Azzi’s ear, “Thought we could get some tools to help us out,” she said winking.

“Oh my god,” Azzi said giggling. Azzi pulled Paige’s hand and led them to a wall with different strap options. Paige pointed at a few different ones, but they ended up landing on one that had two different dildo inserts—one smaller and one larger, both being purple of course. It also had the option of an insert or vibrator for the person wearing it.

Azzi started looking around subtly. Paige noticed, “You wanna keep lookin around mama?”

Azzi just nodded while blushing.

“Ok, c’mon. If you see something, just point it out. I’m open to anything. And I mean that.”

Azzi held Paige’s hand, “Okay P. Same here.”

They made their way to a section toward the back of the store. They stood there frozen in place for a second just staring. Then Azzi looked at Paige with those eyes—ones she could never say no to.

“Pick what you want baby. I’m good with anything.”

They were in front of several whips, chains, and BDSM items. Azzi looked over the wall, thinking about what Paige mentioned the night before. She grabbed a small whip with cut leather strips coming off of it, as well as an adjustable bar to spread legs at different levels. She also picked out two pairs of handcuffs and a vibrator that went on the clit and inside. Paige saw a blindfold out of the corner of her eye that she got as well.

They checked out, eager to get back home. When they were in the car, they didn’t say much to fill the silence. They held hands and Paige kissed Azzi’s hand, holding her lips there for a beat. Azzi tilted her body and leaned slightly across the glove box. They let the gravity of the moment overtake the silence in the car and the trust between them simmer, thinking about what was to come that night.

When they arrived back at the dorm, they walked inside hand in hand. They set the stuff by the door for now and went to their room to change into comfier clothes. It was only the afternoon, so they put on a movie that neither of them were entirely watching.

Paige had Azzi in her lap, rubbing her thighs. She looked at Azzi, “Hey baby,” Azzi turned her head. “I just want to check in and see where your head is at.. y’know.. about later.”

Azzi smiled softly at her while stroking her hair, “I’m sure about it. All of it. I want you to enjoy yourself like you want me to. If there’s ever something you don’t like or feels uncomfortable, you tell me. No questions asked. You never owe me a reason for stopping either.”

Paige brushed her knuckles along her jaw, “And I want you to feel good with whatever we do. I want you to feel loved.. even if it’s not always slow and sensual. You have just as much say in this as I do.”

Azzi nodded and leaned forward to kiss Paige—intertwining their lips together, slow and deliberate. They took their time getting to know each other’s lips while rubbing along each other’s arms and legs. They didn’t watch any more of the movie. Just sat there on the couch, tasting each other.

At some point when the credits were rolling, Azzi’s stomach grumbled. Paige broke away from her and furrowed her brows at the curly haired girl, “You hungry mama?”

Azzi nodded, “Yeah kinda”

“Let’s DoorDash something then,” Paige said while pulling out her phone and handing it to Azzi. “You pick since I chose lunch.”

Azzi scrolled for what felt like eternity, but Paige never rushed her. Just watched the girl on her lap who she loved beyond words and hummed when Azzi wanted an opinion. Azzi had her eyebrows knitted in concentration and was biting one of her fingernails. She finally landed on Noodles and Company and Paige set the order. It was these intimate moments that they cherished the most.

The food arrived a bit later and the two ate like they were starved for three months. They didn’t say much, just talked about practice next week and their upcoming finals.

After they finished up they went to the kitchen and threw away their trash.

“Should we clean them first?” Paige asked, referring to their new purchases.

“Definitely.”

They cleaned them together in the sink, making sure they were ready to be used. Azzi leaned up and gave Paige a peck on the cheek. Paige bumped Azzi with her hip in retaliation.

Once they were done, they took the items to their room. When they walked in, the energy shifted to something heavier It was thick with anticipation—both of nerves and excitement. Paige pulled Azzi in by the waist and looked over her face before connecting their lips. They pulled apart and Paige locked eyes with Azzi’s brown ones,

“Safe word is red. No explanation needed. Just comfort and safety after.”

Azzi nodded with a softness in her eyes, appreciating every thought that ran through Paige’s head—coming from nowhere but a place of genuine love.

She let her hands roam lower until they got to Azzi’s ass. She squeezed hard, eliciting a soft whimper against her mouth. Paige dipped down and wrapped her hands around Azzi’s thighs, picking her up without her even having to jump. Paige was kissing her neck and ear simultaneously, which turned Azzi on fast. Paige walked them over to the bed and laid Azzi down. Paige got close to her ear, “How you want it mama?”

Azzi was somewhat breathless, “I want it rough. Just..still go slow at first please.”

Paige nodded immediately and kissed her neck. “I got you baby. Just relax and feel, ok?”

Azzi sighed at her voice in that low tone and the sensation of her tongue tracing her ear. Paige took her hands and started pulling at Azzi’s nipples through her shirt. Azzi arched into Paige at this and let out a soft moan. Paige slowly lifted the shirt over Azzi’s head, inch by inch, revealing her further. Paige leaned down and gave kitten licks to one nipple while pinching at the other one. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming in the best way for her. Paige let her hands roam lower and grab the waist band of Azzi’s boxers, sliding them down Azzi’s glistening legs.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

Azzi watched Paige cross the room and rummage through the new toys. When she saw Paige grab the strap, her breath hitched. Paige stood at the foot of the bed and stripped herself of her own clothes, watching Azzi try not to squirm too much. Paige slipped on the harness and slid in one of the dildo choices, as well as the vibrator for herself. Being mindful that this was still each of their second times having sex and first with a strap, Paige picked the smaller one for now. While looking Azzi in the eye, Paige turned on the vibrator and started stroking the strap. She climbed on the bed and sat against the headboard.

“Come here,” Paige said while patting the spot in front of her.

Azzi got up and knelt in front of Paige on her knees. Paige reached forward and grabbed Azzi by the back of her neck, “Be a good girl for me and get daddy wet, yeah?”

Azzi didn’t have much time to nod before Paige was shoving her face down. Azzi closed her mouth around the strap, leaving it wet with her spit as she bobbed her head up and down.

“Such a slut. Getting daddy all wet like it’s your job” Paige groaned out.

As Azzi’s answer, she swirled her tongue around the tip and spit on it. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Paige slapped the dildo on it, along with her cheeks. Paige shoved her head back down while a whimper slipped from her lips, “Fuck baby.”

Azzi looked up at her while sucking it and Paige rolled her eyes while throwing her head back. The vibrator on her clit made seeing Azzi gag on the dildo feel real. Paige thrusted her hips up into Azzi’s mouth while pushing her head down at the same time—allowing her to take all 6 inches in her throat. Azzi gagged and Paige released her head, letting her ease up. When Azzi pulled off, a string of saliva came with her. Azzi flashed Paige a devilish smile when she looked up at her with dark eyes.

“Good girl,” Paige praised.

Paige sat up more and moved toward Azzi who was sitting back kneeling on her knees. She grabbed her head and kissed her aggressively.

“Too much?” Paige asked out of reassurance.

“Just enough,” Azzi said smiling.

Paige smirked and lowered her hands to Azzi’s neck, “Now you’re gonna take what daddy gives you from behind.”

Azzi’s breath caught and she could feel her slick dripping down her thighs. Paige shoved her down on her stomach and leaned over her back, “Ass up, face down,” she said in a rough voice.

Azzi obeyed, keeping her face in the sheets and arching up until Paige rewarded her with a harsh slap on the ass. “Mmph—” Azzi moaned out. That got her another slap to the other side—reminding Paige they bought a whip earlier. “Stay here baby.”

Paige grabbed the whip and got behind Azzi again. Paige started running the tip through Azzi’s folds, wetting every part of her cunt with her slick. When Paige went over Azzi’s clit, Azzi jolted forward. Paige smacked the whip against her ass and reached around her stomach, pulling her back up.

“Don’t run from daddy. You can take it. I got you.”

Azzi resumed her arch and Paige smacked the whip again. “Mmm this pussy so wet and this ass so big for me.”

“All for you daddy,” Azzi said in a breathy tone.

Paige then slid the tip into Azzi’s cunt, letting it sit there for a second—knowing Azzi had never felt this stretch before.

“Ahh—fuck—oh my god P”

Paige rubbed her hand over Azzi’s ass and then squeezed her hip, “I know baby, I got you. Want you to feel good on daddy’s dick.”

Azzi nodded, letting Paige know she was okay to keep going. Paige slid in further, slow, letting Azzi feel each inch and every vein on the dildo. Once she was in all the way, she paused for another second to let Azzi adjust. Azzi moved her hips back when she was ready and Paige hit her with the whip again.

“This pussy already so good for me”

Paige pulled out so just the tip was in and pushed in again, setting a slow but firm rhythm. Azzi was groaning into the sheets from the stretch. Paige watched where they met with her mouth hanging open. The vibrator still pressing enough on Paige’s clit to keep her on the edge. Paige smacked her ass and started to speed up her thrusts. The sound coming from between them was loud, filthy, and messy. The sound made Azzi wetter by the second and easier for Paige to slide in and out.

Paige kept up her pace while reaching around to Azzi’s throat and pulled her up slightly. She squeezed her throat and then turned Azzi’s face so she could press a sloppy, rushed kiss to her lips. She let go and moved her hand down Azzi’s side and then to her clit. Azzi let her face fall back into the sheets as Paige gave no mercy to the pressure and force she put on Azzi’s bud. She rubbed fast and hard circles while thrusting aggressively into Azzi from the back.

“C’mon mommy. You’re so beautiful like this. You like being my slut? I love this view—fuck”

These jumbled words slipping from Paige’s mouth had Azzi right on the cusp of climaxing and spilling all over Paige’s strap. Paige was overstimulated from her vibrator, but in the best way—seeing Azzi in this position did something to her, and had her so close to finishing.

“Daddy—I’m gon—fuck I’m gonna cum”

“Me too baby. Cum for me. Wanna feel all of you. Give it to me.”

It took one more hard thrust before Azzi gushed all over the strap and Paige came at the sight below her and also from the vibrations hitting her clit just right. Paige clicked off the vibrator quickly, but stayed still in Azzi for a little longer—not wanting to pull out too suddenly.

Azzi let out a long sigh.

“Am I good to pull out ma?”

Azzi barely nodded into the sheets and Paige slipped out slowly. Azzi gasped at the emptiness and let her body fall forward fully onto the bed. Paige took the harness off and set it a few feet away from them on the bed. She peppered kisses along the backside of Azzi—from the backs of her thighs, then on her butt, and finally trailing up her spine and onto her neck. She laid next to Azzi and rubbed her back, waiting for the younger girl to come back from her high.

“You good ma? Was I okay?” Paige asked out of curiosity for herself and wanting to make sure Azzi enjoyed it.

Azzi turned her head to her and smiled softly, “I’m so good baby. That was perfect. You were perfect.”

Paige brushed a braid out of her face and kissed her forehead. Azzi smiled and lifted up so she could straddle Paige. Paige rested her hands on Azzi’s hips and looked up at her curious as to what she planned on doing. Azzi pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and started rolling her hips while pinning Paige’s hands above her head. Azzi let her lip go and ran her tongue over it, then leaned by Paige’s ear, “Mine turn daddy.”

Paige sighed and tried to rut her hips up to gain some friction, but Azzi was quick to nip at Paige’s neck, signaling her to be still. Azzi trailed her warm breath over the spot and pecked it with her lips. She moved so their foreheads were almost touching and their eyes locked.

“What do you want P?” Azzi asked while still grinding down at a slow pace.

Paige was breathing heavily at this point and couldn’t get much out, “You. Hard—please”

Azzi smirked, liking how fucked out she had Paige right now and she’d barely even touched her. “Mmm.. I got a few ideas in mind then.”

Azzi climbed off of Paige and instinctively moved her hands back down to her sides, but that was not what Azzi wanted. “Uh uh—hands stay up. I’ll be right back.”

Azzi grabbed the pairs of handcuffs and the adjustable bar to spread her legs, as well as the blindfold. Azzi climbed back on the bed and laid the stuff by Paige. She leaned down by Paige’s ear and whispered, “So fucking good for mommy.”

Paige whimpered and licked her bottom lip. Azzi leaned back and grabbed the handcuffs. She took Paige’s left hand and cuffed it to the left side of the headboard, then did the same for the right side.

In a low but sincere voice, Azzi said, “You say the word and we stop.”

Paige nodded but knew she wouldn’t be using that safe word any time soon.

Azzi grabbed the adjustable bar and moved down to Paige’s ankles. She cuffed them in, and spread the bar as far as it could go. Azzi leaned back, taking in Paige spread out for her. Paige had never even really thought she would be one to give up control so easily, but with Azzi it was natural. Not even a question. She felt safe and appreciated—just like she tried to do for Azzi.

“Damn baby,” she crawled next to Paige and leaned by her ear again, “You’re about to get fucked up.”

Paige whined—like actually whined and then squeezed her eyes shut. Azzi moved one of her hands to Paige’s neck and squeezed just enough for Paige to let out another moan. Azzi reached for the blindfold and kissed Paige’s lips before slipping it over her eyes. Paige was completely exposed—bare to Azzi, and emotionally submissive. Azzi took the strap from next to Paige and got in the harness, changing out the vibrator for the insert on herself. It was still soaked with her cum from earlier—giving Azzi an idea. She straddled Paige’s chest, took two fingers and hooked them in Paige’s mouth. Paige opened wide with her tongue out. Azzi let a long string of spit drop from her mouth into Paige’s.

She swallowed then opened her mouth again. Azzi smiled, “You want more? So greedy.”

Paige was unaware of the strap being in her face—until Azzi let the weight of the tip hit Paige’s tongue. Paige moaned from the suddenness and the sweet taste of Azzi on it. She moved her tongue around it, licking it up. Then Azzi pressed it further in so Paige could start taking it. Azzi pushed in deep, making Paige choke—gurgling some spit on the corner of her mouth.

Azzi pulled back slightly, running her hand through Paige’s hair. “So good baby.”

Paige knew she was fucked. Azzi having all the power over her was either her greatest dream or her worst nightmare. (We all know which one it is) Azzi stayed straddled, but shifted lower, in between Paige’s legs. Paige knew what was to come and was so eager that she lifted her hips trying to get closer to Azzi. Obviously that didn’t work because of her legs being spread four feet wide and her hands being cuffed above her.

Azzi giggled at her out of pity, then slapped one of her tits as a punishment. “Use your words like a big girl.”

Paige just whined, getting another slap, harder on her other tit. She arched at the sensation, but still couldn’t get any words out. She pinched Paige’s nipples—making her let out a low, guttural sound. Azzi finally started running the tip through her folds, wetting her cunt with a mix of their arousals. Paige sucked in a breath when Azzi went over her clit—still being partially sensitive, but she also liked the overstimulation.

Before Azzi went any further, she reached down and slapped Paige’s pussy. The more she tried different things, the more she realized that Paige liked pain.

Azzi could practically see her cunt pulsing and ready for her. She lined the tip up with her cunt and pushed in—inch by inch, letting her adjust to the length and girth. Paige moaned high and breathy,

“Fuuuckk—mommy! So good”

Azzi was in all the way now and started moving slowly—in and out, watching herself meet Paige. Azzi could also feel everything, having an insert inside herself. Each thrust sent a new spark through her. It really was like she could feel herself inside Paige. Azzi leaned down, still moving, and started biting at Paige’s neck and jaw. She began to thrust a little faster and kissed right below her ear. Paige’s mouth was hung open—in awe of how good it felt to be split open so intensely.

Azzi hovered over Paige’s chest and spit on her tits, then pumped in and out of her pussy harder.

“Take it like a good slut. Can’t get enough of you,” Azzi growled.

Paige was a moaning mess. Hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, face flushed, nails digging into her palms, toes curled—yet enjoying every second of it. Azzi was already building up her climax again—making her pound Paige’s pussy at an unfathomable speed now. Azzi used her thumb to start circling Paige’s clit. She applied just enough pressure to have Paige arching her back far off the bed. Azzi doubled down at this, wanting to get off as well.

She continued her attack on Paige’s clit while using her other hand to squeeze Paige's throat—enough to hold her weight, but not enough to actually hurt her.

Paige was overwhelmed by the many stimulations. It only took a couple more thrusts before Azzi came all over the harness and felt a loud gush of liquid come from below her. She looked down, slowing her rhythm, “Holy fuck baby. That was hot as shit!”

Paige squirted all over the dildo and Azzi’s thighs. Paige couldn’t even be embarrassed because it felt so incredible—the blindfold also helped mask the flush of redness creeping on her face.

Azzi pulled out slow, and undid the harness. She threw it to the floor, not caring where it ended up, and kissed Paige’s stomach. She crawled up to Paige’s face and reached for the blindfold, peeling it off. Paige could barely open her eyes, but when she did, she saw Azzi beaming at her.

“You did so good P”

Paige gave the faintest smile, but enough to show Azzi she was immensely satisfied. Azzi got the keys to the handcuffs and unlocked them. Paige’s arms fell free and she immediately moved them to Azzi’s face, pulling her in for a kiss. It was a deep kiss, but not rushed. Filled with every word they weren’t able to say just yet.

Azzi pulled away barely, “Lemme undo your feet baby.” Paige hummed and let her eyes fall closed. Azzi moved down, undoing Paige’s ankles from the restraints and pushing that away too. Azzi rubbed up and down Paige’s thighs for a minute, then crawled up to lay by her. Azzi started to pull the covers over them, then realized she should probably clean themselves up. But before she could even get out of the bed, Paige pulled her back down.

“Later,” she said with a tired, raspy voice.

Azzi obliged and scooted right back where she belonged—curled into Paige’s side. She pulled the blankets over them and threw any other toys off the bed. She laid her head in the crook of Paige’s neck and whispered, “How was that baby?”

Paige didn’t move, but smiled with a stupid grin, “Fuckin perfect mommy.”

Azzi giggled and pinched Paige’s side playfully, then kissed her neck. The two fell asleep, sore and tired, but nevertheless connected by something deeper than just love.

[ruebossanova]

hi, can you do: 36, 19, 47; in which Billie buys a new strap (much bigger than the other one) and uses it on reader? Billie comforts and praises reader a lot while r adjusts to the new size thank you, love your works btw <3

take your time - billie eilish

gf!billie x gf!reader

36 — “that looks too big” 19 — “spread your legs” 47 — “just like that”

prompt list

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you’re lying on the bed, legs tangled in the sheets, half-dressed and already warm just from the way she’s looking at you.

billie’s standing near the dresser, pulling something from a small black bag.

you watch her. curious. a little suspicious.

“what’s that?” you ask.

she glances over her shoulder, grinning. “something new.”

you sit up on your elbows.

when she turns around, you see it. thick. black. long. strapped into her harness, already snug on her hips.

your eyes widen.

“billie…”

“yeah, baby?”

“that looks too big.”

she laughs—soft and smug—and steps closer, her hands resting low on her waist.

“you can take it.”

“i don’t know…”

her voice lowers. “you trust me, right?”

you nod slowly. “yeah.”

she leans in, kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, reassuring.

“then let me take care of you.”

you swallow hard, your legs shifting instinctively. she notices.

her hand slides up your thigh, slow.

“you don’t have to do anything,” she whispers. “just breathe. relax. i’ll go slow. i’ll talk you through everything, my love.”

your heart thuds.

her fingers graze your panties, and you suck in a breath.

“you already so worked up for me, huh?” she smiles, kissing your neck. “gonna make it feel so good, princess.”

billie kisses down your throat, soft and patient, while her fingers slide under your panties and tug them down slowly.

“lift up for me, baby.”

you do. she pulls them off completely and tosses them aside, her eyes dragging down your legs, your thighs, the spot between them already glistening.

“look at you,” she murmurs, pressing her hand between your legs, cupping you gently. “already so wet for me. you want it even if you’re nervous, huh?”

you nod, breath catching.

she climbs onto the bed, straddling your thigh, one hand bracing beside your head, the other still between your legs, rubbing slow, easy circles over your clit.

“just like that,” she whispers when you moan. “good girl. keep those sounds comin’, ma.”

you whimper, hips rolling into her palm.

her lips brush your ear.

“spread your legs.”

your breath stalls.

she kisses you.

“you’re doin’ so good already, baby. just spread nice and wide for me.”

you do, slowly, thighs falling open.

she smiles against your jaw.

“fuck, angel,” she breathes. “you’re beautiful.”

her fingers slip lower—wet and slow—before gently easing two fingers inside.

you gasp. she kisses your cheek.

“that okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “feels good.”

“good.” her fingers curl gently. “gonna get you nice and ready for me, alright? want you relaxed, soft, open. want it to feel perfect.”

you nod, already trembling a little.

“my good girl,” she whispers again. “you’re gonna take all of me so sweetly, i know it.”

she curls her fingers a little deeper, watching your face the whole time.

“there you go, princess,” she murmurs, voice so low it vibrates against your throat. “just like that.”

your legs shake around her. she kisses your cheek, your shoulder, her free hand stroking slow circles into your thigh.

“you feelin’ okay, baby?”

you nod, eyes heavy. “yeah… just full.”

she smiles.

“you’re doin’ so well. makin’ me so proud.”

she pulls her fingers out slowly, gliding them over your clit once more before sitting up.

you watch her move, your heart pounding.

she grabs a small bottle of lube from the drawer and slicks her strap slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

your breath hitches when she strokes it—thick and gleaming.

you whisper again, “it’s so big…”

she smiles gently, leaning down to kiss you.

“i know, my love. but i’m not gonna hurt you. you’re in control, okay? we go slow. we stop if you need to. just let me take care of you.”

you nod. “okay.”

her hand cups your cheek.

“color?”

“green,” you whisper.

she kisses your forehead.

“spread those pretty legs again for me, angel.”

you do, slower this time, more open.

she settles between them, her body warm and solid, the strap nudging against your entrance.

her eyes find yours.

“you ready?”

you nod, breath shaky.

“deep breath,” she whispers.

and she starts to push in.

the tip slides in first.

you gasp, your hand flying to her forearm.

“shh, baby, i got you,” she soothes immediately. “you’re doin’ so good.”

you grip her wrist, grounding yourself.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you whisper, biting your lip. “just—big.”

she kisses you, soft and patient. doesn’t move.

“you’re takin’ it, sweetheart. you’re already takin’ it.”

her voice is a blanket—warm, safe, anchoring.

“you want more?”

you nod, breath trembling. “yeah.”

she pushes in another inch.

you whimper, thighs trembling.

she brushes hair out of your face, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“look at me, baby.”

you do.

her eyes are soft, gentle, locked on yours like she’s not just fucking you—she’s holding you.

“breathe. let your body open for me.”

she pushes in deeper.

your mouth drops open. the stretch is intense, slow, thick.

but her voice is right there.

“good girl. that’s it. takin’ me so sweet, so perfect. fuck, you’re beautiful like this.”

you choke on a moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“just like that, mama. just like that.”

finally—she bottoms out. still. warm.

your legs are shaking. your nails dig into her arms.

she stays there, forehead to yours, her hands rubbing slow over your hips.

“you got all of me, princess. every inch. i’m so proud of you.”

you’re breathless. overwhelmed. but so full.

“billie…”

“i’m here, my love. i’m right here.”

billie’s hands stay on your hips, grounding you, her thumb stroking little circles into your skin like she’s telling your body you’re safe here.

“you ready for me to move, sweetheart?” she whispers, nose brushing yours.

you nod, barely.

“words, baby.”

“yes… please.”

she kisses you, then pulls her hips back just a little. the drag of the strap inside you makes your whole body twitch.

you moan—soft, high.

she pushes back in, slow and steady.

“good girl,” she murmurs. “that’s my girl.”

she does it again.

and again.

slow, deep strokes. not fast. not hard.

just enough.

your body starts to relax into it—into her.

“feelin’ better, baby?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “so full.”

“fuck, i know.” she moans softly, hips rolling slow. “you’re so tight around me. squeezin’ me like you don’t wanna let go.”

your hands slide up her back, pulling her closer.

“don’t stop,” you whisper.

“never,” she murmurs, kissing you again. “i got you. gonna take such good care of you, angel.”

your legs wrap around her waist.

she groans into your mouth.

“that’s it. open up for me, princess. let me fuck you nice and slow.”

her pace stays deep, deliberate. each thrust sinks into you like she’s carving her name into your spine.

and all the while, her voice never leaves you.

“just like that, baby.”

“you’re takin’ me so well.”

“such a good girl for me.”

the rhythm stays slow, but your body’s begging for more—hips rocking up into hers, hands gripping her shoulders, lips trembling against her throat.

“please,” you whisper.

“please what, baby?” her voice is thick, breathless. “tell me.”

you try to speak, but the words tangle in your throat. she grinds her hips into you harder, makes you feel all of her.

“use that pretty voice, mama.”

“need more,” you gasp.

she pulls back slightly, her strap dragging deep.

“more what?”

you whimper. “harder.”

she stills.

“say it like you mean it.”

you swallow. look her in the eyes.

“i want you to fuck me harder, billie. please.”

her mouth curves into a slow, dangerous smile.

“good girl.”

then she gives it to you.

one hard thrust. then another. deep, sure, right where you need it.

you cry out, head dropping back, legs tightening around her.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” she groans. “take it. fuckin’ take it.”

she’s still not pounding into you—but every thrust now has weight, pressure, rhythm. and her voice in your ear is filth and silk.

“you’re mine, aren’t you?”

“yes—yes—billie—”

“no one else gets to see you like this.”

“only you.”

“fuckin’ right, only me.”

she thrusts harder. deeper.

“you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“yes—i’m close—fuck—”

“then do it. cum on my cock. show me how good i make you feel.”

your climax builds fast—tight, hot, overwhelming.

billie feels it in the way your thighs clamp around her, the way your moans get sharper, higher.

“there you go, baby,” she whispers. “you’re right there.”

she fucks you through it—deep and steady, her hand cradling the back of your neck, her forehead resting against yours.

“let go for me, mama. let me feel you cum.”

your body arches.

your breath catches.

and then it hits.

you cry out, hands clawing at her arms, your walls fluttering around her strap, pulse racing.

she doesn’t stop.

“that’s it,” she breathes. “fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.”

you ride it out in waves, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes—too full, too much, too perfect.

when you go limp beneath her, she slows. gently pulls out. kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips.

“you okay, my love?”

you nod weakly. “so good. fuck.”

she wraps you in her arms, tucks your face into her neck.

“you were perfect,” she whispers. “so proud of you.”

you bury yourself in her warmth, breath still shaky.

she strokes your back, soothing.

“you took every inch like a fuckin’ queen.”

you laugh softly, still dazed.

“what?”

“gonna be sore tomorrow.”

she grins. “worth it.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

tags; @bxllxebxtch @st0nerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki @billiescation @angellvk @bilswifee @ilomilobabyy

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Enhypen Reaction

— to their girlfriend pranking them by saying “can’t afford to go out right now” while on a call in front of them

— Heeseung

He was just scrolling on his phone next to you, minding his business until he heard—

“I really want to hang out but… I just can’t afford it right now.”

Heeseung’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing.

“Huh? Who said you can’t go?”

You hold in a laugh as you keep the fake call going, but he’s already reaching for his wallet and gently placing it on your lap.

“Literally take whatever you need, babe. I’ll even drive you there and pick you up like a chauffeur. Don’t ever say that again.”

You giggle and finally admit it’s a prank and he just groans, “Yah, don’t do that—I was about to send a wire transfer.”

— Jay

The moment he hears you say “I can’t afford it…” in your call, he freezes mid-sip of his Americano.

He tilts his head slowly, side-eyes you, and raises one eyebrow like 👁️👄👁️

“Excuse me? Why are you lying on the phone in front of me?”

He walks over, whips his black card out with dramatic flair, and literally drops it on your lap.

“You’re dating Park Jay. Not being able to afford something doesn’t exist for you. Say that again and I’ll book you a vacation just to prove a point.”

You laugh and say it’s a prank, but he just rolls his eyes and mutters,

“Embarrassed me in front of my espresso like that…”

— Jake

He hears you say it while petting Layla, who’s now also looking at you like “you broke?”

“I want to go… I just can’t afford to right now.”

Jake’s jaw drops and he instantly starts panicking.

“Babe, what? No, you can go! I’ll pay! I was literally going to ask if you wanted to get dinner after—should I sell my shoes??”

He grabs his phone and opens his bank app.

“Do you want me to send you something? Wait, what’s your account again?”

You burst out laughing, telling him it’s a prank, and he just clutches his chest dramatically like

“You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought I was failing as a boyfriend.”

— Sunghoon

You’re casually scrolling while fake-talking on the phone.

“Yeah… I really can’t afford it right now…”

Sunghoon side-eyes you from across the couch like 😐 and mutters under his breath,

“Are you actually serious right now?”

He then gets up quietly, walks into the other room, and comes back with an envelope.

“Here’s money for that hangout, a snack, and dessert. And if you still say no, I’m going with you and paying for both of us.”

When you laugh and admit it’s a prank, he crosses his arms.

“You think this is funny? I was already mentally planning your outfit in my head.”

— Sunoo

He hears your soft fake whining on the phone:

“I wish I could go but I’m broke…”

Sunoo gasps. Loudly. Drops whatever he was holding.

“What do you mean broke? Since when? WHY didn’t you tell me?!”

He rushes over, holds your face in his hands dramatically, eyes sparkling with disbelief.

“You’re my princess. You don’t ever say the word broke again! Baby, I’ll take care of everything.”

You giggle and reveal the prank, and he gasps again:

“You evil little thing… don’t play with my heart like that! I was about to Venmo you my soul!”

— Jungwon

As soon as the words “I can’t afford it” leave your mouth, Jungwon stops folding laundry and slowly looks up at you.

“Huh? What do you mean you can’t afford it? Since when are you paying for anything?”

He walks over calmly and slips his arm around your waist.

“Just tell me what you want and I’ll handle it. Why are you even stressing?”

You tease him a bit longer before laughing, and when you confess it’s a prank, he smirks and shakes his head.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. But just so you know, broke doesn’t exist in your vocabulary anymore.”

— Ni-ki

He hears the word “can’t afford” and pauses mid-video game.

“What do you mean you can’t afford it?”

You pretend not to notice, and he just pauses the game, stands up, and casually drops his card on your lap like it’s no big deal.

“Go. Just go. I got you.”

You keep the act going and he raises a brow.

“Wait. Is this one of your TikTok prank things?”

You crack and laugh, and he nods slowly like he knew.

“You almost had me. Almost. But next time, don’t try it when my credit card’s literally in my hand.”

tobiosbbyghorl - 2025

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife