#I love them so much my heart yearns for these two every day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bimbobaggins69 · 4 months

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𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⟡𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your roommates come home from their date to find you in a bit of a compromising position…but what really sets them off is the jeweled plug you’re wearing.

⟡𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, steddie established relationship, no use of y/n, just a shit load of nicknames, talks of unrequited love (but it’s not), anal plug, kinda mean!eddie and mean!steve, fingering, unprotected anal sex, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, free use sex, the boys using your holes, dp, squirting, cream pie, no plot just porn.

⟡𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I really don’t know where this came from, but I don’t ask questions about the things that inspire me… I took way too much time on this so pls TAKE IT! Also thank you to my babes @xxhellfirebunnyxx & @reidsbtch for beta reading <33

⟡𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.3k

You’re exhausted, you’ve spent the last couple hours stress cleaning your shared apartment while your roommates are on a date. Why were you stressed you ask?

Well, the most problematic reason; the one that made it borderline impossible to focus on anything else was you were just plain fucking horny. You tried your vibrator in between cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen, then right after with the same disappointing results before finally giving up and tidying your bedroom… that was until you came across something you hadn’t seen since you moved into this apartment six months ago—

Your baby blue silicone butt plug, with the pretty heart jewel at the bottom of the base; so naturally in your absolute horny fog, you figure it wouldn’t hurt to put it on and wear it around while you finish cleaning and then hopefully when you’re done, you’ll be more worked up and can finally, finally finish with your vibrator.

Your roommates said they’d be out pretty much all night, which you figured meant they’d go out to some bar or club and then fuck and nap in the back of Eddie’s van before making their way back home…and if you’re on the topic of complete honesty, they were the main reason for this little dry spell you were having—

Imagine living with the two hottest and sweetest men you’d ever met, but they’re together and have absolutely no room for you no matter how bad you yearn for them. Why would they want you? They have each other and they’re so happy and in love, it makes your insides hurt. Of course you want nothing more then for them to be happy, they both deserve it more than anyone but how do you go on watching the two holders of your heart be happy while you have absolutely nothing to do with it?

It’s fucking pathetic and you need to get your shit together.

So to say the least, yes you have been completely and utterly sexually frustrated. I mean hearing them fuck almost every night does nothing to help these feelings and you haven’t made any efforts to move on, meet new people and possibly start dating. You can’t help but to reprimand yourself when the thought of holding out hope flashes through your mind. There was no hope left, you will never have Eddie and Steve as anything other than friends. And just because they’re bi and are also into women too, doesn't mean you have a shot, no matter how much you wish it did. It’s time to move on.

Once the blue plug is nestled deep inside of you with the help of copious amounts of lube and deep breathes, you get back to your stress cleaning just to get your mind off of all of your conflicting thoughts but decide to forgo your cotton shorts and panties in the process, keeping the oversized slayer shirt that Eddie had let you borrow, on.

Your last task of the day was to do laundry, you’d do a few loads before getting into bed with your vibrating friend, to finally get off like you’ve been trying to all evening.

But when you went to get your clothes out of the wash to put into the dryer, a sock that had been way out of reach had you hopping head first into the machine, and before you knew it a piece of your hair was caught in the agitator. Of course, just your luck!

No matter what you did or how much you pulled, the chunk was lodged in there and was not letting go anytime soon. You wanted to cry, absolutely break down and sob. What were you supposed to do now? Wait for the boys to come home and fish you out as your whole ass is on display? Not to mention the plug you have lodged up there. No no no, you would die from humiliation. So you didn’t give up, you pulled and pulled until eventually your arms and head got tired and you just kinda dangled there, then after a good five minutes you tried again but in your haste and heavy breathing, you didn’t hear the front door open or your name being called. Everything was muffled considering your head was stuck in a damn dryer!

“What the-” you finally hear from the doorway, making your eyes widen in horror.

“Do you um- do you need some help, sweetheart?” You can already hear the smug smirk on Eddie’s face without even looking.

“That would appear so.” You sarcastically quip with a roll of your eyes.

“Well fuck, I don’t know princess. This is quite the view.” He snickers, and you can feel the way his thigh roughly rubs against your calf.

“Munson, this is no time for your fucking jokes.” You spit through clenched teeth. “Please. Help. Me.”

“Babe?!” You hear Eddie call, only assuming he’s calling Steve over to witness the scene or maybe to help him get you out. As humiliated as you are you just want to be free and if Steve has to see you like this in the process, then so be it.

“Whoa!” Steve says as he enters the laundry room, a low whistle falls from his lips and you don’t know if it’s from the view or the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

“She’s stuck.” Eddie tells his boyfriend and you can still hear the remnants of a smile on his face.

“Please guys, please get me out of here.” You beg as your lower lip begins to jutt out in a pout.

“I don’t know Stevie, what do you think? You think we should help her out?” The metalhead chuckles to himself, completely elated with what was happening.

“Ya’ know, I don’t think we should help her out just yet. She looks so pretty like this.” The former jock confesses, and now you can feel his thigh rub on your other calf. You try your damndest not to clench your holes because it might be obvious with the whole plug in your ass.

“Guys c'mon, this is so embarrassing. Please?” You whine, but you can’t help but feel yourself start to drip at their taunting.

“Fuck, you have such a pretty ass, baby. I would’ve never guessed that you liked getting it stuffed.” Eddie groans and you have no idea what’s happening, but you’re not mad either.

“She does, doesn’t she? Can we touch you pretty girl? Promise after we’ll get you out of there.” Steve asks before rubbing what you could only assume was his hard cock against your leg.

“Yes, please.” You whimper as tears fill your eyes, all you’ve wanted for six long months was to be touched by them.

You feel a hand press against the plug, pushing it deeper inside of you before your ass is being slapped, a slight sting left in its place. Two fingers glide through your drenched folds, a loud groan being released from one of the boys’ chest.

“You’re so fucking wet, princess.” Eddie's low timbre has you fighting with yourself to not clench your thighs as Steve’s soft hand inches higher, long fingers gliding up closer towards the plug.

“Jesus Christ. Wanna take this out and see how you gape for us, pretty girl. Can I?” Steve asks, voice low and deep, creating light shivers to course through your body.

“Yeah, mhm you can.” You huff out as the washing machine digs into your stomach, not enough to hurt but your breathing is slightly constricted.

“So fucking desperate for this, arent you baby? Just a little butt slut for us? God, the things I’ve been wanting to do to this ass.” Eddie growls supplying your supple skin with another harsh slap.

“We can’t hear you little slut!” Steve scolded, grabbing the plug at the base before slowly pulling it out.

“Yes! I’m a desperate little slut! Please!” You gasp as you begin to clench around the plug as it’s being removed from your tight rim.

“That’s a good girl.” Eddie teases, as he and Steve laugh at your strangled whines.

Once the plug is removed, you hear a slick sound before a pop; the wet tip of a finger rubbing in circles around your sensitive, reddened hole.

A small gape is left in the blue plugs wake along with the lube that now begins to bubble and leak out, the finger continues its soothing circles before its prodding, the tip sinking in without hesitation making you whine louder.

“Oh she’s ready! This little hole is just sucking me in. She Wants to be filled so badly.” You now realize the finger belongs to Eddie as it sinks in even deeper, moans fall from your parted mouth as you writhe in desperation.

Steve’s fingers begin to prod at your core, completely saturated and dripping down your thighs, they roll over your clit before his fingers begin to slowly enter your pussy. You’re now full as both sets of fingers fuck into you, Steve’s digits curling down hitting that spot a couple inches from your entrance. The position you’re in made it awkward but when his expert fingers found that bundle of nerves hidden in your walls, your holes clenched around both boys and your legs tightened and shook as they dangled, hitting the cold metal of the white washing machine.

“You gonna cum already?” Steve mocked meanly making Eddie snort out a laugh. Their teasing was pushing you even closer towards the edge and you couldn’t understand why, you’d never been one for mocked comments at the hands of other men you’ve slept with, but coming from Eddie and Steve it made your core blaze hot and your head become spacey, absolutely empty as the pleasure continued to grow.

“Well cum for us then, baby.” Eddie grits with a hard thrust of his fingers.

Your moans grow louder, echoed from the metal walls. Your legs shake harder from the force of you keeping them spread, it’s a heavy feat cumming without snapping them shut like you’d usually do when you were alone, before this little dry spell of yours, that is.

“Such a good little set of holes.” Steve says, a cocky edge to his voice as he removes his fingers along with Eddie.

You hear the smacking of lips, wishing you could watch them kiss but before you know it you feel hands on you again.

“I need to get my cock in one of her holes.” Eddie groans as the jingle of a belt buckle being removed hits your ears and before you know it hot, sticky yet incredibly soft skin is being slapped, right over your stretched out hole.

“Mmm, you ready, pretty baby?” The metalhead asks, thrusting his cock between your cheeks.

“Please, Eddie!” You cry out with an impatient lilt to your voice, begging him to take you out of your horny misery.

His tip catches against your rim, sliding in nice and slow as he begins stretching you out far more than the plug and you can’t help but to tighten around him at the unfamiliar girth.

“Oh my god!” You mewl as he sinks deeper, inch by inch you’re being filled, his length feels like it goes on forever until finally he’s fully seated within you.

Once he’s sure you’ve adjusted to his size, he begins thrusting his hips at an unrelenting pace, causing your toes to curl and your eyes to water, it was so good, it was everything you’ve been wanting.

Steve leans over the machine, a chuckle erupts from deep in his chest, as he listens to you moan and babble about how good Eddie feels stretching you out.

“Feels so good doesn't it, baby? Love when Ed’s fucks me too.” He confesses as his hand begins to trail down your back, all the way to where you’re stretched by Eddie, his fingers rubbing over your filled hole and up Eddie’s shaft making you both moan louder.

“Alright Ed, my turn.” Steve huffs impatiently as his cock begins to grow borderline painful beneath his jeans.

Eddie begrudgingly pulls out, smearing the lube around his cock and stroking it as he moves out of the way for Steve to have his turn with you.

“Can I fuck your little pussy, honey?” The pretty boy asks as he grabs your legs, putting his hands under each thigh and raising your lower half higher so your pussy meets his cock at the perfect angle.

“You can fuck whatever hole you want.” You sob, desperate to feel that fullness again.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut, just wanna be our little fuck toy, huh filthy girl?” Steve spits before pushing his tip into your dripping cunt, both of you cry out at the sheer pleasure you’re bringing to each other. Steve’s cock sinks deeper and you find yourself grateful he didn’t fuck you in the ass, his cock felt like it was splitting you in half, the most delicious stretch, but you couldn’t say it’d be as delicious had it been your other hole.

“Steve!” You whimper as your hands wrap around the big hunk of plastic your hair is caught in, trying your best to keep from being pushed further away with Steve’s unforgiving thrusts. The action causes you to almost bump your head on the back wall of the machine, and everytime he pushes you further away a pain shoots through your head as the agitator yanks it back with a strong grip on your strands. It almost feels like Steve has a chunk of your hair, held tight in his hand and now that’s all you can picture, causing you to gush around his cock— the pleasure and pain creating such a ripple effect of mini squirting orgasms that quite literally snuck up on you. Your body shakes as you moan, so sweet and feminine it’s just what Steve loves about fucking women and he has to suddenly pull out of you or run the risk of cumming too early.

“Did she- holy shit.” Eddie says as he takes one look at Steve's drenched and painfully purple cock. God, he wants to fall to his knees and lick every drop you gave him off, but he can tell Steve is already struggling, he knows that flush faced look, that’s his boy’s cum face. He’s decided he’ll reward him later for his willpower, maybe if they're lucky you’ll both reward Steve.

“Can’t believe she's a squirter, barely even touched her.” Steve scoffs; it’s so far from the truth, but the way he’s talking about you is so filthy and hot that you can’t help but to snap your legs shut and tighten.

“Uh uh, princess. Open back up for me.” Eddie tuts, while he brings his hands down to grasp at the meat of your thighs pushing them open enough for him to stand between, silver rings digging into your heated skin as he kneads at your flesh.

“How about we get you outta there now, sweetheart? How’s that sound?” The metalhead asks, growing tired of the awkward position, he wanted you where he knew you always belonged, right in between them.

“Yes, please.” You sigh with relief, as much as you were enjoying this your blood was starting to rush to your head, making you a little light headed.

Steve reaches in first, roughly pulling as he tries to release you from the agitators tight grip.

“Here let me see.” Eddie says after a few minutes as he grows impatient, just wanting to get his cock back inside you.

Even after Eddie tries and tries, you finally speak up with a whine of disappointment.

“There’s scissors in the kitchen drawer, you're just gonna have to cut it.” You huff before your body slips back into a defeated slouch.

“Are you sure princess?” Eddie asks, you can hear the sympathy in his voice as his head hovers over the washers opening, “well, I don’t think I have many options and I just really need you both to fuck me, so…” you hiss back in one more attempt to yank your hair free, with no luck.

“Alright I’ll be back in a sec.” Steve says as he jogs out of the laundry room, towards the kitchen. You and Eddie can hear drawers slamming as he looks for the scissors, the metalhead can’t help but to snort at his boyfriends obvious hunger to be back inside of you, he knows cause he feels it too and it’s something they’ve both yearned for, for more than just the six months you’d been living with them.

It happened when you were just Robin's close friend from work that they would see every other weekend when you’d all go out together; they’d agreed how beautiful, sexy and intoxicating you were, so sweet and bubbly and lively, they had non stop talked about asking if you’d maybe wanna hang out with them and see where things could go, but they didn’t wanna scare you; being in a relationship with two men who are already in a relationship can be a lot for someone, especially if that someone is used to strictly monogamous entanglements.

Then Robin came to them about you needing a place to stay and when you became their roommate they didn’t want you to feel cornered or like they only let you stay cause they like you, even though as time passed their feelings had grown even stronger, so yeah they couldn’t allow this opportunity to slip through their fingers.

“Got 'em!” Steve says with excitement as he rushes over to you, “okay, I’m gonna cut closest to the machine so I don’t take too much, just take a deep breath for me, baby.” Steve says, honey dripping from his sweet voice as he talks you through it.

“Good job, sweet girl. Okay, here I go. You’re doing so good, baby. One more snip and you’re free.” The smooth rasp in his voice makes your heart hammer, feeling it in your ears as you stay as still as possible while he cuts. Once it’s done you’re yanked up from the washing machine, Eddie hands you to Steve and you wrap your legs around his hips as he grabs the plush meat of your exposed ass.

“Are you okay, baby?” He whispers into your ear as he continues to grab and rub at your soft globes.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You murmur back as you place a gentle kiss to his neck, just under his ear.

“Do you wanna stop and grab a glass of water or get something to eat, princess?” Eddie asks into the side of your neck as he stands behind you. You can feel his hard cock as it rubs against your ass and Steve’s hand.

“No, what I need is for you both to fuck me, like right now…at the same time.” You whine as you begin to move your hips over the boys' laps, your ass and bare pussy moving back and forth over their obvious hard ons, you almost feel like a cat in heat, purring and moaning as they both kiss on either side of your neck.

“Okay, fuck, I can’t wait anymore.” Eddie growls as he removes his dripping cock from his jeans, before spitting on his engorged, red tip and smearing it around with his tattooed hand. You jerk slightly when you feel his wet fingers prodding at your puckered hole, spreading the wetness in preparation to take him again.

“You ready, princess?” He asks as he rubs his tip against his target, the squelch from how wet he’s made your asshole makes your face burn hot. You can’t take much more of his teasing.

“I’m ready, I’m ready please.” You beg, it comes out breathless as if you’d just gotten the wind knocked out of you. Your desperation so clearly evident to them, that it causes both of their cocks to pulse with need.

“Okay, we’ve got you baby, gonna make you feel so good.” Steve whispers into the side of your face before leaving a gentle kiss on your jawline that lingers with a tingle when he pulls away.

“Ed’s, hold her legs for me really quick.” Steve mutters before he begins removing himself from the confines of his blue jeans. He gives his aching member a few quick tugs before he’s roughly grabbing you back from Eddie. This time his forearms slide under the backs of your knees, your ass slips down angled perfectly between their needy cocks. Steve’s hold on you tightens as his hands inch behind your back, the perfect position to fuck you on both of their cocks, passing you back and forth like some kinda fucked up game of hot potato.

Eddie begins to push in first, breaching the snug walls of your previously stretched out hole, how was it so tight again? The metalhead groans once he’s fully seated within your gripping confines, Steve takes it as a signal to begin his work of re stretching your cunt back out to perfectly mold to his size, the perfect little cock sleeve.

They begin thrusting simultaneously, causing the filthiest “uh!” to slip past your lips as your left hand shoots out to clutch onto Steve's brown locks while the right finds itself gripping the nape of Eddie’s neck. Three sets of glossy lust filled eyes find each other as your opened mouths breathe in each other's moans of ecstasy.

Eddie’s hands glide down to the globes of your ass, two of his flat palms pull the plump meat of your cheeks apart as his cock drives deeper into your second hole. Tears spring to your eyes as the boys use you for their own pleasure, it’s everything you’ve wanted for so long, you want to live in this moment forever between them as they give you their all.

The grunts and groans that hit the right side of your neck and the back of your left shoulder have you clenching both holes so hard you can already feel the beginnings of orgasmic bliss on the horizon, the heat in your lower stomach stirs and your legs work so hard not to snap shut as they’re still held wide open by Steve’s forearms; now shaking profusely.

“Please, please oh my god, I’m gonna— please!” Is all you can reverberate, as the filthy whines and pleads fill the cramped laundry room.

“You gonna cum for us, kitten?” Eddie mumbles into the back of your hair before planting an approving kiss there, as if to say ‘go ahead, you have my permission.’

“Yes, yes, yes!” You chant as you clamp down even tighter on them, like a fucking vice grip making them whimper and whine as they both fuck you through it.

“Go ahead kitten, soak our cocks— get us all messy with your sweet girl jizz.” Steve couldn’t help but giggle at his boyfriend's ridiculous words, but he wouldn’t deny sweet girl jizz made his cock twitch in anticipation.

Eddie and Steve’s thrusts get even more ravenous as wet squelches, skin slapping and your feminine moans echo off of every wall in the apartment.

“You’re fucking her so good baby. Hear those pretty little noises she’s making for us?” Steve says before bringing his hands to his boyfriends hips and pulling him in even deeper, causing their cocks to rub together through you.

Your high hit you so hard, your moans and cries were silent as your body jerked, your eyes rolled back and your toes curled; a stream of wetness squirted out and hit Steve’s lower stomach with a splash as the rest covered Steve’s sneakers and Eddie’s boots, both boys groaned as they fucked you hard through your second orgasm.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it baby!”

“That’s a good girl!”

Both boys praise you, holding you tighter between them as your body goes lax from such an intense come.

“You okay, sweet girl?” Steve’s nose brushes against yours as his honey eyes study your face with the utmost concern.

“I’m so good.” You say back with a lazy smirk.

Their thrusts continue up when they realize you’re okay, now their only thought was hitting their peak; which was closer now after watching you come all over their laps.

“I’m gonna come, wanna fill you up, please princess?” Eddie whispers in your ear sending a deep pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“Mhm, want you both to fill my holes.”

They both lose it at your words, low grunts leaving their lips as their warm come fills you from both angles.

“Oh fuck! That was—” Eddie started, before Steve finished for him with a breathy and fucked out “Wow!”

They both kiss and hold you before letting your feet hit the cold tiles. Steve grabs a towel and cleans you up with a shy smile on his face, that you couldn’t help but find incredibly cute.

“How about we finish cleaning up and you go lay down in our bed? We can all cuddle and fall asleep. How’s that sound, kitten?” Eddie suggests.

“That sounds nice.” You say through a yawn.

Leaving both boys to clean the evidence of what just happened; the scissors and your hair, the wet puddle on the floor and the loose pieces of clothing scattered around.

Once you were gone Eddie broke the silence—

“Do you think we should ask her tonight or in the morning?”

“Let her get some sleep and then we can tell her how we feel tomorrow, and she can decide whether she wants to be with us or not.” Steve says as he wipes up your wetness.

“Do you think she’ll want us?” Eddie asks his boyfriend as his brown eyes fill with worry.

“I have a good feeling she does.”

#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #steddie x y/n #steddie x you #steddie stranger things #steddie x reader smut #steddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut

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sttoru · 3 months

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cuddling w choso as he gives reader small kisses around their face <3

·.⌇𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. choso kamo x female reader. fluff; sfw. reader gets called ‘baby’. please take it easy on me bcs its my first time writing for this man t_t not beta read!

choso is super clingy when he’s with you. when you try to leave your bed in the morning, he pulls you right back. back into his warm embrace so you wouldn’t suffer from the cold temperatures. you don’s protest and simply allow yourself to be dragged back into the arms of your beloved.

“choso, tickles.” giggles leave your lips as choso plants several kisses on your skin. they’re those ticklish yet sweet ones—the feeling of his lips grazing gently against your cheeks makes you smile. your lover takes his chance once you speak and places a few more pecks on your prominent cheekbones.

he hums, a low sound reverberating through his chest. choso refuses to let go of you. his hands are firmly holding you down by your waist. his eyes are closed like he’s enjoying every second of this, “sorry. can’t stop.”

and he truly cannot. it’s like your body was a magnet—pulling his in by simply being near him. your fingers play with the black strands of choso’s hair while he leaves a trail of kisses down your jawline. it’s soothing to him. nearly makes him purr in content. he can’t help but give your chin a swift, small lick.

“hey!” you pout and try to wipe the saliva off. there is a humourous glint in choso’s eyes—your adorable reaction being exactly what he was aiming for. his hand interlocks with yours, pinning them above your head. his thumb rubs yours gently while his eyes scan your face.

choso grins once he targets another spot, “one more. promise it’s the last one.”

a famous excuse you hear all the time. your lover leans in and his lips attach to the skin between your brows. a delicate kiss that causes your body to shiver in delight. as much as you want to start your day, you also wouldn’t mind staying in bed. especially when choso is being this affectionate.

he pulls back, his tongue darting out lightly to run over his upper lip—from one side to the other. your heart flutters at the sight, your fingers moving his bangs to the side. it reveals that look in choso’s eyes; the yearning one. the one that shows you just how much he loves and craves to touch you.

“hmm,” choso’s voice was raspy. he looks smug with that grin tugging at his lips, but the light pink hue on his cheeks gave him an innocent look as well. “don’t be angry, baby, but. . .”

a silence falls between the two of you. you flutter your eyelashes in response, not knowing what choso is going to confess. his grip on your hand tightens, his other free hand running up to keep your chin upwards, exposing your neck to him.

“i may have lied,” choso mumbles before he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

you squirm a bit. his tongue swipes along your throat, his lips following that same trail. you expected this to happen. no matter how many times choso claims that a kiss would be 'the last one', it never stops there.

“hmph. liar,” you scold, though chuckle right afterwards. you can feel choso smiling against your skin, enjoying the jokey banter between the two of you. he could be a little too playful every now and then. you love it.

the black-haired man never stops his gentle caresses or kisses. he’s absolutely infatuated by you and is not afraid of showing it, “hehe, you can't blame me. you’re just so..”

choso pauses and thinks hard about a word—a word that describes you perfectly. he hums in thought and pulls his head back to look down at you. his eyes meet yours and his heart beats faster at the way you stare at him.

the look you give choso causes him to malfunction a little. he forgets to complete his sentence. instead, he goes for another kiss. on your lips directly.

you let out a small, muffled noise of surprise. your arms encircle his neck instantly to which he responds by squeezing your body tightly against his. the kiss continues for a couple seconds before choso reluctantly pulls away for some air.

his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. his cheeks are redder than before as he leans in close, almost going for another kiss. before his mouth lands on yours again, he completes his earlier sentence with a subtle smirk;

“ . .cute.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #choso x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso fluff #female reader

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mynamesaplant · 3 months

Text

Forgiveness is Electric

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Just a little short story about @critterbitter's hc of Emmet, Ingo, and Elesa. This is between the Volume Control and Volume Control (Reprise). Just a tiny change, Emmet caught Tynamo bc I sort of forgot when he did... My bad. Please go take a look at Critter's work, it is beautiful in every sense of the word.

I lied about posting to AO3 last time with Yearning for Wood Floors, but I will update that soon along with this one.

Enjoy!~

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“I do not think she will like those.”

“Who doesn’t love sweets?”

Ingo argued, plucking a box of Snom-Caps and turning it over and over in his hands. He contemplated the choices of candy in the aisle, the teenage clerk puffing their long, purple-streaked hair from their eyes behind the counter as the two children agonized over their decision. The clerk, Dakota, saw Ingo and Emmet in here all the time, the former had something of a sweet tooth and the latter… Well, whatever the opposite of a sweet tooth was, that was Emmet. The kid just loved sour things.

It wasn’t unusual to see them, but it didn’t usually take this long for them to make their selection. They had been there for nearly fifteen minutes, painstakingly reading each and every label and discussing them in hushed undertones. That was unusual by itself. Ingo was not known for his volume control.

Although unusual, they weren’t worried about them doing anything shady like stealing or being careless and knock things off the shelf. Might as well let them go about their business. To pass the time, they watched the fretful newly acquired Tynamo circle around them faster and faster until Emmet snatched the Pokémon deftly from the air and soothingly stroked its back.

“I am Emmet. We do not know what she likes.”

“We must do something! I just feel so dreadful.”

Emmet could see Ingo working himself up over this, just as he had a few hours ago, and Emmet placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s arm. His smile and eyes softened as his twin turned to him, Ingo’s eyes glittering with emotion and whatever proclamation dying on the back of his tongue.

He hadn’t meant it. He really hadn’t. He always got too loud when he was excited.

It had just backfired on him horribly.

Ingo cringed even now as he remembered the tears in her eyes, her hands slapped over her ears, and eyes huge with confusion and pain. She had run off before he could even apologize, and that knowledge was eating him alive all day.

Candy wouldn’t fix this. In his heart of hearts, he knew that, and maybe he had come here to grab himself some of his favorite snacks to ease the pain of losing a potential friend.

It was hard for them to understand others. Emmet and Ingo were so in-sync with each other that everyone seemed to be moving so much slower by comparison. It was like playing charades with someone who was underwater, the twins made perfect sense to one another, but it was unclear to everyone else.

This was not new to them, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

With their moms being busy with work and their uncle who didn’t have much interest with them most times, Emmet and Ingo came to rely on each other almost exclusively. Drayden would give them a little bit of pocket change, but never much. They had to be ultraconservative with what he gave them and had taken it upon themselves to run around Anville Town to take little odd jobs.

Leaves to rake? Oran berries to pick? Snow to shovel?

Emmet and Ingo did it all and saved what they could. They barely scraped together the money to purchase the Pokéballs needed to catch Tynamo and for additional balls to try and catch Ingo a starter.

Even though they knew everyone, they weren’t really close to anyone in town.

That could have been different if Ingo hadn’t ruined everything!

“Perhaps sweets are not the solution…”

Ingo finally admitted, setting the box down and rising to his feet. Readjusting his cap on his head and dusting off his knees to unconsciously tidy his appearance, Ingo’s frown deepened in thought. Even if he and Emmet apologized to her, Miss Elesa would not understand them. Drat! If only he had remembered her hearing aids, he had completely forgotten them tucked behind her black hair.

Emmet watched his face scrunch up, clearly having a long inner dialogue with himself where he alternatively berated himself and told himself that there was no crying over spilled milk. Gray eyes scanning the shelf, he took a bag of sour gummy-Bewear for himself, and chocolate covered pretzels for his brother, before hauling them to the counter where Dakota waited.

Tynamo drifted just below his elbow, still quite nervous around new people and often retreating to its ball when too anxious. Emmet’s soft encouragement was the only thing keeping the EleFish out while Dakota rang up both bags.

“Tynamo? Good for you, kiddo. I hear they’re not easy to catch.”

They rested their elbows on the counter, chin resting atop with a kind smile to the quieter twin. Dakota could see him beaming with pride, but he merely nodded, shuffling on the spot while he fished in the pocket of his overalls for some money. His Tynamo, like its trainer, seemed a little bashful at their words, and retreated into its ball.

“200… I think you brother is comatose over there.”

Dakota said not unkindly. Emmet jerked his head to where his brother stood motionless in front of the candy.

“Ingo!”

It was Ingo’s turn to jerk out of his, as Dakota had put it, “comatose state”. He trotted over to his side, staring at the bags of candies with confusion before it all seemed to click into place.

“You did not have to spend your pocket money on me.”

Emmet’s smile softened at the bashful note in his sibling’s voice. He wanted to. Ingo was feeling down, his twin often overthinking problems and burning himself out in the process. Emmet liked to take a step back to listen and reflect on people and conversations. A little break would do Ingo some good, so he insisted on the treats.

“I am Emmet. I wanted to. Yup!”

While Dakota bagged their treats in a small brown paper bag, they couldn’t help but lean over the counter to examine them. Although many people didn’t understand the secret code that the twins exchanged between glances, mouth twitches, and hand movements, Dakota could tell something was awry. Withholding the bag, they leaned over the counter with a faintly curious expression and a light tone.

“You guys alright?”

Unsurprisingly, the two exchanged looks, and a wordless conversation was held between them while Dakota waited. It was Ingo who swiveled his head back to face them, his face knit into a calculating grimace that seemed a little less friendly than usual, but only marginally.

“Yes,” he said slowly, eyes not breaking with the clerk, but they could see him shifting uncomfortably. “Emmet and I are attempting to right a wrong. However, we are encountering several roadblocks.”

There is a pause. Dakota still held the bag just out of reach as they gnawed on their lower lip. This wasn’t really their business, and they weren’t the type to stick their nose in where it didn’t belong… They thought of Drayden, who spent a lot of time in Opelucid and not watching his nephews – he barely spent any time with them.

They’re just kids.

“Do you need some help? It’s my job to help customers in the store y’know.”

Another pause. Another exchange of glances.

“I-” Ingo tries to being, already hard pressed to say anything and even less so when his sibling elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a look. He wouldn’t be allowed to take all the blame. “We upset one of our classmates with our carelessness. We think she was attempting to befriend us, but- uh… there were a few errors on our part.”

“And you’re trying to get candy for her to forgive you?”

“We thought about it, but it grew too complicated. We do not know what candy she likes, but more importantly, we do not think it’s a suitable apology.”

The clerk nodded, tapping the counter in thought as they tried to piece together some genuine advice for the boys.

“I think it’s a nice peace offering, but I think an apology would be better.”

“We broke her hearing aids… Yep…”

Emmet croaked suddenly, shrinking back in shame at the same time that Ingo grabbed the brim of his hat to tug it lower over his eyes.

“Ah,” Dakota hummed, tapping the counter even faster. They meant the new family that moved in from Sinnoh. They remembered their dads talking about the new signs that had to go all over town for the girl’s safety. Dakota couldn’t remember her name. “How did you break them?” They asked, already knowing the answer.

“Volume control.”

Ingo cringed, remembering his uncle’s warning about his naturally loud voice. Inside voice, Drayden had been emphasizing, and Ingo was trying to take those words to heart, but it was difficult. Since Ingo’s face didn’t emote well, he relied on his voice and his movement to articulate his emotions to others. They nod sympathetically.

“You didn’t see them?”

“No…”

The boy was squirming now, his shame and embarrassment with the situation reaching an all-time high. He felt Emmet moving to his side, reassuringly pressing against his arm, and resting his head on his twin’s shoulder. A flood of comfort helped Ingo release a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

Behind the counter, the clerk was rummaging through something – although tall for their age, Emmet and Ingo couldn’t see what they were doing. They heaved a box onto the counter, tipping it so the contents spilled out for them to see, and the boys were confused.

“Headphones?”

Emmet leaned forward on his tiptoes to look at the colorful array of boxes that ranged from normal headphones to ones that had Pikachu and Eevee ears topping them.

“Yeah, uh, maybe if she wears these, you’ll remember right away that she has headphones in.”

It was a half-baked idea. In truth, Dakota felt a bit sheepish about it now that the idea was out of their head, but when they looked up, the boys were beaming – well, Emmet beamed. Ingo reminded of them of their friend’s Purrloin in a way they couldn’t quite put their finger on.

“Bravo! What a marvelous suggestion!”

Ingo practically cheered, stepping beside Emmet to look through the headphones. It was probably going to cost them a bit from the tags on the boxes, but it would be worth it. The headphones would immediately remind Ingo that she had hearing aids in so he would be more inclined to get Miss Elesa’s attention in a different fashion, but it also might do the same for others who were unaware of her deafness.

“Sure – er, thank you…” Dakota was looking at the prices now and mentally smacked their forehead. They probably couldn’t afford the headphones. “I’ll-” They hesitate. It almost pained them to say what they were going to next. “I’ll pay for them so you can take them to her now.” The twins’ eyes went wide, both about to protest when Dakota interrupted, “In exchange, you can do a few chores for me at my place. I need to do some yardwork, but it always gives me hay fever. Sound like a deal?”

The answer was easy for them. Dakota told them to pick ones that they thought Miss Elesa would like.

“I think these ones are quite dashing.”

Ingo said, picking up the box with the Pikachu ears. Emmet pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Nope. Too big. Not a gamer girl.”

They continued to rummage through the boxes. They agreed that she must like Electric types. She had a Blitzle as her partner after all.

“I cannot recall, she is from Hoenn, correct?”

Emmet shrugged, unsure himself because they had both been looking through a magazine with an expose on the newest train lines running out of Nimbasa when she had been introduced. That just meant to them that, when the time came, going on their Pokémon journey by rail would be all the easier.

“Not sure.” He looked at the box Ingo had in his hand and his smile broadened, nodding in agreement to his brother’s unasked query. The perfect balance of subtle but stylish. “I am Emmet. Those are perfect.”

Plusle and Minun headphones.

#pokemon #submas #fan fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #sorry critter #i started writing about Tynamo before i remembered he probably didn't have it by that point #im just gonna say newly acquired and cross my fingers #tynamo is shy #nobody knows about it #🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞

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soobnny · 9 months

Text

ten things hwang hyunjin says when he thinks you’re asleep — fluff, established relationship, a twitch of angst

just released a lee know long fic if you guys are interested to read! :)

one. it's been exactly a year since i picked up my paint brush again. god, i still remember when i thought i'd forever let go of art. i've learned to trade my dreams for security anyway, there was no point in indulging in something i had no future in. but then i met you, and i will never forget the moment i realized i was in love with you. that night, i painted until the sun was up. thank you for inspiring me again, my muse.

two. you hold light wherever you go, did you know? that same light you see in others lives inside of you too. i will make sure you know that, even if i have to tell you every day.

three. i think you look prettiest when you laugh and you think no one's looking at you. it always fills me with a warmth i've never known.

four. you make life so achingly beautiful for me.

five. ah, i feel so sentimental tonight. i guess, it's just the thought that years ago, i had my heart broken and i thought it could never get better from there. but you helped me make it whole again. maybe all that heartbreak was always meant to point me to where you are. thank you. thank you. thank you.

six. the loud voices in my head are a little quieter now. i think it's because of you.

seven. remember when chan had convinced us to go hiking with him and his significant other? oh my god, that was a disaster. and i know we said we'd never do it again, but some part of me wants to. maybe it's for the view, or the way you looked when we finally reached the top. you looked so beautiful. i really did feel a great deal of comfort being with you where the whole world didn't know. i didn't even think about the exhausting hike back. just that you were there, the only thing that makes sense to me, beside me. you said you hated it because you paled out, but beautiful things pale out—the sunrise, flowers, you. you’re the most beautiful of them all.

eight. i hope you love me as much as i love you.

nine. you will always have me. please don't ever doubt how i feel for you. i will always choose you, over and over and over again, in every lifetime. without doubt, without hesitation, without second thought. i will always choose you. again and again and again.

ten. i can't believe i've finally found the love i've been yearning for all my life. thank you. i love you. i'm a better person because of you. meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me.

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astraystayyh · 4 months

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Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33.

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear.

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory.

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse.

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance.

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you.

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you.

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago.

Day 17.

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade.

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores.

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes.

He knows you better than you know yourself.

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands.

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from.

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you.

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.”

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head.

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again.

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you.

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you.

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19.

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement.

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.”

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask.

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently.

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?”

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.”

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment.

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé.

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out.

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms.

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope.

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto.

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating.

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in.

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back.

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night.

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you.

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?”

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure.

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles.

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door.

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place.

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up?

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you.

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-”

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.”

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you.

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach.

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls.

Day 22.

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart.

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.”

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.”

“I can try.”

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles.

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him.

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle.

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago.

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?”

“Of course. I promise you.”

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear.

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers.

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm.

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road.

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart.

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light.

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify.

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.”

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words.

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face.

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression.

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running.

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again.

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content.

“You did.”

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands.

“Of course.”

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.”

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to.

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.”

Day 26.

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads.

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more.

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin.

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest.

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought.

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.”

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within.

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals.

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door.

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for.

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you.

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.”

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more?

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were.

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks.

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart.

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words.

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle.

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words.

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side.

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder.

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second.

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing.

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips.

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly.

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends.

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?”

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.”

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out.

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along.

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle.

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs.

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks.

“N-nothing,” you stammer.

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you.

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you?

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out.

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And he loves you.

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for?

How many more days do you have to love him back?

Day 30.

Minho is sick.

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face.

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind.

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented.

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow.

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on.

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers.

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering.

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you.

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet.

“Anything.”

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly.

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to.

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm.

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you.

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows.

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted.

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds.

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days.

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again.

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean?

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep.

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name.

He prayed you’d call his too soon.

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean?

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips.

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of.

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways.

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh.

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!”

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?”

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh.

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card.

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify.

“Hey, yn!”

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them.

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run.

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey.

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat.

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by?

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be.

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both.

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all.

Day 33.

“Did I keep you waiting?”

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?”

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him.

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table.

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here.

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines.

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger.

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.”

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you.

“But how does that make you feel?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.”

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.”

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?”

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.”

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yn, he brought you back to life.”

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?”

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core.

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table.

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder.

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around.

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it.

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart.

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room.

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind.

“Minho?”

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to.

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again.

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho.

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one.

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?”

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.”

720 notes · View notes

anemptypuddingcup · 5 months

Text

Listen to me!

Luffy x Female Reader.

Smut short.

Contains: Self-insert, still referred as Reader. Reader having a sound kink. Reader’s imagination is very vivid. Masturbation. Reader gets caught masturbating by Luffy. A bit of dirty talk. Ear licking?? (I’m scared-) Luffy fingering the fuck outta Reader. Heavy fingering. A bit of breast play.

You lied back and relaxed in your shared bed, sighing out heavily as you stared up at the ceiling. You look around before huffing out as you felt your heat pooling from your cunt. Your twist and turn over, whimpering out as you yearned for Luffy. He wasn’t around, he wasn’t on the sunny yet. In fact, no one was around on the sunny. It was just you alone on the ship.

The sounds of the waves were soothing…but not enough to get your body to calm down. With the heat increasing even more in your pulsating cunt you sit yourself up against the headboard and relax yourself, teasing yourself through your panties as you began to imagine the sound of your favorite voices.

Sanji had a wonderful voice…it was so soothing to hear every day. With every “Good morning love~” and “Goodnight sweetie~” Your heart couldn’t help but to pound front the thought of his voice. Not to mention that sweet honey-coated French accent that he carried.

Zoro’s voice was more…stern and straightforward but his tone is what set you off. The way he speaks his words to others including you just does something to you. It always sounded like he was being sly or snarky while having an attitude.

A feisty voice always made you shudder with delight.

Luffy is…hm.

Luffy’s different. So different.

He’s always blunt and straightforward like Zoro but when he’s upset or angry…God when he is angry or serious…

Fuck that’s exactly what made your legs weak. His sly whispers and with his thick Brazilian accent made it so much better. Not to mention how he also speaks as well, so adorable…

Your hand moved on its own as you cup your sex, grinding your fingers against your clothed pussy before peeling off your panties. You sat up on your knees and massaged your clit, your other hand tending to your breast as your brows begin to furl at you imagination of their voices.

“You’re doing wonderful sweetheart, keep playing with that pretty clit just like that~”

“Such a naughty bitch in heat, you can’t sit still for one second without thinking about my voice and getting all slutty hah?”

“Ya look s’good playin’ with ya pussy like that baby~”

Even if hearing them say such things were less likely…you couldn’t help but to think it.

Your imagination runs rampant and you begin to mewl out at your thoughts, gasping out as you slide two of your digits past your entrance. You lie back into your comfy mattress, throwing your head back as you thrust your hips up into your hand just a bit. Your fingers were too small…they couldn’t reach the way you wanted them to.

While you were distracted tending to your own issue, Luffy bursts through the door without warning. It was sudden for him to appear since no one else was around on the Sunny. “Oi ________! Ya remember where Sanji put th’snacks?-“ Luffy pauses as he gets a full glimpse of your fingers buried deep within your cunt. You freeze for a moment and your face soon begins to burn with embarrassment. “L-Luffy! Ah! I-I’m so sorry-“ You gasp out, shuffling and removing your fingers slowly.

“Don’ take ‘em out.”

You paused, your eyes widening in slight shock as you heard the words spill from his lips. He walks in and shuts the door behind himself, slowly trailing over to you while his sandals flip-flopped one by one.

He takes a seat beside you before climbing into your bed, his frame looming over yours before he hovers over your body. He places a thick hand to your wrist, his eyes not looking away from yours.

“Now…ya can take ‘em out.” He whispers to you, his voice making you shudder with arousal. His hand guides you, slowly pulling your fingers from your pussy while you let out a little gasp. Luffy doesn’t hesitate to press his thumb to your clit, pleasing you as he found you rather stunning in this state.

“What were ya thinking’ ‘bout..? We’re ya thinkin’ ‘bout me..?” He asked you, his whispers against your ear making you mewl out sweetly. You don’t answer and instead turn your head away from him out of embarrassment. Luffy blinks, his face monotone as his fingers teased at your entrance.

You jolt as you felt his warm and thick fingers against your entrance. He brings his fingers up to his lips, sticking his tongue out to get a taste of your heat. He suckles on his fingers a bit before humming bout and slowly sliding them back to your entrance. You feel him slowly stuff his fingers inside of you, making you moan out angelically. Your moan makes him pause and you can notice a bit of blush dusting his cheeks

“Again…Make that sound again…” He says to you, kicking his sandals off before getting up into his knees. His fingers slide in and out of your pussy thoroughly, his fingertips occasionally kissing your g-spot and making you mewl and moan out.

Luffy could feel his cock growing hard at the sound of your moans, and he huffs out before thrusting his fingers inside of you a bit faster. He lies beside you, his other hand beginning to play and grope at your free breast while you gasp and whine out desperately.

Luffy moves in close to you ear, pressing a few smooches against his before biting at it, making you pull away and moan out. He chuckles softly at your reaction but it doesn’t stop him from playing and teasing at your ear.

He begins to whisper soft words into your ears.

“Ya like how I whisper in ya ear? Ya like ya baby’s fingers in ya hm?~”

“These thick fuckin’ fingers fill ya pussy up better than ya’s huh? Does ya baby’s fingers hit th’right fuckin’ spots?”

You whine and trembled against him, your toes curling as you let out a little gasp. Luffy begins thrusting his fingers inside of your pussy a bit faster, making you huff and moan out. “Cmon baby…Answer me…” He whispers again, his voice in a teasing pout. You nodded but that doesn’t satisfy Luffy. His fingers begin to swirl inside of your sticky hole, rubbing against your g-spot while you gasp and whined out.

“Y-Yes Luffy~ Y-Your fingers reach where I can’t…Fuck your voice turns me on so much~ I-I love it~” You admit, whispering back to him while a heavy moan left past your lips. You feel Luffy’s lips curl up into a smile against your ear and he begins licking and biting at your ear once again.

Your toes curled as you listen to the sound of his tongue sliding along the outside of your ear. “L-Luffy please!~” You gasp you, your cunt tightening around his thick digits as you felt yourself ready to cum. Luffy chuckles again and pulls away from your ear. “Shishishi…Ya s’naughty. Ain’cha dumplin’?~” Luffy hums, sitting up while he shoves his fingers a bit farther into your cunt.

You whine and gasp out, shaking against Luffy as you felt yourself wanting to release on his digits. “L-Luffy!~ Luffy!~ M-M’gonna cum!~” You gasp out, throwing your head back while your toes had curled even more. “Cum on m’fingers baby~ Wanna see ya pretty face an’ hear ya pretty voice when ya do~” He giggles, moving his fingers a bit faster inside of you.

You whine out as he pumped his fingers into you, your sweet moans making his cock grow harder within his shorts. “Ah! Luffy!~ L-Luffy!- Oh god!~” You gasp out and hyperventilate against him, your wall tight and snug around his fingers as you cream around his digits. You mewl and moan out, out of breath and energy while Luffy stared at your pretty face.

“S’cute~” He whispered, slowly pulling his fingers from your warm and sticky hole. You huff out shakily while Luffy pulled away, his body now hovering over yours once again.

“Ya wanna hear more sounds?…I’ll make sum noise w’ya~ Shishi~” He snickers softly, pulling his cock from his briefs and revealing it to you. You slowly but steadily sit up before smiling and moaning out in awe. His cock was thick and long enough to scratch that itch that you’ve been yearning to reach for so long.

“Y-Yes please~ Let’s make some more noise Luffy~” You cooed, spreading your legs open for him. Luffy hisses out and moves in close to you. “Fuck yeah baby~ Les’ make sum fuckin’ noise~ Nobody will hear us anyway~” He groans out, pulling his shorts down all the way.

#puddingcupimagines #dividers -> cafekitsune #one piece #one piece smut #one piece fluff #op smut #op fluff #one piece x female reader #one piece luffy #op luffy #luffy smut #luffy fluff #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader

702 notes · View notes

bb-eilish · 10 months

Text

Dirty little fantasies

pairing; master!anakin skywalker x fem!padawanreader

warnings; Fantasies, pinning, corruption kink, virgin reader, dom! anakin, sub! reader, nipple play, creampie, hand kink, dirty talk, praising, degradation, cunnilingus

a/n; i’ve never written for anakin before but i love star wars and i love writing smut so here u go!

Y/n was honestly surprised she ever became a Jedi apprentice. She was much older than the younglings, but Obi-wan and his own apprentice, Anakin, pushed for her training anyway. The council questioned who would be training her, as all of the masters already had Padawan of their own. Her hopes shattered when Master Yoda pointed out the obvious fact.

She was told the force was strong within her , not sure what that meant, y/n smiled and became excited anyway.

"Master, my Padawan is surely ready for his test. He has my full confidence. He will be able to train her." Obi-wan stepped forward, eyebrows furrowed as Anakin nodded, a serious expression scorched onto his face.

The council all had similar curious and questioning looks, but nodded anyways. "Alright, we will allow it." Master Windu sighed, putting his hand up. Y/n's eyes widened and every fiber in her being felt on fire, this is the most exciting thing she's ever experienced, and it hasn't even started yet.

The three of them exited the room and immediately a hurl of thank you's and smiles gush out of her towards the men. Their faces softened as they smiled.

—————

Y/n was now an adult, though, she wasn't very young when she became an apprentice, only several years had passed. Anakin was a great Master and she felt very lucky. The way everyone talked about him was fascinating, they praised him left, right, and center. They even became closer than she expected, being closer in age than other Padawan and Master pairs made that entirely possible.

"Master, wait up. Why are your legs so long." Y/n complained as she jogged up to Anakin's side once more, she swears he can take two steps and be a mile ahead of her. He chuckles before saying, "You ask that every time we walk together." Her nose scrunches at his teasing. But at the same time, her heart skips a beat and she swallows quietly. Though, she tries her hardest to keep down the way her body practically yearns for him. The hardest part is keeping the thoughts, the oh so delicious thoughts about him, to a 0 whenever he's near. The force is amazing in so many ways but a real pain in the ass when all she wants do is day dream about him.

"Great job by the way, the mission wouldn't have gone as well as it did without you. You're becoming a considerable Jedi." He looks over at her as she thanked him. He can't help but think about how much she's grown while being under his wing. In power and physically. Anakin was no liar, he couldn't possibly deny the fact she has matured into a fully fledged woman, Padawan or not, he couldn't keep his eyes to himself. He had to push down the thoughts as well.

Anakin was fully aware of her daily thoughts. It made his day whenever he could know what she was thinking before she even entered the room. They were always innocent and random, until recently. Y/n clouded her thoughts much more, and at random times of the day and night, the hairs on the back of his neck would stand up, goosebumps would frost his skin and he had no idea why. The thoughts he could read were innocent in nature, but all about him. What he was wearing that day, how he decided to style his hair, certain things he said to her. His ego inflated each time and it made him even more arrogant and confident.

But alas, Jedi's were not allowed to become attached. He wondered if he needed to remind her of that, but he decided against it. Having a crush on him wasn't a crime.

—————

Anakin waited for her at her door that morning, he always does when they train at this time, which is only a few times a week. As he neared the door her thoughts became more apparent, at first she was busy with brushing her hair, then it was her tying her robes, and then they drifted off to him. He could see she was thinking about the time he had to help her untie the small knot she made in her robes. It made him smile, it was almost impossible to untie it. But his smile slowly faded as he realized her attention, unwavering, was directed to his hand. Not him untying the knot in general per say, but the way his calloused hand and metal one gripped the fabric, and how his very visible veins bulged through his skin.

He could sense how hard she focused on it, and how the thought of his hands sent her spiraling into day dreams. He was about to knock to end his spying before something caught him off guard. The waves of want that echoed from her, he could feel the stuttered deep breath she let out as she thought about his hands on her. How they would feel to prod at her most sensitive areas as he spoke downright sinful words towards her.

He felt like the air was knocked from his lungs as she thought in detail about the things he would say. The hair at the back of his neck reacted first, the goosebumps came second. "You're my prettiest girl , aren't you?" "Such a slut for me." "Use your words, angel." "You're mine, only I can make you feel like this." Anakin roughly shook his head before he breathed in and knocked on her door.

The thoughts ceased and his shoulders untensed because of it.

Y/n's door opened and there she was, smile as bright as ever as she greeted him. "Good morning, Master. A bit late aren't you?" She questioned, closing the door behind her with a wave of her hand.

He mustered up a smile as well as he answered, "Apologies, I was talking with Master Yoda." He patted himself on the back for not being suspicious as he lied through his teeth.

—————

Training was different today. No doubt it was about what he had walked in on this morning, but he tried his best to act like something wasn't bothering him.

Sparring was especially different, he was acutely aware of whenever he even placed a finger on her. She didn't seem affected at this but he knew. He knew the things she wanted him to say to her, say to her when his hands memorized her body, set her skin ablaze in their wake. It had a carnal desire simmering in his gut as he gazed at her sweaty form pant from the work she was being put through. So when training ended he made his way to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face helped the heat on his skin, but not the heat starting to grow in him.

Anakin fell pray to his desires, now instead of her imagining what it would be like to be underneath him, it was him imagining what it would be like to be on top of her. Looking down to see the look in her eyes as he touched her, made her his. The sounds she'd make as he stuffed her full. The mere thought had his pants tighten significantly. Would she cry as he stretched her out? Would she beg him to keep going? Better yet, would she submit herself to him, his mercy?

He manages, somehow, to collect himself before he leaves.

"There you are, Anakin. There is a last minute mission I need you and Y/n to do" Obi-wan told him as he lead him to the holotable. "Do not let him out of your sight, we suspect he's behind Senator Amidala's assassination attempts. He knows what you both look like though, so make sure he doesn't notice you." He explained further, Anakin nodded, going into serious Jedi-Master mode.

"I won't fail you, Master."

—————

After Anakin explained the plan to her she nodded along and followed his lead to his speeder.

"He lives in-" He pauses as he points to the apartment building they both come up to. "That building, there is two doors leading out, one in the back and one in the front. I'll take the one behind it." He parks the speeder where he could get in it quickly, but isn't suspicious. "We're close enough to speak through the force, so if something happens let me know immediately."

"Yes, Master."

He nods at her before speedily walking to the other side of the small apartment building. She pulls up the hood of her robe and tries to look the least inconspicuous as she possibly can.

—————

It's been radio silence for a few hours before the front door opens to the exact alien they're here for. She quickly lets Anakin know.

She watches the alien closely, walking behind him at a distance he wouldn't find strange.

Anakin catches up to her, both the Jedis watch the supposed assassinator from afar enter a bar. "I hate bars." She groans as he drags the Padawan inside the building.

"Uh, Master. Won't our hoods be kind of out of place in here?" Y/n points out, noticing the lack of clothes everyone is wearing.

"Oh, yes. Clever thinking, Y/n." He says, narrowing his eyes in search for the alien.

They both take a seat at one of the tables, eyeing the place until Anakin spots the alien, he's at the bar, downing what seems to be his 3rd shot. He stumbles a bit trying to get off of his chair. Both Jedi watch him go down the hallway that has the bathrooms, but also the back door. So, Anakin flags you over as he gets up. "Uh, Master. Isn't he just going to the bathroom?" She questions getting close enough to the hallway to peer down it. It's empty, aside from the usual couple making out on the walls. It brings a blush to her cheeks. No sign of the alien though.

They both walk further down the hallway until they both feel the door about to be opened, so Anakin does the first thing he can think of. He pushes his Padawan against the closest wall and kisses her. Trying his best to shield both of their identities, he pushes himself further against her and puts his hands on her cheeks trying to hide her face. She gasps in his mouth and her hands can't help but grip his robes.

She's never been this close to him, the feel of his skin on hers, his hands on her, feels like a dream. His intoxicating smell already clouds her mind. But the feeling is over before she knows it, the alien has walked back into the main area again. Anakin doesn't waste a second before following him.

Y/n stands at the wall still, hand coming up to touch her lips. That was her first kiss. Her first kiss was with him.

—————

The outcome of the mission was good, they ended up catching him and Obi-wan was happy.

The next day was training again for Anakin and Y/n. This time it felt so intimate, Anakin's touch would linger far longer than needed and he found any reason to touch her. It had her head spinning by the time they were done.

It apparently didn't stop at training either, Anakin would lead her everywhere with a secure hand on her lower back. He didn't comment on it so she decided not to either, in fear of him retracting the hand.

When he wasn't near, her thoughts were even more out of hand. Now, when she met up with him she was shyer than normal. A part of him regretted the kiss, he enjoyed it but he worried it bothered her. That night he made his way to her room, he wanted to talk about it without anything hearing.

And just like last time he heard her thoughts, here he was again. This time it seemed like she was already in the middle of her fantasizing. Before he could understand what she was thinking about, he knocked on the door.

It opened, the first thing he noticed was her big doe eyes staring up at him curiously.

“Master, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” He asked, clearing his throat.

She nodded and he stepped inside.

The second he was all the way in he could feel the waves of want and desire once more, but this time they were all around him and it was hard to speak. Anakin swallowed, looking into her eyes as he began. “I wanted to apologize for what happened during the mission, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

She shakes her head quickly, “No No, it’s not that it made me uncomfortable. It was..” She pauses as she sits down on the edge of her bed. “It was my first kiss.” She flinches, she was always teased for not having kissed anyone while she was there.

He gulps this time, he can’t deny the feeling of pride that grew in him.

He sat beside her, contemplating his words carefully.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take that away from you.”

She turns to look at him, the only light in the room shining from her small lamp on her nightstand brushed against his face, making his features soft.

“Don’t be sorry, I, um.” She stops herself before continuing, fearful of her words.

Her master eyes her, “You what?” He speaks through the force, gaze narrowing at her sputtering.

“I enjoyed it.”

They both stare at each other, his eyebrows furrow as he watches her face. Y/n watches the inner turmoil that’s present on his as a lock of his hair falls in front of his eyes. A hand comes up to her wrist, it glides upward, over her neck, and up to her cheek. It cradles her face as his resolve snaps. This kiss has purpose, he hopes she can feel it. The way their lips brush against each other is erotic and she can’t possibly hold in the small moan that’s threatening to spill.

The jedi pulls away slightly to eye her, his mouth is parted as he takes in everything she’s silently offering. His breaths fans over her face and it sets her nerves on fire.

The second kiss is full of lust and want, his gloved hand finds her hip before he decides they’re not nearly as close as he would like. The hand on her cheek slides down to her chest and gently pushes her to lay on her back, though, his lips never leave hers. He situates himself on top of her and pulls away farther than before. Gazing at her lidded eyes and soon the pout settling over her lips.

“My prettiest girl.” He sighs out, reaching up to run a nail up and down her neck.

“Master.” She begins.

“Anakin.” He corrects as the nail on her neck drifts down enough to pull her shirt away from her collarbones.

“Anakin..” She obeys, even if it feels foreign on her tongue. “I need you.”

“I know…you should really keep your thoughts to yourself yknow that, Angel?” The name has her eyes widening and a smirk gracing his face.

“How could you think I wouldn’t find out about all the dirty little fantasies you have about me?” He switches hands so his gloved one is pressed next to her shoulder on the bed keeping him upright, while the other one meets her hip again to push the fabric of her shirt upward, Anakin eyes the newly exposed skin and tugs at his lip.

“M’sorry.” She breathes as a fierce blush settles over her face.

“No need to be sorry…” He drags his blunt nails up her torso as he drags her shirt up, goosebumps tickle her flesh as a result. Even more so when he leans down to hover over her, now, exposed breasts. It doesn’t take long for her nipples to harden partly from being out in the open air, but mostly because of him.

The Padawan holds her breath as he nears the mounds of skin, it starts with dizzying kisses up the valley between them and then continues with him teasingly licking around one of her nipples. She gasps, her bottom lip caught under her front teeth harshly.

Anakin takes a full nipple into his mouth and sighs as the sounds he knew would sound so pretty, leave her. Especially the ones where she moans his name in that breathy voice of hers. Her back arches and it sends her breasts even further into his face. He removes his mouth for a moment, only to envelope the other nipple and graze his teeth ever so slightly against it, he takes in her gasps and whines and they all go straight to his ever tightening pants.

He pulls away again, this time to lean up and kiss her. Messily their lips slide together, he even experimentally brushes her lips with his tongue. But she pulls away, “What are you doing?” She asks curiously out of breath.

“Open your mouth for me, kay?” His gaze goes back and forth between her eyes to her lips as he talks.

They kiss again and he does the same thing, so, she opens her mouth. His skilled tongue licks into her unexpectedly and Y/n moves her hands to his clothed chest for stability, well, mental stability at least. Anakin then sucks her tongue rather harshly and it sends moan after moan into his mouth. He swallows all of them gladly as he feels himself become even more worked up.

He would love to keep kissing her, he honestly thinks he could do it forever, but they must keep going. She whines and chases his lips when he pulls away this time and it has his eyes darkening. The shirt she’s half wearing is thrown somewhere on the floor as he dips down to kiss her stomach, down her belly button and along the waistline of her pajama pants as he hooks his fingers along them, dragging them down slowly.

The pink underwear she’s wearing has a frilly bow on the top and he couldn’t handle it. It was like he was opening up his present on christmas, his little, angelic, present that wants nothing more than to have him degrade her. How could he possibly deny that?

“Such cute panties for someone who’s such a little slut for me. Tell me, Angel, would you let me fuck you anytime I asked? Would you let me fuck you in my speeder? On the holotable in front of everyone?” He skims his lips against the hem of her underwear once more as he eyes her like a predator.

“Yes, yes, would let you touch me wherever you wanted.” She panted out, gripping the sheets beneath her.

“You’re all mine, aren’t you?” He asks, pricking the waistband with his teeth and dragging the offending material down her legs. She couldn’t speak, the sight and the feeling left her speechless and unbelievably wet. As soon as the last of her clothing was gone the smell of her sex was utterly intoxicating, so he did the first thing he thought of. Prying her legs apart and pressing his face against her cunt. Y/n didn’t have time to worry about her being the only naked one, for that she was thankful.

Anakin truly believed he could die happily right now.

“Maker, you smell amazing. Bet you taste even better.” He practically moans into her, the vibrations send jolts of electricity up her spine and it causes her legs to almost close. But the iron grip he has on her didn’t allow for that. Even when he licked up the expanse of her heat and suckled on her clit, her thighs were begging to give out by then. The new feeling of his tongue was addicting, the way he licked into her clenching hole had her head spinning and heart pounding.

“You feeling good, Angel?” He pants against her, opening his eyes to gaze at her already fucked out form. A moan leaves her as she nods. His ungloved hand lets go of her thigh in favor of circling her cunt and pressing his fingers against her hole. She chokes out a moan at the action.

His mouth only leaves her clit to speak as he fills her up, one finger at a time.

“So tight.”

It has her clenching and he hopes he’s able to feel that around his cock. The fire consumes her from the inside out and all she can do is take it.

Y/n’s moans become louder and more frequent, that paired with the clenching she’s doing around his fingers, he assumes she’s going to come. So before she can, he sticks in another finger and scissors them inside of her, coaxing out an orgasm the best he can.

“Come for me, Y/n.”

Her limbs tense up as her eyes clamp shut, said fire is spreading through her, every finger, every fiber. The euphoric feeling is prolonged as much as possible because of his fingers and the mouth still sucking her pulsating clit.

When she comes back down he stands up, gripping his shirt and pulling it from his body. In her frazzled state, she eyes his stomach, his abs more specifically. His chest too, the way it heavily falls up and down from his deep breathing is hypnotic. His belt is pulled off, and soon he’s unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down and off. She can easily see the outline of him through his briefs and the fire that was just released in her seems to have come back.

Anakin watches her face closely as he slips down his briefs and kicks them off. Her gaze on his cock doesn’t last long he notices, her eyes fall to his hand that’s currently gliding up her calf. He can’t help but chuckle.

“You really like my hands, don’t you? Even the metal one?” He smiles at the end.

She nods shyly.

So he takes a detour, his hand comes up to her face, traces her jaw, then traces her bottom lip with his thumb. Her breathing changed almost immediately at that. He wonders something for a moment, so he trails his hand downward, ghosting over the base of her throat. She bites her lip again as he loosely grips her neck.

“So pretty with my hand around your neck. Are you ready for me, Angel?” He mumbles. She finds it hard to speak, the intense eye contact is quite distracting and intimidating.

But she finally gets out a “Yes, Anakin.” After he swats her thigh with his metal hand.

The hand around her neck doesn’t budge as he settles in between her thighs and wraps a leg around his waist. He watches his tip tap her clit and tease her until she’s whining. He can’t hold up the act for long though, he feels like he might explode if he doesn’t push inside of her soon. The initial stretch doesn’t feel good, even if Anakin is pushing in rather slow, it still has her flinching.

“It’ll feel good, Angel, don’t worry. Just wait.” He tells her, concerned. She nods in return, holding onto his waist loosely. He keeps his slow pace until he fully bottoms out, he’s sure he could come right now. Her walls latch onto him like a vice and she’s so, so, wet for him. “Fuck, Angel. So wet and tight for me.” He praises breathily.

She clenches at that and it has his brain short circuit. All he wants to do is move, move until he comes inside her, but he waits until she’s ready.

“You can m-move.”

The first experimental thrust is intoxicating for the both of them. He was right, it does feel good. Just him inside her feels good. Every vein and ridge is felt and she makes note of each and every one of them. Another thing she notes is how deep he is, she swears she can feel him in her stomach at this point.

It doesn’t take him long to set a good starting pace, one that isn’t too rough but still satisfying.

“Anakin, you feel so good.” She moans, hips absentmindedly raising to meet his thrusts. The hand around her throat becomes tighter as he groans out.

“Flip over.” He says all of a sudden, pulling out. Her reaction time isn’t very good right now so she furrows her eyebrows. Far too slow for Anakin, so he takes it upon himself to manhandle her onto her stomach. She lays flat against the bed as he forces open her legs again. This time when he pushes in, the stretch is delicious. It has her pushing her ass against him, “Already such a slut for me.” He mumbles as he hovers over her back.

One particular harsh thrust has a loud, pornographic, moan leaving her kiss-swollen lips. He narrows his eyes as his flesh hand presses into her spine, moving upward until it reaches the back of her neck. It swivels to the front, lingers over her windpipe, and drags up to her mouth, pressing firmly against her lips. So firm that her head is lifted into his shoulder as he begins to jackhammer his hips into her.

Leaning down to her ear, he begins, “Such a perfect cunt for me, Angel. Gonna fuck you any time I get the chance.” He groans, grinding into her before thrusting again. The moans leaving her vibrate his hand and he can’t help but thrust faster.

Her brain feels like goo and she hopes he doesn’t ask her anything right now. But, of course.

“Do you like my cock, Angel?” He asks as he moves his hand for her to answer. She only whines and nods, hoping that’ll suffice. But it doesn’t. He smirks as he leans in again, “Use you words.” His tone has goosebumps prickling her neck as she tries to muster up something to say.

“Mm, I- I love it, mm, Ani.” The nickname gets him where it hurts, he can feel how close he is. So, he abandons her mouth and moves his hand in between her body and the bed, circling her throbbing clit.

His metal hand grips the back of her head and pushes it into her sheets, keeping her quiet as he continues abusing her leaking cunt with his cock and fingers. Just as he begins to feel his orgasm coming even closer she babbles and moans, “Ani, I’m, oh my god.” As she clenches around him sporadically. “Good girl, come around me.” She does just that and it pushes him to the edge immediately, his hips stutter and his groans fill the room, he pushes to the hilt as he comes inside of her. Filling her up until it’s leaking out.

They both pant as he pulls out and she turns around. Anakin places a kiss on her lips, once, twice, three times before speaking, “You did so good for me, Y/n. So proud of you.”

“Thank you, Master.” She lazily smiles.

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin smut #anakin x reader #star wars smut #star wars x reader #darth vader smut #darth vader x reader

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whispersoftheton · 11 months

Note

This idea has been on my mind for a while… Anthony seeing you in the bridgerton blues for the first time, can either be smut or fluff :) thanks

Ahhhh I love this so much, thank you for sending it in! :)

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: kissing, fluff, smut, p in v

Word Count: 1.2K

The family gathered around the room on another sweltering summer day. Hyacinth and Gregory bickered over yet another sworn tie in their endless chess matches while Eloise quietly read her book in the opposite corner. Anthony sat between his brothers, Benedict telling him of his endless tales from class among the unspoken soirees he discreetly attended from time to time and Colin of his many travels. Anthony found himself growing bored, awaiting your arrival. You were to accompany him and the rest of the Bridgertons to the races this afternoon, as it would be your first outing as a family since your marriage to the Viscount. And he could not bear to listen to another one of Benedict's tales for one more second; he needed to see you.

"Mother." Anthony stood hurriedly from the gold-trimmed sofa to approach Lady Bridgerton as she entered the room. "Where is she?"

"Now, calm down, Anthony; she is nearly ready." Lady Birdgerton assured him while straightening out his neckline to perfection. She knew Anthony's antics well enough by now to understand his growing impatience was only a product of his theatrics.

"I feel as though I have been waiting an eternity. Surely she must-" Anthony made his way past his mother and into the hallway, his words stammered as soon as his eyes landed on you. You'd been making your way to the main room when he appeared in your path, a smile gracing both your lips. There was no word in the English language to describe how beautiful you looked. The most impeccable dress draped over every curve in a more delicate shade of blue than he wore but complimented his outerwear perfectly. Warmth blossomed in Anthony’s chest at the sight of you in that color. His color. He never thought he'd see the day when the one he loved, the one his heart eternally yearned for, would wear the color that meant so much to him and his family. He would never tire of how easily you overpowered him whenever he was in your presence.

"Do I look alright?" You nervously patted your skirt, ensuring everything was as it should be. Hesitation apparent in your tone as you approached him.

"Alright?" Anthony's eyes widened as he took your hands in his. He couldn't believe you would use a modest word such as 'alright' to describe how exquisite you looked right now. "My love, you look…absolutely stunning. Beyond words, truly." Heat filled your face, and your stomach fluttered at his flattery. Anthony had a way of making you feel as though you two were the only person on the face of the earth, easily melting under his gaze. It was an exquisite feeling you wished to relish in forever. Anthony glanced around and took advantage of the privacy to steal a kiss. His lips were warm and soft against your own. They parted slightly, allowing you to move more passionately as your hunger for one another became apparent in mere seconds. It shouldn't be surprising, seeing as you and your husband could hardly keep your hands off each other since your wedding night. The moment grew heated with every swipe of his tongue, hands caressing the soft flesh of your waist and hips hidden beneath the restricting fabric of your dress.

"Mother!" Anthony reluctantly pulled away, panting, and shouted. "Go ahead without us. We will join you shortly, as promised." Without so much as a second thought or a response from anyone, he whisked you away toward a nearby closet in a closed-off hallway he was sure no one wandered by.

"Anthony, what are you doing? The races are starting soon." You protested before he cut you off with another chaste kiss and shut the door behind him.

"We will join them in a moment. I must have you right now." The passion flowed through his words, making you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation and a chuckle escape you. He pulled you close, continuing his ministrations. His lips scattered kisses along your neckline and down to your chest as your hands tangled in his hair. His hands worked tirelessly to remove as many barriers between your bodies as quickly as possible as he gently guided you to lean on the wall behind you. Your dress was bunched up toward you as Anthony hastily removed his trousers just to his upper thigh. You panted under him, his lips never leaving your skin, leaving a trail of marks and bruises as a reminder of his love for you.

"Seeing you in our family color," Anthony spoke between kisses. "You are so beautiful." He was rambling as he often did when he was this worked up. The way you looked, how your body responded to his every touch. Every beautiful sound he was able to pull from you, it drove him mad. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to have you now. Anthony abruptly lifted and pressed you against the wall, your fingers tugging at his hair and desperately nipping at his lower lip, pulling an animalistic groan from his chest.

"Anthony, please." You practically whimpered when you felt his cock prod at your entrance, clenching around nothing as the tip slid over your sensitive clit. He lined himself up and pressed his lips against yours to swallow any sounds you made as he gently pushed inside you. You moaned into each other in unison, and he waited, letting you settle as you nodded for him to move. Anthony began to plunge into you, easily slipping through your folds, feeling your warm cunt swallow him whole. He cupped your breast over the fabric of your dress, kneading it in his hands while breathing heavily as he bottomed out inside of you, holding you there for a moment, reveling in how impossibly soft and warm you felt around him as low whimpers escaped you.

A low grunt rumbled from his chest when he felt you fluttering around him. His hand outlined from the swell of your breasts all the way down beneath your hips, memorizing every curve, feeling the way your chest was rising and falling with every breath of pleasure that surged through you; even the way your hips instinctively moved to meet his own drove him insane. Anthony craved and wanted nothing more than to be close to you; even being inside you now, it was never close enough for him. He began to stroke your clit, already aching for attention. Your bodies rocked in sync with one another, desperate for relief. Anthony felt you whine quietly as your orgasm crashed into you. Waves of heat overwhelmed your body as you pulsed on his cock, pulling Anthony to spill himself inside of you.

Anthony pulled away from you after a moment of stolen kisses and delicate touches. He made sure you were settled on the ground and took the time to adjust himself. Moving quickly to assist you in fixing your dress and ensuring everything else was in order before opening the door to confirm no one was outside and stepping out of the closet. You may have missed the race's first leg, but with the knowing smirks and blissed-out looks on both your faces, it was well worth it.

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#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton one shot #anthony bridgerton angst #bridgerton netflix #lady bridgerton #viscount bridgerton

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heeliopheelia · 7 months

Text

"was that your first kiss?" (heeseung x reader)

genre: fluff word count: 0.7k requested by nonnie ♡

a/n: last heeseung drabble for this event!! i had so much fun writing this, i'll probably expand this idea a little more in the future!! im so tired im falling on my face rn so i'll do a grammar check tomorrow!! 🤍

masterlist

It's hilarious, really, how your campus' it boy Lee Heeseung seems to be absolutely smitten with you.

With the mentioned above man hot on your heels like a shadow, you try your best not to get distracted and keep putting the pile of books back on their rightful place on old shelves. Paying no attention to his stubborn tailing you, you bite back a smile at his soft grunt when he stumbles into another table corner for the nth time this hour.

Without no words needed anymore, you hand him one of the books and he automatically slides it onto the top shelf where you can't reach.

This has been going on for about two months now – you spending your afternoons helping the elderly campus librarian putting back the returned books, and Heeseung entertaining you with his presence as he relentlessly tries to work for this date with you that he's been yearning for for such a long time.

"Are you free this Friday?" He asks suddenly and you send him a glance. He leans one shoulder against the tall bookshelf and beams at you. "We have a game at 6, you have to come. I won't be able to make it into the hoop without seeing your pretty little face cheering on me from the stands."

"Sounds to me like you're not that good of a player if you won't," you bite back playfully but don't say no to his offer. The both of you know well that you'll come just as you did the last five times.

Heeseung's smile broadens as he closes the distance between the two of you a little more. "Every athlete needs a lil something to get them going. In my case it's you, my muse."

You can't help but scoff at his blatant flirtation and with a shake of your head you take a step back in an attempt to get a hold of your hammering heart again.

And with a yelp, you trip over the bag that you've carelessly tossed to the floor some hours before, and stumble forward – straight into Heeseung's chest. Not wasting any second more and risking the chance of you backing away, he takes the opportunity of having you this close to him and cups your chin with his long fingers, only to lean down and plant a kiss right on your lips. You freeze in your place, stunned with the sudden new feeling as you heart nearly beats out of your chest.

He pulls away to check up on you, hoping he didn't cross any of your boundaries, but when he sees your sparkly eyes looking at him with such astonishment, face flushed so fucking adorably, he can't help but mold your lips back together again. He nibbles at the plush of your lip gently, thumb sliding to your chin to tug it down slightly and allowing him to deepen the kiss a little more.

There are no thoughts present on your mind other than Heeseung and his stupidly charming smirk and his stupidly confident attitude and his stupidly handsome face that never seems to leave your mind for even a second.

When he pulls away, he's met with your stunned face, eyes fluttering open and gaping right into his. He bites back a laugh as you remain speechless, a fat blush arising on your cheeks.

"Was that your first kiss?" He ends up asking, hand reaching up to brush the stray strand of hair out of your eyes. When all you do is nod your head sheepishly, eyes desperately avoiding his, he lets a wide grin spread on his lips. "Yeah? I was your first?"

You smack his arm gently and feel your ears burning when he catches your hand and intertwines it with his one.

"Shut up." You say and the quiet mutter squeezes at Heeseung's heart mercilessly.

And, god, he's so pathetic. So in love with you that if his teammates caught him in such state, he probably wouldn't hear the end of it until the day of his graduation.

"So you'll come? Right?"

With a roll of your eyes you close the distance parting your faces and mumble into his lips, "Yes, you idiot."

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth

#carly's 1k event ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა #1k event: requests ✎#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung drabbles

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bedsyandco · 4 months

Text

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 • 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

❥ — ꒰ pairing ꒱ fem!reader x jack hughes

❥ — ꒰ synopsis ꒱ part 2 of this fic!! in which you and Jack are in a fwb relationship and he takes you home to the lake house for the summer causing lines to be blurred

❥ — ꒰ content ꒱ nsfw? suggestive? kissing?

❥ — ꒰ note ꒱ you’ve been requesting this one for so long!! thank you for being patient!! I hope it was worth the wait!!

❥ — ꒰ word count ꒱ 1.6K

The first thing you notice when you wake up is blue. The blue of Jack’s eyes. It was the first thing you noticed when the two of you met as well. They were captivating. Maybe it’s the way they clearly reflect every little thought going through Jack’s head, the way you can clearly tell when he’s annoyed, or happy, or cocky. Or maybe it’s just because for the past few months you’ve been studying those eyes and you knew his expressions like the back of your hand now.

“Mornin’.” he says, his voice still thick with sleep, deep and raspy in a way that makes your thighs clench together.

“Morning,” you reply, sending him a little smile. Jack bends down to kiss your cheek, knowing how you feel about kissing before you’ve brushed your teeth.

“I could get used to this,” Jack says, running his hands through your messy hair and you blink sleepily up at him.

“Get used to what?” you ask.

“You. In my shirt, in my bed, in my house.” Jack replies, lifting the very shirt he was speaking of and running his hand up and down your back, his hand feeling warm on your skin.

You close your eyes again for a moment, trying to absorb and block out the words he was saying at the same time. You didn’t know if he knew what it did to your heart every time he said something like that. How it made your heart hope and yearn for a split second that this was real and not just the two of you fooling around. But that hope only lasted for a second before your brain caught up and reality sets in again.

“Don’t get used to it Hughes. It’s a rare occasion,” you say and he chuckles, kissing your neck before, standing up from the bed and tugging his sweats and shirt on.

“I’m gonna go downstairs, pretty sure mom already started with breakfast. Do your thing and meet me down there yeah?” Jack says, and you nod, letting out a little sigh as he leaves and closes the door behind him.

You take a few deep breaths, trying to prepare for the day ahead. This was what everyday felt like since you met Jack Hughes. Like it was a constant battle with yourself. Half of you fighting not to fall in love with him and the other half already there.

When you get downstairs you smile politely and greet Ellen and Quinn, The only other two people in the lake house that are awake right now. Your mind briefly wonders what they might think of you. What they might think about the fact that you slept in Jack’s bed last night. Or the hickey that’s visible on your neck, that you tried and failed miserably to hide with makeup only a few minutes ago. What they might think about the fact that the two of you are visibly more than friends but Jack very pointedly made sure to refer to you as his friend on multiple occasions.

“Are we taking the boat out today?” Jack asks Quinn as he sits next to you and Quinn nods in response.

Those thoughts only lasted for a few minutes before you remembered that you were likely never going to see these people again. You weren’t planning on continuing this arrangement with Jack until next summer and you very much doubted that you and Jack would end on good enough terms to keep in contact with each other, never mind his family.

—

Later that day you were sitting on the boat, soaking up the sun, the atmosphere filled with laughter and happiness as the guys took turns bullying each other about who’s better at wake surfing. You could certainly tell them who looked the hottest doing it, although your opinion might be a little biassed.

“Move Z,” Jack says as he gets back on the boat, drying himself off with a towel.

“What, why?” Trevor asks from beside you.

“Because that seat’s reserved.” Jack says, looking at him pointedly.

“For who?” Trevor asks confused and Jack scoffs annoyed

“Me, dumbass. Move,” Jack says again, throwing his friend with a towel and taking the now open seat next to you.

Jack’s hands go to your hips and he lifts you and pulls you closer, so you’re sitting sideways on his lap.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Yeah, why?” you ask, weaving your hand through his wet hair.

“I dunno. You just seem in your head today,” Jack replies, unable to help himself and moving his hand to cup your ass.

“I’m just hot,” you answer

“The hottest,” Jack says smirking at you as he squeezes your ass, and presses a kiss against your collarbone, dangerously close to your breasts.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say laughing a little and shoving his head away.

“Oh you mean the weather. Well I have a solution for that” Jack responds teasingly as if he didn’t know that’s what you meant this whole time.

He stands up with you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder and walks towards the back of the boat.

“Jack, stop, no!” you screech, hitting his back a few times while giggling. Trevor, Quinn and Luke all begin cheering him on, encouraging him to drop you in the water.

“You ready?” Jack asks teasingly

“No, absolutely not. Put me down,” you say, hitting his ass and he bites yours in retaliation.

“You can swim right baby?” he asks and you can hear the humour in his voice.

“Yes-”

“Okay. On three are you ready… One, two, three.” he says and adjusts you so you’re in front of him, griping you tightly to him as he jumps in.

The two of you separate when going down but he immediately pulls you closer again when you resurface.

“That wasn’t so bad right?” Jack asks as your hands lock around his neck.

“You jerk,” you scold him and he just grins at you.

“Your jerk,” he shoots back, connecting his lips to yours in a bruising kiss and biting your lower lip as he pulls away.

And all that ran through your mind when he said that was that he isn’t yours. Not really. Not forever. Not in the way you want him to be yours.

“Hey lovebirds, get back on the boat before we leave you here,” Quinn yells and you make your way back on the boat.

—

Later that night you were laying in Jack’s bed again, trying to focus on the movie playing on his TV but it was proving to be a bit difficult when Jack couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“You liking the lake house?” Jack asks, his hand tracing patterns on your stomach.

“Yeah, it’s been fun. I really like your family and your friends. I can see why you grew up to be the person you are, growing up with influences and relationships like these,” you say and Jack smiles in response, kissing you softly.

“Think you’d wanna come back next year?” Jack asks and your breath hitches, meeting those blue eyes.

“Probably not. I’m not sure it was the best idea to come here this year,” you say and Jack immediately frowns, his hand stilling on your stomach, just resting there.

“But you just said you’re having fun. I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?“ Jack asks, removing his hands from you completely and sitting up and you follow suit.

“No Jack-“

“Then why?” he asks and you can hear the hurt in his tone.

“Because you’re making it hard for me not to fall in love with you. And I’ve been trying really hard to not let all these little things you’ve been doing get to my head and it’s getting harder and harder to convince myself that you don’t feel the same way, You made it clear from the start that you’re not a relationship guy and I don’t wanna make this hurt more than it’s already going to” you say, your tone vulnerable and Jack’s eyes soften as he grabs both your hands in his.

“What if I do feel the same way?” Jack asks

“Don’t humour me. It’s cruel,” you say and he takes your hand, placing it on his chest, right over his heart.

“I’m being serious. I’m not a relationship guy because I’ve never met anyone I’ve wanted to be a relationship guy for. Until you,” Jack says, and you swallow thickly.

“I’m probably gonna suck at it, and a month or two in you’re probably gonna realise you deserve better. I just want the chance to try, if you’ll let me,” Jack says and you connect your lips to his, not wanting to hear him say anything else negative about himself.

You had no doubt that Jack would be the perfect partner if he was really committed to it. Because if there’s anything you’ve learned about him in these last few months…it’s that once Jack is determined to do something, nothing will stop him.

And the only thing you realised a month into dating him, is that you’re hopelessly in love with him and that loves never stops growing.

Your next summer, and many summers after that were all spent there, right where it started.

#jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #hockey blurb #nhl blurb #hockey fic #nhl fic #hockey imagine

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sarahscribbles · 5 months

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thirsty thursday idea! since you've done a marking kink drabble, maybe a bruising kink drabble? I've never seen a fic about it. I'm thinking that the reader is really turned on by Loki bruising her with his grip/ roughness. him grabbing her hips while she's riding him so hard it bruises. bruises the next day on her arms/wrists from where he held her. bruises on her thighs from loki holding her down while he eats her out. okay I'm done now, hopefully this inspires you😂

Oh, Lord, I hope this suffices as a bruising kink! I did my best!

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖𝟓𝟎

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The very first time Loki had left a mark on your skin, you had thought the guilt would consume him.

Tiny splotches of purple and red had quickly blossomed beneath your skin - the aftermath of eager fingers following a week apart - but to Loki, those tiny marks indented in your skin were akin to a bullet straight through your heart.

“I hurt you,” he had said, ghosting the tips of his fingers guiltily along your thigh. “My darling, I can’t apologise enough.”

At first, you had thought it was an act, but the heaviness that settled across his face and the pain shining in his eyes brought the realisation that he meant every word. He truly believed that ten little bruises no bigger than a fingertip had left you in agony.

“Loki,” you had called to him softly, watching his eyes quickly rise to meet yours. Those pretty green irises held so much remorse that you wanted to wrap him in your arms and never let go. “You didn’t hurt me, love. Not in a way I didn’t enjoy, anway,” you added, reaching a hand down to cover his.

Two perfectly groomed eyebrows had furrowed in clear confusion. “How do you mean?”

Beneath your hand, his thumb still traced slowly over the bruise it had left there, and, for some strange reason, it made heat creep slowly to your cheeks. You had talked about so many of your kinks with him - hell, only a few weeks ago you had told him it gets you going when he finishes on you - yet it was this that made you embarrassed?

“I…I like it when you mark me,” you had admitted. “Brusies, biting, I don’t care how, but I like it. I like the physical reminder that I’m yours. I like other people knowing that I’m yours.”

His hand around yours had tightened and you watched the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Say that again, darling, please. I need you to say it again,” he had said softly, a new roughness lacing around his words.

You had bitten your lip coyly in the way you knew drove him crazy. “I want everyone to know that I’m yours, Loki. Please.”

A grin had spread cross your lovers face, one that was both soft yet wicked, and he had climbed back eagerly between your legs. “Your wish is my command, darling.”

That had only been a few short weeks ago. Now, as he thrusts into you almost ruthlessly, his fingers are gripping your thigh so tightly to his waist that you might pass out at how good it feels.

He’s lost the hesitancy and the fear, and now a patchwork of purple and red splotches covers every part of your body that he can reach. Your chest and stomach are covered in bruises - all courtesy of his beautifully sinful mouth - and similar marks pepper the inside of your thighs from where he had held them apart to lick you to your first orgasm.

Tonight, you’re riding a high so powerful and so blinding that you yearn for the ability to stop time, to stay locked forever in this bed with this god between your legs.

Loki’s hand tightens around your thigh as your climax builds, making tiny stars dance enticingly at the edge of your vision. “Oh, fuck, Loki!” you groan, clutching him to you in sheer desperation. “Please! Let everyone…let everyone know…I’m yours!”

He rolls his hips against yours with a ferocious force that makes you whimper and pants roughly in your ear, “I promise you…no one will question who you belong to…when they see you tomorrow morning.”

His lips find your neck and you explode on his cock to the feel of him leaving a trail of fresh marks along the column of your throat. No part of you has been neglected tonight.

Your orgasm has barely faded when Loki pulls his cock from your cunt, and you’re still floating so blissfully on the pink cloud of release that you don’t even raise an objection when he maneuvers your body so that you’re on all fours on the bed.

“Oh, fuck,” you slur out when his cock thrusts back into you. Vaguely, it registers somewhere in your mind that you’ve had two orgasms while Loki has still to have one.

A shiver wracks your entire body.

“Oh, darling,” Loki purrs in faux sympathy. You feel a large hand clamp firmly around one hip while the other gathers your wrists to pin them against the small of your back. His grip on you is heavy and unyielding, and your cunt clenches joyfully around the aching length of him. “It looks like there’s still more canvas for me to paint.”

He gives a single roll of his hips and squeezes your hip in his iron grip. A sharp cry of pleasure tumbles from your lips while you wriggle back against him, silently begging for more. “I do hope you have no prior engagements, my love, because I don’t intend to stop until every inch of you is covered in my marks.”

#loki #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki smut

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pupkashi · 5 months

Text

do u guys think kakashi would flirt with you when he’s drunk, cheeks flushed and words slurred as he tries terrible pick up lines on you

“you believe in love at first sight?” he asks, “or should i walk by again?” the incessant giggles that leave his lips having you smiling and shaking your head.

“kashi we’ve been dating for two years,” you smile, watching as he pouts at your statement.

“cant you go along just once!” he whines, strong arms wrapping around your waist as his head nuzzles into your neck, sighing a bit before his eyes flutter shut.

“okay okay,” you sigh, a smile still on your face as you continue, “I’ll go along with it this time, promise.”

his silver bangs cover his eyes slightly, hair messy from whatever competition he had been doing with guy earlier in the night. his eyes light up at your words, walking away from you, only to turn on his heel and walk right back up to you.

“do you have a band-aid? ‘cause i think i just fell for you,” he smiles, giddy as you flush slightly, a grin tugging at your lips as he stares back at you, eyes lingering on your lips a bit longer than usual.

“we’ll i wouldn’t want that scrape to get infected, maybe i should clean it up for you,” you purr, your hand finding it’s way to his t shirt collar as you tug him closer to you, “what do you say we go take care of that, hm?”

kakashi sputters out a half ‘yes’ and a half ‘please,’ cheeks burning and heart jumping out his chest as he watches you get on your tippy toes and place a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“how was that for playing along,” you tease, laughing as he stumbles back and clears his throat a bit.

“we should get home it’s late and i need to get home,” he stutters out, “home with you,” he mumbles, walking backwards and saying a chaste goodbye to his friends, before rushing back over to you and tugging you out of the bar.

“we’ll aren’t you in a rush to get home” you laugh, his arm is slung over your shoulders under the guise of ‘keeping you warm and close to him,’ but you know better.

you can tell from the stumble in his steps and the way he’s swaying with cold wind he’s much drunker than he was letting on in the bar. giggling at your every word, you’re not sure if the flush of his cheeks is the alcohol, the chilly breeze hitting them, or your shower of compliments.

kakashi doesn’t care how silly he looks, admiring how utterly beautiful you look as you help him up the stairs, how funny you are when you’re re-teaching him how to brush his teeth and helping him into bed after untangling him from his clothes.

the world is spinning when his head finally hits his pillow, sighing happily when he feels the bed dip under your weight, already scooting closer to you.

“can we cuddle?” he whispers, eyes closed as he whispers. he doesn’t see the softest smile on your lips or the shining look of love in your eyes as you stare at the silver haired jonin.

“‘course we can kashi,” you whisper back, pulling him close to you and holding him tightly, kissing his forehead before closing your eyes.

kakashi woke up extremely hungover the next day, head throbbing and sunshine way too bright for his liking.

“good morning lover boy,” you giggle, aspirin in hand alongside a cup of water, “made us some breakfast, hopefully it’ll help with the headache I’m sure you’ve got.”

kakashi doesn’t say much of anything, eyes still half closed as he takes the medicine from you, mumbling what you can only assume is a ‘thank you,’ before he’s laying back down, blanket over his head.

a/n: GODDDD I HAVENT WRITTEN FOR MY LOVER IN SO LONG I MISSED HIM !!! I YEARNED FOR HIM !!!!! he’s so my everything i love him i love him i love him <333

masterlist

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luvjunie · 5 months

Text

— Unforgettable ( 4 )

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: angst/conflict (y’all knew it was comin), language, miles being a dunce, gwen and her awkwardness

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 3,284

a/n: i held onto this for so long my apologies i had to find time to actually sit down and edit it fr fr 😭 i read this a gazillion times to the point i can recite it from memory so if you see any typos or grammar errors no you don’t. recap of part three is in small italics

prev | next

He wanted this. He wanted you.

But any chance for another sensical thought was interrupted when the impossible happened. ‘Impossible’ being the multi-layered hexagonal portal that suddenly opened up on his ceiling, and the blonde-haired, gap-toothed girl he thought he'd never see again, appearing with it. Bright and beaming down at him with a heart-halting grin, Miles felt his stomach drop as soon as she spoke.

"Miles!"

Shit.

. . .

Love tears down your walls and leaves you vulnerable in all aspects. The skin you didn't know you wore as a shield to protect you from the unexpected is shed in one swift layer because you don’t care what the unexpected is anymore. All the space that was left for worrying about what’s to come has been stolen to make room for the one who makes your heart flutter faster than you can blink.

Love is waking up in the morning, and before you’ve even wiped the lingering dream from your eyes, you find yourself rolling over in hopes of discovering a text from your favorite person—a blur of letters you’re barely able to make out, but it causes a smile to stretch across your face nonetheless.

It’s what has your thoughts drifting from your conscious at least five times a day, chin tucked in hand, eyes dreamy with the image of him playing over and over again in your mind, face melted into the stupidest grin you’ve ever been able to manifest. It leaves you yearning for him in ways you never imagined before, wanting to see into the places of his soul he’s hidden from the world and even the ones he loves most.

So if that’s love, what’s this feeling that you have now?

What follows closely behind love is the ugly shadow that trails on its heels like a sinking suspicion you can’t shake; the one that’s never acknowledged because things are just too good for you to be worried about all the cons that come with the pros. That biting feeling that often goes undetected until it’s discovered at the most inconvenient of times.

That feeling, the one you couldn’t put a name to before?

Foolish is how you felt right about now.

As you stood in the middle of a lively party for Miles’ father, who was soon to be police captain. It was bustling with excitement, people laughing and chopping it up in every corner, like you should’ve been right about now.

You’d been greeted by almost all of them upon arrival and even managed to run into Miles’ parents, but for some reason, you still had yet to say hello to the one who actually invited you. And you’d been made aware of the reason why when you’d looked up to find him laughing with a girl you’d never seen before, and she definitely wasn’t a cousin. You knew that because you’d met all of them by now in the time you’d spent searching for him.

Miles’ hands were animatedly flying through the air as he explained something to the girl that you couldn’t make out from this far away, and his eyes were lit up in a way you’d never seen them before. Slowly but surely, even though your mind tried to stop the thought from breaking through, you started to wonder if last night meant as much as you thought it did.

The mini-pep talk you’d given yourself to instill courage was immediately deemed insignificant the moment your feet pushed you to start on your way over to them, but still, you tried to ignore the deepening pit in your stomach. You usually prided yourself on being someone who never jumped to conclusions without having an inkling to stand on, but Miles was great at making things you never even knew about yourself come to the surface. Was this one of them?

Your stomach was bubbling with nerves; a sensation of anxiety washing over you. She was the complete opposite of your image, and it made you feel self-conscious about everything, as if you hadn't fallen in love with your reflection in the mirror just before you'd left home. You began to think about how fuzzy your braids were, how you should’ve taken them down last week and redid them like you’d planned instead of ditching that very plan to hang out with Miles instead.

Was your outfit appropriate enough for a family gathering? Maybe you should’ve worn something simpler. Did he like that little snort you always did when you laughed, or did he find it annoying like the last guy did? Maybe you should fix that.

All these questions did a terrible job of hiding what you were truly worried about.

Miles was so involved in his conversation that he didn’t take notice of you walking over. It must’ve slipped his mind that he told you to meet him here and that he would introduce you to his family. Instead, you were left to fend for yourself until his parents caught sight of you being handed a baby even they didn’t know the name of.

And by the stupidly shocked look he sported as you popped up in front of the both of them, it seemed as if he’d forgotten that he invited you in the first place.

As a reflex, you dipped your hands into the pockets of his coat and forged the nicest smile you could muster as your eyes wandered over to the girl.

“Hey Miles, who's this?”

“Oh! Uh, Y/n, this is Gwen-“ the girl suddenly shot him a look you couldn’t decipher, eyes widened in warning, and Miles instantly froze.

The hell was that?

“Gw-Gwaaanda...” he continued shakily after correcting himself, brows raised toward her in silent question. He then motioned back and forth between the two of you. “Gwanda, this is Y/n. My, uh… My…” Miles trailed off, your lips parted in anticipation, and it looked as if he’d suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Your?" You cocked your head at him the slightest, expectant eyes urging him to continue.

“My friend.”

Gwen stared at him incredulously. His oversized jacket stuck out like a sore thumb on you, but a physical hint wasn’t needed. She was able to guess who you were to him the moment you stepped out onto the roof. Or who you were supposed to be.

“Your friend?” Your brows furrowed when you repeated what he’d said in disbelief. You couldn't even tell if the look he’d given you was one of pity, or remorse.

“Wow,” you breathed a lifeless laugh, lashes fluttering to keep the tears at bay with a small nod. You’d never felt so embarrassed. Your throat had that burning sensation that was all too familiar—the one that feels as if your chest is caving in on itself with the weight of disappointment. Heartbreak, you think, is what they call it. You’ve never experienced it before, but you assumed this is what it must feel like.

Gwen shifted from one foot to the other, her hand awkwardly clasped onto her opposing arm while her wide blue eyes darted between the two of you. The shift in energy was palpable, like there was a visible force pushing the both of you apart.

It was her, she realized.

She’s the force.

She suddenly cleared her throat.

“Is anyone else like, really cold right now?” Gwen's hand nervously gestured towards the air with a stale chuckle. “Cause, boy, it is definitely chilly today!”

“Here,” Your throat pushed down the godforsaken lump that was forming as you forcefully tugged Miles’ coat off your body as if it burned your skin.

“Have Miles’ jacket. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.” Thrusting the bundled green puffer into her loose hold, you ignored the graze of disbelieving eyes burning into the side of your head and adjusted your shirt as if you could somehow make it conduct more warmth. Fuck, it was chilly today.

Gwen, Gwanda, or whatever the hell her name just gaped at you.

“I—“

Miles extended a hand to you in a meaningless attempt. “Y/n stop, it’s yours-“

“It’s not. Never was.”

You weren’t talking about the jacket.

You were gone faster than you came—faster than you’d even fallen for him, which was surprising, to say the least. Ducking your body under the railing and jumping down onto the deck, you pointedly ignored the stairs descending from it. If there had been a faster route than the one you took to haul ass out of there, you would’ve snatched it in seconds.

In just a minute, everything had crumbled right in front of him, and Miles stood there and let it happen.

Gwen recognized the look in your eyes; it’d been the same one Miles had given her last year when he confessed to her and she told him they couldn’t be together. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the circumstances just wouldn’t allow it.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Gwen spoke cautiously, lips rolled inwards and Miles’ jacket loosely clutched in her hands.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I think she was expecting you to put another word in front of 'friend'."

“Shit.”

His feet were moving before he even realized he was chasing after you. He narrowly dodged the sea of bodies blocking him from getting to you, his eyes scanning the roof in hopes of spotting the top of your head.

“Miles, wait!” His aunt called out to him. “Your mom is about to cut the cake! Where are you going?”

Miles hastily shouted a response to her with a hand cupped around his mouth, his feet moving backwards to keep up with his pace.

“Back in a sec!”

You pushed through the crowd with your head ducked, sincere apologies muffled to those you bumped into, and a few unwelcome tears rolling over the apple of your cheek as you did so.

“Sweetie, wait! You don’t want cake?”

Without making eye contact, you gave a rushed wave goodbye and a thank you to Rio and Jeff, whisking past the pair. That probably didn’t help your case, but what just happened between you and her son could probably be inferred, because you weren’t wearing his jacket like you were just a moment ago, and Miles’ previously giddy conversation looked as if it’d come to a screeching halt as she noticed that the painfully awkward girl she’d met earlier was standing by herself now.

Rio’s shoulders dropped with a knowing sigh as she watched you retreat.

“Ay, I told you that Gwanda girl was bad news, Jeff!” She grumbled with pursed lips, expression painted with disappointment to match her folded arms.

Your temporary wallowing had turned to rage in mere moments, made known in the way your hands shoved the door to the stairwell open with way more force than needed.

“Wait!” He slid his way through the doorway before it could close, managing to step in front of you before you could reach the stairs.

“Was yesterday and everything before then just a joke to you?” You stared daggers into his eyes after you’d whipped around, your gaze flitting between the both of them to find an answer faster than he could verbally give. “Because apparently, when you’re around whoever that is you forget about everything else.”

“What—No! Of course not." Miles quickly shook his head. Somehow, trouble always seemed to find him when Gwen was around. “She’s just a friend. I just, I haven’t seen her in a while—“

“Isn’t that what you called me back there? A friend?” You scoffed, arms crossing as if they could possibly shield your heart from taking any more damage. You knew you weren't giving him much of a chance to give an explanation, but right about now you felt as if he didn't deserve the chance. “Do you make out with all your friends on the roof or was I some sort of exception?”

“Y/n,” His shoulders dropped at that, and you almost found yourself feeling bad for saying such a thing. “I don’t know why I said that. I just—I froze up, and I’m sorry. But you’re more than that to me, I swear.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.” The saliva that was starting to pool in your mouth was aggravating you, but somehow at the same time your throat was incredibly dry. So dry that it had you struggling to make your voice into something more than whisper when he took a step forward, and when you took one back.

“Don’t.“ you said, shaking your head, and Miles grimaced slightly at the subtle crack in your voice. “Do you know how long I waited for you? How stupid I looked wandering around until I found you when I don’t know anyone but your parents? You invited me!”

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Just last night, he’d made you feel as if you were the only girl in the entire world, but now it seemed like the world had gotten a whole lot bigger.

Whether you wanted to know the answer or not, you had to ask. So with a shaky inhale, you readied yourself for the worst, and so did he.

“Is she somebody to you?”

You watched as he swallowed, hard. Adam’s apple bobbing like his mind was for the truth. Gwen was just a friend. Now, at least. Telling you what you clearly already knew wouldn’t make you feel any better, but lying about it would only make things worse.

Miles bit at his cheek when his gaze drifted off to the side. You felt your heart sink at what came next.

“It… It was a long time ago. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Your eyes began to dampen again as they held contact with his for a pain-stricken moment, but a dejected once-over from head to toe and a repulsed frown was all you could spare him.

It felt as if the silence between you was much longer than a few seconds. With his chest rising and falling, Miles' throat was filled with words he knew you wouldn't believe. After what just happened, how would you? There was nothing he could say to rectify how badly he’d just embarrassed you and he knew that. And by the look of betrayal on your face and how your shoulder bumped his arm when you shoved past him, it seemed you wouldn’t even give him the chance.

Miles watched you descend down the stairs, his jaw clenched and his heart cramping with it.

What did he just do?

—

Maybe telling his parents what happened hadn’t been the best idea after all. But after calling you three times and leaving a voice message after each dreaded beep, just to find out at his third attempt that you’d disabled your voicemail box, he truly didn’t know what else to do.

And honestly, it’s not like he really had a choice when it came to telling them. After a couple awkward minutes of standing with a jacket that so obviously did not belong to her, Gwen cautiously returned it to his parents and hurriedly made her exit, which only left them with more questions than they had before.

They realized it was serious when Miles never came back in for a slice of cake.

Tres Leches! Miles never missed out on tres leches.

Rio was more than concerned when she knocked on his door and carefully cracked it open after no response to find her son face down in his pillow, curtains closed and his room in disarray.

She took a seat next to his curled-up form, face tinged with worry. “What happened, papa? Why’d she leave?”

Jeff settled for standing near the foot of his bed. “Yeah, son. She looked a little upset.”

Miles heaved out a sigh as he pulled his body into a seated position, hands running over his face as if they’d erase the memory from his mind. “I kinda… Like—When it came to introducing her to Gwanda, I… hesitated? I guess?” Miles mumbled, his voice raising a slight octave with the last word, as if he were just as confused as they were. Somehow, saying what happened out loud made him realize just how badly he’d messed up.

“Wooo, that’s bad.” Jeff sucked a breath in through his teeth and chuckled quietly, rocking from heel to toe at his son’s confession.

Rio rolled her eyes at her husband who wasn’t much of any help at all when it came to things like this. She lifted her chin attentively at Miles to let him know that she was genuinely listening.

“Well, you introduced her eventually…Right?“

“Yeah,” Miles confirmed, only to wince afterwards. “…As a friend.”

Rio’s mouth dropped. “Miles!”

“I know! I just— I froze! I don’t know why.” His head dropped into his hands in shame, elbows perched on bent knees.

“Alright, son. You gotta help me out here.” Jeff sighed. “So you’re telling me that the young lady who’s in our house almost every week, who we’ve been referring to as your girlfriend when she knocks on the door, isn’t your girlfriend?”

“I— She is, or… she was— isn’t? Anymore?” Something like an agitated groan mixed with a huff left Miles’ lips as he tried speaking again.

“She was going to be. I was gonna ask her up there which is why I invited her, but then Gwen just— showed up out of nowhere last night, and then I kinda sorta invited her too—“

“Last night? You had a girl in here?” Rio arched a brow.

“Who’s Gwen?” Jeff voiced his confusion quietly, eyes glancing to the side.

“Fuck, not Gwen, I meant Gwanda—“

Rio raised not one, but two disbelieving brows as Miles frantically shook his head.

“Damnit, I didn’t mean to say fuck—“ His eyes snapped up to see his parents’ faces painted with pure and utter shock at his choice of words. Again.

“Shit, wait! I—Oh God.” Miles let his head fall back into his hands as he groaned, tufts of hair clenched between his fingers. “Just help me, please.” He whined.

“Yup, that’s all you, honey.” Jeff nodded at Rio and patted his thighs with his hands that were starting to grow clammy, as if he’d actually done something useful before he discreetly slipped out the door.

Rio couldn’t stand to see her son so distraught, so she made the difficult decision to hear him out instead of addressing the string of curses he’d sent their way, or whatever happened ‘last night’.

“Respira, mijo,” She barely had to pull him into her, his body fell into her embrace the moment her hand graced his shoulder. “I thought you really liked this girl... I even invited her for Thanksgiving!” Rio gently rubbed up and down his arm, comforting him in the way she knew how.

“I do!” he insisted. “A lot… I’m just an idiot who messed things up, and now she probably hates me.”

She pulled him away by his shoulders, looking into his eyes intently to make sure she got her point across.

“Listen to me. You are not an idiot, papa. A little slow to understand sometimes, yes—“ Miles rolled his head to the side in annoyance, but she gently brought his face back to her with a hand on his cheek.

“But—you always get there because you’re smart. And I know that, because your father and I raised you to be.” Miles almost managed a smile when Rio softly pinched his cheek. “That also means you’re smart enough to know that you’ve hurt someone you care about.”

“But… What if I can’t fix it?” Miles' voice was heavy with uncertainty. “Then what do I do?”

“Well, that’s life, papa. Not everything is something you can fix, but you won’t know unless you try.” Her hands fixed the crooked hemline of the cotton thermal beneath his jersey, gently smoothing out the wrinkles with flattened fingers.

“It’s a leap of faith, Miles. That’s all.”

. . .

a/n: tres leches was a total self insert that shit is fire

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