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bunnis-monsters · 4 months ago

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Hybrid Shelter

Ch1

prologue

chapter 2

warning: milking the cow/bull hybrids, handjob, thigh fucking

summary: after becoming a full time worker at the hybrid shelter, you realize it’s not going to be as easy as you thought.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

Working at the Hybrid Shelter full time was as hard as you thought it would be.

The younger hybrids started fixating on you lately. When you had only been working part time shifts, you only saw them in passing.

Now, every day you walked in, ready to wake them up and get them all fed.

“Mama!”

A puppy hybrid greeted you with a yip, their puppy teeth gnawing in your pants leg as you prepared a few bottles. “Mama, play?”

You gently pulled the puppy hybrid off of your leg, keeping him balanced on your hip. “Not right now, pup. You all have to have your bottle first.”

A few kitten hybrids toddled and crawled around nearby, while an infant mouse hybrid wailed from his crib.

The nursery was a fairly new addition to the hybrid shelter. In the past, only adults had been allowed to stay, meaning occasionally some men with children would be denied shelter.

Now they were both accepted. A few of the babies here belonged to men in the shelter, while others had no parents.

As you fed the infant mouse hybrid, a puppy hybrid knocked on the door. “Is my brother awake?”

Alex was 19, and had been separated from his parents a few years back. His brother was 3 years old, and stayed in the nursery while Alex tried to find work and a stable home for the both of them.

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

The puppy hybrid that had been gnawing on your pants before, Ollie, toddled to his big brother and decided to chew on him instead. “Hey, I told you not to do that…”

Though the older pup scolded the little one, there was no bite behind his words. He picked Ollie up and licked his head, giving him a quick bath. “You will be good for her today, alright? I’m mopping the halls today, so I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You buried the infant in your arms before giving him a diaper change and tucking him back into bed. Privacy was something a luxury when you lived in a shelter, so you tried to give the two some space.

“Okay, bubba. I won’t pee on the floor!”

A nurse took over the nursery once the shelter opened, and you left to begin your other daily chores.

“(NAME)!”

You were nearly tackled by the cat hybrid you had tamed a few weeks ago. “Hey, Midnight. How’s everything going?”

He purred and butted his head against your cheek affectionately, immediately beginning to groom and preen you. “It’s always scary when you’re not here. I don’t like the doctors or the other hybrids.”

That seemed to be relatively common with the abused hybrids. They didn’t like the situation they’d been forced into, having no home left to return to and being abandoned by abusers they still loved.

“You should try getting along with the others, okay? You know next week we’re introducing you to the group, your quarantine is almost over.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, too busy rubbing his scent on you. “Don’t wanna… can’t I just come home with you?”

As much as you wished he could, all employees were forbidden from adopting any hybrids from the shelter. If they wanted to, they’d have to quit.

“You know I can’t… at least not right now.”

You didn’t want to give him hope, but you also knew that the possibility that he could come home with you eventually was the only thing keeping him going.

After he ate his breakfast and you spent some time cleaning his space and making sure he had enough enrichment for the day, you left to continue your chores.

Your first stop was the domesticated hybrid building.

The more common type of hybrid to be abandoned were the domestic ones. Puppies, cats, bunnies, birds, goldfish, and hamsters.

“Have you guys had breakfast?”

Several heads turned to look at you once the door opened. “(Name)’s here!”

The hybrids gathered around you, all sniffing and licking your body and hair. You had grown used to this, and simply waited until they were satisfied before speaking. “I’m assuming you have, considering you all smell like bacon and eggs.”

“Mhm, it was good! Alex said you would be here soon!” one of the puppy hybrids said, his tail wagging furiously.

A goldfish hybrid swam in the pool area, poking his head out of the water. “(Name), you said you’d swim with me this week.”

“I will, Goldy, but it’s gonna be after I finish up with the wild building.”

The cat hybrids rubbed against you as a bunny hybrid relaxed in your lap. “The wild building? I can’t believe you’re still meeting with them every day.”

A week ago, you were tasked with helping to domesticate the wild animals in the shelter. That was no easy task, considering it consisted of big cats, wolves, and other dangerous hybrids that saw humans as a source of food.

“It’s not all that bad, I have a few allies there that keep me safe.”

The bunny hybrid, Momo, huffed and nibbled on your finger. “Wild hybrids will always be wild at the end of the day. Don’t be fooled, they’re only being nice to you so they can get what they want.”

“What do they want..?”

None of the hybrids seemed like they wanted to answer that particular question.

“Well… you all will be getting a new roommate this week. He’s had a tough time, so I hope you’ll remember that when I introduce you to him.”

They all glanced at one another. “We’ve all had a hard time, (Name). As long as he doesn’t attack us, we won’t do anything.”

If only you could promise such a thing. With Midnight, you weren’t so sure.

As you did some minor cleaning up around the building, you were approached by a hamster hybrid.

“Quinn? Something wrong?”

He looked down at his feet, his hands twisting and pulling at the hem of his shirt. “… it’s just…”

The man sighed, puffing out his chubby cheeks. “Isn’t it strange? Lately, you’ve been the only one visiting us every day.”

You blinked, pausing your work. “The only one..?”

“Mhm. Before, multiple female workers would come to check on us. Of course none of them were as personable as you. They came in, asked how we were doing and cleaned up, then left.”

That was rather confusing. You always remembered the entire place brimming with female employees. Though lately, it was rare to spot more than a handful in each building.

“I’m sure we must be short staffed at the moment. Are you looking for any employees in particular?”

He shook his head, looking up at you. “No, we don’t even know the names of the others.”

Quinn left after that, and you pushed that information aside for now. You’d ask your boss about it later, your work came first.

Though as you comforted a small parrot hybrid after a nightmare, you wondered if they had been receiving the same care from the other employees. You knew that there was only so much one person could do, and that everyone’s role to play was different…

But did they even ca-

You shook your head, carefully wiping away the hybrid’s tears before settling him down for a nap. You shouldn’t think about the shelter that way. When you started working there, you saw firsthand how draining it was to work with so many different hybrids.

Perhaps they were all taking a break, and a new rotation of employees would be coming in to fill in for them…

Once the parrot hybrid was asleep, you tiptoed out. The poor thing was nearly your age, but he still needed to be soothed to sleep. His beautiful feathers had been plucked out of stress, leaving bald patches that were covered up by a fluffy sweater.

You had a lot of things to do every day. Your job was to comfort, feed, play with, and socialize the hybrids and get them to the point they could either be adopted, get a job, or be reintroduced to the wild.

It was strange, though. Despite the fact the shelter encouraged each member to strive towards some sort of goal, none of the hybrids there had managed to achieve anything.

They stayed there, stagnant and bored out of their minds.

Perhaps they just needed a little push. That’s what your boss told you he needed you for. Most of the hybrid seemed to enjoy your presence and wanted to impress you!

As you moved towards the farm building, you wrote some notes next to each hybrid’s name.

“(Name), how’s it going?”

You jumped when you were embraced from behind, your cheeks turning red. “C-Cecil, you shouldn’t be outside of your building!”

The white tiger hybrid chuckled, purring as his large, rough tongue licked your hair. He always ended up giving you such a huge cowlick!

“Mmm, I just returned from the infirmary, actually.”

You immediately softened. Cecil had a number of health problems, stemming from the bad breeding conditions that white tiger hybrids were born from.

Although he looked like a beautiful white tiger hybrid with striking grey eyes, his vision was impaired and he suffered chronic aches and joint pain.

Cecil couldn’t live with the other wild hybrids due to his immune system deficiencies, so he stayed with hybrids like him with similar health problems.

“What did they say..?”

A purr left his throat. He knew bringing up his worsening health always meant a little extra time with you. “They think that the organ transplant is working well, and that I’ll be able to eat solid food again soon.”

“That’s great news!”

His cheeks warmed when you patted his head and gave his ears a scratch. “Go rest, okay? I’ll come check on you when I visit the sickbay.”

Cecil watched you go, clutching his chest. He hoped he’d live long enough to someday make you his.

Your next stop was the farm. Outside a few sheep and pig hybrids trotted about, gracing or lying atound in the sun. When they noticed you, they gathered at the fence.

“(Name), right now might not be the best time to… uh… go in there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

The group glanced at one another, and you joined them in the grass. A young lamb curled up in your lap, suckling on one of your fingers as he napped.

In hushed whispers, the sheep across from you began to speak. “Well, no one has been by the farm to milk the bull and cow hybrids. They’re… uh… a bit testy right now.”

You heard a few off handed comments and complaints from your coworkers that had to take care of the cow and bull hybrids, but you never had any problems with them!

“It’s my job to ensure every hybrid here is comfortable, safe, and healthy. If no one else is here to milk them, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Though the other hybrids looked nervous, they didn’t stop you.

Your phone struggled to load the protocol for milking the cow and bull hybrids as you walked in. The sound of frustrated and pained groans could be heard from the back.

“Hello?”

The sounds stopped, an eerie silence falling over the barn. The sudden creaking of the back door slowly opening made you jump.

Before you could call out again, you were pulled into the back.

“(Name)… please… you have to help us!”

You felt arms wrapping around your body… and several long, wet things rubbing against you…

“Beau?”

Beau, one of the new cow hybrids that arrived last month mooed nervously. His eyes were full of tears, and his tongue gave your cheek a lick.

“No one has been by to milk us… it’s been two days, the bulls are angry and pent up, and…”

As he sniffled, you reached out to pet his head. “Hey, it’s okay. I came to take care of that for you. I used to milk cows with my grandpa, he had a farm.”

Beau blushed, his tail swaying. “W-well… with male cow and bull hybrids… it’s uhm… a little different.”

He slowly pulled back, and you finally got to see what was rubbing against you.

His fat cock was poking out, his balls heavy and swollen from the days he hadn’t been milked. It was all coming together now…

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. You were a professional, and these hybrids were in obvious pain! You needed to take care of them, no matter now embarrassing it may be!

The arousal growing between your legs was the wordy part. It was making you horny, seeing so many cow hybrids desperate for your touch.

“They usually have a machine for us to g-get off with…” Beau murmured, twiddling his thumbs. “Sometimes we can even use it ourselves if we think we need to… but it’s gone.”

Being understaffed was one thing, but the disappearance of machinery that bettered the hybrids’ lives was… concerning. Where had it gone?

You sighed softly, the information finally loading on your phone ten minutes too late. A bucket was placed on the ground, and you slowly reached out to grab hold of Beau’s cock.

His hips bucked as you stroked his shaft carefully, aiming the tip towards the bucket. A whine left his throat, and with a few strokes he came.

The semen smelled like milk, but had a thicker and creamier texture. Your eyes were focused on the tip of his cock, how it oozed and twitched with every touch.

God, you just wanted to take it into your mouth and-

“Ahh, that’s so much better…” Beau said, interrupting your dirty thoughts. You blinked and your cheeks heated up as you let go of his softening cock.

“I’m… glad I could help.”

After milking every cow hybrid, you moved to the bull hybrids’ quarters. There were only three of them, since taking any more on may result in territorial behavior.

The moment you walked in, your skirt was lifted up and a cock was slipped between your thighs.

“Heard our (Name) was coming to milk us ourselves…” Brody cooed, already beginning to fuck your thighs.

“We’re way too big to jerk off, missy. We’ll be using these.”

The three took turns fucking your thighs, their thick cocks occasionally brushing against your wet panties. This wasn’t the correct protocol, what if someone saw? Would you be fired!?

Did you even care when you were hoping they’d pull your panties to the side and fill you with their milk instead of that bucket?

The bulls weren’t easy on you, leaving your thighs a sticky mess before it was all said and done with. You were almost disappointed they didn’t just go ahead and fuck you…

You left the barn, face burning with shame and arousal as you ran towards the staff building.

After a shower, you’d have to continue on with your duties…

If only you knew how your day would progress from there… you may have just gone home.

———————

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jinchuls · 11 days ago

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The lock clicks as Jason turns the key, opening the door into the darkness that is your home at 3am. He knows that, those few weeks ago when you nervously handed him your spare key scared the moment was going to be too much for him, this isn't quite what you had in mind but his night hadn't begun, or ended, well.

Your face was all he wanted to see.

Taking small, soft—as soft as he is capable of—steps into the entranceway, kicking off his shoes and locking the door again behind him just for your peace of mind. It's completely silent and his own breathing seems to deafen him as he takes purposeful strides that quickly, and quietly, lead him to where he knows you're sleeping.

There's a feeling in his chest that he hates, worsening with every step and every painful thump in his chest, an ache that only appears when you're involved; that feeling that somethings gone wrong, somethings happened to you and he'll open that door and his entire world will have changed.

Jason pushes open the door. You've left the curtains open and the soft glow of the moon illuminates your room just enough for him to see you, still sleeping soundly in the comfort of your bed, half uncovered, blanker pushed down to your things and with a fan whirring beside you. You're perfectly fine.

The weight disappears from his chest.

Shaking his jacket from his shoulders, he tosses it over the chair beside your desk. He think of stripping more from him but he can't seem to stay away from you any longer; he's climbing into your bed moments later not caring if he, or even you, is going to be too hot in the heat of the summer night. He just wants to hold you.

You stir slightly as the bed dips beside you, curling your knees closer to your chest and softly shivering as the fan hit your thinly covered upper body. Instinctively, you drift closer to Jason.

Reaching a hand over your body, he hits the button on the fan and the buzzing slows to a stop and envelopes you with his large frame. Kissing the skin of your shoulder, pulling you flat against his chest, holding you around your waist and breathing in you until everything that went wrong is locked in the back of his mind again. For now, in that second, he wants nothing more than to just feel you.

"Jay?" He hears you mutter, followed by small croak that he knew unwilling escaped you with every lengthy yawn. He had hoped you'd stay asleep but the sound of your voice is heaven to his ears.

"Yeah." He mumbles against you, his deep voice vibrating through to your bones, sending shivers throughout you.

"You okay?" You tap the hand he has splayed over your stomach, loosely twisting two of your finger around his in your sleepy state. If it was physically possible, you would push yourself closer to him just to feel him against every inch of your skin until you can't tell where you end and he begins.

He sighs, squeezing you ever so slightly. "I am now."

alert: girl is just a girl and her new fixation sparks joy in writing again

#met this man 24 hrs ago but here i am #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #dc x reader #dc fluff

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mallory524 · 3 months ago

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the thunderbolts when you’ve been kidnapped

pictures from pinterest

tags- guilt, fear, angst, kidnapping, guilt, canon level action/violence, injuries, mentions of arguing, implied drugging/beating, mention of Void

notes- This all ended up being way longer than I intended. Oops. I need to keep writing or else I’ll explode. The fixation is strong

Yelena

When you’re with Yelena, she can be so tender and sweet that it’s easy for you to forget the life she’s lived and the things she’s capable of. The day you don’t come home from what should’ve been a 10 minute grocery run, that tender side is gone - and boy is it sorely missed around the tower. When Yelena's upset, she lashes out at anybody who gets too close to her, and it gets ugly pretty quickly. Her words are cruel and vindictive, as if each member of the team is personally responsible for what’s happened to you. She knows the people who took you are doing it to lure in the "new avengers", but it doesn't matter. It's working. She's going to find you, and she's going to march right in there, guns blazing.

You're in bad shape when the team finds you, but you are able to walk out on your own two feet with just a little assistance from Yelena. Pay no mind to what happened to your captors. It's not important.

Yelena can't go "back to normal". You're trying to, but it's clear you're still shaken, and so is she. You keep trying to laugh it off and say that you've survived worse, and she knows you're just trying to change the subject, but she doesn't push it. She's not going to force you to open up if you're not ready. All she can do is make sure you know that she's always there to support you and listen if you ever do decide you want to talk about it. You do know that. As everyone in Yelena's life knows, she might be a bit rough around the edges, but she will always be there for you when it matters most.

Bucky

Bucky tracks you down very fast. He knows these people are doing this to get to him, so he tells the Thunderbolts to stay behind and let him do this himself. Good thing they never do as they're told.

The people who took you thought they had laid the perfect trap for Bucky Barnes, but all they did was set themselves up to be pulverized by the Winter Soldier. When he does find you, you're unconscious and clearly injured. Nothing serious, but it doesn't matter; he feels more guilty than he has in a long, long time. The team covers Bucky as he runs back out to the car with you in his arms, and you're immediately rushed to the hospital. The press is already there, waiting to ask Congressman Barnes all kinds of questions about what happened tonight, but after a few choice words from Yelena and Walker, most of them leave immediately.

Even when things slowly start to go back to normal, Bucky is constantly reminded of what happened. You're sitting around and laughing with the group one night, weeks after, and he notices a bruise on your shoulder that he'd forgot you had. He wakes up in the middle of the night a lot of nights to you tossing and turning and shaking in your sleep. He holds you and repeatedly reminds you that you’re home and that you are safe. He’s reminding himself, too. This is all hell for him. Every nightmare, every scratch, and every bruise is a reminder to him that he couldn't keep you safe. He rescued you and brought you back home, but it's not enough for him. This never should've happened.

Ava

Ava woke up to the sound of alarms and glass breaking. She phased through the walls to your room right away to make sure you were okay, but you were already gone. Nowhere to be found. She’s immediately panic stricken. Who did this? Why would they take you hostage? Where did they take you?

Ava’s desperate. When Ava gets desperate, her sense of right and wrong gets very skewed. You’ve been kidnapped, and that’s wrong. Everything she’s doing in an effort to get you back is right. Or that’s how she sees it, at least. The rest of the team sees this as Ava spiraling out of control. This is a mess. These people who took you do not realize what their "leverage" means to the team, especially to Ava. They do not know what's coming.

Your rescue was not easy, and it definitely wasn't pretty, but everyone's just happy that you're home. Adjusting to business as usual after your rescue is tough, but she's there for you every step of the way. If you don't want to sleep in your room for a little while because it doesn't feel safe anymore, Ava offers you her room. She'll sleep on the ground, she'll sleep next to you, she'll sleep in the other room, whatever you want. She'll demand more security features in your room and around the tower to make you (and herself) feel safe again. If the people in maintenance and security were to question the necessity of doing this, Ava would install these features herself. Nothing like this is going to happen again, and she doesn't even want you to feel like it's a possibility. You're safe now.

John

It all happened so fast. An explosive had gone off during a fight, he’d lost sight of you for a minute, and when the smoke cleared, you were gone. He frantically searched the perimeter, but it didn’t take him long to realize what had happened. Bucky practically had to beg John to get in the car, saying they could figure out their next move back at the Watchtower. John didn't want to stop looking for you, but he knew it was the only choice he really had. Everyone's really worried about you, but John is losing his mind. His brain is plagued with images of you, scared and alone and hurt. He's snapping at the team even more than usual, but they give him a pass just this once. Ava walked by his room one night and she could hear the sound of him softly crying through the door. She never mentioned it, but she went easy on him for a few days.

Down in a dark, cold underground base, you're going in and out of consciousness. Your body aches and your head's spinning, but the moment you register that it's Walker gently taking you into his arms, you smile up at him weakly. He caresses your face, and you can feel that his hands are shaking as they trace every little wound, no matter how small. All of Walker's anger has been replaced with a weary, guilty sadness. All that aggression, replaced with a certain gentleness. He carries you out, and although you don't see much of your surroundings, it's hard to miss what remains of the poor souls who thought they could stop John Walker from breaking in to save you. It's not too shocking, though. You know he would've torn the entire world apart if he had to.

Alexei

Missions and fighting and hero activities in general are usually really fun for Alexei. This is not fun. It's so rare for the team to see him like this. He's downright miserable. Since the moment he lost you, he hasn't slept. He works alongside the team all day long to find you, and when everyone's asleep, he just paces back and forth around his room, which gets more cluttered with garbage and papers and files with each passing day.

When they find you, nothing and no one can stand in his way. He's a real sweetheart, but let's not forget how strong he is or how much damage he can do. Believe me, there's a lot of damage done in the name of your rescue. All of that is worth it for Alexei when he finds you. He gently wipes at the sweat and dirt on your face, a lot of which is dry and caked on after you've been sitting down there for nearly a week.

Alexei is so relieved to have you home, but he thought he'd feel better. There's still something... off. The illusion of total safety has been shattered. He's not able to keep you from ever getting hurt like he thought he was. If you were to try to joke about what had happened to keep spirits up, or spin it to sound like a cool story instead of the worst week of both of your lives, he'd try to go along with it. But everyone notices how his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's proud of you and he usually loves hearing you're cool tough stories, but this one is hitting a little too close to home for him to fully enjoy it. Maybe because he was there. Maybe because he almost lost you for real.

Bob

Bob's terrified. The team came back from a mission, but instead of you pulling him into a big hug while the team fills him in on what happened like usual, everyone is frantic and you're gone. He's never felt so helpless in his life. He breaks down the second he's alone in his room. Whenever Yelena tries to talk to him, he insists he needs to be alone, or he doesn't even respond and continues just rocking back and forth on the floor and talking to himself.

When the team tracks you down, they tell Bob to stay behind. He keeps telling himself that they're right and staying behind is the responsible thing to do, but he just can't do that. He has enough control on the Void now to use his powers, right? The team is slightly horrified when Bob shows up out of nowhere, doing everything they told him not to do, but this isn't the time to worry about that. They're definitely not going to try arguing with him right now. He's a bulletproof human shield, more powerful than any of them could ever hope to be, so it's good to have him there to help. He crashes through walls, busts down doors, and disarms everyone in his path without breaking a sweat. Then they find you. Bob rushes to your side and tears apart your restraints with his bare hands, and in a second they turn back into the gentle hands you think of when you think of your Bob. He helps you to your feet and slowly leads you back outside. As tears start to roll down his face, Bob smiles a soft smile at the others, thrilled that you're safe again. They smile back at him, but it's like they're all holding their breath until you're all fully out of there. Void may not have made a formal appearance this time, but they know now what lengths Bob will go to and what risks he'll take to ensure your safety. The man is not helpless, and he sure as hell isn't weak.

#thunderbolts*#thunderbolts x reader #marvel x reader #marvel preferences #mcu #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #ava starr #ava starr x reader #john walker #john walker x reader #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #alexei shostakov #alexei shostakov x reader'#x reader

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pucksandpebbles · 2 months ago

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𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔, 𝒒𝒉⁴³

browse my other 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑛 ℎ𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑒𝑠 fics here

a blurb in which, Quinn and you are keeping your relationship as secret as possible but after a difficult night on the ice, Quinn knows that you are the girl for him even if his family has no clue about you two

a/n : hello hello! do we like the new graphics, I've been experimenting a bit and this is the final iteration i think.

I've been procrastinating recently and this is what came out of it, god I love an older man. always remember to show love and don't be a silent reader - I love your thoughts and without y'all I probably wouldn't be writing so thank you. also i won't apologise for british terminology and spellings okay or any of the mistakes made as a result of lack of proof reading

love you all, peace :)

wc : 1,3k

The air in the stadium was electric, the buzzing of the fans as you sat amongst them - knees pressed close to the glass as you looked out onto the ice to where Quinn was standing. Stick in one hand, and head gear in the other, his damp hair was pushed back and looking the way that it always did when he had been running his hands through it over and over. You pushed against your knuckle joints, feet tapping on the floor, he swallowed deeply, Adam's apple bobbing. He took care to not let his little nervous ticks show on the ice, but you could spot how his fingers periodically clenched and relaxed around his stick. He was looking over at you, watching you carefully as he stood there and you leant back in your seat a little, shaking your head. He was too goddamn obvious.

You gave him a wide eyed look. Communicating the situation, the stakes. Usually, when you came to home games, he could fixate on you all he liked - a passing glance on a stranger, a wink at a fan. Tonight, however, you knew that his family were in the stands, looking down on him who was looking at you. You’d already tried to make yourself scarce for the week, tidying away your belongings in the apartment and refraining from texting your boyfriend every second of every day. The longing burned like something deep in your chest.

Breath quickening in your throat, you scrunched your eyebrows in close as your gazes met. He wouldn’t tear his eyes away from you, and you wouldn’t be the first one to break.

There was a whole stadium closed in on the two of you, you felt the spin of the stadium and the energy pulsate but both of you were fixed on each other, letting everything else fall away. He watched you through the entirety of the national anthem, all the way until puck drop, talking with his teammates but letting his eyes stay on where you were sitting - gnawing on your closed knuckles anxiously.

Both of you had agreed you wanted to shield your relationship from everyone and everything, no exceptions. It was a matter of keeping your something sacred from being polluted and corrupted, until you knew, until it was the right time, until everything was stable. You knew from Quinn that Jack’s relationship was going through a rocky period, and Luke had his own problems with finding dates, and Quinn - ever the older brother - didn’t want to add to any of that, come waltzing into everyone’s lives with a new ‘somebody’.

Puck dropped. In the blink of an eye, and the game was on. You could hardly watch how the puck pinged across the ice, too nervous to take your eyes from Quinn, who had managed to lock into the game. Watching him fulfil his role of captain on ice, and one of the best defenders in the league, never really got old; you came to most home games, and a few away ones too, sneaking into hotel rooms, and meeting him back at home after games. He threw chirps across the ice, chasing the puck towards you and passed you a smile as he skated by. You smiled back.

Quinn was on the other side of the rink to you when it happened. Which meant, of course, that you had the best view in the house when he got high-sticked. The opposing players stick came up and struck Quinn right in face, just above the eye, in the browline, it drew blood almost immediately and he went down.

You shot to your feet, unable to do anything, just watch as blood dripped dark red onto the pure white ice, the sight brought your hand to your mouth. He was pressed against the board, sat on the ice slowly pulling himself up as players rushed over. Then, amongst the angry words clearly being exchanged, chirps thrown around, Quinn grabbed a fistful of the players jersey, tugging harshly at the neckline and that’s when the punches started. A cloud of players crowded your vision of the ensuing fight and a referee rushed over. You shoved your knuckles in your mouth and the crowd roared around you.

A referee pulled Quinn out of the hoard, blood dripped down the right side of his face and rivulets collated around the side of his mouth but his smug grin did nothing to calm your racing heart, even when he looked right at you - meeting your eyes, not tearing away even as a referee yelled at him. He shouted back but the referee tugged at him, directing him with his hands towards the box as Quinn wiped away the blood on the side of his face, panting with exertion.

Quinn didn’t get any more ice time after that. You watched him as best that you could from your obscured seating on the bench. It pained you that you wouldn’t be able to see him after the game, touch the wound gently, dab at it with rubbing alcohol and hold him in your arms.

As you were getting up to leave, a text popped up on your phone screen, from Quinn - your breath caught in your throat. He was asking to see you, come to the medical room to meet.

You rushed there, a member of staff with a knowing glint in her eye led you through, avoiding the others wandering the halls. Pushing your way into the room slowly, you saw Quinn sat on the bed, plaster covering his wound. His head immediately snapped towards you, and you rushed forwards to draw him into a deep hug.

His body wrapped around yours, both you pressed as close to each other as possible and your head buried into the little nook between his shoulder and neck.

“Baby,” he murmured into your warm skin.

You sighed into his hold, “Quinn.”

Drawing back, you inspected the traces of dried blood on his eyebrow and the flakes still present on his cheeks.

“I’m okay.”

“I was so worried,” You breathed out heavily, voice wavering.

He smiled softly, arms circling around your waist, “I know.”

“What am I doing here Quinn, where is your family?” You questioned, a jolt of panic rushing through your body.

He shook his head reassuringly, in his usual captainly way, “Waiting elsewhere. I just needed a moment with you.”

You relaxed into his hug and let you two meld back together, embracing in the silence and cold detachedness of the medical room. Breathing in his familiar smell, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in until there was no space between you - he rocked you a little, murmuring sweet reassurances for what seemed like hours.

When he pulled away, his eyes were wide and concerned, despite the fact that he was one with blood on his face and a bruise forming on his arm, and who knows where else.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and you nodded, pulling your spirit together and back from the embrace.

You breathed out, trying to stay strong, “Will you let me know when I can see you?”

“Yes,” he swallowed, watching as you stepped away, “I love you, okay?”

You pulled open the door, nodding sternly, “I love you too,”

The corridor was cold and silent as you walked through it, save for the way your heels clicked against the hard surface. You forced your heart to harden over again, retreat back into its shell, shield your emotions.

Quinn had his head in his hands, something had to change, and he was going to make sure it was him. He wanted you there forever, always by his side, he needed to make sure that you knew that. He needed you to be his. There was a ring box hidden in his locker for a girlfriend that his family had no idea about, but he had never been more sure of anything in his life.

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ifyouweremine · 13 days ago

Text

You Should Probably Leave | Clark Kent

PAIRING: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: He should probably leave, right? He should do the right thing and walk away before he does something that might ruin your friendship. So why is it that he's moving closer to you, risking everything when he doesn't know if you feel the same way?

WARNINGS: None, besides Clark being the most adorable idiot in love

W/C: 3.1k

You'd been dancing around your feelings for months now. Somewhere between meeting Clark Kent for the first time and now, the line between friends and something more became blurred. Of course, maybe you were overthinking it because it was in Clark's nature to be as kind as humanly possible. He bought you a coffee every morning and met you outside your apartment building (conveniently, you lived in the building across from him). He walked you home after work and insisted that he see you to your door just in case. Metropolis was dangerous, he always said, so you can never be too sure.

You let him do these things without mentioning the way butterflies erupted in your chest every time he did. Walking home became invitations to stay for dinner and even though it was your apartment, Clark would be at the helm in the kitchen, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows while you sat on the counter and watched him prepare the food. He was an exceptional cook, so one dinner turned into a weekly thing under the guise of wanting to try more of his Ma’s recipes. Fridays became movie nights, listening to Clark excitedly tell you about his favourite films and introduce you to what he deemed the best movies of all time. He was like a golden retriever, enthusiasm and a heart of gold wrapped in a six-foot-something frame with glasses sitting crooked on his nose. Nobody could resist the charm that radiated from him and you were no exception.

It was dangerous, playing this game with Clark. One wrong move and the entire thing could crumble. This fragile ecosystem the two of you were building, your lives becoming entwined in ways that felt impossible to deny, could erupt in flames if you made one wrong move.

Did Clark feel anything for you? Did his heart stutter in his chest the way yours did when he held open a door for you or offered you his jacket on those cooler evenings? Did he wonder what you were thinking every time he caught you looking for a fraction too long? When he left you at your door every evening, did he feel that ache of longing stretching through his chest with every step he took away from you? You didn't dare ask those questions, so instead you kept quiet, torturing yourself with the possibility that there could be something else there if you let it happen but terrified to breach that unfamiliar territory lest he not be by your side when you did.

There was one day that you felt it, a seismic shift in the dynamic between the two of you. A new intern had started at the Daily Planet that morning and the Chief had asked you to show him the ropes. Without an assignment to keep you occupied, you toured the intern around the building and introduced him to the team, making sure that Clark was your last stop so you could chat to him for a while longer than the others. Across the room, Lois was giving you the eyes that told you she was catching on to whatever was going on between you and Clark. She was attuned to noticing the details and had been saying for weeks that she thought there was a spark between the two of you.

You'd rolled your eyes and subtly flipped her off by pretending to scratch your nose. She had dissolved into silent giggles and resumed her conversation with Jimmy, leaving you to introduce Clark to the new intern. You hadn't noticed the way the intern's eyes seemed fixated on you, hanging on to your every word with a dedication that went beyond merely wanting to learn about the business. While you were blissfully unaware, Clark... was not.

He noticed the intern's gaze and the way he had been asking questions while you made your rounds through the office. The way his questions sometimes bordered on personal, asking you what your favourite section to cover was or where you preferred your coffee from so he could get you one to say thank you for showing him around, caused an unfamiliar feeling to creep up Clark's throat. When you'd answered the coffee one, telling him that I get my coffee from wherever Clark goes in the mornings, it hadn't quite been enough to tame that roar of jealousy through his chest.

He'd swallowed it down, making a point to ask if you were still on for dinner that evening and watching the intern's eyes bounce between the two of you with a hint of curiosity shining there. You'd responded with a smile and a definite yes before ushering the intern away to show him the file room.

Later that evening, you were sitting in your kitchen in your usual spot, perched on the counter in your comfiest t-shirt and sweats, a glass of wine half-finished beside you. Clark had his back to you, stirring the sauce he was making with a focussed intensity. There was something in the air you couldn't place, a tension you could almost see if you looked hard enough. His shoulders were squared and he didn’t look quite at ease, which was unusual because he spent so much time in your apartment that it had become something of a second home to him.

"Okay, I'll bite," you said finally, when the silence became a little too stifling. "What's up with you?"

Clark didn't turn to look at you but asked, "What do you mean?"

"You've been weird all day," you said, reaching for your wine and taking another long sip. "I don't know how to describe it. Broody, like there's something on your mind."

"I'm not broody," Clark said.

You rolled your eyes. "Clark, c'mon, you're stirring that sauce like it's personally offended you."

He put down his spoon and finally turned to you. "How'd you get on with the intern?"

You almost snorted, seeing right through his question. That was what this was about? The intern you'd shown around because the Chief had asked you to?

Years of schooling your features kept your expression unreadable as you said, "Okay, actually. He was eager to learn."

"He seemed pretty interested in you," Clark said.

This time, you couldn't help the smile that formed on your face. "Are you trying to say I'm not interesting?"

"No, I think you're interesting," Clark replied. "I'm just being observant."

"He was just being friendly, Clark," you said. "He was nervous, so I guess he just wanted to make a good impression."

"By asking you where you get your coffee from?" Clark asked.

There they were again, the butterflies erupting in your chest and beating their wings in a way that stole the breath from your lungs. Was Clark jealous?

"He was just being nice. He told me he'd bring me coffee on Monday," you said.

"And I hope you told him that he needn't bother," Clark replied.

"Well, actually I said that would be great," you said. "So you don't need to worry on Monday."

Clark crossed the room towards you and a lesser woman might've backed down, but you were never one to shy away from him. His hands rested on the counter on either side of your thighs, trapping you there. "You didn't."

"It's no big deal, right?" you said, fighting the smirk that was threatening to appear. "He's just being friendly, the same way you always are."

"Just being- I bring you coffee in the mornings," Clark said, a hint of emotion betraying him. There was a vulnerability in his tone that you'd never heard before, a trace of something that might've been desperation. "That's our thing."

You giggled then, bubbling with a nervous energy at the proximity between the two of you. Clark was so close that you could close that gap and kiss him in less than a heartbeat. "I know it is, but there's always time for a change."

"Just say you hate me," Clark said, his tone dry.

"I don't hate you, Clarkie." You laughed at the expression on his face. "Why are you acting like I just told you we can't be friends anymore?"

"That's what this betrayal feels like," Clark said.

"Betrayal? Over coffee?" you asked.

"It's not just about the coffee," Clark replied, his voice dangerously quiet. "It's about- It's about us."

"What about us?" you asked, goading him to take that leap and take you with him, wrap you in his arms as you fell into unknown terrain together.

"I just- You have no idea what you do to me," he said, stumbling over his words in a way that made your heart ache with how cute it was. "You- You're everything and I can't- I don't know how to-"

He was struggling and you were never one to enjoy watching people suffer, so you put him out of his misery and said, "Clark, what do you want from me?"

"I- I want you," he said. "And not just as a friend." He was closer now, his eyes so blue and so vulnerable as they remained locked on yours. You didn't dare look away for fear that the moment would pass you by and you would never hear it from him. "I just- I didn't know if you felt the same."

"Clark-"

The way you said his name did it. He closed that space between you and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that shattered every boundary the two of you had built between you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his hands gripped your waist and pulled you closer, chests pressed flush to one another as you lost yourself in the way it felt to kiss him.

He kissed you like oxygen didn't exist. He didn't need to breathe while he suffocated in your kiss, clinging to your body like he would never be whole without it. He knew he shouldn't do this, jeopardise the friendship he had formed with you for the sake of his being jealous of an intern, but it was hard to do the right thing when you looked so pretty sitting in your kitchen, watching him with wide eyes that gave away everything you felt.

He should have left. His emotions ran away with him and now here he was, breaking every promise he had made to himself when he became your friend. If he didn't have Superman to think about, he would have asked you out months ago, but there was a voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he wasn't just Clark Kent. He was somebody who shouldered the weight of the world and took on the responsibility of protecting like a badge of honour. He should have walked away and left everything as it was.

But just one kiss? One achingly beautiful kiss that made his heart leap against its cage of bones like it wanted to break free of his chest and show you that it beat to the rhythm of your name? One kiss couldn't hurt.

You pulled away first, breathless and flushed. Wide eyes stared at him as though you couldn't believe what you were seeing. Clark Kent, hair dishevelled from your fingers running through it, a redness in his cheeks as his chest heaved to catch his breath, was standing in your kitchen after kissing you like his life depended on it.

"Wow," you breathed. "That was-"

"I should have told you a long time ago," Clark whispered. "How I felt, I mean. I just didn't know if you felt the same way."

"I do," you said, nodding earnestly. "I didn't want to say anything because you're my best friend, Clark."

"And you're mine," he replied, tilting his head to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closing as he tried to immortalise this moment in his mind. "I want to do the right thing here-"

Behind him, something hissed on the stove and Clark was gone, wrenching his body from where it had crowded your space to switch off the hob and try to salvage the sauce that had bubbled up and spilled over the side of the pan. You laughed as he moved the pan to the heatproof mat next to him, grimacing at the mess left behind and looking over his shoulder at you with a sheepish look on his face.

"Dinner's ready," you teased, sliding down from the counter and moving to wrap your arms around Clark from behind. He stood so tall that even at your fullest height, he still towered above you. "What do you say we order something?"

Clark turned in your arms and smiled down at you. "We might have to." He kissed the top of your head, one arm wrapping around your body. "I'll clean up the mess."

"Forget the mess," you said, shaking your head. "We'll clean it later. I want you to kiss me again."

He knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't give in to the way you whispered in his ear like a devil on his shoulder. He should do the right thing; take you out for dinner and walk you home before he kissed you goodnight. His Ma had raised him to be a gentleman, but the way you were looking at him right now made him want to forget everything she had taught him. The look in your eyes was downright sinful.

"Kiss me, Clarkie," you whispered, rising onto your toes to catch his lips in another searing kiss that melted every resolve he had been hopelessly holding on to.

His hands gripped your thighs and hoisted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around him to steady yourself as you clung to him, lost in the feeling of his lips on yours. He moved through your apartment, leaving behind a dinner that neither of you cared about in that moment, heading for your bedroom.

Then it was tangled limbs, clothes scattered on the floor, whispers in the dark of feelings you'd both tried to hide. He laid you down and he took his time, savouring every curve of your body and the way you felt beneath his touch. He had wanted this for so long. Waking up to realise this was all a dream would crush him, so he committed every second to memory because if he only got this one night with you, he wanted to make sure it counted.

The darkness gave way to the early-morning sunlight, which streamed through the curtains and cast golden light across your room. You were tangled around Clark, sound asleep in his arms as he lay awake, watching you sleep. The alarm clock on your bedside table read 5:57. It was nearly 6am and Clark had barely slept. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness, but kept waking to be sure that this wasn't a dream. That you were still there, looking like a goddess bathed in sunlight as you slept against him like you’d always been there.

He was afraid you'd wake up and say that this had been a mistake, a heat-of-the-moment decision that you didn't expect to happen again. But the way you said his name last night like a prayer falling from your lips was enough to scare away those doubts.

You shifted in his arms, eyes opening slowly as you let out an adorable little groan and buried your face further into Clark's chest. "Can you turn off the sun?"

He would do anything for you if he could, but some things were beyond his control.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Clark teased.

You lifted your head just enough to look at him and there was a sleepy sort of softness in your expression. Eyes half-closed with a lazy smile he'd never seen before tugging at your lips. "Good morning, Prince Charming."

"You sleep okay?" Clark asked softly.

"Better than ever," you replied, keeping your body wrapped around him. "Can you just stay with me forever?"

"Do you want me to?" Clark asked, his heart stuttering at your words.

"Yeah." You nodded, cheek pressed to his chest. "Want you to stay forever."

"I'll stay for as long as you want me to," Clark replied.

"Good," you said.

There was no room for regrets in that morning sunlight. No space for doubting what you had done the night before. You had woken up in the arms of a man you'd fallen in love with slowly, growing familiar with his presence in your life. This had been a tumble you'd taken willingly into something new, but the moment Clark had pulled your body closer when he kissed you for the first time had been him embracing the fall with you.

You'd landed softly in the arms of a man who would always be there to catch you. There was no better feeling than this.

"You want breakfast?" Clark asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Are you going to burn it again?" you asked.

"I seem to recall being distracted last night," Clark said.

"Can't think why," you replied.

Clark's laugh rumbled through his chest and a grin split your face as he said, "No, I can't imagine what came over me."

You giggled, sitting up just enough to rest your arm across his chest and look at him. "Breakfast sounds good."

And so you found yourself back in the kitchen, wearing Clark's t-shirt like a trophy. He was shirtless, wearing just his sweatpants as he made you breakfast. This time, though, he stopped for kisses in between and you obliged, laughing whenever he caught your eye. He didn’t have to worry about savouring each kiss, because you sat there patiently waiting for each one he gave you. Breakfast was safe from Clark being distracted.

When you sat down at your dining table to eat, Clark reached over and tugged your chair towards him like it was the most natural thing in the world. With his fork in one hand and his other resting on your thigh, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence as you ate, only broken when Clark looked at you for so long that you knew he was thinking about something.

"What?" you asked.

He pointed his fork at you. "I'm still bringing you coffee on Monday."

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand as you realised he was still thinking about that intern. It had just been a joke to rile him up, but you knew that you would let this man bring you coffee every day for the rest of your life if only to see the way his face lit up every time you thanked him like it was the first time.

"Sure, Clark. That's our thing."

#superman x reader #superman #clark kent x reader #david!clark kent #david corenswet #david!superman #superman 2025 #dcu #david!clark x reader #corenswet!superman

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teapartyprincess4two · 11 months ago

Text

On Stream- M. Sturniolo

pairing: gf!reader x bf!Matt

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, short, slight cursing, some suggestive comments

summary: Matt mentions you on stream, causing the chat to go crazy.

—

Nowadays it seems that Matt and Chris have an abnormal amount of free time.

The pair have spent the past few days running errands, catching up on chores, spending quality time together, and unwinding. But two energetic young men can only do so much relaxing before it becomes unbearably boring, especially without you and Nick around.

Nick’s somewhere across the globe, relishing in the perks of having good friends. He’s experiencing the world with a sense of individuality, having been apart from his triplet brothers for over a week.

Without Nick around the house is quiet and boring enough, but Chris and Matt can usually count on you to keep them company. But it seems that they see you less and less every day.

You aren’t somewhere far away, not physically at least, you’re just very, very busy. As you enter the fall semester, you’re juggling a multitude of responsibilities including school, work, your social life, and your relationship. But as you adjust to your crazy hectic schedule, you spend less time at home with Matt and more time nose deep in a book.

So, just as the brothers grow accustomed to the eerie silence that haunts the halls of their home and the boredom that settles into their everyday lives, they decide enough is enough and take up a new hobby. Streaming.

Today, as Matt anchors himself in his rolling chair, his eyes skim through the endless chats that flood his screen. Chris sits next to him, a vibrant and excited smile adorning his features.

This is their third consecutive day going live on Twitch. At first they went live to entertain and chat with their fans, but now they’re doing it to occupy their bored minds.

Chris’s eyes skim the chat, fixating on one message in particular. He subconsciously reads it aloud, “Is Y/n on tour with Nick? We miss her.”

After reading the comment, the chat was flooded with similar messages asking for you. Matt slumps into his chair, the mention of your name reminding him that it’s been a week since he’s seen you.

“Nah, she’s just busy with school right now,” Chris replies mindlessly, skimming for another comment to read.

A lot of the viewers noticed Matt’s mood shift. They noticed the way his eyes drooped and the way the corners of his mouth turned into a frown. They especially noticed the disassociated look he wore, mind traveling to a place only you could bring him out of.

“Matt,” Chris says, waving a hand in front of his brother’s face. No response. “Matt!” He tries again, louder this time. Matt still doesn’t respond, only coming back into reality when Chris violently shakes his shoulders.

“What, dude? What?!” Matt asks, annoyance evident in his tone.

“Your phone’s ringing.” Chris replies with an eye roll and a small scoff.

Suddenly the blaring ring registers in Matt’s mind as he pats his pockets in search of his phone. When he finally finds it, your name illuminated the screen.

“Who’s calling?” Chris asks, stretching out his neck in hopes of catching a nosy glimpse at the caller ID.

“Umm be right back chat. Y/n’s calling,” Matt says, words spewing out a mile a minute. He disappears from the room faster than ever, immediately pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is music to Matt’s ears. It feels like forever since he’s last heard it.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “everything okay?”

You hum in response, followed by a soft yawn.

“You sound tired. When are you coming home?” Matt asks, softly leaning against the wall. You’ve been at school all day stuck in lectures and studying, so Matt knows you need some well deserved rest.

“I’m on my way now. That’s why I called, wanted to see if you guys were hungry so I could pick up something to eat.”

The excitement that courses through Matt’s veins is unreal, winding him up with enough energy to last until tomorrow. He can’t wait to see you, hold you, kiss you, and make up for all the lost time.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he replies, pausing for a second to compose himself, “I just wanna see you.”

A warm smile graces your features and if Matt could see it he’d mirror your expression.

“I’ll be home soon don’t worry. How’s the stream going?”

“Huh?” For a second Matt forgot that he and his brother were live streaming for thousands of people.

“The stream. Aren’t you live with Chris right now?”

“Ohhh. It’s going… it’s going good.” Matt replies with a soft sigh.

Your smile is momentarily replaced with a frown. “It doesn’t sound like it’s going good. What’s wrong?”

Matt’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose before gliding across his eyelids and massaging the tense nerves and muscles on his face. “It’s going fine. I just can’t focus. The chat keeps asking about you and it’s honestly making me really sad.”

A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Aww my poor baby. Can’t focus on Fortnite?”

“Not Fortnite.”

“Oops, sorry. Fall Guys?

“Y/n.” Matt warns, though he finds it slightly funny too.

“I’m joking, I’m joking. I’ll be home soon with some good food and open arms. We can cuddle and watch a movie, or do anything else you wanna do. Okay?”

Matt feels his spirit lighten up again, a cheeky smirk forming on his face. “Anything?”

“Don’t push it,” you laugh.

Just as Matt’s about to respond, he’s cut short by Chris calling his name from inside the room.

“Get back to your stream. I’ll be home soon, handsome.”

Matt’s lips form a silly pout you can’t even see as he replies, “But I wanna keep talking to you. Miss you so much.”

“MATT!” Chris calls again, this time much louder than the last.

“We’ll talk all you want when I get home. Now go! I have the stream pulled up on my computer and I think Chris is gonna start twerking,” you say, trying your best not to laugh.

“Holy fuck this kid,” Matt groans, face palming. “Alright baby, I love you. Drive safe.”

“I love you too,” you say through small giggles before hanging up.

When Matt renters the room, he’s not surprised to find Chris dancing for the camera. He pushes past him and settles back into his rolling chair wearing a huge, toothy smile.

“What did Y/n want?” Chris asks, briefly glancing at Matt as he switches from doing the griddy to shuffling across the room.

“Just asked if we were hungry,” Matt shrugs, attempting to act nonchalant, but there’s no hiding the newfound pep in his step.

“And it took you that long?”

“I was catching up with my girl. —Why the fuck are you still dancing?”

“Someone gifted,” Chris says, slightly breathless as he bops from corner to corner.

“Alright…” Matt shifts towards the computer, “What did I miss?”

He reads comments, expecting most of them to be about Chris and his absurd dancing skills, but he’s surprised to find that they’re all about you.

Some fans ask where you are, others ask what you’re doing, some speculate on the conversation you and Matt had, and others simply comment on how much happier Matt seems since talking to you.

All Matt can do is smile and patiently wait for you to arrive, ready to bombard you with kisses as soon as you step through the door.

—

MASTERLIST

a/n: hi babies! Hope you enjoy this short oneshot! I know I haven’t updated or posted much in a longggg time but I honestly had writers block :P I’m trying to get into the habit of writing again, so bear with me pls. I have a lotttt of drafts (some that just need to be edited) so be expecting that soon! Luv you all 😚

- L.A.M.B🪽💝

—

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note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(

3K notes · View notes

junicult · 10 months ago

Text

!! the bachelors after their first kiss with you

contains ; fluff! gn!(but written with fem in mind)farmer for most. implied male in alex’s. non canon setting (for most). unestablished relationships—pre dating. alcohol usage. smoking (cigarettess).

note ; i had a nice time in my imagination with this one

harvey.

he stares at you, stunned at how easily you were able to do the thing he’s been thinking about for weeks. how soft your lips felt, how comforting your hand on his chest was, and how genuinely intoxicated just one simple kiss from you was already making him feel.

he clears his throat, and almost like you just sucked every word out of him, all he could muster up was a mumbled, “thank you.” he thanked you. for kissing him.

you purse your lips, trying your darnedest not to laugh watching his face just drop, realizing the first thing he said to you after you kissed him for the first time was a thank you.

“oh no, it was my pleasure.” you tease, allowing a small giggle to slip. he sighs like his blood has run cold, too embarrassed to even respond. luckily for him, you’re just too perfect, and you cool his sting by leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a smile, hand cupped over the opposing one, “goodnight harvey. i’ll see you tomorrow. you can thank me for that one, then.”

sam.

he acted almost as quick as you did, the moment he saw your eyes fixate on his lips and lean in, he wasted no time to fill in the gap between you two.

“you kissed me.” he says, face washed in amusement and adrenaline. he remains a solid grip where his hands rest on your lower waist, clear he has no intent on letting you go anytime soon.

“i might’ve.” you murmur, flickering your gaze to and from his. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think—

“are you all shy now? did i make you nervous?” he angles his head to chase your nervously wandering eyes, mischievous grin and tease in his tone. his hand consciously cups the side of your neck, thumb pressing into your jaw to gently force your chin up and maintain eye contact.

you huff, shaking your head. “well, a little! we just kissed!” you try not to sound too whiny—though, the way his grin spreads almost makes you forget that plan.

“aha! i made you nervous! am i so handsome? am i such a good kisser?” he muses, snickering in triumph.

“sam,” you test, narrowing your eyes through your eyelashes.

“what? you dunno know the answer? wanna kiss again to find out?”

shane.

he didn’t actually think you’d lean in, much less keep it going for so long that he’d have to push against you a moment later to give him a second to breathe.

but you shake your head, misinterpreting it all so quickly. “i’m sorry—i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have kissed you, i don’t know why i did that, i’m sorry—“

“whoa, i wasn’t pushin’ you away,” he immediately rouses, “i’m not mad that you kissed me.” and he snickers lowly, “more like pounced on me.”

“you’re not?” you hum breathlessly, straightening your pants and tucking pieces of your hair back. now your chest bubbles with a new kind of embarrassment. you nibble on your lower lip, attempting to ease your breaths. “i—i dunno why i did that. i don’t usually drink…much less makeout with people while i do.”

you slouch back down on the old, creaky dock next to him. he snorts, tilting his head, “‘m just too irresistible, huh?”

you shoot him a glower. “yeah,” you say like it’s sarcastic, but really, you’re well aware you aren’t drunk enough to start behaving irrationally. “i just didn’t mean to do that.”

“i don’t mind that you kissed me.” he shrugs.

you watch as he takes a swig from his beer can. his eyes focus on the overall still lake in front of you both. “you don’t?”

he almost wants to tease you for all your disbeliefs. he chooses to scoff out a laugh instead, shaking his head. “mm-mm.”

you turn to face the water, gently swinging your dangling legs over the edge. “hm,” you hum back, “maybe we should talk about that when we’re both sober.”

sebastian.

he’s borderline shocked at how easy it was for him to kiss you back—no hesitation after your fingers brushed the back of his hair to pull him in. he’s almost loopy, too, and he’s never been the type to swoon so hard from these kinds of affections. but he’s also learned a lot has changed since he first met you.

“you taste like cigarettes.” you murmur as you step back, licking your lower lip as if to repeat the taste. you turn towards the city lights, and for the first time he’s finding it nearly impossible to follow your gaze.

“i’m sorry,” he truthfully says, absentmindedly stepping down on the previously tossed cigarette butt at his shoe. “i’ve been trying to stop.”

“tastes like you, too. mixed in, i guess.” you note with a smile, “it’s not terrible though. but good, you should try and quit.”

he honestly doesn’t know how to take that—in his mind, he can’t imagine that tastes good, much less the combination any glorious. yet you turn to him again, stuffed hands unfolding from your pockets to reach across for his.

all you had to do was to give him a tiny tug, sliding your hands up his shoulders before he repositioned his own back to where they previously sat on your waist.

“let me bask it in while i can, though.”

alex.

you’ve almost never seen him with this soft, content look on his face. you’re half expecting him to burst into laughter, try to justify his actions with a teasing lilt and offer to pretend like it never happened.

but no. all he does is look at you, watching the way your eyes shift between each of his, evaluating. like he’s waiting for one of you to break.

you take the bait. “why’d you do that?” you murmur, quiet enough the wind almost picks it up.

he shrugs. “i dunno. it felt right.” he hums, and despite his uncertain words, he says it with sincerity. “was that the wrong choice?”

you think for a moment. for you, you surely thought about it for weeks. but the timing certainly didn’t feel appropriate. vulnerability changes a man like him most of all, and the last thing you’d want to do was take advantage of that. you absentmindedly swirl the grains of sand under your fingertips.

“no, i don’t think so.” you respond easily.

he nods. you’ve never seen him this quiet, but despite that, you’ve got an idea of what’s exactly going through his mind. when he turns away, you’re certain.

“you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“of course not.”

elliott.

he had almost forgotten why he invited you over—just for inspiration on the last couple chapters of his novel, or did he honestly plan for it to go like this?

“so…what happens after they…kiss?” you coyly murmur, still held in his embrace so close you can smell the drop of pomegranate on his lips.

“well, i haven’t written that far just yet,” he pauses to take a breath, “i was hoping they’d finally confess their love.”

he’s so handsome this close, your head still reels and lips feel fuzzy as you struggle to bring back in your even breaths.

you nod, slow and computing. “yeah—no, that sounds good.”

your plump lips hold him in a trance, as do his, making it so hard to concentrate on his words all the while you feel you’re too fixated on them.

“so you believe they love each other? that they should finally tell the other?”

the kiss rendered you thoughtless—what can you expect from a romantic like him? however, the metaphor is not lost on you. and had he let you go at this point, it wouldn’t have been so easy for you to eagerly nod, “absolutely. two people in love should tell each other they’re in love.”

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supremehavok · 1 month ago

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Indecent Proposal (two shot) | m.r

plot: Truly, there is never a right time for Robby to propose to you.

category: fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint muse: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch

c/w: Myrna is a warning in her own right, sexual language but no actual smut, bodily fluids (piss), mentions of death, mentions of a gunshot wound, fracture bone and all that comes with it (bone realignment, etc), inaccurate medical depictions (I’m not a doctor I just play one on tv), reader has feminine pronouns, no use of y/n

w/c: 1.3k

a/n: This is a two shot!! There will be a conclusion. I thought it was getting too long anyways and decided to split it up into two parts

part two

“I’m not doing it today.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not the right time for it.”

“There’s never a right time for it. The morale in this place takes a nosedive every thirty minutes. We all leave our shifts crying at least once a week. What makes today so different?” Dana shrugged.

Robby rubbed the back of his neck. “Her car crash patient hemorrhaged a few minutes into surgery. He’s not gonna make it.”

“Poor kid,” Dana grimaced briefly.

“She notified his parents, and they really laid into her. We always tell everyone not to take it personally, but—”

“...but sometimes it’s hard not to,” Dana finished the sentence, the same line both she and Robby repeated to the younger nurses and doctors.

Even after sharing a moment of mutual understanding, Robby shook his head at the charge nurse. “She won’t want to entertain anything I’d have planned. It’s not happening tonight.” It was pretty much the end of the discussion at that point. Robby patted his hand down on the surface of Dana’s desk before excusing himself to a patient’s room.

For months now Robby has felt the conflicted pattern of emotions; he wanted to propose to you so badly, but he was so fixated on it being ‘the right time’ that anytime any minor inconvenience occurred, he’d tell himself it’s just not the right day and then say he’d do it tomorrow. The tomorrows had come and gone ever since he picked up the engagement ring from the jeweler. He knew he was being neurotic, but he couldn’t help it. At the end of the day, he wanted the moment he got down on one knee to be memorable. He wanted it to be special for you.

He decided that the day your patient died and their grieving parents chewed you out was not the perfect time.

Several days later, he was ready. Everything seemed perfect. The weather was nice, the Pitt was surprisingly docile, and it all felt so correct. It was going to be the perfect day until EMTs came bursting through the trauma bay with an unresponsive woman lying on a gurney. Once Langdon shouted out, “Can I get some help over here?’ you came running and ready to administer all the help you could. That is, until you took an unfortunate slip and fell right on your back in a puddle of a patient’s piss that Esme was just coming around to cleaning up. Other nurses had already made it to the gurney to assist Langdon, so you just allowed yourself to completely feel the dull aches in your spine all the way down to your tailbone. Feeling completely defeated as Mel came to your aid with an extended hand.

“I’m just gonna… I’m just going to go…,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else. You put your hand out softly to Mel as she took a few steps towards you to help, but you felt too stunned and embarrassed to even look her fully in the eye as you walked back to the scrubs dispenser to get a new set and to wash yourself as best you could while hiding away in the bathroom for a few minutes. After he heard what had happened, Robby walked by the nurse’s station, glanced at Dana as he walked by, and said, “Nope.”

He decided that the day you slipped in piss and nearly broke your tailbone was not the perfect time.

Robby gave it time. He watched the days go by, went through a few more less than glamorous shifts with you, until he got that feeling again. Today was the day. The ring was practically burning a hole in his dresser drawer at home. He knew exactly how he’d do it: he’d invite you to come back to his house instead of walking you home like usual, he’d make a late night dinner and allow you both to unwind, after dinner he’d take you to the couch and recite the little speech he wrote months ago, and right then would be when he popped the question. It was simple, not much room for error—hopefully. It set Robby’s mind at ease that he could actually have worked his way up to this point. It felt surreal to think that in a few hours, you’d be wearing the ring, saying yes to being his wife, saying yes to sharing your life with him.

Then the incident happened, because of course it did. A patient came in complaining of intense pain in their abdomen. You and Whitaker took him to an available room, and just as you were both helping him onto the bed, another flare-up of intense cramps and aches occurred. The patient seemed to seize up and go limp from the pain, leaving Whitaker’s hand trapped under the dead weight of the patient’s back.

“Ah shit,” Whitaker winced, “I think I’m stuck.”

You immediately came to his aid, gripping his forearm to yank his hand free. There wasn’t much coordination established, just a sharp tug on your end that worked a little bit too well, as Whitaker’s hand was pulled free and his knuckles snapped back to nail you right in the nose. You fell down from the force of the med student’s hand striking your face; the stinging sensation of the injury and the taste of blood dripping into your mouth were all-consuming for a minute. You waved off Whitaker’s panicked apologies, getting up and calling out for Princess to take over in your absence.

A fractured nose. Deliciously painful and now a cosmetic reminder of friendly fire in the workplace. Truthfully, it wasn't as bad as it could’ve been. You weren’t in the market for a nose job, so having your nose realigned manually with no prognosis of needed surgery was a win in your very sad little book of the day. Later on that day, Robby found himself in front of Dana’s station, and she gave him that look.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“She will be your girlfriend until she has to put you in a nursing home if you continue putting this off any longer than you already have.”

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He knew full well that Dana was right; he had been putting this off for way too long, and the longer he waited, the more impossible the task seemed. “I know, okay, I know. I just don’t think realigning the bone and cartilage of her nose sets the tone for the day I ask her to be my wife.”

“If you want my advice, fruitcake.” Myrna. The soft rattle of her arm moving against her handcuffs signalled her arrival before her voice even did. Her wheelchair creeping up on Robby’s left side, poking herself into the conversation in the usual fashion. “The way to get a woman to say yes to anything is to eat her pussy like it’s your last meal before death.”

Dana shut her eyes as if blocking her vision would keep herself composed. Her lips tightened, and she was barely holding in the impending shout of laughter. “You have to be real good at it though,” Myrna continued, no one stopping her. “I once slept with this man back in ‘86. Licked me like I was a frozen lamppost, so I waited ‘til he fell asleep and robbed his ass blind for wasting my time.”

“Alright, as always, it was great speaking to you, Myrna.” Robby turned around to take the handles of Myrna’s wheelchair and move her back to a different corner of the ER. He flagged down Donnie to take Myrna to get a sandwich from the cart—effectively getting away from her as he walked back to Dana.

“If all else fails,” was all Dana could muster as she finally allowed herself to laugh, covering her reddening face with the papers she had been reading. Robby shook his head, torn between feeling exasperated and amused. It was easier for him to just let out a long sigh from his nose and move onto something to capture his focus and allow him to put off confronting his anxieties. Supervising Santos stitching up a gnarly gunshot wound was as good of a distraction as any.

#dr michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch #the pitt #the pitt hbo #michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch x femreader #michael robinavich x reader #michael robinavitch x femreader #the pitt fluff #the pitt fic #michael robinavitch fluff #michael robinavitch fic #michael robinavitch imagine #the pitt imagine #robby robinavitch #robby robinavitch imagine #robby robinavitch x reader #robby robinavitch x femreader

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taevjim · 1 year ago

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The Boy Next Door (m) jjk

pairing: gamer boy! jjk x female reader

genre: smut….just smut…

summary: The cute guy next door was really starting to work your nerves after only residing beside you for a couple weeks. You could hardly get much sleep, his hooting and hollering keeping you up at all hours of the night. You grow tired of his antics one late Friday night and decide to confront him for his selfish actions. Who knew gaming wasn’t the only way for Jungkook to keep you up at night…

You lay in bed for the fourth night in a row with a pillow wrapped around your head, hoping to block the sounds of yelling and obnoxious laughing from reaching your ear drums. For the last two weeks, night after night, your neighbor has done absolutely nothing but be the biggest nuisance a person could ever manage being in their life time.

At first you were excited to discover that you had a new neighbor, not very many people residing with you on your floor of the complex. You liked being alone- a true hermit at heart- but the extra company would never hurt anyone, right?

Wrong.

You learned the name of your pesky neighbor- Jungkook. All thanks to the girl he had hanging on his arm like an accessory only a few days prior, unable to stop his name from tumbling from her drunk lips. You took the liberty of going out for once, deciding to go out for drinks with a couple of girls from work.

Being that it was the first time you saw him that night, your eyes curiously landed on him the minute you came off the elevator.

His appearance was more than jaw dropping. He was lean, standing at probably 6’2, and also promisingly buff. His shoulders were broad and the outlines of his muscles through his shirt had you fixated on his figure.

It wasn’t until you noticed the very intoxicated girl hanging from his arm that made you roll you eyes. You try to ignore the giggles as you hurry to your door, hoping he gets inside his apartment before he sees you.

He’s fumbling for his keys from his pockets, almost as intoxicated as the girl he had with him. You can’t help but notice the way she’s all over him. Her hands are jammed up the front of his shirt, shamelessly coping a feel on the man out in the open. However, he doesn’t seem to mind as he’s looking down at her, a smirk on his pretty face.

His hair looked so plush and you couldn’t help but feel a vague pang of jealously at the sight of the girl running her fingers through the dark tresses. He had a piercing on his bottom lip, the way the light hit the metal capturing your attention towards his mouth.

And the bedroom eyes, Jesus.

His eyes bounced back and forth from the keyhole on the door to the girl at his side. He looked down at her in a way you don’t think you’ve ever been looked at in your life. The way his eyelids weighed down with want. His gaze strong and captivating. It was the playful wink he casts that has you in a chokehold.

He wasn’t even looking at you and you were ready to fall apart before the man.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until his gaze floats over to you. You quickly avert your eyes and shove your key in the door so you could escape the awkward environment.

You don’t miss the sound of his teasing chuckle as you retreat into your apartment, the slam of his apartment door coming only moments after yours.

That’s the night you really started to despise him.

You’re revealed the true intentions behind his company as you lie awake, listening to the sounds of high pitched moans and the thumping from the bed frame hitting the wall. At this time, they had been going at it for going on an hour.

The clock reads 1:07 am and you let out a groan, flopping your head back on the pillow.

After about another thirty minutes of listening to constant moaning and banging against the wall, you hear faint voices out in the hallway. Then the sound of a door closing follows soon after and then silence…

Every night after that, it’s not just sex noises from next door that keep you awake. Now it’s the yelling and laughing that seems to not usually start until around 10pm at night.

You figure it to be video games causing the source of the ruckus, judging by the multiple comments you hear being yelled into the air. Comments like “Dude he’s right there!” “Behind you, behind you!” “Bullshit, I swear I shot him!” “There’s only one left!”

It was beginning to drive you crazy.

You’ve tried banging on the wall back at him, hoping to make it clear that he was being too loud and needed to shut the hell up. Unfortunately, it never worked. You imagine he wouldn’t be able to hear you, or maybe he just didn’t give a shit that he was disturbing you.

Now here you were, going on night four in a row of no sleep due to your next door neighbor.

It wasn’t a constant chain of outbursts. That’s what frustrated you the most. He would get real loud momentarily and then quiet back down just long enough for you to almost fall asleep. Just for him to cry out again and jostle you back awake. It was like a cycle. A never ending cycle that sometimes lasted until 4am.

You groan as you hear him cackle loudly, clearly having no kind of consideration for those who may be sleeping. Or in your case, trying to.

Huffing with anger, you jump up out of bed and bang a couple times on your wall very loudly. “Can you please keep it down?!” You yell through the wall and quickly press your ear against the surface, listening for a response.

Just like every other time, you don’t get one.

You just stand there for a few moments and listen. After a couple minutes of silence, you make your way back to your bed and attempt to get comfortable.

Like clockwork, as soon as you feel yourself start to slowly drift asleep…

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Your eyes slam back open, Jungkook’s loud mouth keeping you from sleep once again.

“I’ve fucking had it.” You grumble to yourself and quickly slip out of bed.

You grab your robe that was sitting on your chair and drape it around your body, angrily tying the string around your waist. You don’t even bother to put shoes on as you make a bee line to the front door.

Swinging it open, you stomp out into the hallway and furiously beat your fist against your neighbor’s door.

It takes a few moments of your fist pounding against the wood before the door swings open and you’re met with your infuriating specimen of a neighbor.

His headset is resting on top of his head, his right ear muff moved off of his ear so he could hear. His glasses sit at the bridge of his nose and his eyes stare back at you through the frames.

He doesn’t even seem interested in the reason behind you banging on his door like you’re a part of the SWAT team as his eyes take in your appearance.

Your robe was tied in a rush, leaving it opened in the front just enough for Jungkook to get an eye full of your cleavage. He also notices the fact that the material doesn’t even cover any further than your mid thigh. It’s evident that you didn’t put much thought into what you’re wearing when his gaze travels up to see the angry look in your eyes.

“Can you please, I will literally get on my knees and beg, please keep it down. You keep me up every night with your—” you frantically point at the device on his head, “—gaming bullshit. Whatever it is you’re doing in here, I don’t care. Just please let me sleep.”

The entirety of your words don’t really reach him, you notice as a devilish smirk forms across his lips.

“Get on your knees and beg, you say?” You just scoff and roll your eyes at his immaturity.

“Of course that’s the only thing you heard me say.”

He chuckles and puts his hands up in defense. “Sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be too loud for you.”

It’s clear that he’s just teasing you. The urge you possess to just reach over and smack that shit eating grin off of his handsome face slowly starts to take over your body.

“A part of me thinks you just do it on purpose,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

He just laughs and then tugs his pretty pink bottom lip between his teeth.

You have to fight the groan that wants to come out of your throat so badly. He was so hot, too hot for his own good. You couldn’t imagine the amount of women this man probably had under his foot at every beck and call. How can someone still manage to be so charming while being a complete ass?

The air suddenly feels colder and you self consciously push your arms in on yourself, wrapping them around your body at the waist.

His eyes flicker down at the movement and his focus pivots to one of your nipples that suddenly grow hard, pebbling just beneath the fabric of your robe. Suddenly, he gives you a sweet smile and widens his door for you a little.

“You cold, pretty? I can help warm you up.”

The look in his eyes is dangerous, a stark contrast to the cute smile he wears on his face.

That’s when you realize how little clothing you actually were wearing, now feeling exposed to his hungry eyes. Alas, his offer still interests you.

You just scoff and slightly peak around his shoulder inside of his apartment. “Warm me up how?” You question.

“Why don’t you come inside and I’ll show you?” He asks, stepping aside to allow you room to enter. You look up at him with curious eyes and you don’t notice the minuscule bob of his adams apple as he gulps.

Sure he was a tease. His ability to get women left and right whenever he wanted had many men wishing they were him. However, that still didn’t mean he didn’t get nervous around a pretty girl. A pretty girl such as yourself was lethal to men like Jungkook.

Girls like you were usually more challenging to acquire; they typically played more hard to get. So naturally, he wasn’t really taking his teasing comments toward you seriously.

He was really just expecting you to brush off his suggestive comments and stomp off back to your apartment, as girls like you would usually do. It was a cat and mouse sort of thing for them. They liked to dangle themselves in front of hot blooded men, looking all pretty and ready to be snatched up- just to run away at the last second and run them around like a dog.

Jungkook had been with a hefty number of women, so he liked to think he knew his way around them and their antics pretty well.

What he didn’t expect, though, was for you to take him up on his offer and enter into his apartment.

"How cute," you tease, picking up one of his halo action figures he had sitting on the counter.

He closes the door, his cheeks heating up slightly as he feels embarrassment.

"Don't do that." He takes the object from you, not missing the way you giggle cutely.

He shoves it in a drawer and points a finger at you in warning. "It is a very manly hobby, don't you dare say anything."

"Right...." You're feeling bold as you start to inch closer to him. His nerdiness intrigued you. You actually did think it was cute. Even cuter when it's a super attractive dream boat of a man who's into such hobbies.

Once you stop in front of him, you look up. His eyes twinkle with eagerness and it makes you smirk.

"You said something about warming me up earlier, if you remember." He lets out a groan at the sight of you looking up at him that way. He hated to admit that he has met his match, having not met such a woman who was eager to play his own game against him.

You reach towards him and grab at one of his hands, bringing it to the tie of your robe that held the fabric together. He loops a finger around the material and with a quick tug, he pulls your body closer to him. He's looking down at you over the slope of his nose, your intense gaze matching his own.

"I did say that." His voice comes out low, husky, so melodic to your ears.

The feeling of your chest against his has Jungkook taking a deep breath, trying his hardest not to break your eye contact.

With a flick of his wrist, he's managed to pull the knot loose to your robe. The two pieces of fabric fall open and reveal a sliver of your naked torso to the man.

He's quickly flicking the headset off of him and tossing it on the couch before he surges forward and scoops you up. The smallest yelp escapes you at the sudden action and you just wrap your legs around his waist on instinct. His hands immediately find their way underneath the curve of your ass cheeks and he grips the fat between his fingers.

"You feel so soft," he whispers into your neck, finding his way to his bedroom with no problem.

Once he gets to the foot of his bed, he carefully drops you in the center; watching the way your body slightly bounces on impact. Your robe has completely fallen open and your tits were fully out, so vulnerable to his eyes.

He doesn't bother to move for a few moments. Instead, he just sits down in his chair and leans back to admire your figure lying sprawled out on his sheets. His eyes dance around the expansion of your skin, down the curve of your hips, to the prettiest set of thighs he's ever seen.

From the position where he's sitting, he can see the faint dark spot in your panties. His pants were tight from the moment he opened his front door to you, but seeing that has them growing impossibly tighter. Which was hard, considering the fact he was wearing sweatpants.

"Are you wet?" His question has you suppressing a giggle. He clearly already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You sit up on your elbows and nod your head at him before you ask in the sweetest voice, "Wanna see?"

He sits up in his chair, leaning closer to your direction. You take his movement as an answer to your question and reach down to slide your panties down your legs.

You don't bother to rid yourself of them completely, allowing the fabric to lazily dangle from your ankle. You sit up on your elbows once again and let your legs fall open, revealing your most intimate parts to your hot neighbor.

He can feel his mouth start to salivate at the sight of your pussy displayed to his greedy eyes. The wetness you've produced has Jungkook's gaze slightly widening.

"You were this wet the whole time?" he asks, almost in disbelief.

You feel his fingers on you suddenly, causing you to gasp. He wastes no time in burying his middle finger in your pussy up to the knuckle. Your back is arching and a soft moan rolls off of your tongue.

Jungkook decides to get closer to you, his knees now pressing into the bed as he crawls over your body. He slides another finger inside of you and lowers his face right above yours. “What a dirty girl you are,” he whispers into your neck, his breath crawling across your skin so faint.

You’re whimpering at his words but mainly from the feeling of his fingers still moving inside of you. This wasn’t exactly what you pictured happening when you decided to come confront him for his loudness. You couldn’t really say you were complaining, though.

His face was just so pretty. The way his glasses sat low on his nose, his gaze intense as he sets his eyes on you. He made you squirm beneath him.

The trust of his fingers driving into your core doesn’t stop and it has your head stretched back to rest against the pillows. Your back arches and Jungkook takes the opportunity to slide his other hand underneath you and across your back, holding you closer to his body.

Well, you suppose this was one way to make sure you were getting no sleep tonight. At least this way was a lot more worth it.

“Talk to me, baby.”

The sound of his voice pulls you out of your thoughts and your eyes land back on his. “There she is,” he teases, a smirk now resting on his ridiculously soft lips.

He increases the movement in his wrist, only driving his fingers deeper inside of you and the feeling has your eyes rolling back.

Your climax was climbing rapidly, the way your muscles twitch around Jungkook’s fingers making him fully aware.

“You gonna come, baby?” You frantically nod your head at his words, a few whines slipping past your lips. Before you’re granted your orgasm, Jungkook is pulling his fingers from you.

The second a whine attempts to bubble from your mouth, Jungkook leans over and plants his lips on yours. They’re just as soft as you imagined them to be and the taste he provides has you pushing your mouth deeper against his, kissing him back in desperation.

He shoves his head in the bend of your neck and reaches a hand down to spread your thigh wider; his other hand was busy with pulling the front of his sweatpants down. He chuckles at the sight of your cotton thong, that famous smirk plastered across his pretty face again.

“It’s almost like you knew you would be getting fucked, huh?” His tone is accusing, his face floating around in front of yours.

You just shrug teasingly, gently pulling your lip between your teeth. "As long as it's you, I won't complain.”

The feeling of Jungkook’s cock suddenly sliding in you has you gasping for breath. You try to keep yourself propped up on your elbows, the sight of his thick fingers holding the fabric of your panties to the side as he drills himself deeper in your body soon becoming too much.

His eyebrows are pinched together, his eyes completely focused on the vision of his dick disappearing inside of you. Your plump body was so warm and soft; he loved the way you felt under his fingertips.

Your mouth is slightly hung open, whimpers and moans escaping your throat like butter.

He admired the reaction he gained from your body, from the faces you made to the way your body twisted and turned in his grasp.

"Please, come closer to me." You're whining and reaching out to grab onto his meaty shoulders, pulling him closer against your body. He chuckles at your desperation; he found it quite cute.

"I'm right here, pretty." He whispers into your ear and increases the speed of his thrusts into your body. Your senses were on overload, he was driving you crazy; his scent, his touch, the smug look on his sexy face. You were a wrecked, soppy, dirty mess.

He leans back to sit on his knees and pulls you with him. He sits you in his lap, both hands on the fat of your hips, fucking into you like his life depends on it.

The force he used while thrusting into you had you gripping the man's shoulders, your loud moans in his ear only egging on his actions. His fingers made indents into your soft body; his grip so tight on you, you were scared of breaking. You would love to be broken by Jungkook, though. You would beg.

"Fuck, Jungkooo-" He performs a particularly hard thrust, momentarily cutting off your words and knocking the breath from you.

"What is it, baby?" He asks softly in your ear, his grip on you remaining as tight as a vice.

"You feel sooo, mmmmm so good." Your words come out in a mess due to your inability to really focus on putting them together in a sentence. He smirks as he watches you struggle.

You look down at him, watching the way his hair dangles in front of his eyes, his lip caught between his pink lips. His eyes were dangerous, looking at you with such hunger and intensity. The visual of him was enough to have you crying out, his name sticking to your lips.

"You're gonna make me come," You whisper into his neck, a whimper following close behind.

He reaches out to you and grips you by the throat, pulling you away from his body.

"Stop hiding from me," he grunts, his pace increasing to a brutal pace, "I wanna see your pretty face when you come on my cock."

His dirty words have you shaking like a leaf, your orgasm finally washing over you.

"Fuck, you're gripping me so tight." He groans and tightens his fingers around your throat, the pace of his thrusting not letting up.

Jesus, he's got some stamina.

He's wearing a cocky smile on his face as he watched the way your mouth hangs open, those cute little whimpers escaping your body.

The next expression to take over his beautiful features is one of bliss. His eyebrows push together and his mouth opens slightly, his eyes drifting down to the way his cock slides inside of you. "It looks so fucking good," he whines and pulls you closer to him by the back of your neck.

He pushes his forehead against yours and holds you there as you listen to the pretty moans release from the man. You bite your lip to contain your own sounds just so you could keep listening to him.

Followed by his moans is a warm feeling that suddenly washes over your lower half.

"I'm coming, baby." He's now holding your jaw with both hands, his thrusts growing harder so he can ride out his release. "Such a pretty little pussy to take my big load, hm?"

His words manage to have you moaning again, mixed between the feeling of his increase of speed; the feeling of his hips violently knocking into yours. You're coming...again.

The sounds roll off your tongue and Jungkook leans in to peck your lips. "What a good girl," he whispers, "coming for me twice. You're so good."

Once you've both come down from your sex high, Jungkook climbs off of you.

You hear the shower turn on once he enters the bathroom, only emerging immediately after. His eyes land on you and he grins. "Come shower with meee."

The whine in his voice has you giggling, until he leans down to place a warm kiss on your neck. You let out a small gasp and Jungkook just takes the initiative to bend down and scoop you up.

A few moments later, Jungkook has you giggling as he childishly rubs soap all over your breasts. He seems to be having the time of his life too.

"Are you happy now?" You just stand there, allowing him to finger paint on your body with the foamy soap.

He chuckles at your question and nods. Then he's reaching out and grasping a nipple between his fingers, walking closer to you. "Who knew this would be what I get for being such a disturbing neighbor."

You squint your eyes at him for his teasing and swat his hands away from you. You just roll your eyes and step around him to get to the shower door. "It's not my fault your charms and incredibly good looks took advantage of me."

You're reaching for the shower door and you're immediately interrupted with Jungkook's strong arms wrapping around you. "Come on, pretty, don't be that way."

You sink into his embrace, his close proximity already getting you cockdrunk again.

"I promise to never keep you up past your bedtime again," he pulls you into his chest and leans down to place a kiss below your ear, "unless I have the opportunity to fuck that pretty pussy again."

His vulgar vocabulary had your cheeks heating up and you playfully swat him away again and quickly exit the shower, not missing the teasing chuckle he lets out over your shy reaction.

That night, you stayed at Jungkook's.

And the night after that.

He just loved to keep you awake.

quickest piece i've ever produced. enjoy, cuties <3

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts jungkook #bts oneshot #bts smut #jungkook oneshot #jjk #jeon jungkook

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viperstrikes · 25 days ago

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¨༺ Tethered ༻¨

CH. 1 | CH. 2 >>

➠ Pairing: Hiccup Haddock x Reader ➠ Genre/Trope: Soulmates ➠ Type: Series ➠ Word count: 1.9k ➠ Warnings/Tags: angst (?), trauma, swearing (eventually), emotional damage, depictions of violence, canon-typical violence ➠ Summary: You’re a dragon hunter, and he’s a dragon rider – two opposing sides of a battle started long before you were born. Why has fate put you together, then? (OR, alternatively, a Soulmate AU in which you receive the wounds your soulmate receives (and feel the pain they do)). ➠ Author Notes: haha whaddup kids back from the dead for the 230838th time! new hyper-fixation makes brain go brr so now I have an entire new fic to pump out. Let's hope its everything you want and more — LMK if you want a part 2!

+Ao3 Ver.

You’re seven years old the first time you feel it.

It doesn’t happen during training or while chasing gulls across the rocky beach like a lunatic, or even from stealing honey bread and running headlong into a fence post—though those incidents are much more frequent.

This one happens while you’re still, too still, swinging your legs at the edge of the dock. The air is clear and bright, the wind sharp with sea salt. The boats bob gently, and you hum to yourself as you thread bone beads onto a frayed cord, half-lost in thought.

Then, out of nowhere, a sharp, thudding pain blossoms on your upper arm, like a punch from nowhere, deep and bruising and hot.

You let out a shriek. The beads scatter into the sea as you flinch, tumbling backward and slamming your heel against the edge of the post. That part hurts too, but it’s normal pain. Familiar.

This new ache in your arm? It's foreign. It settles under your skin like something unwelcome.

You rush home crying, clutching your limb, tears and snot running freely, shouting incoherently about curses and invisible fists and how you didn’t do anything wrong.

Your mother goes very still, and her expression shifts, softening as she pulls you into her lap. She brushes your hair back from your face, listens to your ramblings, and then lets out a long sigh. Not because she doesn’t believe you, but because she does.

“You felt it,” she says softly. “Your first one.”

You blink, hiccupping through the snot. “What do you mean? It hurts, Mama.”

Her hand finds yours. “It wasn’t yours, sweetheart. That pain? It came from your soulmate.”

You freeze. The word sounds made-up, like a story. “My… what?”

She explains all of it then. About the ancient bond between souls, the kind that links pain across space and time, forged before your first breath. How some people are born tethered to another—someone far away, someone they may never meet, but whose wounds you will always feel. Whose pain echoes in your bones. Whose injuries whisper along your skin like ghosts. Some call it fate. Others call it a curse. But it’s real.

"The gods don’t pick for peace, my love," She said. "They pick for balance.”

And balance, you learn, is not always kind.

You’re sixteen when the bruises stop being rare.

They happen almost every other day now—blows to your ribs, lashes across your shoulders, twisted ankles, bloody lips, large gashes. Some are dull. Others leave you doubled over. Once, you woke up vomiting from a head injury you never received.

Another, more agonizing time, you woke up feeling like your left leg had been completely torn off. That kept you out of commission for over a week — it was the most brutal and soul aching pain you’ve ever felt, both physically and mentally.

Everytime it happened after that, you cursed the stranger whose pain you carried.

What kind of life do they live, your soulmate? Who could possibly get hurt this often and still survive? A warrior? A criminal? A fool? You guess. You imagine.

You hope that one day it stops.

But it never does.

You’re twenty now, and you wake just before dawn to the sound of shouting, the sound rising and falling through the village like thunder.

Your eyes snap open, your body already tense before your mind catches up. You barely register the half-formed dream fading behind your eyes before the searing pain cuts through your ribs like a knife, jagged and brutal.

You gasp sharply, curling onto your side, breath hitching. For a moment, you can’t breathe at all. It’s like being crushed under a boulder. You dig your nails into the furs and fight to stay conscious.

Not again. Please not again.

Your bones scream beneath your skin, as though something struck them from the inside. Eventually, the pain ebbs, fades to a dull throb like it always does, and you lie there, sweating, the screams outside continuing.

Your soulmates hurt.

Again.

Just like yesterday.

And the day before that.

And the week before that.

And you’re tired.

Not just of the bruises or the stabbing aches or the disorientation when your knees give out for no reason. You’re tired of not knowing. Of never seeing their face. Of living someone else’s violence like a shadow.

You shove the blanket aside and throw on your light-grey tunic, lacing your boots with shaky fingers. Whatever’s happening outside has the entire village on edge. You push through your front door into cold morning air and the weight of a dozen running footsteps. Words fly past you, and you can just barely catch them:

“Captured—”

“Alive—”

“It’s him—”

“The dragon rider—”

The words land in your gut like stones. You follow the sound, drawn by a sick pull in your chest, like fate tugging you forward by the throat. The shouting thickens near the central square where a crowd has formed, and you slip through it quietly, unnoticed.

By the time you reach the courtyard, half the village has gathered near the gate. People murmur with a strange mix of awe and fury, parting just enough for you to see the commotion past the walls. There’s a group of riders—your own, warriors who fight the fiercest of battles—dismounting from their horses, and ...him. A man.

He’s a figure of ragged movement, bent slightly, face shadowed by matted hair, blood smeared down one cheek like war paint. His wrists are bound, and he’s being dragged behind a horse like some mangy dog, but when he lifts his head, you freeze.

He’s young.

You don’t know what you expected—some towering brute, battle-scarred and monstrous—but not this. Not someone your age, with pale skin and defiant green eyes that still manage to burn through the blood and dirt. There’s no pride in his expression, no smugness, but there is strength—defiance carved into every feature on his face. A quiet, stubborn refusal to yield.

The guards jostle him forward like livestock, and someone behind you shouts, “It’s a dragon rider! They got one alive!”

Alive. You don’t remember the last time that happened. The riders who work with dragons usually fight to the end. They don’t surrender. They burn, drown, vanish into the skies. They die with their beasts. But this one—he’s still breathing. Still fighting, stubbornly, like a true Viking would.

The voice of Ragnar, both the chief of the village and your uncle, cuts through the rising chatter like a blade. “Bring him through the gates!”

The crowd presses tighter. You step forward instinctively—just a little, just enough to see. Then the rider falls, legs stumbling and giving out. One of the guards kicks him, hard, in the back of his right leg, and he crumples into the dirt with a grunt.

You flinch. Then—

You feel it.

Much like the pain you woke up to, another wave slices through your calf muscle—deep, sharp, searing like a burn that spreads too quickly. Your knee buckles under the phantom force and you let out a sharp cry, staggering to the side. Someone brushes past without noticing, but the pain—your soulmates pain—roots itself in your muscles. You clutch your leg, panting.

What the—

When you lift your eyes, the rider is being hauled upright again. Blood trickles down from the corner of his mouth, staining his chin, and you taste it before you see it—copper and salt, burning your throat.

No. Your stomach turns, a sick realization dawning over you. No, no, no—this can’t be what it looks like.

But it is, and deep down, you already know it is. The constant bruises, the broken rib last spring, the dislocated shoulder you woke up with midwinter that left you bedridden for three days—none of it was yours. All of it was his.

Ragnar steps forward, towering and stone-faced, arms crossed. “What is your name, boy?”

The rider doesn’t respond — he doesn’t seem to be much for words, at least at this moment. He lifts his head slowly, grimacing through his split lip. You can see the effort it takes him to stand, but he does it anyway, chin raised, back straight. There’s something in him—not arrogance, but stubbornness. His eyes scan the crowd for a moment and—

They stop on you, gaze landing on you like a slap, and something changes in his expression. It’s slow at first, but it’s there. Recognition—as if the mere sight of you clicks something in his brain. He sees the way your hand is still clutched to your leg. The way you haven’t blinked since his eyes found yours.

He knows.

You don't have to wonder how, or if he’s questioning it. You suppose it hits him the way it hit you a few seconds ago — not necessarily in a way that makes sense, but a guttural feeling of connection.

You watch his eyes shift – the recognition turns into surprise. Then confusion. Then something else. His lips part slightly, like he's trying to speak but his voice is refusing to come out.

You want to look away, but you don’t; can’t, really. His eyes stay on yours, even as one of the warriors speaks up. “He said his name was Hiccup, sir.”

And your world spins, even more than it already was before.

Because you know that name.

Everyone knows it. The rumors have traveled across every village on every wind—the dragon rider, the Night Fury, the boy who rides shadows and fire and turns hunters into fools.

A beat passes, and Ragnar scoffs. “A runt. The most dangerous dragon rider on the sea is a boy with no armor and bad posture?”

Someone laughs. Someone else spits. But he—Hiccup—doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look away from you, even when another guard steps forward and drives a fist into his ribs.

That’s the one that breaks you.

You fall hard this time, doubled over with a cry of pain that tears from your throat before you can stop it.You slam a hand against the stone floor, fingers trembling, and through the haze, you hear Hiccup grunt in pain as well. You're both on your knees now, different parts of the courtyard, breathing in sync through gritted teeth. Hundreds of people stand between you and him, but they are all too enthralled with Hiccups presence to acknowledge exactly what is happening, and you don’t know if you’re grateful or not for that yet.

Hiccup lifts his head again, jaw tight. The moment your eyes meet once more, something silent passes between you. Not pity, or fear, or disgust—all of which would be normal in this situation, normal to a Viking who tames dragons surrounded by a village who hates them. Rather, it’s something gentle; a kind of apology, an acknowledgment that he’s the reason you’re in pain.

Then the guards drag him away, and you force your gaze downward because for some reason it doesn’t feel right watching him fight and scream and struggle against their grasps.

You can’t hear what’s said between them. The blood in your ears is too loud, and your thoughts are a mess of disbelief and rising horror as you struggle to find your breath.

Your soulmate is a dragon rider.

And he’s everything your people were taught to destroy.

#hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x reader #httyd #hiccup x you #hiccup haddock #reader insert #female reader #how to train your dragon #fanfic #series*#httyd*#hiccup horrendous haddock iii

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cookiewrites · 3 months ago

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here's some rich scoups spoiling you thoughts i have been unable to get out of my head for the past months. the tl;dr of it all is that seungcheol is obsessed with spoiling his partner.

spoilt

wc: 1.0k

cw: rich!seungcheol x afab reader, mostly sfw but does mention penetrative and oral sex (reader reciving) a couple times, pet names for reader (baby, jagiya), little bit of praise kink. this has not been proofread.

seungcheol who loves when you spend his money. it starts simply, he makes sure he pays when you two eat out together. you try and protest it but he doesn't hear any of it, pulling out his card before you can even say anything about it - whether this is brunch or dinner.

seungcheol who uses this as an opening to start paying for things when you're at home too. ordering food in? use his card. doing some online shopping? put it on his account. you need new bedding? you both sleep in the bed, it's better to let him pay. he leaves a copy of his card around the apartment for you, putting it in your phone, making it even easier to use than your own, breaking down any excuse you have to use your own.

seungcheol who pays not as a method of control, but as a method of care. he knows you have your own money, and that you can afford to pay for things, you did it for all the years before he turned up. but he doesn't want you to worry about it any more, its part of how he looks after you. he explains this to you over and over, until you finally believe him, and put your own card hidden in the back of your purse for emergencies only.

seungcheol, who got so hard the first time you splurged on his card, that he had to bury himself in you. you came home with this beautiful necklace, rambling some apology about how expensive it was, and how you can return it if he wants, and all he can feel is his cock straining against the fabric at his jeans, seeing you finally feeling comfortable enough to let him pay for things.

"it looks so good jagiya, you look spoiled, that's exactly how i like you" he rambles as he kisses down your neck, putting a little mark right under where the chain sits. "lemme show you, baby, fuck..."

seungcheol who's favourite part of his day is coming home and seeing your haul from your day out, knowing he paid for all of it. you show him the trinkets you picked up for your shelves, and the new jumper you bought, and the earrings you bought already in your ears. the possessiveness he feels makes him feel a little dizzy, he treats you so well that you're showing it off. letting everyone else know how good he treats you.

seungcheol who gets whiney if you haven't bought anything in a while. he'll check his app and see you haven't spent anything in a bit and gets suspicious, knowing you've at least bought food in the last week, so why hasn't he paid? he'll bring it up to you, pouting, his lip sticking out. why would you hurt him like this?

seungcheol who'll use this as an excuse to pull up all the half filled baskets in your phone's browser and check them all out. he uses this as a threat, that if you aren't regularly treating yourself, that he'll do it for you. sometimes he'll just do it when you're cuddling. watching the tiktoks you're showing him, and then taking the phone out of your hands, to finish the purchases of a couple things, even as you try to stop him. there is no reason, to him at least, that you shouldn't have every single thing you want.

seungcheol who never uses the fact you buy yourself things as a reason to not buy you surprises as well. he uses the outgoings on his account to see what you're fixated on right now, and add on. is it blind boxes? he's bought you a full set. is it make up? he saw this palette he thought was cute. is it jewellery? you have a new ring to wear arriving tomorrow.

"it just reminded me of you!" he explains, pouting, as you question why he's bought you another gift. "it'll look so pretty on, baby, please? for me?" acting as if the gift for you, is actually a present for him.

seungcheol who literally gets off on spoiling you. he's finished in his pants several times as he ate you out, and you went on a shopping spree on his phone, telling him all the things you're buying. for him, this is exactly how things should be, you doing absolutely nothing, and getting completely spoilt anyway. all fucked out, and dressed up, getting anything you could possibly want.

"mmm baby you can give me another one" he groans against your thigh as you try to whine that it's too much, "i know you can baby, let me spoil you, yeah? yeah." he dives back in, losing himself in it, making you shake so much you can't even finish checking out - but he'll make sure to finish that for you later as well.

seungcheol who loves when you tell him how good he treats you, and how spoilt you are. it's a bit of a praise kink thing for him, but he just loves hearing how happy you are and how spoilt you feel. it makes his heart (and his cock) full. that's what this is about, making you feel even half of the love he holds for you.

"you're so good to me cheol" you groan, hands helplessly clawing at his back as he fills you up again. "f-fuck, so good to me, baby, no one treats me as well as you do." you ramble, letting him know just how good he is.

seungcheol who puts his black card in your mouth when you begin to complain that he is ruining your expensive lingerie, a very quick way to remind you that he can afford to buy you a new set a dozen times over - and sometimes he does it, just to prove the point.

seungcheol who's so proud when the guys point out how spoilt you are. if they even try and insinuate that it's a bad thing, he shuts it down immediately - reminding them that they'd be so lucky to even have someone to spoil. someone as special as you.

#scoups x reader #scoups smut #scoups imagines #svt imagines #svt smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt x reader #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol

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verstappenverse · 11 months ago

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What We Never Said

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has always been your constant, your best friend. But when jealousy over your recent date flares, it forces him to confront feelings he’s long ignored .Is there more between you two than just friendship?

1.9k words / Masterlist

Max has always been good at keeping his cool. On the track where everything is measured in tenths of a second and a moment’s hesitation can cost everything, keeping a level head was what set him apart from the others. But lately away from the track something had been gnawing at him, disrupting his usually unshakeable focus.

It wasn’t new this feeling it had been there for a long time, simmering quietly beneath the surface. Max knew that. He was painfully aware of it in every shared glance, every late-night conversation, and in the way your laugh could instantly pull him out of his darkest moods.

For years you’d both kept things easy, uncomplicated, two best friends never crossing the invisible line that tethered you close but never too close.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago when he overheard a conversation at a party that Max realised how fragile that balance really was.

“I didn’t know you’d gone on a date,” your friend had said her voice light and teasing.

Max wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally he had been halfway through a conversation with another driver when the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely registered what was being said to him after that. His attention had been locked on you, watching the subtle shift in your posture as you replied.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was nothing. “We went for dinner and drinks, it was really nice... he was nice.”

Max’s hand had tightened around his drink. Nice. The word grated against Max’s nerves. The conversation around him faded into white noise as his mind fixated on what you hadn’t said, on what you’d kept from him.

A date? You’d gone on a date?

Since when did you go on dates without mentioning it to him? It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like something fundamental had changed, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

For the rest of the evening Max stayed quiet his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something darker, something more brooding. You didn’t seem to notice or if you did, you didn’t bring it up.

Every time he looked at you all he could think about was someone else sitting across from you, someone else making you laugh, someone else getting to know the parts of you that Max had always believed were his to cherish.

He thought about it more than he should have over the following days. A slow burn of frustration and confusion twisting in his chest.

It wasn’t that he had a claim over you, but there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, and hearing about you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Max found himself at your door days later, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say only that the unresolved tension between you finally needed addressing.

The door opened and there you were, smiling like always, the kind that usually made his stomach flip, but today it only made him more tense.

“Hey you,” you greeted, stepping aside to let him in.

He walked in without hesitation, but his usual ease was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of you with someone else. He had tried to push it down, to convince himself that it was none of his business.

You were your own person, free to do whatever, or whomever, you wanted.

But the truth was it did bother him. A lot more than he cared to admit.

He dropped onto your couch more tense than he’d been in weeks. You sat down next to him, your brow furrowing as you picked up on his mood. Max was many things, but unreadable was not one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and right now you could sense the storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. His jaw was clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, tone light but probing. “You seem… off.”

He wanted to shrug it off, say it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not with you.

Instead he turned toward you, his blue eyes sharp “Why didn’t you tell me you went on a date?”

Your expression shifted subtly, surprise, then confusion trying to place his tone, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed, Max could hear the faint hum of the city outside your apartment window, but inside the air felt thick, weighted with something unsaid.

“I overheard you the other night,” he continued, his voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, processing his words. “You overheard?”

Max nodded, watching you closely waiting for some kind of explanation that would ease the knot in his chest, but you just sat there, not defensive, not guilty, just calm.

You hadn’t kept it from him on purpose. In fact you didn’t even think it was that big of a deal. The date had been fine, nice, but nothing extraordinary, certainly not enough to warrant telling Max about it right away.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” you said after a long pause. “Just dinner. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Max exhaled sharply running a hand through his hair. “And if it had been serious?”

Now you were even more confused. “Why does it matter?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why did it matter? He wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, except confused. Maybe a little scared. The kind of fear that sinks deep, the kind that makes you realise you’ve been taking something for granted.

“Because it does,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight.

You leaned back slightly, studying him. There was something different about the way you looked at him now, more attuned to whatever was hanging between you. You’d always known that Max was protective of you, but this? This was something else entirely.

“You’ve never cared before,” you said, your voice quieter now, like you were piecing together a puzzle neither of you had fully acknowledged.

Max hesitated then sighed. “Maybe I should’ve.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever admitted to you before.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way that it never had been between the two of you. And then, after what felt like an eternity, you leaned forward resting your elbows on your knees hands clasped in front of you.

“Is that what this is all about? Me going on a date and not telling you?” You paused, your eyes searching his face,“Or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because of course it was something else. It had always been something else. He just hadn’t let himself admit it not until now, not until the idea of you with someone else had thrown everything into sharp, painful focus, and maybe that wasn't fair but he didn't know how he could go back now.

Max stood, pacing the length of your living room his mind racing. “I don’t know,” he finally answered, though it was a lie. He did know. He just wasn’t sure how to say it, cross the line you’d both been skirting around, to take years of friendship and lay it bare without ruining everything.

“Max,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.” You needed to hear him say it. You needed to know if what you felt for him was mutual or if you were reading too much into this.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn around right away. His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, Max felt completely out of control. It wasn’t like driving where every move was calculated, where he could read the car, the track, the competition with precision. This was messier, rawer, and there was no strategy for it.

Finally, he turned to face you, his sharp blue eyes meeting yours. There was no running from it anymore, no pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than what it really was.

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly, the admission catching in his throat. “Hearing you talk about him… I hated it.”

You didn’t look away but your eyes softened, your expression still guarded.

“Why?” you asked, though your tone told him you already knew the answer.

Max let out a shaky breath. “Because… I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

The confession hung in the air, and for the first time with you Max felt truly exposed, vulnerable. The invisible line between you two, the one he’d always danced around, was gone.

All the emotions you’d been burying for so long, all the feelings you’d tried to convince yourself weren’t there, came rushing to the surface.

You walked toward him slowly, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but when you reached him you didn’t say anything. Instead you just looked at him, really looked at him, like you were seeing him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you, too,” you whispered, the words so soft he almost missed them.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between us,” Max continued, “I didn’t want to lose you. But hearing about you with someone else… it made me realise that maybe I’ve already lost you and I didn’t even know it.”

You took a step closer to him your heart pounding in your chest. “You haven’t lost me."

His heart clenched, and before he could stop himself he reached out, gently cupping your face with his hand. Your skin was warm beneath his palm, and for the first time in days the tension in his chest eased slightly.

You didn’t pull away, you stepped closer, eyes never leaving his. It was as if all the years of unspoken tension between you had finally come to a head, and neither of you could ignore it anymore.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. And when his lips finally met yours it was like everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he’d been holding back for years, poured into that kiss.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was slow, deliberate, a moment stretched out between two people who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this. Max’s arms wrapped around you as the kiss deepened, but still, there was a softness to it a tenderness that spoke of the years of friendship, of trust.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there inches apart breathing in the moment. Max's hand lingered on your cheek his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You know,” you whispered, smiling against his lips teasing, “this is probably something you should’ve told me a long time ago.”

Max let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, well” he said, his voice low and teasing back, “I guess this means I can stop pretending I’m okay with you dating other people now," you laughed, open and honest, as he smirked "but I wasn’t too worried, everything’s about timing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your lips brushing his. “I guess you got it right.”

"Finally," he whispered with a grin, before pulling you into another kiss.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen masterlist #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen angst #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen oneshot #max verstappen drabble #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen blurb

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livinghostly · 1 year ago

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i will hold on to you for as long as you let me — megumi fushiguro x mom!reader, satoru gojo x reader

a/n: sorryyy the fushiguro-gojo family dynamic was rotting my brain and i needed this out of my system. LOTS of projection of my fear of growing up in this one soz. this was fully meant to be a drabble and it just kept going idk wc: 3.1k angst/fluff. mom!reader has a lot of bittersweet thoughts about megumi growing up and satoru is there to comfort <3 lots of parentheses and lots of repetition

you put on a brave face all day. all week, even. despite the burn in your chest that engulfed your lungs and squeezed unrelentingly. despite the tears that burned the corners of your eyes delicately balancing on the your waterline, one blink away from breaking the surface density and opening the floodgates to pour down your cheeks. despite the non-stop ache of your stomach, churning what you ate every day but still holding the same emptiness as anxiety consumed you.

megumi didn’t pack much, he never held on to many things to begin with. (you always prayed for that to change, for his comfort your home. you prayed he would see it as his own, as well). he neatly folded his clothes into his suitcases and stacked his hangers on top. he purchased a new sheet set for his bed in the dormitory because the one he was used to was much bigger, much softer.

he packed most of his books, carefully picking out the ones that tugged at the nostalgic parts of him, frayed along the edges after many years of re-reading, as well the ones that still had vibrant covers and stiff spines he hoped to finish. you noticed the leather journal he kept tied together– the ink-blotted pages bursting at the seams –sitting on the shelf before he tucked it into his box of personal belongings. it was his third one since living with you, all filled to every last page and used beyond ruin. the rest were hidden between his headboard and the wall. you pretended not to know, after stumbling upon them while changing his sheets.

closing the door to your home felt eerily empty. it looked the same as every day. the couch was cleaned and the floors swept. dishes rinsed and promptly put away. but with your lingering gaze your mind fixated on the dining table set for four, two adult pairs of shoes at the door, one pink backpack slumped on the hook of the closet door with an empty space below. your chest twisted at the lack of clutter, though it’d been like that for some time, with tsumiki and megumi growing older and cleaning up after themselves properly like you taught them. like you wanted. the pride you initially felt with those memories of parenting were becoming eclipsed with resentment and despair.

the ride to school was quick and familiar, megumi knew well what he was getting into after visiting there to train. satoru liked to call them little getaways from megumi’s civilian life, claiming he wasted too much time around non-sorcerers when he could be on missions with his ever-loving benefactor instead.

satoru, who was whining while he laid himself across the three seats in the back of your car. you’d banished him there for such a special occasion, and he threatened to transport himself to the school alone. an empty threat, at best. he didn’t want to miss this.

megumi had sparred with the older students and found himself thrown around the field many times already. he knew his way to the infirmary by heart, he knew where gojo tucked away his most powerful curse-imbued weapons (that were supposed to be under the surveillance of higher ups), and knew what letter-number combination granted him the ginger chips nobody else seemed to like.

you were glad he was comfortable. you were glad he would fall into routine easily after the repeated trips to jujutsu high and developing a rapport with his upperclassmen. you’d waited for the day that he’d truly be part of the jujutsu world and welcomed into a better suited environment for people like him. and you knew he would be great, he already possessed an incredible technique and wielded it like he’d been fine-tuning it since birth. far ahead from most kids his age, you were proud.

still, your gut was sinking, sinking, sinking into the floor with each passing second.

megumi picked his room in one of the far-away corners of the boys dormitory, leaving inumaki and panda heartbroken (panda said he would find a way to organize sleepover. megumi said he would drop out before that happened. inumaki cried– no, wailed at the rejection). yuuta fell into step with you, slipping one of the boxes out of your hands and insisting on helping instead. it was sweet, if it didn’t feel like he was ripping precious time away from you.

but you smiled, and granted his wish. megumi wasn’t complaining, he liked yuuta more than the others. it was a good chance for them to talk more. all of this, a chance, a new chapter, the rest of his life. the thoughts weighed on your shoulders with a disgusting strain traveling to your fingertips.

you were painfully aware you were in your own head, doing this all to yourself. he wasn’t going away, you would still be seeing him, more than you used to when he went to his other schools. he would always be here.

satoru found you in your classroom, while you were organizing the stationary with an unnaturally stiff composure. your arms were tense, he could see the muscles constantly flexing with each of your movements.

your jaw was clenching and unclenching again. you made a point not to look outside, where the second-years were training brashly after successfully moving their things back into their dorms. you made a point not to meet satoru’s dangerous stare as he shut the door to your classroom, as if it granted any privacy with the seven large windows running along the wall that showcased the hallway.

“what are you doing all by yourself, beautiful?” his tone was soft and inviting, begging you to open up and let yourself fall against the cushion of his words.

“um,” you exhaled, voice shaky. you scrunched your face to break apart the tension that had hardened your expression. “i figured i would get a few things ready for tomorrow.”

it took satoru’s long legs two-and-a-half strides to meet you at your desk, where you gently shut the drawer. there were a handful of dated photographs in there, signed with his name and the chicken scratch of two children.

“it’s all ready, baby. we did that last week.”

(correction: you did it. he tagged along for the shopping trip).

“there’s just… a few things...” you mumbled, not finding the strength to finish your own sentence.

satoru gently placed his hand on your shoulder, emitting inhuman warmth that spread across your skin. you leaned into him as he dragged his hand down your arm and intertwined your fingers with the care of handling fine china. his presence brought you solace, effortlessly bringing the walls down that you desperately wanted to wait until you got home to break.

he kissed the back of your hand and rubbed the skin. “you know you’re going to see him every day, right?”

it was embarrassing how well satoru knew you, knew your thought process like it was an extension of his own. he knew your doubts and insecurities, your fears and desires. he could predict the words before they came from your mouth, more in tune with the way you spoke than his mother tongue.

“mhm.”

“you know we’re going to be the ones chaperoning his missions, right?”

you closed your eyes and looked away. “i know.”

“do you remember when he said he’d like to go home some weekends, and have dinner?”

“he said that to be nice.”

“when has he ever been nice?”

you opened your eyes to glare at him, though he was right. megumi was not nice. he was polite. he was too self-aware for his own good, too perceptive of others and their emotions. in all the time that you’d known him, raised him, he made himself smaller for the convenience of others. he walked on his tiptoes for a year and a half so no one else would wake up because of him. he made his own breakfast and bit back his tears when he burned himself. he didn’t ask for things or food and didn’t offer his input unless asked directly. for some time, he was a ghost in his own home.

it seemed as soon as the bits of his shell started to break off, he was being swept away from you by the jujutsu world, leaving you with looming fears that consumed your mind and disrupted your sleep for weeks.

satoru smiled, though it was weighed down with your sadness. “hey, he’s not going anywhere, you know that. just because you’re not driving him home everyday doesn’t mean he’s gone.”

it’s funny, it’s nearly the same speech he gave you when tsumiki started middle school. and when megumi followed those same steps.

tsumiki didn’t make it this far, though.

the thought makes your lip wobble again, and you bite it back pathetically.

“i know. i know that. it’s just that…” your voice cracked, and you shoved your head in your hands. your palms squeezed your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the already-flowing tears. “he’s not my little boy anymore.”

satoru’s soothing hands pull you into a tight hug, and you don’t have it in you yet to move your hands from your face. his embrace makes you sob harder, louder as all your emotions from the last week begin to pour out at once. his chest rumbled with your cries, and he tucked you further under his arms as if to shield you from what was making you hurt so much. it was all you.

“baby…” he chuckled, without a hint mirth or mockery. he squeezed you with compassion and adoration. “you know that’s not true. he’s still pretty short, he’s got another growth spurt coming.”

a small laugh slipped through, but was quickly drowned out by your cries.

“he’ll be okay. he��s still here.”

he was so, so warm. he gently began to rock back and forth with you, the heels of your shoes gently clicking on the tile floor. a small hiccup erupted from you as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest. the familiar thrum of his heartbeat welcomed you.

“i know, i’m sorry. i know he’s not leaving, or anything… i just… i thought i was ready.” you blubbered into his button-up. surely, there’d be two wet spots where your eyes were when you pulled away.

he swayed side to side with you, staring at the blackboard ahead of him. he nestled his chin on the top of your head, wondering if you could hear the cracks tearing through his heart. “it’s okay if you’re not ready. but you’re treating this like it's goodbye.”

“but what if we don’t get a goodbye?”

“okay, you really are overthinking this,” he pulled away from your embrace, your fingers still digging into the material of his shirt. he brushed away the hair covering your eyes, stuck to your skin by the wetness of your cheeks. streaks ran through your foundation and the corners of your eyes were smudged. “there you are. so pretty.”

it was silly how he believed he could make things better like that. it was silly that he was a little bit right.

“don’t think for a second i’ll let megumi be sent on a mission he can’t handle. he’s going to be fine.”

satoru’s love ran deep. for you, for megumi, for all his students. he fought curses everyday for you, rotted himself with his technique and stitched himself back up in a moment’s notice to fight for you. to come home to you. all of humanity be damned, those closest to him were the ones he fought for, and he would do everything in his power to preserve their lives.

he already towed the line with the higher-ups and their conservative rules and regulations, but he would tear them down if you asked. for megumi, he’d fight tooth and nail to see that he wasn’t being sent off on a mission ill-prepared. under his watch, things would be different for his students.

you nodded meekly, wiping away your tears with one hand. “i hate when you’re right, toru. it’s really annoying.”

he smoothed down your hair and grinned. “i know, just let me have this one, though.”

his sweet murmurs filled your ears, along with the gentle shuffling of your clothes as you made yourself presentable again. you balled up your sleeves and patted the corners of your eyes gently, and he straightened out the hem of your shirt. it was wrinkled, a reminder of how harshly you clung to him.

you smiled at the water stains on his shirt now, and he claimed it was in need of dry cleaning anyway.

neither of you noticed the eyes of megumi and yuuta, both stuck in place at the very corner of the windows leading to the hallway. they had training staffs with them, megumi’s grip becoming tighter as he watched you wipe your eyes and knock your head into satoru’s chest lazily. your shoulders low, clearly drained from the amount you cried.

yuuta was frozen, eyes flickering from you to megumi repeatedly. he found his courage in placing a hand on his shoulder, a feather-light grip. “hey, let’s go through the east wing. i’m pretty sure it’s faster that way.”

it wasn’t. but megumi nodded anyway, begrudgingly tearing his gaze from you and turning around with yuuta.

you stared down the red light of the intersection with a blank face, blank mind. letting it all out of your system had successfully flushed out your emotions, taking the rest of your energy along with it. the car was painfully quiet, but no part of you wanted to listen to anything.

satoru was whisked away by yaga, being delivered another mission he swore would take less than a day. ‘less than twelve hours’, he promised to be back for megumi’s first day. he would make it.

it was dark, and you milked all the time you could on school grounds. speaking with yaga and shoko, running through the still-developing information of missions to be sent on. cleaning the classrooms. the lockers. stocking the teachers lounge. dusting the armory. before you knew it the curfew ushered the students into their dorms.

a ringtone broke through your thoughts, making you jump. though the tune was soft, the sudden intrusion made it much more shrill. you fumbled with your phone in the passenger seat, seeing megumi’s contact on the screen.

“hello?”

“hey, mom?”

it took everything you had left not to gawk. he said it before, sparingly in desperation for comfort. his voice was quiet, a near-whisper despite the fact he was alone in his dorm. like he was nervous.

“yes, megumi?”

“um… are you home?”

you wondered if he forgot something. “no, i’m still driving. are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i just… can’t sleep, i guess…” he trailed off, hoping for you to fill in the gap.

“oh. okay. did you take–“

“do you think you could pick me up?” he interrupted. “and i just stay home tonight? you could drive me in the morning.”

you were quick to dissolve into a smile, pointed at the streetlamp on the sidewalk. sadness struck your eyes but you were too occupied by the warmth of his question to feel it.

“yeah. i can be back there in a few minutes, just let me turn around.”

“thanks.”

he didn’t hang up. neither did you. the silence lived on for a few seconds.

“mom?”

“yeah?”

“… gojo’s on a mission, right?”

you laughed, your hand sliding across the steering wheel as you reouted back to the school. “yeah, megs, he’ll be gone tonight.”

“he’s back tomorrow?”

“yeah, we can leave before he gets home.”

“thanks.”

bonus:

satoru tiptoed through the entrance of your home, brushing his blindfold over his hair and peeling it off his head. he hung it up with his keys, lax arms nearly missing the hook on the closet door meant for him. it was beyond late, and he was tired, but he was home like he said he would be.

he bent down to tie his shoes, buffering momentarily as he caught a glance of well-worn sneakers at the front door. they were as clean as they could be, though scuffed rubber turning gray and the laces becoming frayed where they were tightened most.

satoru made a grunt in acknowledgement to no one but himself, as he tossed his shoes down. he glanced around the living space, cautiously bringing himself to each room with a curious itch to scratch. a third pair of shoes. both backpacks on the door. dishes for two placed on the drying rack.

he was expertly quiet by nature, but found himself avoiding the squeaky floorboards on the stairs and all the way to the hallway. he was greeted with a blue sign, corners covered with dog stickers. the frilly handwriting of tsumiki warding off unwanted visitors with the phrase: “megumi’s room. keep out!!”

the door opened quietly, satoru pushing it open to the limit and stopping before it would let out an ungodly squeak. he insisted on never getting it fixed, knowing it bothered megumi.

megumi had his face shoved in his pillow, a desperate attempt to block out any light creeping through the crack of his bedroom door or the streetlamp just outside the window. he was always a light sleeper, always on edge, sleeping with his back to the wall so if something barged in the night he was ready. it was horrible he thought that way, you always said.

his duvet covers were black and white plaid, per his request three years ago when he begged to be free of the puppy sheets. still, he seemed small, curled up in a ball. his face was released of the usual tension and his light breathing filled the room. for a moment, he was little again.

satoru smiled, taking a step back and closing the door gently.

#spleen writes #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk angst #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo fluff #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x mom!reader #jjk gojo #jjk megumi #jjk megumi fushiguro #megumi fluff #mom!reader #satoru gojo fic #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader

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levigarden999 · 1 month ago

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sugardaddy!higuruma x reader headcanons 𓆩♡𓆪

⋆. ˚ warnings : smut , +18

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who swears he comes home earlier tonight, but ends up working late again. however, every time this happens (which is almost every night) he comes straight to your shared bed with those aloof eyes down at you and fucks that angry, bratty look off your face.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who gives you the best head you’ve ever experienced. the fact you were shy at first about sitting on his face is nowadays a ridiculous idea for you – because now it's a necessary daily routine for your survival.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who absolutely spoils you, even though it’s discreet. he sends you plane tickets through email without a warning and you just have to accept. sometimes the business class ticket flies you to paris the next day, or to bahamas in a month with no ticket back. with him, of course.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who notices everything. he notices the way you eye dresses while you walk through the shopping street, he notices the way you casually comment the bags or shoes the rich women who walk by you wears. without him ever saying anything, the certain pair of extravagant heels you saw on a random lady a few weeks ago appears in your doorway, even though you literally googled them back then only to find out there were only three pairs of them in the whole world.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who is a little submissive. he loves it when you ride him in his office with only his pants pulled down, doors locked and curtains closed. he loves it when you tug on his tie and moan how good his huge cock feels. even though he’s an older man – he tries to keep up with you. he has to, because you quite frankly don’t leave him any options.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who has a dark stubble on his lower stomach and a tanned cock with a pink tip (canon i swear).

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who accidentally says he wants to marry you. it just slips out while you two were casually shopping for a diamond necklace you wanted to wear to your best friend’s wedding.

”i think i want a matching ring, romi” you snickered, playing with the new necklace with your manicured fingers.

a small smile appeared on his weary face, eyes fixated down at you and your neck.

”i’ve been thinking about buying you a ring, actually” higuruma says, the smile suddenly dropping and an awkward red spreading on his cheeks.

”-uh, i mean- you know, just because you have beautiful hands”

you giggle, knowing exactly what he meant.

”i’d love for you to buy me a ring”

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nadvs · 9 months ago

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the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. it is committed by an original character. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy’s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on his side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you’re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vise.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

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