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scarletmika · 3 days ago

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Speak Now : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob Floyd is madly in love with you, and you're in love with him. The problem? You're getting married...and it's not to Bob.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), some angst, some fluff, insane amounts of pining, idiots in love, language, female reader, maybe some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, suggestive and steamy but no actual smut, drunken confessions/moves, moment of cheating, miscommunication, happy ending!

Word Count: 16,268 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd.

Wide-eyed, naïve to the world, you had arrived at Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island with a bright smile, prepared for the future you had chosen for yourself. Your great-grandfather was in the Navy, your grandfather, your father, and now you. But you were determined to be special, to be the first of your family to become a fighter pilot.

It was that thought running through your head that distracted you, causing you to trip over your own two feet when you’d just barely made it inside the doors of the main building. Luckily for you, someone was there to catch your fall.

“Whoa-! Are you good?”

Baby-faced, sandy blonde hair, and glasses that you, frankly, found adorable were staring back at you when you’d finally straightened yourself out. Those blue eyes behind said glasses never left you as you dusted yourself off, taking hold of your suitcase again and giving the guy in front of you a kind smile.

“Just peachy. Lost in my own head,” you couldn’t help but giggle at yourself, the smile on the guy’s face growing as you stuck your hand out and gave your name. “Thanks for the save, there. Can’t already be bumbling around like an idiot before we’ve even gotten started.”

“Bob Floyd, and d-don’t worry, you weren’t,” he paused for a second, tilting his head slightly with a teasing grin this time as he let go of your hand. “W-Well, I can’t lie and say I didn’t see you swatting at that bee outside. Bumblebees and bumbling through doors…sounds like the makings of a pretty good call-”

“If I’ve managed to get a callsign this early on in my career, I’m never letting you forget it,” he only laughed at your pointed look and fell into step beside you.

“Noted, just a personal nickname for now, then. So, uh, where’d you graduate from?”

“Boston University, Bachelor's in Physics. You?”

You both thanked the woman at the front desk who gave you your assignments for your bunks for the rest of the multi-week course.

“University of Montana, Bachelor’s in Mechanical Engineering,”

The two of you came to a stop in front of the hallway before you; your barracks down to the left, and his down to the right.

“Want to grab dinner tonight after we settle in?”

“Yeah, I-I’d love that,” that smile on Bob’s face turned shy as he looked down at his feet for a moment. “I’ll grab you a coffee, how do you like it?”

“Two sugars, a dash of cream,”

“Perfect,”

“Well, Bob Floyd, I guess this is it for now. See you at dinner?”

“See you there, Bumble,”

It was meant to be just a nickname; he was meant to be the only person ever to call you that. But after graduating from officer training together, then attending and graduating flight training in Florida, you’d been shipped off to your different squadrons. Bob was off to Naval Air Station Lemoore in California, and you had been assigned to Naval Air Station Jacksonville in Florida.

The man who had become your best friend, your rock throughout training, was being shipped to the other side of the country. Approximately 2,546 miles away from you, and three hours behind you. That didn’t stop the constant texts or late-night calls to keep one another updated in the way you used to when you lived in the same barracks; if anything, they became a constant in both of your lives.

And when you’d stumbled through the doors of the base on your first day, your squadron was quick to try to give you your callsign for your clumsiness. But you smiled, and said you already had one: Bumble.

It was at Top Gun training where you finally had Bob Floyd back in your life consistently; that is, at least for the duration of your 13-week training. And you’d never forget the smile on his face when he’d pulled away from the first hug you’d shared in years and gotten his first look at your helmet, adorned with your callsign that you had somehow managed to keep a secret for so long.

“Bumble,” he’d said it so adoringly, in a way that had you trying to ignore the strange feeling that bubbled up in your chest at the way he smiled and admired the yellow and black stripes along your helmet. “I really did give you your callsign, didn’t I? Bet they think it’s actually because of the bee and not the tripping.”

“Eh, let them decide. We know where it really came from. But I think we should focus on how the hell ‘Bob’ became not just your name, but your callsign, too,”

Leaving the program was hard, because leaving your best friend was hard. So, when just a few years later you had been called back to Top Gun for a specialized mission that took the best of the best, you couldn’t have been happier to be back with Bob. Then, with how quickly your new squad had taken to each other, it didn’t take any of you long to say ‘yes’ when you’d been offered a permanent position in San Diego as an elite squadron.

That’s how you found yourself here, seated in the same back-corner table of the Hard Deck on a Friday night as you always were, surrounded by the team that had become your family just a year-and-a-half after that special detachment became permanent.

Natasha laughed at your side, recounting some story for Fanboy and Payback about how Rooster had hit on a woman while the two of them were seeing a show downtown the night before. Hangman is instantly arguing back that Rooster ‘isn’t slick enough’ to pull that off, and Coyote is backing him up as he typically is. Maverick is at the other end of the table, simply shaking his head at you all as he thanks Penny for his next beer with a kiss on her cheek, something that quirks the corners of your lips up just slightly.

Bob sat right across from you, at the far end of the table from Maverick, and you can’t help but find yourself watching him. He’s dressed down, as you all are for once besides Mav, in a white t-shirt clinging to his skin with a blue flannel hanging haphazardly around him. You recognize it, since you’d bought it for him for his birthday three years ago. He’s laughing at Hangman and Rooster’s petty argument, sipping gingerly on a Diet Coke. You’d only ever seen him drink three times over the decade you had known him, so it wasn’t surprising. Neither was the cup of peanuts he was snacking on.

His eyes drifted to meet yours, and his smile grew wider the second he did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, shoving that flutter in your chest away into the locked compartment you always kept it in, and smiled back at him. Your best friend, your rock. One of the only people you could never imagine life without, and you never wanted to find out what life without him would be like. You weren’t even sure at this point how you’d survived your entire childhood without him by your side, because life didn’t make sense without Bob Floyd.

Lips suddenly pressed into the right side of your head, your body instinctively shifting over as the body next to you finally sat down, arm thrown around the back of your chair and fingertips ghosting over your bare shoulder for just a moment.

“Sorry, couldn’t decide on a drink! Figured you’d want another vodka cranberry, babe,”

Your reply was quiet, just a simple thank you, as you took the drink from your fiancée’s outstretched hand.

Austin Fletcher was what some called the perfect man. At least, that’s how your old squadmates back in Jacksonville described him. A Senior Financial Analyst in the company named for his own family, working his way within the next 5 years to take over as CEO from his father after his retirement. Chocolate brown eyes, perfect vision that he could thank his laser-eye surgery from 5 years ago for, forever tanned skin from too many days spent in the San Diego sun, and jet black hair that always seemed to be perfectly combed back. Combined with the expensive taste in outfits, given the watches that would cost an entire month of your Naval salary, he always looked like he walked straight off a magazine cover.

And he was yours, and you were his. And in just a month and a half’s time, now, you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. The wife of who was once considered San Diego’s most eligible bachelor.

Active, ambitious, efficient, a true entrepreneur. Everyone’s dream man.

“Couldn’t even bring us some refills, Austy?” Hangman teased the man from down the table. There were light snickers from your team at the comment, everyone knowing how much he hated that nickname. You could feel him tense slightly beside you, and didn’t hesitate to send Hangman a pleading look, begging him to stop.

“You’ve got the barmaid at your beck and call, didn’t think I had to!” Austin had joked, gesturing in the direction of Penny with his own beer bottle as he laughed at his own comment. No one else laughed, though, not that he seemed to care. Penny’s glare was obvious from down the table, as you averted your eyes to take a larger swig of your drink than necessary.

Austin…definitely had his faults. Callous was probably the best way to describe it when he made comments like that. Conceited might even be a good word for it. If you thought too long about it, there were probably a hundred other synonyms that you could dream up.

Your eyes caught Bob’s, already looking at you, and that easy smile he wore before was pitched down now. It was easy to track the movement of his eyes, the way they flickered to the hand holding your drink, to the shining silver diamond ring on your finger that would cost you at least six months of your salary, before they flicked away. That hand was quickly back below the table, lying in your lap where no one could see it before you even had a chance to really think about it.

“What we should really be focusing on is that drill from earlier today, and that insane move that you pulled off, Bumble,” it was Coyote speaking up, pointing down the table to you with a smirk as your friends whistled, getting a small laugh out of you. “Pulling off a fucking Herbst maneuver? I may have to finally concede and call you the best damn pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, let’s not go that far,” Hangman cut in, as he usually did, with a wink sent your way that had you rolling your eyes playfully. “Still no confirmed air-to-air kills like me, so I think I still have an edge.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. I bet those two kills are what you use to entice the ladies every night, instead of those two inches downstairs,” Natasha practically choked on her drink at your comment, a smirk etched into your lips. Payback and Fanboy were slamming on the table in laughter while you watched Bob shake his head with a grin out of the corner of your eye. “Wasn’t that hard of a maneuver, Mav has been trying to teach us it for weeks-”

“Sometimes I don’t fully understand what it is you guys get paid to do,” Austin had cut in, cutting you off mid-sentence with another laugh and swig of his beer. “I mean, if you aren’t out there fighting any wars, then what are our tax dollars paying you guys to do? Play around in the air?”

Apathetic. Yeah, that was another word you could use for Austin. He never cared to hear about work, or really anything that happened between you and the rest of the squad. Apathetic, hedonistic, ignorant…yeah, that list really did go on.

“Non sibi sed patriae…means not for self, but for country,” it was Maverick who spoke up this time, and just the sound of his voice had each member of his team sitting up just the slightest bit straighter. When Mav put on his serious voice, you listened, even at the Hard Deck. “Means we spend our days preparing to protect this country at a moment’s notice…I’m sure you do something similar as a financial analyst, though.”

Another snicker ran through the entire team, and Rooster was the one this time having trouble keeping his laughter in. Even you were trying not to shake with laughter. Austin bristled next to you again before he recovered, shifting the conversation elsewhere. You caught Mav’s eye, though, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ in his direction. His only response was a cool smile and a wink.

There were only so many of Austin’s stories from work, from meetings with clients, that you could stand, and you quickly found yourself grabbing your drink and leaving the table for the bar.

Many of the locals up around the bar nodded in your direction, knowing you and the squad from your usual nights out here, sliding off to the side to let you walk up and place your drink on the bar. Penny was on you in a second, an eyebrow raised.

“Let me guess; he started talking about market data and economic indicators again?”

“Just like he does every night,” you shot back with a laugh, though Penny looked less than impressed. You simply refilled your glass again, this time going heavier on the vodka than the cranberry without you even having to ask. “You’re the best, Pen.”

She’s left you alone in your thoughts, which, granted, was the last place you wanted to be. Your eyes simply stayed locked on your drink, staring down into the reddish-pink liquid, and every once in a while glancing back at that diamond that weighed heavily on your hand.

“Looks like you’re thinking hard over here, bee,”

Even if you hadn’t recognized the voice, you’d recognize the nickname anywhere. The Navy had stolen the nickname of Bumble from Bob Floyd, so he’d made it his mission to find another one. It wasn’t that hard to settle on bee, given that first conversation you had together.

You glanced over to him. He was leaning against the bar, giving you a tiny smile as Penny passed by and passed him another Diet Coke without a word.

“Well, I’m not thinking about market data, if that’s what you mean,” he’d laughed at that, and you held your glass out to clink against his Diet Coke can. “Here’s to the longest month and a half I’m about to have.”

You watched him, like you always did, even when you didn’t mean to. It wasn’t hard to see the way his smile dropped just slightly as he turned, leaning back against the bartop and looking in the direction of your table in the distance. You mirrored his actions.

“The future Mrs. Fletcher,” he’d let out a sigh, but you kept your eyes trained on your friends instead of looking at him. “I-I know Rooster was pestering you the other day, and you refused to say, but I have to know…how much did that damn venue in Del Mar cost?”

“After vendors…somewhere close to $70 grand, if I remember correctly,” Bob’s cough that sounded a lot like choking got you to finally look over at him, laughing lightly as you patted him on the back. The second he found his breath, his wide eyes turned to look at you, and you could only nod embarrassingly, your hand never straying from his back. “Trust me, I’m not happy about it. I wanted 50 guests, now it’s somewhere near 200. I wanted a vanilla cake, now it’s red velvet–hell, did you know my dress was fucking $8 thousand dollars?”

Bob, still wide-eyed, shook his head with a tiny smile back on his lips.

“$8 thousand for fabric i-is…insane. I hope you plan to wear it every day for the rest of your life,”

With a quick shove to his shoulder and a roll of your eyes, Bob laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“No, trust me, I know. Almost an entire month’s salary for me, just so it can sit in my closet until the end of time,”

There was silence between you both for a moment as you really thought it all over. A venue you didn’t want, a guest count way too high for what you wanted, a cake you didn’t want, a dress you were terrified to wear given the price tag…it was, in fact, insane. It was just making this month and a half until you walked down the aisle even more exhausting. You just wanted it all to be over.

“You always wanted to get married at that country club, that one back home in Boston. Never near the beach,” Bob’s voice was soft when he spoke up again, just barely able to be heard in the rowdiness of the Hard Deck. But you heard him loud and clear, and you were listening. “Indoor or outdoor, whatever you preferred or whatever the New England weather allowed at the time. The perfect mix of rustic and modern. Perfect view of the city skyline in the distance. The fall, too, not the summer. You wanted to make sure you could see the changing colors in the leaves in the photos, and because you just love fall.”

When he finished speaking and turned to look at you, you were already looking at him. Your jaw was slack, lips just barely parted, and eyes wide as you stared at him in what you could only describe as wonder. Marveling at the way Bob Floyd, out of thin air, had just described to you everything you’d ever dreamt of for your wedding since you were a little girl.

“The same place my aunt got remarried when I was eight,” your head tilted as you spoke, a smile creeping up your lips. “I told you that, like, once back in officer training, when we were both on night duty. You…you remembered all that?”

“I remember everything about you,” was the only answer he gave back, combined with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. “You…you deserve the wedding you’ve always dreamed of.”

There it was again: that tug. That tug on your heart, on your very soul, that had happened sporadically throughout the last decade of knowing Bob Floyd. That tug that sent your stomach into your throat, as if you’d just been tossed over the hump of a roller coaster. It didn’t help when he looked at you like that, like the moon itself was forged by the very breath that left your chest.

He was the first to look away, clearing his throat as a flush crawled its way up his neck. You weren’t any better, tugging at the neckline of the halter top you wore to give yourself room to breathe, as if it was suffocating you.

“So, uh…you’re coming with Nat and me tomorrow, right? To my final dress fitting?”

“...wouldn’t miss it for the world,”

He didn’t. You knew where he was that next afternoon, standing out by that little black couch with Natasha, waiting for you to emerge from the boutique dressing room and stand on the platform before them. To twirl, to don your veil, to smile…like the perfect bride they’d dressed you to be.

The worker with you, Sasha, finished lacing off the back of your dress, exclaiming in excitement as she clapped her hands. You wanted her from the mirror in front of you as she fussed over the dress.

“Oh, you are just the most perfect bride!” Sasha exclaimed, swinging the door open and holding out her hand for you to take. “Most people might say that you’re a lucky woman to bag Austin Fletcher, but I’d say it’s the other way around!”

You’d laughed at her comment, taking her hand, but even you knew it was a pitiful laugh, your smile not meeting your eyes.

She’d paraded you out into the showroom, and you kept your eyes on the floor in front of you as she announced your presence to Natasha and Bob, placing you up on the little platform in front of the full-length mirror. You still didn’t look up as she bent you down to her slightly, draping the extravagant veil picked out by your future mother-in-law over your head. Only then did you finally look up.

Your eyes skipped right over Natasha and settled on Bob.

He wore a tiny smile, and even through the mirror, you could see the red blush to his skin, from his neck to his cheeks, dipping right under where his glasses lay. His hands were both in the pockets of his jeans as his foot tapped on the ground, a telltale sign that he was anxious. You knew him, you knew him too well. You knew that smile didn’t reach his eyes. You knew that little twinkle in his eyes wasn’t as bright as it could be.

“You are…” you could tell Natasha was trying not to get choked up, gladly taking a tissue from Sasha as you giggled lightly at her actions. “God, Bumble, you’re truly the most beautiful bride.”

“Well, let’s let our bride fully take it all in for a moment,” Sasha placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, guiding her off toward the room adjacent to your own. “The bridesmaid dresses just came in, and I think you’re going to love the way they look after those alterations.”

It wasn’t until they had fully left the room that you’d spun around on the platform to face Bob, throwing out your hands to the side gently with a little shrug of your shoulders.

“Well…what’s the verdict here, baby-on-board?”

He seemed to swallow most of his laugh and shook his head, taking a few steps toward you until he stood just a few feet from you. His eyes trailed from the veil, down to the edges of the skirt, and back up to the veil.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this dress definitely wasn’t your mother’s pick,”

That had gotten a hearty laugh out of you and a genuine smile, as you spun back to the mirror. Bob had met your family plenty of times over the years, at every graduation event, just as you had met his. They adored him, thought of him as part of the family, like his own family thought of you as one of their own, too. Of course, he could clock that your mother hated this dress.

The skirts of the dress billowed with the movements, swinging with you as you examined your own reflection. A full princess ball gown, adorned with lace from head to toe. The fabric was heavy, the skirts thick, and the lace continued down the sleeves that came to rest at your wrists. The veil itself was more of that same lace, its length trailing down the train of the dress that was much too long for your liking.

“No, not at all,” was your response after a moment, your hands gliding over the lace of the dress. “This was a Mrs. Fletcher pick. With the way she cried, and his sister Melissa cried, it…was hard to say no. It really is a beautiful dress.”

“It's kind of hideous,” Bob put bluntly, taking another step toward you, but there was a tiny smile playing at his lips, a hint of teasing laced through his voice. “I think you’re the only thing saving it.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t deny the smile that quirked up on your lips, or that tug in your chest once again. You eyed the dress again, eyes trailing over the lace along the sleeves.

“It’s not hideous, it's just… It's not-”

“It’s not you,”

In the mirror, your eyes found him again. The second he said it, that statement that you’d been begging someone to say since you’d first tried on the dress, had a weight visibly lifting off your shoulders as you let out a sigh.

“No…no, it's not me,”

You could see it, the way Bob hesitated for just a second, before he stepped up beside you at the platform. Even with that extra inch the platform gave, he was still taller than you, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him in the mirror.

“I’ve seen it, y-your dream dress. You showed it to me before,” his voice was light, not a whisper, but just light. As if the moment itself was delicate, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it without shattering the glass. “A-line, not a ball gown. You always hated having too much fabric, found it too heavy. You wanted something freeing, flowy…something that reminded you of the feeling of flying your F-18, your favorite thing in the world to do. The lace is good, but…too much. Same with the veil, you always hated those things.”

There was another brief moment of hesitation, behind his hand came up, fingertips just barely ghosting over your arm. Your breath caught, eyes following him, as his followed the length of your arm.

“Sleeves…you hated these, too, at least like this. You wanted them shorter, flowy again. A v-neck neckline, too, not these sweetheart ones. You always said the sweetheart necklines made you think of your high school prom dress, which made you think of your asshole ex-boyfriend, which in turn landed them on your ‘banned forever’ list.”

A breathy laugh managed to escape you at the memory, your eyes still following him in the mirror.

“You describe my dream dress as if you’ve pictured me in it before…”

His eyes finally found yours again in the mirror. You weren’t sure what emotion it was you saw, what was crawling in his gaze as he looked at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue dipping out to wet his lips in a way that brought that tug back in full force. Whatever it was in his eyes, it was heavy, like it was holding the weight of a thousand words never said before.

And suddenly, when you pictured yourself walking down the aisle, you were in the dress that Bob had described. Flowy, light, and walking down the aisle in that rustic country club overlooking the skyline of the city you’d called home for so many years. But when you were handed off to the groom, your hand placed in his, it wasn’t Austin you were standing across from, that you were about to become the wife of. You weren’t standing there to become Mrs. Fletcher…you were standing there to become Mrs. Floyd.

“Hey…” you and Bob jumped away from one another, as if you were both suddenly a blazing fire that the other was trying to run from. Natasha was leaning in the doorway of the other room. Her eyes flickered back and forth between you both for just a moment before she nodded her head toward the room she’d just left. “Come on, Sasha wants you to take another look at these bridesmaid dresses before I give the okay on them.”

Wordlessly, you nodded and followed after her, never once glancing back at Bob. You refused to meet Nat’s eyes, even as they followed and watched you.

They kept watching you, too. You knew Natasha; she was observant. If she caught wind of something, she wasn’t going to let it go.

You were three weeks out from the wedding. Your dress was hung carefully in the spare bedroom of your apartment, alongside the bridesmaid dresses in their own bags. Everything was confirmed, vendors were a go, and everyone on the guest list on both sides had RSVP’d. Your mother and brother were in town for the month, staying in a hotel right on North Island. Austin’s family and extended family were all in town. You were in the homestretch, the finish line of what had become the most stressful time of your life in sight.

While Nat was your maid of honor, Austin’s sister Melissa had taken it upon herself to plan your entire bachelorette. Given the hectic work schedules that both you and Nat had, neither of you objected. Truthfully, she’d done well. An Airbnb, a gorgeous cabin, nestled right outside of Lake Isabella, north of Los Angeles, for the weekend. Relaxation, nature, and no stress of being in the city, just as you knew Austin was doing for his bachelor party with his friends.

Melissa and Terri, or ‘Dove’ as you knew her during your time in Jacksonville, were swimming together in the little alcove of the lake you’d all found during your hike after lunch. You and Natasha had taken to the man-made hot springs right on the edge of the lake, relaxing in the water and just watching the two women swim and converse from a distance.

“I can’t believe you convinced Maverick to walk you down the aisle and give you away,”

You laughed wholeheartedly at Nat’s comment. With your head thrown back against the rocks, you maneuvered your sunglasses to the top of your head to fully look at her.

“The second I told him that my dad has been out of the picture for me since I was 16 when he divorced my mom and remarried his comically young new wife, he didn’t hesitate. Besides, he knows he practically adopted us all as kids when he took us on as his full-time squadron,”

“True, I think he secretly loves it,” you hummed in agreement, turning your head back to the sky to soak in the sun. Nat was quiet for only a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been meaning to ask…how have you been, with everything?”

A complicated question. A loaded one, honestly.

“Doing the best I can,” you answered honestly, shifting in the warm pool of water surrounding you. “It’s just…stressful. Can’t wait until it’s all over.”

“Mhm…and you’re having no second thoughts?”

You hesitated for just a moment.

“Might have some issues with the fundamentals of the venue, my dress, and such, but…no, not at all,”

“Really? So the fact that you’re madly in love with Bob Floyd isn’t making you second-guess your wedding?”

Even in the warmth of the hot spring, your blood went cold. The water splashed as you fully sat up, now leaning back against the rocks. Your nervous gaze shot out to Melissa and Dove, but neither seemed to have heard the comment. Your gaze drifted back to Natasha, but all you found was an easy smile on her face. Not a single ounce of judgment.

That alone was enough to pull a simple sigh from you. There was no use in lying.

“How’d you put it together?”

“Always had a hunch,” she answered easily, sitting up as well and tossing her own sunglasses off to the side. “A few weeks ago, in the dress shop. I don’t know…I could just finally see it. More importantly, how long have you felt like this?”

“I’m not sure when it happened. He was just my best friend for a long time, even if I could always admit to myself that he was objectively attractive,” you shook your head with a slight laugh. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were finally admitting this out loud. “I hadn’t seen him for years, it was just texts and calls. Then, we both got into Top Gun, and the second I was back with him…there was this tug in my chest, and it’s just never gone away. I’ve…never told anyone this before.”

Natasha moved, the water around you both jostling, as she turned fully on the stone seating to look at you. You kept your eyes trained on the two in the water, terrified that one of them would overhear you.

“Bumble…why did you never tell him?”

“God, I tried to. Once,” you laughed incredulously at yourself, shaking your head as you willed the tears not to appear at the mere thought of the memory. “After we had become a permanent squad, we were at Hangman’s celebrating his new apartment. Somehow, we started talking about dating, and then we just went around in a circle giving an update on our dating lives.”

You tore your gaze from the girls in the lake, turning to Natasha now as those tears threatened to spill despite your push to keep them at bay.

“You spoke, and then it was my turn. And I looked at him, sitting beside me, and I thought…fuck it, what do I have to lose? You guys had put a few drinks in me, and lord knows I get a confidence kick when I’m drunk. So I confessed that I had a crush on a guy. Bradley asked if you guys knew him, and I said yes. I talked about how he was kind of nerdy, a little shy, but once you got to know him he was a sarcastic little shit just like they all were. That he was the perfect gentleman, the most chivalrous man I’d ever met, and objectively the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. Mickey asked how long I’d known him for, and I said it felt like I’d known him my entire life. Even asked how often I would see him, and I said every damn day.”

“Oh god,” realization seemed to finally dawn on Natasha’s face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as it dropped open. “Oh god, we were all too drunk to realize…you were talking about Bob.”

“Yup. Maybe I was just too drunk, but I thought I was being painfully obvious. So then it’s Bob’s turn, and what does he say?” you scoffed, furiously wiping at your cheek to rid yourself of the tears that managed to escape. “He says he’s been talking to some girl, and met her on an app. All this time–I’d spent years overanalyzing every moment between us–thinking there was a chance he felt the same. Instead, I laid my heart on the line to find out that my love had always been unrequited. So, while you were all passed out that night, I decided that I needed to move on. I downloaded those apps for myself, and a week later, I was on a date with Austin.”

The first time you had let yourself cry over Bob Floyd had been that night, when everyone was drunk and passed out around the living room. This moment, in a fucking hot spring on your bachelorette trip, you finally let yourself cry again over the man you’d been in love with for years.

Natasha let you, didn’t say a word. She only scooted in close, curling up into your side and letting your head rest on her shoulder, holding you as you finally cried, keeping her eyes on the other two girls, blissfully unaware of what was occurring on the edges of the lake. She didn’t speak up again until minutes later, when your silent sobs had finally subsided.

“Bumble…if you’re crying, then you still love him. Why are you getting married?”

“Because I have to,” your voice was broken, thick and hoarse from your own tears. “You know what my mother said when I told her I was engaged? ‘Good, your biological clock is ticking.’ And, fuck, I know she meant it as a joke, but she wasn’t wrong. We’re not getting any younger. Then, Dove and the rest of my fucking old squad, I told them and all they could do was make comments about how I ‘can’t fumble this man’ or how I’m ‘the luckiest girl in the world.’ Everyone just…expects this of me, and I can’t disappoint them. Plus...I can’t spend my entire life in love with someone who will only ever love me as his best friend.”

“What if you’re wrong, though?” Nat’s voice was gentle, reassuring, her arms squeezing you in the most comforting hug she could muster. “Babe, I see the way he looks at you. There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t see it. He looks at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and every star in the damn sky combined. You got on those apps, you met Austin, to get over him. What if he was just doing the same?”

“He had plenty of time to tell me, then, if he felt the same, which I guarantee he doesn’t. He kept his secrets, just like I did,” was all the answer you could muster. You drew in a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves and bring a semblance of calm back to your inner self. “Maybe I don’t love Austin the way I love Bob, maybe I never will…I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love him. Maybe he’s not my soulmate, not Mr. Right, but he’s safe. He has a job, he has goals, he has plans for the future…I can’t keep living in a world of what-ifs, Nattie, I can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t love me back. I need stability, I need someone sure of me. He put a ring on my finger; he wouldn’t do that if he weren’t sure of it.”

There was silence for a few moments after that, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Natasha of this marriage…or yourself. Finally, you felt her sigh, and she just wrapped you up in an even tighter hug.

“I love you, Bumble, and I will always support you. We all will, no matter what you do, because it’s your life and in the end, it’s your choice. But, in the interest of being honest…you aren’t yourself when you’re with Austin. This entire wedding…it isn’t you. I don’t want to see you lose yourself to be with someone you feel you have to be with. If you marry the wrong person, the man you don’t love…you’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.”

Natasha couldn’t see it, nor could you, but you could feel it; the weight of those words, as they settled into your heart, and sowed the seeds of doubt into your brain.

❤︎

“Look, I’m just going to be the one to say it…we all fucking hate Austin, right?”

There was a chorus of laughter throughout Hangman’s apartment from each of the men sitting around, multiple boxes of pizza and cases of beer littering the coffee table of the living room. The ‘Real Bachelor’ party, as Hangman called it, since none of them had been invited to Austin Fletcher’s bachelor party in Las Vegas…not that any of them would’ve said yes.

“Hate him? More like loathe, detest, despise…must I go on?” there was a chorus of agreement around the room to Rooster’s comment, the man taking another swig of his beer. The Padres game was playing on TV, the volume so low you could barely hear anything, but no one was paying attention. “If he makes another comment about how he ‘doesn’t know what we do all day’ or ‘this is what my tax dollars pay for?’ I’m going to strap him to the wing of my fucking jet and do a couple hundred barrel rolls.”

Bob couldn’t fight his smirk, hiding it behind the neck of his own beer bottle from his place at the island counter overlooking Hangman’s living room. It wasn’t often that he drank, but being a month out from your wedding…yeah, he deserved at least one beer.

“You know, my cousin did some digging months ago when they flew home for my birthday,” it was Elijah who spoke up, your older brother. Already in town for the month for his baby sister’s wedding, he’d known Bob for years because of you, so it was natural for him to become friendly with the rest of the Dagger Squad and to be invited to the fake bachelor party. “That little degree he got, the prestigious one from Yale? Yeah…apparently daddy made a nice donation to the library, and by nice, I mean a heavily substantial one.”

There was another chorus of laughter from the men in the room. Payback laughed so hard Fanboy was beating him on the back, trying to keep him from choking on the bite of pizza he’d just inhaled.

“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” Coyote chimed in, shaking his head at the thought. “Dad’s company, I think we all knew he wasn’t earning the position of CEO in a few years, it was being given to him. No surprise there that a hefty check managed to get him through college.”

“You know, Eli, we might not know one another well,” Fanboy gestured toward your brother. “But honestly…I’m shocked that you’re okay with this whole marriage, given that you seem to hate the guy as much as we do.”

Bob swung off his seat, rounding himself into the kitchen to look out through the window into the living room, grabbing another cold beer for himself after finishing off the final swig of his. The night literally revolved around talking about your wedding after all; he was going to need some alcohol in his system to fight his way through it.

“I’m not okay with it, but you guys know my sister. Once she’s made up her mind, it would take a lot to talk her out of something,” Elijah shrugged, groans echoing throughout the boys in the room. “She talks about Maverick, your Captain, if I remember right, like some surrogate father-figure for our own. Why not ask him to talk to her?”

“Maverick once got busted in his early days for taking Penny Benjamin on a joyride in a fighter jet, and struck out with the ladies plenty of times before reuniting with Pen,” Rooster chimed in with a scoff of his own, a smirk on his lips. “That man should be the last person giving relationship advice.”

“Fair enough. Honestly, I’m surprised Robert over there didn’t put a stop to this before it got this far,”

Bob’s head shot up, and every eye in the living room was on him. And not a single man wasn’t slightly smirking in his direction, Hangman was even tilting his beer toward him in agreement with your brother. The WSO only shook his head with a short, clipped laugh, nerves already dancing through him.

“W-Why would I do that?”

Elijah cocked an eyebrow in his direction, casting a glance around the room, before his gaze settled back on him.

“Uh, because you’ve been in love with my sister since Rhode Island?”

Bob Floyd was caught, frozen like a deer in headlights, in the kitchen. Eyes wide, glasses almost slipping off the bridge of his nose, and he wasn’t sure if the beer bottle in his hand was just slippery from condensation or because he was suddenly sweating.

“You know, I have been wondering the same thing, too,” Hangman spoke up, taking a glance around at the group of men. “I mean, he only worships the ground that she walks on. How do you fumble a woman like Bumble?”

There was a chorus of agreement to Hangman’s statement, as Bob found himself back on the other side of the island counter and seated on his barstool once again. His eyes were trained on the beer bottle in his hands, fingers gliding over the glass and tracing patterns in the built-up condensation. After a moment, he looked back at your brother, who was just watching him with a tiny, almost knowing smile.

Bob let out a deep sigh.

“...was I that obvious?”

“Dude, when you guys graduated Officer Candidate School, your parents and sisters rushed up to hug you,” Elijah was laughing fondly at the memory, pointing his index finger in Bob’s direction. “But you? You never once stopped looking at her. This sea of Navy men and women, and you couldn’t stop looking at her. I remember watching you. You’d just graduated and officially joined the Navy; the rest of your life was about to begin with that graduation…but you were looking at her as if she were the rest of your life. If that wasn’t the most blatant depiction of love, then I don’t believe in it.”

“That look never left him, just so you know,” Fanboy hopped in, speaking straight to Elijah as if Bob wasn’t in the room. “The second we all got here and they saw each other at the Hard Deck, this man was out of his shell in seconds. The quiet, reserved Bob we’d been talking to was gone as he, like, lifted her and spun her around the room. It looked like a scene out of a damn Hallmark movie, we all legit thought they were already together.”

A tiny smile made its way to Bob’s face, his eyes just staring out into the corner of the living room as he relived those moments. Decked out in your Navy dress blues, greeting your mother and brother with tears in your eyes, laughing at something your brother had said. His mother was hugging him, talking about how proud she was, his father comforting his sisters who cried over how proud they were, but…he never looked away from you. It was the first time he’d seen you in dress blues, and the only thing he could think was how the color navy must’ve been designed specifically for you.

That day at the Hard Deck, his first time meeting his new team for the special detachment mission. He’d been so quiet, reserved, stumbling over his words as his friends had asked for his callsign, as he’d met his new front-seater. He was never good at meeting new people…and then, you walked in. Every nerve in his body dissipated in seconds, and he’d never shot up so fast to tug you into a hug, afraid if he let go, you’d be back in Florida before he could blink, and he’d lose you all over again.

“Bob,” it was Rooster who broke him out of his daze, his gaze trailing back over the expectant looks of all his friends, before settling on the man he considered one of his best friends. “Why did you never tell her?”

“Because how are you supposed to tell your best friend you’re in love with her? Especially after a decade?” Bob laughed at himself, adjusting his glasses and rubbing his jaw. “I-I don’t know what life looks like without her, and I didn’t want to get rejected. I’d rather have her in my life than push her away because I ruined it all.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there, Bob,” Payback jumped in, and Fanboy nodded along with him. “You never even tried. How can you just assume she doesn’t feel the same?”

“I tried to. Once…I was going to tell her, once,”

The room looked at him expectantly as Bob sighed to himself, resigning to finally getting all of this weight off his chest. Hangman and Rooster immediately moved the pizza boxes off the coffee table, giving Bob room to plop himself down on top so that he sat right in the middle of all his friends.

“We’d just moved you into this apartment,” Bob pointed at Hangman, then to the couch he, Rooster, and Elijah were sitting on. “We were sitting right here: me, my bee, and then Nat. You guys got drunk, it was a long day of moving, and somehow we started talking about dating. We were trying to update one another on our dating lives, little ‘team bonding’ I think Coyote called it. A-And I thought to myself…okay, I’m going to do it. We’re having fun, we’re a permanent squad now, and she’s not going to get ripped away from me and sent back to Florida, so I’m going to tell her. Then it got to her…and she started gushing about Austin. With every little compliment she gave him, I realized that if I ever had a chance, I’d lost it. So when it got to me, I said I was talking to a girl off an app, and I told myself I’d just never tell her. It could be my little secret, forever.”

The weight was finally off Bob’s shoulders, and it felt like he could finally breathe again. Everything he’d ever felt, he’d kept bottled up inside for so long, and it was finally out in the open.

But every face around the room looked confused. Payback and Fanboy were quietly conversing to themselves, faces twisted in confusion. Coyote and Rooster were having a short, staggered conversation that Bob could barely make out as they tried to loop Elijah in on everything. Hangman? He just stared at Bob as if he had three heads.

“Hold up,” Rooster finally spoke up, drawing the attention of the room, as he pointed down to Jake at the far end of the couch. “Didn’t we move you in here the day after your birthday?”

“Yeah, because we were kicking ourselves for staying out all night at the restaurant downtown the next morning because of the move,” Jake snapped his fingers, eyes going wide as Rooster nodded along with him, both boys seeming to be on the same wavelength in seconds. “Shit! That’s right, we ran into that girl–Megan–the one I hooked up with on Tinder, like, a month before.”

“Bingo, bagman,”

Both men turned to look at Bob, smiling like they’d just guessed the winning lottery numbers on a whim. Bob, though, was more confused than he thought he ever had been.

“I’m sorry…w-what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because Bumble was complaining about Jake being a manwhore,” Mickey jumped in with the explanation, and Hangman snapped in his direction in agreement. “Hangman then made a stupid comment about how maybe he should try the app named after her callsign, and she told him not to use ANY of the apps because they’re dumb.”

“I remember asking if she was ever tempted to download the apps, and she said no. Even showed me her phone, she didn’t have them,” Coyote tacked on.

Bob was…so utterly confused by the direction that this conversation had gone, he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Again, what does this-?”

“Bob, your little bee hated those apps; she’d never had them, and proved it to us, and that was just a night before you thought about confessing,” Rooster explained to him, trying to lay it out for him as simply as he could. “When she first introduced us to Austin, she said they’d met on Hinge…so whoever she was talking about that night, it couldn’t have been him.”

Once again, Bob was frozen in place, trying to fully comprehend what the guys were all explaining to him at that moment.

“Bob, we were all plastered that night. Hell, I barely remember setting this place up that day,” Hangman leaned forward toward him, elbows resting on his knees, and his intense gaze never straying from Bob. “Tell us exactly what she’d said that night.”

Truthfully, Bob wished he didn’t know what you had said. He wanted to forget it, the way you gushed with that love-struck look on your face for a man who wasn’t him. But unfortunately for him, he remembered every word.

“S-She had a crush, said it was someone you guys knew,” Bob explained, eyes cast down to the beer bottle in his hands once again. “He was kinda nerdy, a smart dude. Shy at first, but once you got to know him, he was sarcastic. A gentleman, chivalrous, and it felt like she had known him her entire life. She…she said h-he was the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and that she spent almost every day with him.”

There was a beat of silence. Every man in the room seemed to look around at one another, before all chaos let loose.

Payback and Fanboy practically threw themselves off the loveseat, jumping around and high-fiving, fist bumping, chest bumping with yells that could be considered victory screeches. Hangman had gotten off the couch, grabbing himself another beer and almost chugging half of it as he paced around the room behind the couch, muttering ‘wow’ to himself over and over again. Rooster was almost in total hysterics, along with Coyote, while Elijah sat among the chaos, simply shaking his head with a smile.

Bob? He sat on top of that coffee table in pure disbelief of whatever the fuck was happening around him.

“Could she have been more obvious-?”

“No, honestly! How did we not clock it?”

“I FEEL LIKE WE JUST WON THE LOTTERY!”

“Maybe we all need to borrow Bob’s glasses, I think we all might be blind-”

“Baby-on-board, I’m so sorry,” Hangman was the one to apologize, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous laugh as he looked at the WSO sitting in the middle of the room. “I think we should all be banned from drinking after this information. If we hadn’t been drunk, we would’ve realized what she said–maybe we could’ve saved this disaster. My god, she poured her heart out, and you lied about a girl on a dating app and probably broke her heart! Bobby boy…she was talking about you.”

That alone was enough to stop Bob’s heart, to make him pause, to drop his jaw open and pop his eyes open a fraction wider than they had been.

That…that wasn’t possible. This was you they were talking about; his bee. His Bumble, who’d stumbled through the doors like the adorable idiot you sometimes were. The girl who’d stuck to his side like glue, who had been there for every major moment in his life. You were the girl who’d flown home with him for his older sister’s wedding, who spent a week with his family on a ranch in Montana as if you belonged there. The person who held him for hours, for days, after the bird strike, who had listened to every fear he’d voiced about what it felt like knowing he was going down, not knowing if he and Nat would make it.

This was you. Vivacious, patient, dependable, graceful, utterly perfect…you. Everything he could ever want, ever dream of, wrapped up into the human being he couldn’t dare live without. You couldn’t, there was no way-

“You’re wrong,” was what Bob finally said, his voice low and quiet. The noise of the room settled, and everyone noticed the shift in Bob. It was written clearly on his face, his own insecurities that were creeping in and eating away at him. “S-She…she’d never think of me like that. Maybe it wasn’t Austin she was talking about, but it couldn’t have been me.”

“It was,” Bradley chimed in, but Bob only shook his head immediately,

“No, it can’t be, because I’m me. She was top of the class, and everyone loved her everywhere we went. She was the light in every room, the best part of everyone’s day…and I-I was her shadow. My bee…she deserves better than me, she deserves everything that Austin can give her-”

“Austin’s pretentious self can go fuck off,” Fanboy practically shouted out from across the room, cutting Bob’s sentence off. “He’ll never amount to half the man you are, Bob. Bumble loves you, we all know you know that.”

“She loves me because I’m her best friend, and I always will be,” Bob choked out a laugh. His throat was constricting, and he could feel the pool of tears welling up behind his eyes. “If she loved me in any other way…she would’ve told me.”

“Unless she was scared, just like you,”

It was the first thing Elijah had said in a while, and Bob’s eyes drifted back to the older man. He leaned forward, with the softest smile on his face, and it brought a smile to Bob’s for just a moment; it looked so much like your smile.

“She once called you the best thing in her life to me, made me swear to never tell you that. It became pretty obvious to me that you were the one thing in this world she was terrified to lose. So…take the leap, because it’s going to have to be you, Bob. Forget Austin, forget the ring, forget the wedding, and tell her. If we’re wrong, so be it, but at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened if you had just tried. Tell her before you lose the chance to, before you spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

❤︎

Natasha’s words hadn’t left your head, but you kept silent. You let them sit, marinate, stir up your emotions in the back of your head, deep within your heart. Each time they managed to flicker back to the front of your mind, invade your thoughts, you wanted to throw up.

You’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.

That simple phrase had taken hold of you again, that little timer in your head slowly counting down: two weeks. Two weeks until you’d be married, until you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave even as Maverick stood at the end of the Hard Deck table, raising his beer in toast to you where you sat at the other end.

“To our Bumble…you stumbled through the doors of North Island into our lives, and now you get to stumble through life’s next greatest challenge: marriage. They say love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…and I’m happy that the pilot I consider my own kid has found that kind of love,”

The rest of the table raised their drinks in toast to you. Your entire squad, Penny and Amelia, your mother, your brother, even your old squadmates from Florida. Everyone who would sit on your side of the aisle, to marry you off, huddled together in the closed Hard Deck for a special, intimate celebration in your honor, moving tables throughout the bar all together to sit with one another. All for you.

Maverick held your eyes for a moment after his words, even as the rest of the group devolved into laughter and stories, or moved off to play pool or darts. You held his gaze. Your Captain’s eyes were intense, but soft, as if he was trying to instill something into you that he hadn’t quite spoken aloud. A moment later, he finally broke away, and that queasy feeling deep in your stomach was back in full force.

“Another glass?”

It was Natasha who asked, holding out another glass of wine to you, your first having been downed before Maverick had even given his speech. You could see it in her eyes, the concern floating there, like she was waiting for you to break. Honestly, you were waiting for yourself to break, too. You eyed the glass for just a second before your eyes found Bob sitting right next to her, and you were back in your head once again.

You were back in the moment you realized you’d fallen in love with Bob Floyd.

“How in the world did you get the callsign of Bumble?”

You groaned, shaking your head as the rest of your Top Gun classmates laughed at the question from Diver, another new classmate of yours now that you were officially in Top Gun. Bob laughed from beside you, too, his arm resting over the back of your chair in the mess hall of Naval Air Station North Island.

“She was swatting at a bee back when we first got to officer training in Rhode Island, then stumbled straight through the door past me,” Bob was grinning as you lightly slapped him on the chest, shaking your head with a grin of your own as you thought back on that day. “She called herself a-a bumbling idiot, so…it wasn’t hard to figure it out.”

“Oh, so you got your callsign a long time ago,” it was Rogue, another aviator, who laughed with a shake of her head. “Damn, so you guys have been friends for years then?”

“Since that day,” your reply came easily, leaning into Bob’s side more than you realized you were. “Officer training, flight school, even stayed in contact when we got assigned to different squadrons.”

“She’s my bee, can’t go anywhere without my bee,”

Then, he looked down at you with that grin. That little smile, full of warmth and fondness that had just grown over the years, and that underlying mirth that was always present in him since you’d worked your way past that awkward exterior. And there it was–the tug–pulling at your heart and your soul like it had been for years.

“Bee? Might have to steal that nickname-”

“Nope,” Bob jumped in, an air of confidence to him that wasn’t typically present around people he didn’t know, shaking his head. “That nickname belongs to me only.”

And that tug just got more intense as you looked at him. His smile, his blue eyes, those smile lines that creased around his nose and mouth every time he smiled, those glasses that only made him more and more adorable every time you looked at him-

Then, it finally hit you. That feeling sank in, the feeling that little tug on your heart had been trying to tell you for years: love. You were in love with Bob Floyd.

It terrified you to look at Bob now, after all that had happened, after all that you knew lay on the

horizon, and know that you still loved him. That you never stopped, and that every fiber of your being was sure that it was truly never going to go away.

So, you took that glass of wine and downed it faster than you’d ever drunk alcohol before. Then, you stalked off to the bar to pour another glass, ignoring the look of concern that Natasha sent your way, or the one she shot Bob as he chugged his own beer.

Without even realizing it, you had managed to avoid Bob for most of the night, as if your body was forcing you to avoid him. Every time you locked eyes across the bar, that queasy feeling was back, and you forced yourself to down yet another glass of red wine.

You weren’t sure of the time, but you knew you were on your fifth glass of wine; a desperate ploy on your part to keep the thoughts swirling around your head out of the way. Rooster was engaged in a game of pool with your brother Elijah, both conversing with your mother as she stood at the opposite end of the table from you.

“Thank you for always keeping my girl safe in the skies,” your mother directed her comment toward Rooster, who shot her that award-winning smile.

“Your girl doesn’t need anyone to keep her safe; she’s one hell of a pilot on her own. Though she does some of her best flying with Bob and Phoenix with her,” Rooster shot you a wink, and you responded with a playful roll of your eyes.

“No way, my sister loves flying with Bob?” Elijah quickly avoided the swift kick you attempted to land to his shins, bumping his shoulder with Rooster’s as they laughed together, as if they knew something you didn’t. “That’s only been, like, common knowledge for well over a decade.”

“Alright, there’s no need-”

“Well, I’m just glad she’s found someone she can depend on in life the way she can with Bob in the sky,” your words were cut off by your mother, her laughter light as she sipped on her champagne. “Now I’ve just got to wait around with my fingers crossed for some grandbabies!”

She laughed, but neither Rooster nor Elijah did. Their concerned looks turned to you, and you were frozen once again.

The air felt heavy, as if all the oxygen in the room was tugged out of the room, and pure panic settled deep within your bones. Your hands started to shake, the little bit of your wine left in your glass swirling around the cup. With a small ‘I need some air,’ you were out the door onto the back deck of the bar, shoes discarded on the wood as you took the stairs two at a time and stepped into the cool, nighttime sand.

Even in the cool of the night, that sea breeze carrying that salty scent straight to your nose and your feet dug into the sand, you still felt you couldn’t breathe. Your back hit the wooden post that stood over ten feet tall, from the sand and up over the deck of the Hard Deck to hold up the string of warm yellow lights that illuminated the seating. The second your back rested against something solid, your breath rushed back into your lungs, the wine glass fell from your hands, and you finally cried.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were crying at this point. Maybe you were crying over the fact that you hated your wedding venue, or that you hated your dress, or now that Natasha had brought it up, you realized that you did, in fact, act like a different person around Austin. A person you didn’t recognize.

Or, maybe you were crying because you were drunk on a beach, at a party meant to celebrate your wedding in two weeks, and you were still hopelessly in love with your best friend. The man you were not marrying.

Speak of the devil: there Bob Floyd was, in all his glory. Stumbling off the steps of the deck, clearly drunk. His skin flushed red, that same stupid blue flannel billowing around him in the nighttime breeze, and you were cursing the fact that he looked gorgeous like this: drunk, a hazy look in his eyes, glasses barely hanging onto his face, illuminated by the light of the moon that shone down on him and the ocean.

“I-I thought I saw you stumble out here-” he was giggling, the most adorable thing you’d ever heard in your life, as he turned to look at you. Even in his drunken state, you could almost see him sober up just slightly the second he caught sight of you. “Bee- Bee, baby, w-what’s wrong?”

You knew you looked like a mess. Tears were still streaming down your face, makeup running down your cheeks, which you knew had to be splotched red from your sobs. There was a stain of red wine against the edge of your white sundress, the liquid splashing against you when you dropped the glass to the ground.

It only took looking at him for a second for your sobs to resurface. You took two steps forward before Bob was on you, tugging you into his arms as you buried your head into his shoulder and just cried your heart out.

Bob did nothing but quiet you, whispering ‘you’re okay’ into your ear. His fingers tangled through your hair, nails scratching at your scalp in his own comforting way. And he just held you, just let you cry in the dead of night. The only sounds were your own crying, the rolling of the waves in the distance against the shore, and the faint sound of the music inside the bar reverberating through the walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bob whispered after a few minutes, when your tears had finally subsided. You shook your head, backing away just slightly as you wiped at your eyes to rid yourself of the stray tears and running makeup.

“No,” your voice was hoarse from the crying, and when you finally looked at those concerned blue eyes watching you intently, that stupid fucking tug was back, and the copious amounts of alcohol surging through your body weren’t helping keep the filter on your mouth. “I…I just want to be here with you.”

He smiled, that shy boy-ish smile, the one that reminded you of the day you had first met and asked him to dinner, and you couldn’t help the little smile that crossed your own lips at the sight of it.

“No arguments from me,” he’d laughed, his hands still ghosting over your elbows and fingers lightly tracing patterns into your skin, a shiver running up your spine at the slightest touch. “Last time I saw you cry was my sister’s wedding.”

You laughed, leaning toward him just the slightest bit as his hands fully enveloped your arms, properly holding you as fire almost spread through your skin at the slight touch.

“It’s not my fault they had the sweetest vows!” you’d managed through your hazy laughter, hiccuping as the full weight of the alcohol in your system hit you.

“Don’t forget my brother-in-law’s best man,” Bob shot back with a wide, teasing grin, the grip he had on your arms tugging you just a bit closer in his own hazy, drunk state. “I remember you calling him hot.”

“He was, but he wasn’t you,” you commented unfiltered, and Bob gave another one of those shy shakes of his head.

“You don’t have to flatter me, bee,”

That tug was back, and the words were flowing out of your mouth before your brain could fully catch up with what you were saying.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Bob Floyd…you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on,”

The most innocent little statement, such a little off-handed comment, but the effect it had on Bob was visible in an instant.

He paused, his smile dropped, and he hesitated for just a moment, as if those words had ignited something deep within his soul. An unknown emotion was swimming around in his eyes before he shoved you back against the wooden pole behind you, cupped your cheeks in his hands, and kissed the breath straight out of your lungs.

Bob Floyd didn’t kiss like the sweet, innocent, awkward boy that everyone chalked him up to be. At least, not when he was kissing you. The gasp in your throat died in his own mouth, swallowed by his lips and replaced with a groan, and there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation in you as your hands ran their way up his arms, his broad shoulders, and into that sandy blonde hair that was always so perfectly styled. The intensity could be felt in your bones, the heat trickling through your skin.

The large, way too large, calloused hands slid down your neck from where they cradled your face. Another gasp left your throat as his fingers ghosted down your collarbones, right over the curve of your breasts, before wrapping around your body. One hand pressed between your shoulders, the other to the small of your back, as Bob brought you as close to his body as humanly possible, molding your body to his own until it felt as if you were one and the same.

You weren’t sure whose tongue dipped in first, but they met together in the middle in a dance. You could taste the hints of the bitter beer he’d been drinking the entire night along his tongue, throughout his entire mouth, as you let yourself explore. His kiss became harder, more desperate, more heated, his mouth almost completely devouring and overpowering your own as his hips pressed forward into your own, the presence of the bulge outlining his jeans so prevalent against you that yet another delicious moan spilt through your lips and into his own, swallowed by his kiss.

The second your hips pressed back against his own, Bob didn’t waste a second. His hands trailed down, cupping your ass in those large hands of his as he lifted you up with ease, your body aching with need at the pure show of strength he showed in that move. The edges of your dress slid up your thighs, bunching up around your waist as your legs locked around his back as lust blinded you, your body almost begging for the touch you’d been dreaming of for years as he grinded himself into you absentmindedly.

His lips left yours, allowing you a breath, finally, until they found themselves attached to your neck. His tongue dipped out, swiping along your skin as his lips followed the same trail/ From your jaw, down your neck and over your pulse, to your collarbone and below. The softest moan slipped back your lips, your hands still curled into his hair, and nails scratched at his scalp. One of those stupid sexy hands left your ass, but just as quickly as it had left it was curled around your breast, squeezing in a way that shot both a bolt of pain of pleasure through your body as his lips ghosted right over the swell of your breasts. His hips dipped into yours again, the little lacy panties that were the only barrier left on your body, positively soaked from just this moment alone.

With a single tug, you brought his lips back to yours, this kiss softer, sweeter, but still just as heated and passionate as it had been since the start. That tug in your heart, on your soul, was gone, as if it was an ailment you lived with your entire life, and this kiss was the sole antidote.

“Bob…” his name was the first word out of your mouth since he’d kissed you. It was the only word you could say, the only name you cared to have falling from your lips. He looked at you finally, those blue eyes that you loved so much.

The second that your eyes met, it was like the world finally came rushing back to you both, and the bubble you’d been existing in shattered in an instant as you both sobered up to a certain degree.

His hands dropped from you like you were heated metal, and yours left his in a second. Your legs dropped back to the ground, toes digging into the sand as if to ground yourself, your hands folded over your abdomen as you wrung your fingers together. Eyes blown wide, lips puffy and red, and every ounce of breath in your body gone as you stared at Bob.

He’d taken a few steps back, his own eyes blown wide before those glasses that were slanted across his face now. That sandy blonde hair was tussled, sticking up in different directions, and his white t-shirt was ruffled up on his chest, flannel barely hanging onto his shoulders. You tried not to look at his pants, at the wet spot clearly left behind against the bulge that was still ever present.

The weight of it all came crashing down on you as you brought your trembling hand to your lips, covering your mouth, as you tried not to look at that shimmering diamond glinting in the moonlight.

“I…I’m sorry,” Bob’s voice broke you. He sounded broken, he looked broken, like he’d just taken something so precious and fragile and thrown it on the ground and shattered it into a thousand pieces. “I’m…fuck, bee, I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you managed to barely get out, your voice barely above a whisper as the wind whistled around you, picking up slightly in the nighttime air. “Bob, i-it’s okay-”

“It’s not,” he quickly shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “It’s not okay. I-I shouldn’t have done that, that…that wasn’t fair to you.”

“Bob-”

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” his voice broke as he said it, and your heart broke with it.

Wish. That one single word had tears stinging your eyes once more.

“So you…you regret it?”

“No–I just–I meant…” he stumbled over his words, before he simply stopped. Time almost stopped for a moment as you both just looked at one another, that salty sea breeze flowing past you both, tears in both of your eyes. “...I’m sorry, bee. I’m so sorry.”

Then, he was gone, through the sand and up onto the deck and back into the bar before you could say another word. And when minutes later Natasha came outside and found you pressed against that wooden pole still, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared out over the ocean, you shook your head and told her it was nothing. You were just drunk and emotional, that’s all.

You were on autopilot, and everything felt numb.

It continued to feel that way for days. Every day at work, when you avoided his gaze, that was, if he was even looking at you. The silence on the comms when you were in the air, when typically you’d both be jesting back and forth while in the air every chance you’d get. The team saw it, Maverick saw it, hell, you were all sure Cyclone even saw it.

Austin? He never noticed a thing. To him, you were fine, you were your usual self. He never even questioned it when you sat down for dinner together, 72 hours on the clock, and he informed you that Bob had sent him a text and said he could no longer attend.

You covered for him, simply saying there had been a family emergency back in Montana he needed to attend to, and Austin didn’t bat an eye. He broke your heart, and you were still covering for him, still defending him, still protecting him.

Because that’s what he had done that night on the beach, under the light of the moon: Bob Floyd had broken your heart without even realizing he held it in the palm of his hand. He’d always held it, long before even you realized it.

“Alright people, look alive! We are on the clock, and pretty soon I’m about to have a sister-in-law!”

There were cheers in the bridal suite, somewhere behind you, but your eyes were locked on your reflection. The makeup was too heavy, and your hair was too hardened by the hairspray, your dress was all wrong and was too heavy, the lace was itching at your skin-

Wrong. It was all wrong.

Your gaze flickered to Natasha in the mirror behind you, donning that soft pink bridesmaid dress just like Melissa and Dove were–god, even the bridesmaid dress color wasn’t what you wanted–and understanding seemed to pass through her eyes in an instant.

“Hey, let’s celebrate after the ceremony. Why don’t you two go find Maverick for me so we can get this rolling?”

The pair didn’t argue, simply left the room, still laughing and conversing. The second the door of the suite shut, Natasha stepped up to your side as a shaky breath fell from your lips.

“Nat, I can’t do this,” you were already shaking your head in the mirror as Nat’s hand came to rest on your back.

“Bumble, it’s okay-”

“Bob kissed me,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, spinning to face Nat with a wild look in your eyes as you continued to spew everything out to her before she could respond. “O-Or I kissed him, I don’t even know. But we kissed that night, on the beach behind the Hard Deck–fuck, I think I was seconds from fucking him in the sand, I was so drunk. And so was he.”

Natasha just watched you for a moment in silence as you finally took in a deep breath, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Bumble…I know,”

Your eyes shot open wider, if it was even possible.

“You…you know?”

“Bradley and I came outside to find you, he said you’d looked kind of spooked after something your mom had said. We saw you. We just…went back inside,” she laughed lightly to herself, reaching out to take your hand in hers. You let out a shaky breath.

“He…he said he wished it didn’t happen, Nat. He regretted it. He’s not even coming anymore,”

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch the woman I love get married either. He’s scared,” Nat tried to reason with you. “Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts and wishes. Honey, he wouldn’t have kissed you if he didn’t love you too. You can still walk away from this…I will unlace this dress right now, and you can walk out those doors. You don’t have to do this.”

You wanted to believe her; every part of you was screaming to run. But your family was out there, Austin’s entire family was out there, and they were waiting. There was a ring on your finger…you’d made a promise, you’d said yes. People expected this.

“I do, though,” was all you could say, as a single tear managed to drip down your cheek.

There was a knock at the door, and there Maverick stood in his dress blues.

It was time.

Natasha gave you one last pleading look, but your eyes shifted away to hide your tears. Her hand gave yours one last squeeze before she was out the door, leaving you alone with Maverick.

You took in a few deep breaths, trying to find it in yourself, and finally moved toward the door. Maverick didn’t say a word, simply took out a little tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears from your eyes as you gave him a watery smile. Then, he held out his arm, and you looped yours through his.

The walk through the hallway was silent for a bit, a heavy silence that hung in the air, before Maverick broke it.

“I hear tears are typical before a wedding, the wedding jitters and whatnot…but this doesn’t seem like that,”

You laughed, but there was really no amusement in your tone.

“It’s not,”

Melissa, Dove, and Natasha were lined up outside the doors, prepared to walk as you and Maverick arrived, taking your places. Two of them were smiling, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to smile. You gave them a wordless nod, and they opened the doors. The music kicked in, and they walked.

“The other night, at the Hard Deck,” your breath caught at the mention of that night, those moments on the beach playing out in your head like a movie on repeat. The doors shut behind the final bridesmaid, and you and Maverick took your places behind them. “I told you that love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…”

The music began to change, and the staff were mumbling around you, preparing to open the doors so that you could walk.

“...I wasn’t talking about Austin,”

Your head turned to him, eyes wide. Maverick only looked at you with a tiny smile, the kind a father would give to comfort their daughter.

“You don’t have to choose all of them. You can choose yourself…you can choose him,”

Then, the doors opened, and the music kicked in.

❤︎

Bob Floyd was pacing. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t burned a pathway into his bedroom carpet from the pacing he had been doing back and forth for the last hour.

His dress blues hung on the door of his closet, mocking him. The invitation to your wedding lay on the dresser right beside it, that same wedding he’d texted days ago to cancel on, even though there had been a pit in his stomach as he did it. A nagging voice was in the back of his head screaming at him that this wasn’t right.

He should be wearing those dress blues. He should be sitting in the stupid, uncomfortable chair laid out in that fancy resort. He should be watching you walk down the aisle, watching Maverick hand you away, and watching you, his best friend, marry your new husband.

Instead, he was in the same t-shirt and flannel from that night at the Hard Deck, the flannel you’d bought him so long ago. It still held a hint of the scent of your red wine that had spilled against your dress and pressed into his own clothing. Your perfume, sweet like cherries, lingered on the fabric. He had to wear it; he had to relive those moments with you wrapped around him, pressed against him, where you felt like his.

Bob Floyd wasn’t at the wedding, sitting in the chair reserved for him, because he was selfish.

He couldn’t watch you get married. Not when he wanted–no, needed–to be the one you were marrying.

The clock on his bedside table read 6:42 p.m.; barely 20 minutes until you’d walk down that aisle at 7 on the dot and become Mrs. Fletcher, wearing the fancy lace ballgown that you hated, in the venue that you hated, with the man you shouldn’t be marrying.

His feet were itching to run, so instead he grabbed his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart, shakily bringing it to his ear. It only rang for a moment but his call was picked up.

“Bob-?”

“Mom, I-I need you to talk me out of getting in my truck, speeding down the highway, and interrupting a wedding right now,”

Bob’s mother was silent for just a moment before she laughed lightly. Not mockingly, but almost knowingly, on the other end of the call.

“Mhm, so you’ve finally accepted that you’re in love with her, huh?”

“Mom, I really just need you to stop me from doing something really stupid right now,”

“It’s not stupid, Robbie. It’s fighting for the woman you love,” there was a shuffle on the other end, before his mother let out a sigh. Bob was still pacing the room. “I remember meeting her at every graduation, seeing how happy you were with her. I remember when you brought her home for your sister’s wedding. I got to spend a week with the girl you called your best friend, and the only thing I could think was…wow, I can’t wait until the day she��s my daughter-in-law.”

Bob paused for a second before letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“I-I never told you I loved her,”

“You didn’t have to, Robbie, I could see it. And if you can’t see that she loves you too, then we need to up the prescription on those glasses of yours,” there was another shared laugh, before silence fell again. Bob finally stopped pacing. “I don’t know what has all gone down, but if you feel the need to stop this wedding, then somewhere inside you, you know she loves you too. Go get your girl before you spend the rest of your life wishing you had.”

You know what they say: mothers know best.

The only time Bob Floyd was speeding was when he was in a jet, pulling g’s in the air with Natasha that no normal person was doing. But the second he was behind the wheel of his truck, caution was to the wind, and he was speeding up the highway toward Del Mar without a care in the world.

Nothing mattered but you.

He’d haphazardly parked his truck in some spot outside of the resort, pushing past the workers who shouted out for him to ‘stop running’ or that this was a ‘private event’ as he raced down the halls of the resort. None of that matters.

He skidded to a stop right between the open doors, right in the middle of the aisle still lined with petals. There were people still inside, huddled together in groups. There was one group, closer to the altar, huddled up in a group. But workers were prevalent, moving throughout the room, bunching up linens or grabbing empty chairs and carting them away. He pushed the sleeve of his flannel up, not even changing before he rushed out the door, to look at his watch: 7:34 p.m.

“I missed it,” he mumbled to himself. Disbelief, pain, anger, Bob wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He was too late.

“Bob?”

He glanced up to his right, and there the squad was. All dressed in their dress blues, standing together with Maverick and Penny. It was Bradley who questioned him, Natasha standing at his side in her bridesmaid dress.

“...I’m too late, aren’t I?”

There was silence for a moment before everyone looked around at one another with small smiles. His gaze flickered to Elijah, who wore a smirk, leaning down to whisper to your mother as realization seemed to cross the older woman’s face.

“She didn’t walk down the aisle, baby-on-board,” Hangman spoke up.

Bob’s breath seemed to catch as he looked around at his friends, before he glanced back to the altar area. And there he was: Austin Fletcher, in the flesh. He was surrounded by his friends, and what looked to be his father and mother, and Bob couldn’t tell if he was pissed or upset, where his feelings ended or began as his family and friends tried to calm him down. Austin’s eyes met Bob’s for just a moment, and realization seemed to pass through every feature of his face. His glare hardened as he simply shook his head, shrugging off his friends and family and stalking out of the room without another word.

“She…she didn’t get married?”

“Never even made it down the aisle,” Nat spoke up, giving her best friend the brightest of smiles. “We’ve all waited a long time for this, Bob. Better late than never. She’s in the bridal suite…go get your girl.”

❤︎

They’d tried to stop you, tried to talk to you, tried to talk you back into it. Austin’s sister, your old squad from Florida, Austin’s family, and even Austin himself. But there was no changing your mind. Your squad knew that, your brother knew that.

Maverick was right. You wanted to choose yourself…you wanted to choose Bob. You needed to.

You’d wiped off every ounce of makeup piled on your face. It had taken way too long to brush out every single ounce of hairspray sticking to your hair. It was almost impossible to unlace your dress yourself, but you had managed, tossing it onto the floor in a heap and leaving it there. The sight of it made you sick.

The second you were back in your robe, standing on the balcony of the suite and watching the sun set out over the horizon on the ocean just two streets away, the weight of everything finally felt like it was off your shoulders. You felt free, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel sick to your stomach.

“Hey bee…”

That voice sent a shock down your spine, and you spun on your heels. And there Bob Floyd stood, like he’d just blown in from a hurricane, standing in the sliding glass doorway to the balcony. That stupid white shirt, that stupid flannel, an exact image of the man who’d ruined you forever that night on the beach.

“Well…” your voice broke just slightly, tone low and soft, as you pulled your robe tighter around you. “I bet I look like a mess.”

He’d laughed, and it was enough to make you smile, something you hadn’t done since that night. Since the last time you were with him.

“Maybe…” his own voice was soft, his eyes trailing up and down you with a sincerity and a genuine adoration in them that you had never once seen in Austin’s eyes. “Most attractive mess that I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You’d laughed this time, your hand resting on your lips to shield your smile, and those tears burned hot behind your eyes. He was here, he was really here.

“Bob…what are you doing here?”

“Well…I came here to tell you not to get married,”

You hummed, jutting your thumb in the direction of your wedding dress, thrown haphazardly into a pile in the corner of the room.

“I beat you to it,”

“Yeah, I see that now,”

He took a step out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing. Your eyes danced over his features, lit up in shades of red, pink, and orange in the setting sun. You turned to face him.

“I don’t know when it really happened, or started, maybe when we met…but I know when I realized I was in love with you,” you could see his breath catch as you laughed lightly at yourself. “And it’s terrified me, for years, because I didn’t want to confess and lose you. I couldn’t lose you. Life without you doesn’t make sense. But we moved Jake into his apartment, we all talked about dating, and I decided it was time to confess…and you said you were talking to some girl. You broke my heart.”

“I know,” was his answer immediately. Bob sighed, glancing at his shoes as he pushed his glasses back up his face, before looking back at you. “I was scared. I hated the thought of you liking someone else-”

“I was talking about you-”

“I know that now,” he was quick to interject, taking in a deep breath. “I’m late…but I know that now.”

“Then you kissed me…you finally kissed me. Then you said you wished it didn’t happen,”

“I know,”

“You broke my heart again,”

“I know,” his words came out in a whisper. He took another step toward you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the feeling on instinct. “I know I did. So I came here today to selfishly ask you not to marry that prick. Not just because you shouldn’t…but because I love you, too.”

It was all you’d ever wanted to hear, and having those words spoken was like the missing piece of a puzzle that had gone unsolved for years. You shut your eyes, letting a tear slip, as you turned your head and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“Selfish, huh?”

“Yeah, because I’m so incredibly late,” Bob laughed at himself, and you laughed at him too. You finally understood what that was shining in his eyes, that emotion you could never quite decipher: love. “I have loved you since Rhode Island. I tried to be happy for you and Austin, I wanted you to be in love and be happy, but you weren’t with him. He’d never be able to love you like me. So, yeah, I came here to be selfish and ask if I-I’m not too late…and if I can have the chance to love you the way I’ve dreamed about for the last ten years.”

The smile that crossed your lips as you spoke was the most genuine smile you’d worn in weeks. It was stitched to your lips, and you weren’t sure it would ever leave.

“And how would you love me?” you responded, taking just another step closer to him, closing that distance as he still cradled you in his hands. “How has Bob Floyd dreamed of loving me?”

“Catching you every time you stumble, whether it’s on the tarmac walking to our jets or on a sidewalk or beach. Getting you your coffee every morning, just the way you’ve always loved it: two sugars, and just a dash of cream,” you laughed, and his thumb swiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Waking you up every morning, tangled in my sheets, wearing my old University of Montana t-shirt that you stole the night before after you tore it off me. Holding your hand, your waist, just holding you close to me in every moment that I possibly can, because I never want to not be around you. Kissing you, every inch of you, like I do in the dreams that have plagued me night after night for a decade. Holding you when you cry. Having your back in the sky. Buying you flowers. Staying up late at night, talking about anything and everything, like we did all through our lives in training. Fucking you–lord knows I’ve dreamed about that enough. Then…proposing to you, with the ring I know is saved on your wedding Pinterest board. Marrying you, in the venue you’ve always dreamed of, while you’re wearing the dress of your dreams-”

You didn’t let him say another word. Your hand bunched up in his t-shirt, tugging him in, and kissing him with all the love and passion that had been sitting dormant in you both for years. And with every moment that his lips moved against yours, that his hands slid down your body like they had that night on the beach and rested against your hips like they were meant to be there, everything fell into place. For the first time, life felt like it made sense because your heart had only ever belonged to Bob Floyd.

“You have me. I’m all yours, I’m only yours. I’ve been yours since the day we met,”

The next time you walk down an aisle, it will be the fall. The leaves will be changing colors, and the air will be crisp. You’ll be wearing a light and loose dress that billows in the fall wind, and Bob Floyd will be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. It was only ever going to be Bob Floyd waiting for you at the altar.

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd, but you were also twenty-two when you fell in love with Bob Floyd. There was never going to be anyone else for you but him.

Taglist: @venuslayla23-blog @bluegardenn @fandomxo

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androids-insides · 1 year ago

Note

Narrator would be the kind of guy to drink pure black coffee. No surger, no creamer, just pure beans. Stanley looks at him likes he's crazy, which he can very much be sometimes.

#the stanley parable #the stanley parable art #the stanley parable fanart #tsp art #tsp fanart #tsp fandom #android’s insides #the stanley parable narrator #the stanley parable meme #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #I imagine the black coffee is the only option they have anymore. Narrator doesn't know how to put in sugar and so forth #He barely managed the consumable coffee...

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jellybonbons · 11 months ago

Text

Sweet Tooth or Sweet Cravings?

Kenji Sato x fem!reader

Summary: When a chocolate company sent Ken a PR package, he ate the chocolates without thoroughly inspecting them, and, well...things took an unexpected turn.

CW: 18+ (mdni), established relationship, aphrodisiac chocolates, implied panty sniffing, masturbation, fingering, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex, pet names.

Words: 1.5k

AN: this is just an excuse for me to write him like he's in heat :3

Today 4:12 PM

Ken <3: can you come home? its an emergency

The moment you saw his text, your heart skipped a beat. Without a second thought, you clocked out early and made a beeline for the parking lot. You had never driven so fast in your life, and you were sure you almost broke the gas pedal from how hard your heels were pressing on it.

The city streets blurred past you, your mind racing with worry and a thousand scenarios of what could have gone wrong. You barely noticed the honking horns or the changing traffic lights, and your focus was solely on getting to Ken as quickly as possible.

As you reached Ken's home, you punched in the code with shaking fingers, and the door swung open almost instantly. You dropped your bag near the entrance, not caring where it landed, and stumbled inside, quickly sliding off your heels as you hurried to find him.

Rounding the corner into the living room, you saw Ken from behind, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each laboured breath. "Ken, are you ok–" The sight caught you off guard. There he was, panting heavily, glistening with sweat, eyes half-closed as he stroked his cock. It stood proudly and flushed in a deep red colour. His other hand clutched your panty from this morning.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry you have to–fuck,” the moment he saw you, his body tensed, and with a guttural moan, he finally came, his cum coating his hand and abdomen.

As he sprawled against the couch, you took a moment to look around the living room. Your eyes landed on a box of half-eaten chocolates on the coffee table. Curiosity piqued, you picked up the box and examined it closely. The label read "Aphrodisiac Chocolates" in a small, elegant script. Realisation dawned on you, and you couldn't help but let out a small, incredulous laugh. Ken had unknowingly consumed aphrodisiacs, and now the situation made a lot more sense.

You sat down next to him on the couch, eyes wide with concern. "Ken, what the hell? Are you okay?"

"I—I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect this... I think I overdid it with those chocolates."

"Those weren’t just chocolates, were they?"

"No, they were aphrodisiac chocolates. I didn’t check the label...clearly, I should have," he growled, frustration evident in his voice as he discarded your panty from his hand.

"Yeah, I can see that. It’s obvious they did more than just satisfy a sweet tooth," you smirked, leaning closer, your breath teasing against his ear.

"You’re not helping, you know." His eyes narrowed at you, a mix of frustration and desire burning within them.

Before you could respond, Ken, overwhelmed by the effects and your teasing, pulled you down onto him. He ground his hard-on between your thighs, his breath coming out in ragged bursts as he tried to find some relief.

"Ken, what—" You gasped, your voice filled with surprise.

"I need you. Right now. Please, help me." His voice was husky and urgent, his need unmistakable.

–

You lost track of time, the sky outside turning dark as the house became dimly lit. Your clothes were strewn everywhere, and he had taken you on every possible surface – from the coffee table to the expansive living room window overlooking the ocean, and now on his bed.

He didn't hesitate for a moment, his desire insatiable. Somehow, he even managed to feed you the aphrodisiac chocolates during heated kisses, deepening the intensity of your connection with each touch and taste that seemed impossible to quench.

"Baby," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. He had your hands pinned against the headboard, his grip firm and unyielding. His chest pressed against your back, warm and solid, as his fingers delved into your wet cunt, moving with a relentless rhythm that left you breathless.

The squelching sound filled the room, adding to the erotic symphony that drove him even harder. Your back arched with every expert stroke, each thrust of his fingers hitting the perfect spot over and over, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Ken, wait!” you gasped, feeling a strange pressure building within you. “I feel like I’m gonna pee.”

He didn’t falter for a second, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm. “Just let go, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of encouragement and command. “The sheets are already dirty anyway.”

His words and the relentless thrusting of his fingers broke down your resistance. With a cry of both pleasure and relief, you let go, your body trembling as you squirted, the sensation overwhelming. Ken’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he continued to work you through it, his fingers drenched in your release.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, his voice low and approving. “Just like that.”

As Ken finally released your hands, you let them slide down, resting them beside you—the dampness of the wet sheets clinging uncomfortably to your skin, causing you to grimace. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the rapid pace of your breathing, and allowed yourself a moment to regain composure.

Ken, still insatiable and eager, looked at you with a determined glint in his eyes. “It’s my turn now,” he said, his voice rough with need. You, sore and spent, protested weakly, “Baby, I’m so beat... I don’t know if I can handle much more.”

He silenced your concerns with a reassuring smile and a quick, decisive movement. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” he said, his tone filled with confidence. With a firm grip, he lifted you effortlessly and positioned you on his lap, your legs spread and held against your chest. He manoeuvred you into a perfect angle and guided his hard cock to your still-sensitive cunt.

“Fuck, Ken, too deep!” you cried out, your voice trembling as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming sensation. Saliva dribbled from your lips, a testament to the intense pleasure and exhaustion.

Ken's voice was a low, teasing murmur against your ear. “But you love it when I go deep like this,” he cooed, his tone dripping with mockery. He squeezed you closer, his grip firm and possessive, restricting your movements and trapping you in place.

The way he moved, controlling every motion and maximising your pleasure, made you feel like nothing more than his personal plaything, his fleshlight. Each powerful thrust sent your breasts bouncing. Your head leaned back against him, the sensation overwhelming as his movements were both demanding and dominant, ensuring you felt every inch of him, leaving you breathless and helpless under his command.

Finally, with a guttural groan that reverberated through the room, Ken’s body tensed, and a shudder ran through him as he reached his peak. His hot cum spilling deeply inside you, a wave of warmth that filled you completely.

He collapsed against you, his breath coming in deep, shuddering gasps as he buried his face in your hair, staying fully inside you. As he caught his breath, he managed to joke through his ragged breaths, “I think I’ll have to give that chocolate company a review —'5 stars for effectiveness!'”

You weakly slapped his arms, a small, affectionate smile tugging at your lips despite the fatigue. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, barely able to muster the energy to respond.

He then gently shifted his position, moving his hand to cup your chin and guide your face towards his. His eyes, soft and tender, met yours as he leaned in to press a gentle, affectionate kiss to your lips.

Pulling back slightly, he whispered with a teasing smile, “But you love me.”

“Unfortunately.” You responded with a playful sigh.

–

You were scrolling through your phone during lunch, your thoughts drifting as you ate, when a familiar company caught your eye. You paused, intrigued by a screenshot of a review with the username Notkensato07. The review was under a popular chocolate company, and as you read the lines, you couldn’t help but groan.

Notkensato07: ★★★★★

"Absolutely incredible! I tried the aphrodisiac chocolates and they were so effective, my girlfriend’s still recovering. If you want a taste of heaven—and maybe a little bit of chaos—this is your go-to. 5 stars, but if I could give it more, I would!

⤷ 241 replies

g0urmetguru: More than 5, huh? That’s some serious praise. I’m curious, how long did the effects last? Asking for a friend 😉

sillysocks76: IS THIS KEN SATO?

ChefRemyDaRat: Wow, talk about a rave review! If it’s that good, I’m buying a box for sure 🔥

chocolateroses: LMAOOO! I hope your girlfriend’s recovery is going well, man!

SweetToothSteve: Wow, this sounds wild! I’ve heard aphrodisiac chocolates are hit-or-miss, but this sounds like a game-changer. Guess I’ll be adding these to my shopping list!

jellybonbons: Nah, that’s cap.

⤷ chikinuggie: You’re just salty because you got no hoes.

⤷jellybonbons: (comment removed for harassment)

⤷jellybonbons: Wtf? why is my comment removed n not chikin for bullying?!

⤷ chikinuggie: The truth hurts, doesn’t it?

⤷ SweetToothSteve: Alright, kids, play nice! 😂

–

Shocked by the boldness of his review, you yelled out his name in disbelief, “SATO!”

Ken, who had been skipping around the living room as part of his exercise routine, froze mid-skip. The sudden outburst made him lose his rhythm, causing him to trip over his own feet.

“Oh shit!”

Dividers by: @/chilumitos

#✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚#ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato smut #kenji sato smut #ken sato fanfic #kenji sato fanfic #ultraman rising fanfic #ultraman rising smut #ultraman rising x reader

2K notes · View notes

angelseraphines · 5 months ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ you can be the boss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ boss!cho sang-woo x employee!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you had started working at joy investments a few months ago, a job you knew from the beginning you weren’t particularly suited for. numbers, spreadsheets, and statistical analysis felt foreign to you, but the evening hours worked well enough while you attended university. the pay was sufficient, and the promise of experience at such a reputable firm was worth the initial discomfort.

˚ ༘♡ getting hired had been a grueling process. three separate visits. a preliminary interview, where they assessed your general competence, followed by a secondary round that tested your ability to handle pressure. the final round had been the most nerve-wracking, a panel interview that felt as though they were peeling back layers of your personality, searching for weaknesses. when you were finally offered the position of secretary in the business investment sector, you accepted without hesitation. the role was simple, answer phones, manage the endless cascade of paperwork, coordinate schedules, and ensure the office ran like a well-oiled machine. simple, but draining.

˚ ༘♡ your department was overseen by cho sang-woo, an investment banker with a reputation that preceded him. you met him on your first day. he was tall, with sharp features softened only by the polished glasses perched on his nose. his ironed grey suit fit him perfectly, a testament to his meticulous nature. he was polite but distant, his words clipped as he showed you to your workspace. his focus shifted elsewhere as quickly as he arrived, consumed by the weight of responsibilities you could only guess at. despite his calm demeanor, there was something captivating about him, his quiet authority, the precision in how he carried himself, the faint traces of fatigue that made him seem more human.

˚ ༘♡ the first few weeks were suffocatingly mundane. you answered endless phone calls, most from irate clients demanding updates on investments you barely understood. your inbox overflowed with documents needing filing, scanning, or distributing. appointments had to be coordinated, schedules revised, and egos soothed. it was work that tested your patience, and yet, you did it without complaint. mr. cho rarely spoke to you beyond pleasantries, his days swallowed by meetings, late-night calculations, and hushed phone calls.

˚ ༘♡ on the rare occasions you stayed late, you noticed he often did too, seated at his desk with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, poring over spreadsheets or fielding yet another call. it became an unspoken routine for you to bring him coffee when you saw the office lights still on. he would glance up from his work, his glasses reflecting the faint glow of his computer screen, and offer a quiet, “thank you.” it wasn’t much, but something about those brief exchanges stayed with you during the long walks back to your desolate apartment.

˚ ༘♡ perhaps it was the contrast, how someone so stoic and seemingly untouchable could look so worn under the harsh fluorescent lights. or maybe it was the way he always acknowledged you, even in his busiest moments. either way, his presence made the monotony of the job feel a little less stifling.

˚ ༘♡ one evening, long after most employees had gone home, the office was quiet, the buzz of the city outside muffled by thick glass walls. the sky outside was smeared with hues of deep blue and violet, a harbinger of nightfall. after hours spent rearranging meetings, your eyes burned, and the air inside felt stale. you decided to step out for a moment, seeking the cool relief of the evening breeze.

˚ ༘♡ you pushed open the back door of the building and paused. mr. cho was there, leaning casually against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. wisps of smoke coiled lazily around him, catching the last rays of light. he looked… wretched. the angular lines of his face made obscure by an expression you couldn’t quite place. the glassy sheen in his dark eyes hinted at something far away, something melancholic.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry,” you murmured, startled. “i didn’t mean to interrupt. i’ll leave you to it.”

˚ ༘♡ he turned his head slowly, shaking it. “no need. stay. i don’t mind.”

˚ ༘♡ his voice was steady, unhurried, like the rest of him. you hesitated, then let the door fall shut behind you. descending the short staircase, you stood a few paces from him. the city sounds, car horns, the hum of distant chatter, filled the silence between you.

˚ ༘♡ without a word, he took out a cigarette and held it toward you. surprised, you accepted, pressing it between your lips. he struck the lighter with a practiced flick, the small flame reflecting briefly in his eyes. leaning in, you felt the scathing heat as the cigarette caught.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment, exhaling smoke that curled and dissipated into the night air.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, drawing in your first hesitant puff. “yes, sir. i have been working at joy investments for about four months now.”

˚ ༘♡ “hmm.” he studied you, his gaze intent but not unkind. “interesting. some of the secretaries here have been around for years, yet you do a better job than most of them.”

˚ ༘♡ his words struck you, unexpected and disarming. “thank you, mr. cho. i try to do my best,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the city’s backdrop.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there together, the silence stretching long but never uncomfortable. you flicked the ash from your cigarette, watching the tiny embers fall and scatter on the ground. eventually, you put it out against the metal railing and tossed it into a nearby storm drain. mr. cho didn’t move, still leaning against the wall, staring into the distance as you murmured a polite goodnight and slipped back inside.

˚ ༘♡ later, when your shift ended, you gathered your coat and scarf, bracing yourself for the cold walk home. you were buttoning your coat when you spotted mr. cho by the lobby doors, speaking with another member of his team. his presence was magnetic, even in passing.

˚ ༘♡ what surprised you was how he excused himself mid-conversation, turning to approach you.

˚ ༘♡ “are you walking home?” he asked, his tone more direct now. “it’s late, not exactly safe out.”

˚ ༘♡ you mulled over the proposition, your fingers tightening on your scarf. “i don’t mind the walk. it’s peaceful at night. i live in eunpyeong-gu, not too far from here.”

˚ ༘♡ he frowned slightly. “eunpyeong-gu?” he repeated, as though thinking over the distance. “i’m heading to ssangmun-dong. it’s on the way. let me drive you.”

˚ ༘♡ his words were more command than offer, but there was a warmth beneath them. he retrieved his keys from his blazer pocket, the metallic jingle cutting through the stillness.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, accepting his generous offer graciously. “thank you, sir. i’d appreciate that.”

˚ ༘♡ his car was sleek and black, understated but undeniably expensive. he opened the passenger door for you without a word, the leather seats felt comfortable against your skin, and the faint scent of cologne and tobacco drifting in the air.

˚ ༘♡ the drive was quiet. the city lights of seoul blurred into long streaks through the tinted windows, and for that passage of time, the world outside felt far away. mr. cho said little, his hands steady on the wheel, his dark eyes fixed on the asphalt road ahead.

˚ ༘♡ when he pulled up to your building, he shifted the car into park but kept the engine idling. his eyes flicked to you, dark and unreadable, his usual composure fraying at the edges. “get home safely,” he said, his voice quieter than it had been all evening.

˚ ༘♡ you paused, your hand on the door handle, the chill of the outside air seeping in through the crack you’d opened. the thought of leaving the car, of letting the night end like this, made your heart ache. before you could think twice, the words slipped out. “would you like to come inside for tea? i was planning to brew some.”

˚ ༘♡ his brow lifted slightly, the slightest sliver of surprise crossing his features. he considered your offer for a while, he said nothing, merely staring ahead at the dashboard as if he was working through some internal debate. finally, he exhaled. “tea would be nice,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

˚ ༘♡ you led him up the narrow staircase to your apartment, the silence between you thick but not awkward. the soft hum of the building’s fluorescent lights filled the lounge area, and you could feel the subtle feeling of his presence behind you. when you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the herbal scent of lavender from an old diffuser greeted you. the space was modest, organized but lived-in, with books stacked haphazardly on a coffee table and a blanket draped over the couch.

˚ ༘♡ “make yourself comfortable,” you said, slipping off your coat and setting it over a chair. he stood just inside the doorway, his tall frame almost too large for the small entryway, his hands shoved into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

˚ ༘♡ “you have a nice place,” he said after a beat, his voice tender but strained.

˚ ༘♡ you offered a small smile, glancing over your shoulder as you moved toward the kitchen. but you didn’t make it there.

˚ ༘♡ when you turned back, he was closer, standing in the dim light of your apartment like he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d followed you in. his eyes caught yours, and the short space between you felt like it dissolved in an instant. neither of you spoke, but the air was charged, something unsaid yet painfully understood passing between you.

˚ ༘♡ his hand reached out first, tentative, brushing against your arm as if testing the waters. when you didn’t move away, his grip tightened, and suddenly his mouth was on yours, fierce and urgent, like he’d been holding back for far too long. the scent of him, tobacco, something woodsy, filled your senses, and your hands moved instinctively, fingers digging into the fabric of his wool blazer.

˚ ༘♡ your back hit the wall softly, and then his hands were at your waist, his body pressed against yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. it wasn’t careful, and it wasn’t slow, it was messy, a tangle of mouths and hands, you were two people trying to lose themselves in each other for just a little while.

˚ ༘♡ you barely registered how you ended up in your bedroom, your coat and his blazer discarded somewhere along the way. the dim light from the streetlamp outside spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. the bed was warm, and so was he, but there was an ache beneath it all, an edge of something desperate and passionate.

˚ ༘♡ when you woke the next morning, the light was harsh, spilling through the cracks in the curtains and illuminating the reality of the night before. you stirred first, the weight of him beside you a reminder of everything that had happened in that heated entanglement.

˚ ༘♡ he was awake, lying on his back with an arm draped over his face. his dress shirt was wrinkled, and his tie hung loose around his neck, half-forgotten. there was a tension in his posture, his hands clenched into fists, his lips pressed into a thin line.

˚ ༘♡ “i should go,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, hardly above a whisper. he didn’t look at you as he lifted himself over the edge of the bed, sitting there for a minute, trying to mentally gather the strength to move.

˚ ༘♡ you watched him, your heart sinking deeper with every passing second. “you don’t have to go,” you said delicately, your voice barely above a whisper. you reached out, your fingers brushing against his shoulder, hoping to mend this disaster in a pathetic gesture of affection.

˚ ༘♡ he tensed under your touch but didn’t pull away. “this shouldn’t have happened,” sang-woo muttered, his voice thick with self-reproach. “i’m your superior. i’m over twice your age…” his words trembled as he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his black hair. the carefully calm demeanor he usually wore at the office was ebbing away, slipping through the gaps. “fuck, where are my glasses?”

˚ ༘♡ his frustration wasn’t directed at you, but it stung all the same. his gaze swept the room until he found them, the frames haphazardly thrown to the floor. he bent down to retrieve them, clutching them tightly in his hand.

˚ ༘♡ standing upright, he looked at you for the first time since he spoke, his expression torn with anguish. “i’m sorry,” he said, and for once, the words that left his lips sounded unpracticed, raw and genuine. “i shouldn’t have done this. i shouldn’t have taken advantage of my position over you.”

˚ ༘♡ you stayed where you were, the blankets tangled around you, half-dressed and vulnerable. his words landed like small cuts, brutal and wounding. “if this is your way of saying it’s the first and last time, just say that,” you said, despite the hurt bled through. “don’t hide behind excuses.”

˚ ༘♡ his eyes glistened with something, regret, guilt, or maybe even longing. “no,” he said, stepping closer, hesitant but determined. his hands reached for your face, his touch warm and grounding. “of course i would love to see you again, but how can we? i’m your boss. you work for me. it’s an abuse of power, and if anyone found out, we’d both be ruined. management at joy investments wouldn’t hesitate to fire us for violating corporate policy.”

˚ ༘♡ “then we keep it a secret,” you replied, your voice laced with desire, your gaze locked with his.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “you think i wouldn’t want that? you think i wouldn’t want to steal moments with you, even if no one could ever know?” his voice dipped lower, almost a plea. “but pretending not to care about you when we’re in public, keeping my distance, watching you from across the room as if you don’t mean more to me than anyone else…” he broke off, rubbing his temple. “it would drive me insane.”

˚ ༘♡ “weren’t you already doing that?” you said, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

˚ ༘♡ he blinked, then chuckled lightly despite himself. “i was maintaining professional boundaries,” he admitted, though the words sounded hollow now. he slipped off his glasses, polishing the lenses absently with the edge of his sleeve. “boundaries i’ve crossed in every possible way last night.”

˚ ༘♡ he paused, his gaze returning to yours, weaker now. “so maybe you’re right,” he added, his lips curving into a wry, self-deprecating smile. “what’s left now for us to ruin?”

˚ ༘♡ the affair continued in shadows, a secret tether binding the two of you as the world moved obliviously around it. at work, everything appeared as it always had, professional, restrained, unassuming. he never lingered too long at your desk, never glanced your way for more than a few fleeting seconds. if anyone noticed anything amiss, they never said a word. yet, behind closed doors, the charade unraveled.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo would text late at night, asking to see you, his messages never too explicit but unmistakable in their intent. you would find yourself in his car again or at a hotel just out of town, places chosen carefully to avoid recognition. in those moments, he was different, a vulnerable man. his hands would hold you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his lips pressing against yours with a hunger that belied the restraint he showed the rest of the world.

˚ ༘♡ but even as his touch ignited you, doubts began to creep in. at first, they were small, quiet things, easily dismissed when he whispered your name like it was the only word he cared to know. yet over time, the flaws became unfathomable to ignore.

˚ ༘♡ you started to notice how he never stayed too long after. he always had somewhere to be, an early meeting, an obligation with colleagues, an excuse that left you alone in bed, staring at the ceiling. at work, he was cordial but cold, his focus fixed on maintaining appearances.

˚ ༘♡ “we have to be cautious,” he’d say, his tone firm but not unkind. “you know how people talk. one rumor and it’s over for both of us.”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded each time, swallowing your sorrow, pretending it didn’t sting. but it did. the secrecy, the pretending, the constant tug-of-war between what you wanted and what you could have, it wore on you.

˚ ༘♡ weeks turned into months, and though the moments you shared with him were still intense, they began to feel hollow. you weren’t just hiding from the world; you were hiding from yourself.

˚ ༘♡ you started to wonder what you were to him. not a girlfriend, he never called you that. not a partner, because partners didn’t live in secrecy. what was the point of loving someone who couldn’t even say your name without glancing over his shoulder first?

˚ ༘♡ you confronted him one evening, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “what are we doing? what am i to you?”

˚ ༘♡ he froze, the usual calm, calculated expression gone. “you’re everything to me,” he said finally, but the words felt too rehearsed, too easy.

˚ ༘♡ “then why does it feel like i’m nothing?” you asked, your voice cracking.

˚ ༘♡ he rubbed the back of his neck, pacing the room like a man trapped. “it’s not that simple. my position, my reputation, it’s all i have, sweetheart. if people knew about us, it would ruin everything i’ve worked for.”

˚ ༘♡ “and what about me?” you shot back, the heat rising in your chest. “do you think this doesn’t ruin me? hiding, pretending, giving everything to you and getting scraps in return?”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders slumped, and for a second, you saw something raw in his eyes. “i love you,” he said, and you believed him. but love wasn’t enough, not like this.

˚ ༘♡ “then prove it,” you said bitterly, your voice shaking.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, and the lack of answer spoke louder than any explanation could. he was a man desperate for respect, for the image he’d spent years crafting and perfecting. and you were an unfortunate deficiency in the foundation, a risk he wasn’t brave enough to take.

˚ ༘♡ as you stood there, the existence of your situation all settled on your shoulders. you realized you were giving pieces of yourself away to someone who could never give you the same in return. and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could keep doing it.

˚ ༘♡ he reached for you, his touch hesitant, but you stepped back. “sang-woo, i can’t continue being your secret,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “i deserve more than that.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t stop you when you left, and that, more than anything, told you everything you needed to know.

˚ ༘♡ he spent the next few weeks trying, in every way he knew how, to reach you. his texts came first, short, imploring messages that grew more desperate with each passing day.

˚ ༘♡ you never responded, deleting them as soon as they appeared. then came the emails, written in his typically formal tone but laced with an underlying urgency that bordered on uncharacteristic. he didn’t beg, but the underlying message was clear, he was losing his sanity over you.

˚ ༘♡ at work, sang-woo started appearing in places he never had reason to be, near your desk, by the break room, even in hallways he had no meetings to attend. every time, his eyes would search for yours, pleading silently for something, acknowledgment, forgiveness, anything to mend the chasm that had opened between you. but you refused to meet his gaze, your resolve hardening even as your heart ached.

˚ ༘♡ eventually, he stopped. no more texts, no more emails, no more waiting outside your office. it was as if he’d resigned himself to your silence, as though he understood you had no intention of reopening the door he’d closed with his hesitation.

˚ ༘♡ but not at heart.

˚ ༘♡ you saw it in the way he carried himself now, his body tensed, his stride slower, his face devoid of the quiet confidence he used to exude. in meetings, he seemed distracted, his eyes landing on you only to dart away when he thought someone might notice.

˚ ༘♡ when you passed each other in the corridors, the pain in his expression was unmistakable. he didn’t try to speak to you anymore, but the way he looked at you, like you were something he’d lost and could never reclaim, was worse than any words he could have said. it was agony, for both of you, and you felt it every time.

˚ ༘♡ you told yourself this was for the best, that you couldn’t live your life tied to someone who wouldn’t fully claim you. you told yourself that his claims of love wasn’t enough when it was buried beneath secrecy and shame. but those rationalizations didn’t stop the hollow ache in your chest every time you caught his reflection in the glass of the office windows or saw his hands fidgeting during a presentation.

˚ ༘♡ he wasn’t just grieving the loss of you, he was punishing himself for it. you saw it in the way he avoided the employee lounge now, where you might be, the way he no longer stayed late after work, perhaps because the silence reminded him of what had once been. he was a man unraveling in slow motion, and though it hurt to watch, you knew you couldn’t be the one to put him back together.

˚ ༘♡ you told yourself you couldn’t think of him forever. and yet, in the quiet hours of the night, when you lay awake in your empty apartment, you found yourself wondering if he was awake too, staring at the ceiling, trying to forget you the way you were trying to forget him.

˚ ༘♡ when he suddenly stopped showing up one day, you told yourself it didn’t matter. you’d spent weeks distancing yourself from him, building walls to protect the fragile peace you were trying to restore in your life. his absence should have been a relief. you should’ve been grateful for the quiet. but instead, it gnawed at you.

˚ ༘♡ you reasoned he might have taken a business trip or been sent to a conference. yet, as the days stretched into weeks, the silence surrounding his disappearance became impossible to ignore. whispers began to circulate in the office, snippets of overheard conversations that sounded too wild to believe.

˚ ༘♡ “forgery,” someone murmured near the coffee machine. “embezzlement,” said another, their tone tinged with disbelief. “siphoning client funds, can you imagine? what an idiot.”

˚ ༘♡ you dismissed it at first, refusing to entertain the thought. rumors spread like wildfire in the corporate world, often fueled by jealousy or boredom. but the uneasy feeling in your chest wouldn’t leave.

˚ ༘♡ unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, you sought out the manager of all investing departments, a stern man known for his no-nonsense approach. he seemed surprised when you asked about cho sang-woo but didn’t wait to provide an answer.

˚ ༘♡ “it’s true,” he said bluntly. “he siphoned money from client accounts to fund personal investments, stocks, futures, the works. lost every cent. he’s disappeared now. hasn’t answered calls or emails. if he shows up again, he’ll be fired on the spot and handed over to the authorities unless he reimburses the clients in full. but, between you and me, i doubt he has the means.”

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, numb, the significance of all that occurred with you ignorant to it all pressing down on your chest. sang-woo, austere, professional, and fiercely intelligent, had done this? the man you thought you knew, who always carried himself with precision and dignity, had thrown everything away on a gamble?

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to be angry, furious that he could have made such reckless choices. but instead, all you felt was an overwhelming wave of worry. where was he now? what was he doing? was he even safe?

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop yourself. you called his number, your fingers quivering as you pressed the digits. it rang and rang, only to cut off. no voicemail. you texted him, pleading for an answer, any sign that he was okay. nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the lack of response was unbearable, so you did the only thing you could think of, you went to his neighborhood. it was an impulsive decision, driven by a pitiful dismay you couldn’t suppress.

˚ ༘♡ you arrived late in the evening, the streets quiet under the dim glow of streetlights. his building loomed ahead, its windows dark and uninviting. you buzzed his unit at the entrance, your heart pounding in your chest.

˚ ༘♡ no response.

˚ ༘♡ you buzzed again, and again, your desperation mounting with each unanswered call. finally, an older tenant passing by offered to let you in, probably mistaking your apprehension for something more passive. you murmured your thanks and slipped inside, the air in the stairwell gloomy and stale.

˚ ༘♡ you reached his door and knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness. “sang-woo?” you called out, your voice exhausted. “are you in there?”

˚ ༘♡ nothing.

˚ ༘♡ pressing your ear to the door, you strained to hear any sign of life, a shuffle, a breath, anything. but the apartment was silent, as if no one had been there for days.

˚ ༘♡ a burdened pang pierced at your chest, and you leaned against the doorframe, fighting the rising surge of fear. what had happened to him? where could he have gone?

˚ ༘♡ you tried to tell yourself he’d resurface eventually, that this wasn’t your responsibility, but it was a hollow comfort. the man you’d loved, the man you may still love, was out there somewhere and you couldn’t bring yourself to let go.

˚ ༘♡ you stayed at the door longer than you should have, staring at the splintered wood as though it might suddenly yield. but it didn’t, and you left with a growing sense of unease. it wasn’t until you stepped onto the street, cold air biting your cheeks, that you caught sight of him.

˚ ༘♡ he was farther down the block, walking briskly, his head low, his shoulders hunched against the evening chill. his clothes were rumpled, his actions were quick and uneasy, like he was trying to outrun something. you stood still, watching him for a few minutes before instinct kicked in.

˚ ༘♡ you followed him at a distance, your heart pounding harder with every step. he didn’t notice you as he turned a corner, heading toward a dingy motel that sat on the edge of the neighborhood. the neon sign buzzed faintly, flickering erratically, casting a sickly green glow on the pavement.

˚ ༘♡ he disappeared inside, and you hesitated for a moment before pushing through the door. the motel’s lobby smelled of stale cigarettes and mildew, its yellowed walls decorated with faded prints of generic landscapes. you saw him again, down the narrow hallway, his motions slower now as he unlocked a door and slipped inside.

˚ ༘♡ you followed, your pulse a chaotic drumbeat in your ears. when you reached the door, you knocked, first lightly, then harder. no response.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called, your voice low but steady. “it’s me. open the door.”

˚ ༘♡ nothing.

˚ ༘♡ your hand hovered over the handle, and when you pressed down, it gave way. the door creaked open, revealing the dim, suffocating space beyond.

˚ ༘♡ the room was barely lit, a single bulb flashing weakly overhead. clothes were draped haphazardly over the back of a chair, and an empty bottle sat tipped over on the nightstand. the air was thick, the scent of alcohol and something that reeked of chemicals clinging to every surface.

˚ ༘♡ then you saw him.

˚ ༘♡ he was in the bathroom, the door half-open, slumped in the narrow, grimy tub. the water was filled to the brim, cloudy and tinged with a faint, sickly hue. an empty soju bottle dangled from his hand, his head tilted back against the tiles. his shirt was half unbuttoned, clinging damply to his skin, his face pale and weary.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t move. your breath caught in your throat as you took in what was haopening, the torment of the painful scene before you hitting you all at once.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you said, stepping into the bathroom, your voice horrified. “what the hell are you doing?”

˚ ༘♡ his head turned slightly, his gaze unfocused but intense enough to bore into you. his lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “what does it look like?” he muttered, his voice slurred and thick.

˚ ༘♡ you crouched beside the tub, grabbing the glass bottle from his hand and setting it aside. “you’re out of your mind,” you said, your tone hard but trembling beneath the surface. “is this your plan? to drown yourself in this… this mess?”

˚ ༘♡ he chuckled, the sound brittle and malicious. “it’s not a plan,” he said. “it’s… it’s only easier. don’t you understand? everything’s gone. the money, the clients, the respect. i lost it all. so what’s the point?”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to shake him, to drag him out of the water and back into the real world. instead, you stayed where you were, staring at the man who seemed so far removed from the one you thought you knew.

˚ ༘♡ “you think this fixes anything?” you murmured. “you think disappearing into this terrible motel will make it all go away?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, just let his eyes drift to the chipped ceiling.

˚ ༘♡ you stood, your hands quivering as you turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel, tossing it at him. “get out of the tub,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. “dry off. sober up. and then figure out what the hell you’re going to do. because this?” you gestured around the room, your frustration emerging. “this isn’t an answer. it’s pathetic.”

˚ ༘♡ he flinched at the word, but he slowly began to sit up, the water sloshing over the edge of the tub. droplets clung to his skin, and his movements were sluggish, like he was dragging himself through quicksand. you didn’t offer to help, stepping back instead, arms crossed as the sound of water dripping onto the marble tiled floor.

˚ ༘♡ “oh my gosh, get yourself together,” you muttered, yet you sounded as if you were on the verge of tears.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, just sat there for a moment, his shoulders slumped, his hair plastered to his forehead. eventually, he grabbed the towel, wrapping it loosely around himself as he climbed out of the tub.

˚ ༘♡ the atmosphere was suffocating, dense with unspoken words and unacknowledged fear. he walked past you without meeting your eyes, water pooling on the floor with every step.

˚ ༘♡ then came the knock.

˚ ༘♡ it wasn’t loud or insistent, only a single, deliberate tap against the door. your eyes snapping toward the sound. for an agonizing instance, neither of you dared to act, the atmosphere shifting into something more solemn, something grave.

˚ ༘♡ “who is that?” you asked, your voice unstable.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, but his brow lowered, his unease evident. he took an unstable step toward the door, but before he could reach it, a card slid through the slit beneath.

˚ ༘♡ the stark white rectangle lay on the worn carpet, the edges crisp, as though it had been placed with care. you moved first, bending to pick it up, your fingers skimming the surface.

˚ ༘♡ when you flipped it over, you saw on one side there was a simplistic, unsettling design, a circle, a triangle, and a square, printed in bold black ink. the shapes were clean, symmetrical, and yet somehow they carried a dreadful presence.

˚ ༘♡ you turned the card over, the other side detailed a date, stating the twenty-third of june, and a location, which only stated it being as the same one was before, leaving you bewildered beyond comprehension.

˚ ༘♡ “what is it?” he asked, his voice rough, ridden with something between interest and dread.

˚ ༘♡ you held the thin piece of paper out to him, letting him take it from your hands. his expression darkened as he studied it, his fingers constricting around the card.

˚ ༘♡ neither of you spoke. the silence was unbearable, the air electric with implicit perplexity and the creeping realization that whatever this card was, it wasn’t random.

a/n: a little longer than my other works, please let me know your thoughts and if you would like me to turn this into a series. part three of the professor cho-sang woo series is also coming soon!! 🤍

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ryzheling · 1 month ago

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18+ nsfw, based on this, unprotected, slight marking and manhandling, clothed sx, petnames, possibly ooc bcs this is self indulgent (again) ~1k wc

“...When did you get in?”

You were peacefully sipping your morning coffee in the kitchen the moment it happened.

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest just as you turned around, the man standing there with his eyes blinking innocently at you as if he didn’t just break into your home without you realizing.

“Just a while ago.” He’d replied with a smile, cryptic in the way he’d hummed it in that usual noncommittal way.

(You’re not fooled, however. You’d seen him enough times to know that particular look in his eyes is something for you to look out for.)

You would’ve been fine with Nagumo suddenly barging into your home like this. Fine with how he came in with crimson smears all over his shirt like he always does.

But something else had caught his eye the moment he stepped foot into the place, and now it’s all he could think about, other matters be damned.

It’s a simple black shirt. The hem of it lightly brushes your thighs every time you move, and the sleeves are short though they reach just the end of your elbows.

It’s plain, it’s big, and it’s his.

No one could really blame him for the way he had you slowly backed up against the kitchen aisle despite your awkwardly desperate protests and lame excuses, coffee mug put aside as he cages you in between his arms.

“I’m doing my laundry today,” you blurt out.

Nagumo raises an eyebrow, “You are?” His smile twitches ever so slightly, amusement swirling in those stupidly round orbs.

“And this was the first thing I saw so I — you know, uh…”

Your throat constricts as you feel his hand ghosting over the skin just below your hip, searing you alive and freezing you in place all the same. His nose gently bumps against yours, and your voice drops to a shaky whisper, “Promise I’ll give it back to you, I just –”

That’s all you manage to say before Nagumo crashes his lips against yours, stealing away your words, your breath, your sanity and everything in between.

You can never tell what’s on his mind (it’s you in that damn shirt of his), and now that he’s touching you; wandering hands slipping over and under the shirt like he can’t get enough, it’s like you’re drowning in his ocean.

The allure he’s pulling you in with, it’s fucking magnetic.

His lips trail down to your neck, littering open-mouthed kisses and leaving behind faint purple blossoms from where he’d dug his teeth in. You let out a sigh and throw your head back, your hands finding purchase on the raven strands on his nape when he moves lower to suck on the tender skin right above your collarbone.

It isn’t long before he returns to your lips, kissing you with a feverish need that consumes you both. Nagumo himself is all the more consuming, owning you in a way no man ever has before. He spins you around, presses his palm onto your back until you’re bending over the aisle in nothing but a writhing mess of heated arousal.

He knows you need some prep before being able to take him fully, but the thought of you crying and whining at the stretch, his leaking tip snug inside your gummy walls as tears clump your lashes together – god does he know how good you can be without it.

And that’s exactly what he does.

He takes no further second to unbuckle his belt, the clinging of metals sending a rush of anticipation coursing through your veins. You can barely register the second he frees himself from the constraint of his pants however, because the next thing you know, Nagumo’s hips are already snapping against yours in fervor, your pelvis bumping repeatedly against the aisle from the movement.

Your gasp of pain is nothing but another warm breath against the cool marble and a siren song to his ears. One hand squeezing the side of your waist and the other gripping onto the back of your – his shirt, Nagumo uses you as his anchor to thrust in deeper, harder.

Skin slaps against skin, grunts and moans fill the room in a lewd, lecherous echo as you feel yourself teetering on the brink of delirium.

It’s defiling; this burning compulsion to chase and long after such carnal desire. But at the same time it’s not enough. You’re so insatiable to him it makes the assassin greedy, and he’s the embodiment of your very own seventh heaven that it’s making you yearn, wanting him buried inside your cunt so deep his soul ends up intertwining with yours.

It’s just never enough.

Nagumo raises his forehead from where he had it rested on your shoulder blade, chest heaving as he notices you squirming in his hold. He breathes out a chuckle, tenderly running his hands up and down your waist.

“That’s it, pretty girl…” he softly coos. “Look at you fucking yourself on my cock.”

Your hips move on their own, grinding back against him to bring you two closer to your impending climax. Everything else recedes to the back of your mind, the pace you’re going at stuttering as your forearm cushions the fall of your head onto the counter.

“I-I’m gonna –“

“Yeah? Take what you need, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is raspy, almost crooning at you in something only sin and desire could vouch for and that alone is enough for the tidal wave of rapture to crash against you.

Jerking in his grasp, Nagumo holds you close throughout your orgasm before he pulls out, cumming in streaks of white on your inner thighs. Your legs are shaking, nearly buckling to the floor if not for the arm snaking around your waist to hold you up.

He carefully spins you back around to lift you up onto the counter, not minding the mess of sweat and other fluids the two of you had made as he stands between your legs.

A pair of darkened pools gaze into yours, and warm tattooed hands rubbing circles on the underside of your chest.

With his pupils blown, hair disheveled and clothes even more rumpled than before, Nagumo leans in, letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders before slowly connecting his lips with yours.

“I love kissing you like this,” he sighs against your mouth, honeyed and sweet.

“And I love seeing you wear my clothes just as much. You look adorable, by the way.”

i need to punt him. or hit a homerun on him with a baseball bat. either works

©ryzheling. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else!

#writings ˙⊹ 「 🖋️ 」#selfship coded or wtv so this is queued do not perceive mee #nagumo yoichi x reader #nagumo yoichi x you #nagumo x reader #nagumo yoichi smut #sakamoto days x reader #sakamoto days x you #sakamoto days x y/n #sakamoto days smut #sakadays smut #sakadays x reader #sakadays x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Little Surprises 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, cheating/established relationships, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Andy Barber, side of Mike Weiss

Summary: You have a baby on the way but it's not the only surprise.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You inch the door open and wince. You knocked once but no answer came. You’re surprised to find someone within. You rap again with your knuckles, that time on the door frame.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barber,” you say, “you mind?”

He sits up straight. He clears his throat as he forces his shoulders high, resuming his usual rigid posture. He’s of the few attorneys there that acknowledges you. He nods.

“Uh, sure,” he wiggles the mouse and clicks. “Come on in.”

You open the door wider and cross the office to his desk. You pick up the wastebasket beside it, holding back a grunt as your waist band presses tightly beneath your belly. You carry the bin to the cart at the door and dump it. It’s just coffee cups and crumpled paper, a wrapper from an egg wrap. The thought of eggs makes you nauseous.

“Need the break,” he rubs his eyes as you near him again. “Eyes are getting fuzzy.”

“Oh no,” you humour him. You hold the cloth in your hand, “you mind?”

“Go ahead,” he rolls his chair back.

“So sorry, sir, I'm running behind today.” You wipe around his keyboard and mouse. You pause and hover over a wrapper for a protein bar. “All done with this?”

“Um, yeah,” he answers.

You smile and scoop up the wrapper with a crinkle. “No problem.”

Your back spasm and you suck in a sharp breath. You rub between your hips as you retreat. You feel him watching you.

“You... alright?”

“It’s so sweet of you to ask,” you preen as you go back to the cart and toss the wrapper. “I’m just fine.”

You go to the book shelf and clean around the awards, the decorative gavel, and statue of Lady Justice. You feel him watching still. A few people have noticed despite you borrowing Mike’s shirts. Even those are starting to cling.

“You’re... expecting,” he guesses correctly.

You drag the cloth over a shelf, “I am.”

“I’m sorry if that’s...”

“Nah, it’s okay. I just don’t like anyone fussing over me,” you assure him. “All tidy, isn’t it?”

You step back and admire your work. The wheels of his chair roll over the mat.

“Why don’t you sit? Take a load off?” He offers.

You face him and smile. He’s so nice. He spends all that time working and he’s still worried about you. You’re just the cleaner. You know well how stressful law work can be. You barely see your boyfriend with him running around the public courts.

“Really, Mr. Barber, I still got the rest of the floor to do.”

“I remember when Laurie was expecting,” he says. “She was exhausted all the time.”

“I can manage. I’m not too far. Three months is all.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing so much,” he keeps his hand on the chair. “Not in your condition.”

“My doctor says it’s good,” you argue. “I really appreciate you worrying for me, but I’m fine. Really.”

He looks at you. The same way Mike does. They reflect each other in certain ways. They’re always so serious. They don’t like to be told no and they win most arguments. It’s probably why they do what they do.

“Well,” he sighs, his hand going to his hip. That posture defines him. It underlines his age. At least ten years older than Mike, who’s got a couple on you himself. “If you need somewhere to sit down, you come back here.”

“Oh, Mr. Barber,” you smile. “That’s so kind.”

You back to the door and tuck the dust cloth away. You get behind the cart as he follows. “Should you be pushing that around?”

“It’s not much,” you roll it back and forth. “Paper and sponges.”

He nods, his lips thinned in disapproval. That’s why you don’t tell anyone. They treat you different. And Mike doesn’t want his family to know yet. He says his mom will want you to marry first but he hasn’t even asked yet.

“You should be on accommodated duty. You know, I dealt with a few labour cases?” He insists.

“Mr. Barber,” you chide softly. “You got enough to worry about.”

You roll the cart away, down to Mr. Logiudice’s door. It’s already opens. He greets you with a flick of his fingers as he holds his phone to his ear. You clean quietly, certain not to disturb his call.

As you leave, Mr. Barber is still by his door. He stares at you for a moment before he retreats into his office. You hope you didn’t bother him too much.

You finish up your rounds and dump the bag in the dumpster. You stay outside for your break, sitting at the picnic table near the corner of the building. You drink water and chew on crackers. The baby is picky. Your breakfast ended up in the sink.

“Ahem,” the deep noise draws your eyes up as you stare at your phone. Mike’s busy. Not answering.

“Oh, Mr. Barber.” You blink at the attorney in his grey jacket.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks.

You look down at your long-sleeved shirt.

“Baby’s got me running hot,” you shrug.

“Hmm, I just ran out to the coffee place,” he points over his shoulder. “Slow day.”

“It’s not so bad,” you look up at the grey clouds.

“They had a special. Muffin and coffee for three bucks,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white bag stamped with the cafe logo. “I just needed the caffeine.”

He has a cup in his other hand as he sets the bag on the table close to you. You look at it, then him. You find his eyes on your phone. You peer down and find your conversation with Mike still open. Still no reply.

“Thanks, uh,” you pull the bag closer. “I’ll save it for after work.” Odds are, you’ll give it to Mike. The smell of cinnamon is already sickening.

He gives another flat hum. His blue eyes search you. “Too early? You don’t know if it’s a girl or boy?”

You shake your head, “not yet. Don’t think I’ll ask.”

“Oh,” he clucks. “Laurie had to know. Had the nursery done two months early.”

“A lot to figure out,” you agree and stand, gathering up your phone and snack. “Gotta get back to it so I can buy the baby a crib, huh?”

He’s quiet. He walks with you back to the building. You feel him glancing at you repeatedly. He opens the door for you and you thank him.

“Least I can do,” he says.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #little surprises #defending jacob #mike weiss #dark mike weiss #dark!mike weiss #mike weiss x reader #puncture #drabble

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jesuistrestriste · 3 months ago

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swallow me whole; eater!art x eater!reader

was originally going to post this on my sideblog where i first was thinking about this fic but changed my mind

@t1ts-4-donaldson @grimsonandclover more bones and all au? (check out their au pieces!)

cw (18+) : switch!art donaldson, switch!reader, gore, *cannibalism, death, messy + cathartic intimacy, handjob, fingering, angst, crying/dacryphilia (heed the warnings)

to you and art, consuming flesh is like breathing.

natural, comfortable, instinctual.

it's now become easy to ravenously tear open a dead body in the woods and shovel the insides into your mouth, as easy as tearing open a mailed package from your ma. it's easy to let the metallic tang of blood coat your chin and lips and stick to the undersides of your blunt fingernails before you lick yourself clean—like an alley cat. it's easy to suck the marrow from the bones of someone who probably had a life. maybe even a great one.

it's just easy.

physically, that is.

but because consuming your guys' meal of choice comes with an unfathomable amount of cognitive dissonance and all-consuming guilt, eating people is a luxury. a treat.

the both of you regularly settle for regular foods. dry waffles and bitter orange juice and bad coffee from diners that will accept the little cash that the two of you manage to collect from the pockets and wallets of victims. it's better than nothing, the both of you suppose, better than wasting away.

after meeting on the road months ago, you and art have found a way to live somewhat comfortably. trekking from county to county with stolen cars or by foot, roaming aimlessly like reanimated corpses (which is ironic, considering). no mission, no goal, just two dumb kids in love who desperately want to cling to each other for as long as possible. a vow made to keep each other safe, and to keep the urge contained.

while the journey to nowhere is usually warm and beautiful, it quickly becomes gruesome and bone-splitting as soon as the true hunger can no longer be ignored. the smell, god, the smell..

for those who aren't eaters, the wave of desire that floods through when a scent is picked up can be likened to the feeling you’d get in your body if you ran for miles and miles in the sun and suddenly stumbled upon a glass of cool water.

it's unnerving how irresistible it is.

it’s like a rabid dog caught in your chest; snarling, spitting, biting through the metal fencing that protects a plump hare on the other side.

the hunger blows your and art's pupils wide and swirls in heady waves through your heads. you can almost smell the thrum of the person's pulse under their skin, the flexing of their muscles, the stretching of their tendons. you can almost smell the way they’ll taste.

this night’s hunger is no different.

the two of you had been getting ready to squat in a seemingly-abandoned home, when the both of you sniffed the air and caught sight of a young man. probably in his early to mid twenties. dirty white tee shirt, dark brown hair, heavy jeans, leather boots.

all it took was a bit of flirting for the guy to follow you and art to the home, guided under the premise of giving and receiving pleasure before it got dark out. you had looked away when the worst part was happening—it was art’s turn to do the deed this time around anyway. he could handle it on his own.

as soon as the man was gone, limp and lifeless, the two of you stripped him bare. then you both got undressed as well to salvage your clothing. and then you feasted.

now you and him have the man laid across the wooden floor in the empty living room of the rotten house. a horrific, naked mess while you two devour him.

the room is filled with wet squelching and the moans of finally satisfying an innate craving. you and your boyfriend suddenly aren’t the lovers you’d been hours before, now having been transformed into beasts that happily swallow down the remains of another human.

when you pause and sit upright to chew, breathing heavily through your nose, you get a good look at the man’s face. the sunset’s light pouring through dusty curtains to bathe his features in orange. he has freckles. you swallow, reaching up and dragging the tip of your index finger down the length of his nose, over the small bump in it. red follows in the wake of your touch and paints his skin.

“don’t do that,” art murmurs around a sticky mouthful, “that’s s’fucking morbid.”

you shift your gaze.

“isn’t this already morbid? i just want to look at him.”

he shakes his head. he sniffles and blinks back the wetness that glosses his eyes, pulling another handful from the body and cradling it to his lips.

art cries sometimes when you and him feed.

sometimes you cry too.

you look back down to the face of the person whose life you stole for your own benefit, and you lick the remnants of his demise from your thumb.

i’m sorry, you think.

then art really does start to lose it.

his blonde curls stick to his forehead with the summer heat, his shoulders hitching and his face crumpling as heavy tears spill down his cheeks and over the blood matted to his mouth. he sits upright for a moment, only to then bury his face in the crook of his elbow and sob into it. you frown. you reach up and run your fingers through his hair and watch as the crimson coats his strands.

“i love you..” you whisper shakily, “don’t feel bad.”

which is an unfair thing to say.

you two should feel bad—should feel worse.

in fact, the two of you should probably have been brutally punished by some justified force of nature by now, but you haven’t. not yet.

maybe there’s divinity in corrupt consumption.

art chokes on his cries and sits upright again to look to your face. his blues are brighter than ever.

“we can’t keep doing this.. i-i can’t live like this. we’re bad people. you know that, right? we’re fucking monsters—“

he doesn’t mean it.

you lean in and pull him into your arms. your touch envelops him but he can’t do anything except shatter harder. you’re comforting him, holding him, over the husk of your meal. a carcass now. you try not to think about how the man below might have once been held in this way. you think about the reality that you might’ve stolen him from someone he loved as much as you love art. maybe you really are bad people.

but you shove the thought down quick enough to stop its infestation, and then you tell the blonde in front of you the only thing that makes your chest stop tightening.

“we can’t always help it.. we’re only animals.”

the words from your lips spread through art’s brain like a painful toxin. he clings to you harder, and then he’s stumbling to his feet and pulling you up with him. he smushes his lips to yours in an attempt to fuse with you wholly, his teeth clinking against your own as his tongue slips over your lip. you know he tastes more than just you.

he tugs you desperately to him, gathering your limbs in his and pushing you down onto the rotting wood flooring a handful of feet away from the mess and the man and the absence of morality. perhaps a futile attempt at distancing himself from it all.

his naked body slides atop yours and he moans into your neck, salty tears still coating his cheeks as he paws at your chest. “i’m sorry,” he whimpers, “i.. i’m scared.. i’m scared, and i’m gross, and i’m tired..”

and then he starts to rub his crotch against yours. his length already swelling with arousal as he tries his very best to ignore the prickly feeling of disgust that almost always fills his body after he’s eaten. it’s weird and he knows it, but sometimes sex helps him forget.. you help him forget.

you slide a hand down between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his cock, starting to pump it wetly. his hips immediately jerk down and he bites over a soft part of your neck. just enough to leave a mark, not enough to taste you properly, almost enough to trigger his instincts. it’s wrong to eat a fellow eater, he knows that. he would never. the both of you settle for lapping up each other’s sweat and come and spit on cool nights when being close to one another is the only thing that makes sense.

art’s touch follows, his low whine muffled in your body as he drags his palm down your stomach and then against your aching parts. he rubs quick and sloppy circles over your swollen bud, pinching it softly afterwards to roll between his digits. your back shoots up into an arch at the feeling, your spine peeling up from the splintering floor. he’s panting now into your shoulder, his length already throbbing. precum pearls at his tip, webs between your fingers.

“aah,” he squirms on top of you, “please don’t stop.. don’t stop—touch me—touch me, please, i can’t—“

you know he’s trying not to let it, but his sadness is still oozing out of him like thick molasses. it’s a wonder he doesn’t drown in it and take you down with him. sometimes, he asks you to remind him that he’s still good. it’s obvious that if you don’t reassure him, he’ll fall apart.. and putting him back together is no easy feat. he gets quiet, reclusive. he gets a bit lost.

you stroke him faster, gasping as he brings you to the brink. his touch drags up and rubs the spot just under your bead of nerves, and you can feel his muscles begin to tighten above you. the sound of the crickets outside and the rustling of the tall, overgrown grass is drowned out by your guys’ heavy breathing and the wet sounds of your bodies.

“can i have you forever like this?”

his words are desperate. they gnaw at your ribs and snap at your veins. he’s begging for you to keep him and home him, scared that one day you’ll look at him and forget why the hunger brought you together.

you nod into his frame, nip the shell of his ear, and use your free arm to keep him close. the orgasm bristling in your gut like a stoked flame is all that you can focus on now. it’s hot and grotesque, something that reminds you of the first time you ever truly ate. it almost makes you feel sick, and yet it almost makes you feel more alive. this is what art does to you.

he holds you and distracts you and consoles you with pleasure beyond anything else you’ve ever felt. and then it all bursts—

your thighs squeeze around his waist, your walls pulsating with every wave of release that starts to flood out of you. you’re relentlessly rubbed through it; he prolongs it with the frantic motions of his touch and the way he grinds his pelvis against your own. drool pools in his mouth and he has to swallow it down before he can manage a strangled cry that mixes with yours. his climax is overwhelming.

“i’m cumming,” you whimper, tipping your head back, only to feel his other open palm meet it before it hits the ground.

“me too.. cumming so hard, so much, aangh..!”

the two of you shake like there are separate earthquakes held inside you, the tremors beginning to sync up as you both work each other to the very ends of your frayed ropes. his milky fluid covers your hips and abdomen in the color of fresh cream, and then he’s hiccuping as your moving thumb runs a spike of oversensitivity down to his toes.

“nn—oh, ’m done, it’s too much now.. just let me take care of you.. please..”

you let your hand slip off, coated in art all over, and you can’t help but yelp softly as he continues to swipe the pads of his fingers over your clit. a second climax rips through you before you can even draw in a proper breath. the only thing you can see is white-hot sparks dancing around your vision. he plays with you until you’re boneless, aside from the occasional jerk of your hips.

“i’ve got you,” he groans, kissing your warm cheek.

and then he says something that doesn’t surprise you.

“i love you.”

all breathy and beautiful. something so sincere that you have no doubt about it’s legitimacy. it’ll be you two until the rest of the world rots away into nothing. as long as there is a desire to eat, there is a need to love each other.

you don’t know a more beautiful, crushing truth than him. it’s all him.

your lungs are burning and your body is spent, but he has you.

oh, he has you.

“i love you too.”

#am i…. writing formal full fics again?#i won’t speak too soon #but i actually really enjoyed writing this #i love gothic themes #bones and all is an absolutely lovely film #luca guadagnino film x luca guadagnino film lol #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson fic #challengers smut #bones and all #bone and all au

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write-and-buried · 2 months ago

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And you can hold me

Authors Note; HOW DID NOBODY HUG THIS MAN. I had to come out of semi retirement to give this man the hug he so desperately needs

Content warnings; none - just sad boy being sad

Note; this blog is intended for adult audiences regardless of content, by proceeding you agree that you are over the age of 18, have read any relevant content warnings, and wish to proceed.

It wouldn’t run without the donations. One of the bands from PittFest had set it up, funded enough for three years without blinking an eye. A 24hr coffee cart in the emergency department. Not in the waiting room, tucked in a little alcove off the staff entrance. Protein bars, coffee, tea, fresh fruit, all arriving daily, and a staffing roster of four shifts of 6 hours each, ensuring a never-ending supply of caffeine and sustenance for busy doctors, stressed patients and parents, and the occasional late night maintenance worker.

Given the location, you lucked out on the shift you did. Six to midnight, midweek. You missed the start of the night shift by an hour, relieving your coworker who had somehow managed to get milk in her shoes barely giving you a handover before leaving as if she was being chased. The start and end of the shifts were the worst. Sleep deprived, run down doctors, nurses, custodians, all weary and thankful for your existence. You were lucky enough to have a steady trickle of customers across the evening with enough time to sketch in between if you were lucky.

They were a quiet customer based too – all too lost in their own thoughts or already on their phones requesting lab results. In the few months you’d worked here, you’d only learned a few names. Dana, the charge nurse who got a chamomile on her way out the door with the kind smile and impenetrable attitude. Whittaker, whose diet seemed to consist mostly of energy drinks of varying flavours, who reluctantly bought a banana or apple once a week when another doctor ordered him to, shy and sweet. Dr Abbott, who forces you to call him Jack and lets you experiment with weird espresso combinations and has genuinely good feedback on the flavours.

The rest passed you like ships in an inky sea, never rude or demanding, but too consumed with things far more important than sketching barista who isn’t tall enough to see over the cart.

It’s a little under halfway through your shift. Everything is stocked, all the equipment is clean, everything in its proper place you take the time to work on the jellyfish sketch that has been consuming you for the past few days. Something about the floating ribbons of tentacles has sunk its teeth into your subconscious, demanding to spill across a page. You’ve just finished enough to stretch your neck out, stand from the crappy wheelie chair tucked into the little nook behind the cart. That’s when you see him.

He’s tall, clad in a hoodie over scrubs, glasses sticking out of the pocket. You immediately categorise him in shapes. The rounded slump of his shoulders, the blunt square of the fists he’s clenching at his sides, the oval rise and fall of his strong chest as he forces breaths in and out. He looks so sad. So tired and worn down, the words claw out of your throat before you can stop them.

“Rough day?”

He starts, just a little, his hand coming to scrub down his jaw to hide the brief shock as a laugh follows.

“Yeah, yeah… aren’t they all” His voice is weary, tired. You glance briefly at your watch 9:30pm. If he’s a day shift worker he’s currently sitting on hour 14, most likely without a proper break or meal.

“Coffee? Fruit? I think there’s a blueberry muffin hiding somewhere back here”.

“No” he drags a deep breath through his nose as if even the act of speaking is costing him precious energy “Thank you, though”.

“You’re welcome”

His head tilts curiously as he looks at you. Giving you a tight-lipped smile before he leaves out the staff exit, muffled music following him as the door swings closed.

He keeps looking for you. It’s not on purpose, not a conscious decision. But every time he leaves now, he flicks his eyes to the coffee cart, looking for you. Sometimes you’re standing on tiptoe to hand a customer a coffee, sometimes you’re tucked into the corner with your sketchbook, just your shoes visible, the worn graffitied pair you seem to wear every day. He knows Dana orders tea from you sometimes on her way out after a particularly energising shift to help wind down, he’s seen the disposable cups from other coworkers. There’s just not a good reason to bring you up in conversation, no good reason to ask a single question about you that won’t have half the ER gossiping about how he had interests other than work.

The months since PittFest have been long. Gloria crawling all over her star emergency department, Langdon returning from inpatient, McKays schedule changing with an ongoing custody battle, the slow repair of a friendship with Collins. He didn’t need anything else to occupy his mind except the Pitt, and yet you were there. A sliver of his shift spent thinking about you, about the sweetness in your voice as you jumped to offer him a kindness after a day that seemed to have none.

It was another mean shift. Sometimes the days felt cruel – as if luck had taken PTO and left the universe short staffed. Car accidents, children hurt worse than childhood ever should, a pair of scrubs swapped in a vending machine after a surprise arterial bleed when the patient lifted their hand.

It was a day when he didn’t feel like anything he did was enough, the memories of all of it, Adamsons hand growing cold, the tile under his ass as tears cooled on his cheeks, the sharp points of the star digging into his palm as he clung to nothing but a brief snapshot of childhood comfort.

“Another rough one?” Your voice breaks through it. Enough for him to start again, coming back to himself as he whips to look at you. You’re wringing a cloth, your cheeks slightly pink.

“They all are” he replied, a grief laden chuckle forcing the words out, just enough to convince a stranger that he’s fine really. That a beer and a baseball game and thick sleep on his couch in his empty apartment is going to be enough to heal him, to keep him coming back.

“Coffee?... Tea?” you ask, the cloth strangled between white knuckles.

“No muffin this time?” he asks, quirking a brow

“Sold out” You say, a shy smile blooming across your cheeks when you realise he remembers you. It’s cute. It’s too cute for him to notice, the sweet and cute combination of you already seeming precious to him. He tries to resist it, the pull towards that sweetness

“Want a hug?” the words pull him up short, his eyes snapping to yours as you cover your mouth in shock.

You watch his face change, a hint of amusement sparking across his features as you feel your cheeks heat. You don’t know what made you say it, except the thought had occurred to you more than once, that he looked like he could use one.

“I-I… oh my god” you stutter, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping to pull on some long dormant super power to rewind time by thirty seconds to keep the stupid words from coming from your mouth

“Yes” he says softly, so soft you almost don’t hear it.

Looking up you see his lips purse slightly, shrugging his shoulder, the backpack strap lifting a little higher as he does.

“I’d like a hug please” He says, louder now, slowly coming towards the cart, approaching you as if you were a skittish kitten.

You nod, swallowing hard as he comes around the side of the cart. He’s taller than you thought, towering over you as he slowly slides his backpack onto the ground, nestling it next to your canvas bag as he stands and waits.

“Um, okay… come, uh, come here” you nod, tucking yourself into the little alcove where you hide to draw sometimes, the crappy chair you rescued from the outside dumpster with your sketchbook laying open on the seat.

“Pretty” he comments, nodding towards the sketch, another seascape, corals and bright colours, with the whip of a tail pushing sea grass across the ocean floor.

“Thanks” you say, trying to tug bravery from the hidden spot behind your rib cage. Inhaling once you find it, slipping your arms around his waist, relishing in his height so that he cant see the cringe on your face, or the heat in your cheeks as you awkwardly link your arms around his back.

You smell like sugar and sweet fruit. Crystalised pineapple and something earthy and warm tickles his nostrils as shock settles into his bones that you actually did it. He was expecting you to laugh it off, roll your eyes, tease him a little. But instead you wrapped your arms around him and fit yourself against him with a shaky inhale and now he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Warmth is the first sensation that bleeds into him. Your forehead pressed into his sternum as you shift a little on your feet. It races through his bloodstream like sunlight through an open window before he realises he hasn’t moved since you touched him.

Slowly his arms come around your shoulders, easily folding you into his embrace. His eyes shut softly as some thread between you lets you rock a little back and forth, his hands splayed around your back. His next breath feels broken, a comfort his body has forgotten and suddenly aches for breaking his ribs as your thumb skates a tiny circle on his shoulder blade.

God, when was the last time he touched a body that wasn’t broken? That he wasn’t trying to put back together, that he wasn’t losing. He feels the muscles in his face relax as his eyes drift shut, his head tipping forward to catch more of the sweet scent of you, some burning sensation starting behind his eyes.

You feel it. The breath he takes, deep and soothing, moving you both with the force of it as the full weight of his arms around you becomes a little tighter. You try not to consider how well you fit directly into his embrace, how the tiniest twitch of your fingers seems to have lifted some weight off his shoulders, the relief in the exhale that curls around your hair. He smells like antiseptic, the sharp sting of hospital cleanser and a hint of old spice hiding somewhere underneath.

“Are your days always like this?” your voice is soft, muffled slightly by his shirt as your thumb keeps gently tracing the curve of his shoulder blade

“Hugging strangers? No… no this is new” He says and is rewarded with the tiniest shake of your shoulders, a tiny laugh.

“Rough… I mean” You say, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

“not all of them, but today was pretty bad”

“I’m sorry” you say instinctually “But… thank you”

“For what?” he replied

“Coming back. Can’t be easy, to have so many days like this and keep coming back for more. Must feel like there’s nobody else, that if you don’t do it, then nobody will, and then people will just… get hurt, and be alone and scared without anyone to help them.”

He tilts his head down, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as you angle your face upwards to meet his eyes. You don’t say anything, just offering him a mirrored version of the same tight lipped smile he’s given you for the last few weeks. His arms tighten around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his body as the heat builds behind his eyes.

The natural end comes when you hear the squeak of sneakers coming towards your card. He pulls away from you, sucking in cool air at the immediate loss of your warmth. The customer is quick, and he watches you rise onto your tiptoes to hand him the coffee and fruit he ordered.

The awkwardness settles over you both like a blanket when you’re left in one another’s company again.

“Go home” you say softly “Sleep in your bed, have sweet dreams”

“That’s the best advice I’ve been given in a while”

“Next one will cost ya” You say with an awkward giggle.

“Hug? Or advice?” He replies, picking up his backpack and turning to go

“Hugs are always free. But I’ve gotta charge you this first time”

“Sure, what’s the going rate?”

“a name?” you say quietly, looking away from him quickly.

“Michael Robinavitch” he says quickly, swinging his hand out to shake yours as you reply with your own “But everyone calls me Robby”

“Sweet dreams Robby”

It’s the first real smile he’s had all day as he nods, music filling his ears as he leaves into the sweet smelling night air.

Thanks for reading! This could easily turn into a series/obsession if there's any interest for it <3

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robby x you #dr robby x reader

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lovesickarmin · 10 months ago

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thinkin' about morning sex with armin <3

tw: penetrative sex, light choking, creampie.

since the beginning of your relationship, armin has always woken up before you. some days you'd be woken up by the smell of breakfast being cooked in the kitchen, others you'd wake up to a kiss on the forehead before being handed a fresh cup of coffee. then there's days like today. days where you wake up to the feeling of him kissing along the back of your neck and shoulders as his hands caress over the soft skin of your thighs and hips. once you start to stir, he's whispering in your ear.

"good morning, pretty baby. you sleep well?"

you're barely awake, your eyes still closed as sleep threatens to consume you again. you manage to mumble a 'good morning' as you nudge yourself closer to him. his hands don't stop wandering the expanse of your body, worshipping every inch he can reach.

you're pulled out of your hazy state when you feel him slowly grind his hardened cock against your ass. you can't help but giggle as you turn your head towards him, and he's quick to slot his lips against yours. one of his hands slowly pulls your his shirt up your stomach until your tits are on full display. he's gentle with you, squeezing them and tugging at your hardened nipples softly.

the little whimpers you make into his mouth start to drive him fucking insane. he knows he should take his time with you, but you're always so compliant and pliable when you first wake up. so he knows you won't mind when he pulls your panties to the side and slips his cock between your thighs. he hikes one of your legs up, giving him access to slide himself between your slick folds with ease. his pretty pink tip nudging your already puffy clit with each small roll of his hips.

"you're so wet for me already, were you dreaming about this?"

and maybe you were. but your mind's so hazy that you can't focus on anything besides how badly you need him. your whimpers turn into desperate pleas as you beg him to fill you up. you just feel so empty, and he'd never deny you when you ask so nicely.

he lines himself up with your entrance and moans in your ear as he bottoms out on his first thrust. he plans on staying still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. but you're just so eager for him, arching you back and pushing your hips back against him. he lets go of your leg, letting it drape over his as he holds you by your neck and squeezes the sides gently. your perfect cunt practically squeezing him back.

his movements are slow and steady at first, but they soon become sloppier and sloppier. he can't help it when you're moaning his name like that, telling him how much you love him and how good he fucks you. eventually he moves his hand down your body and he presses it against the lower half of your stomach and he swears he can feel himself.

"fuck, baby.. y-you're always so good for me. my good little girl, huh? you gonna cum f'me? gonna cum on my cock?"

you'd say something, anything, if you could. but you can't focus on anything when you're so fucking close. you finally come undone when he rubs small, fast circles on your swollen clit. you don't notice how the tears roll down your cheeks or how sweet you sound as you cry out his name when wave after wave of pure pleasure crashes over you.

armin's not far behind. his grip on your side an almost bruising force as his thrusts become even messier than before. he's barely pulling out now, grinding his hips into yours as he finally reaches his release, filling you up like you had begged him to earlier. your name falls off his tongue like a mantra. he tells you how much he loves you, how much he loves your pussy, how it was made just for him.

you're not sure when you fell back asleep, but you wake up again to armin holding your face, gently rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

"c'mon baby, i ran a bath for us. you gonna make me carry you again?"

#armin arlert #armin x reader smut #armin arlert x reader smut #armin arlert smut #armin arlert x reader #aot x reader smut #aot smut #snk smut #armin arlert x you

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cherryheairt · 3 months ago

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Your favs as Hozier lyrics

ft. hsr, haikyuu, CM, genshin, castlevania, arcane, aib, hannibal

"There's nothing sweeter than my baby, I'd never want once from the cherry tree"

Men who, though they haven't had the most pleasant past nor have done things they're proud of, find the sweetest joy in being with you. No matter the day, easy or hard, you manage to brighten it and add color to his life. He'd never ask for anything more than you give because you're all he truly needs.

for: alucard/adrian, ushijima, semi, daichi, atsumu, XIAO, DILUC, lyney, wriosthey, welt yang, jing yuan, mydei, HOTCH, viktor, niragi, aguni, frontman/in-ho, your fav

"If I say this is drowning, you tell me I'm walking on water."

You're his silver lining in all possible scenarios. He never looks at the brighter side, instead succombing to whatever is thrown his way and baring it with grit teeth. The moment you're in his world, you teach him that there's more to life than simply living day-by-day.

for: Gi-hun, WILL GRAHAM, Spencer Reid, SILCO, VANDER, trevor, sakusa, tsukki, BLADE, arlan, GALLAGHER, Neuvillette, WANDERER, your fav

"I'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to something. Let me wrap my teeth around the world."

He's got a bad reputation, but you've overlooked that long ago. You are the one thing he cares for at his stage in life, and he doesn't mind. He's greedy and selfish, and you've chosen to give yourself to him wholely. He takes and takes, and you give and give, trapped in a cycle of passion and love. Let him consume you, and you shall know his heart.

for: HANNIBAL, SALESMAN, loucha, SUNDAY, sampo, ALBEDO, DOTTORE, pantalone, capitano, ayato, chishiya, your fav

"We lay here for years or for hours. Your hand in my hand, so still and discreet. So long, we'd become the flowers."

In a chaotic life, he found peace in your touch. how long has he waited for one simple break from it all, to take a moment to himself? Your quiet breaths under his ear on your chest, your soft soothing traces down his scalp and spine, your endless hours of soft preaching that he could never get enough of. Yes, his perfect life was a quiet one with you.

for: dae-ho, arisu, karube, jayce talis, KENMA, kuroo, SUGA, TENDOU, akaashi, kyotani, JIAOQIU, veritas ratio, dan heng IL, kaeya, zhongli, al haithem, kazuha, your fav

"I'd rather take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three. You're too sweet for me"

His life isnt picture-perfect or neat. He prefers it that way, really. He stays up late, gets up too early, has a routine that works only for him. But somehow you've managed to weasel your way in and adapt to him and his eccentricities. How? He can't be bothered to find out, but his silent gratitude speajs volumes.

for: osamu, KENMA, shirabu, tobio, cyno, heizou, morax, frontman/in-ho, salesman, will graham, your favs

"But you worry some, I know. But who wants to live forever babe?"

Lives dangerously, on the edge of life at all times. You will never hear a boring story–though you wish you might–and though he'd never give up such a precarious lifestyle, he'll always come back home to his baby.

for: BOOTHILL, SAMPO, aventurine, CHILDE, CAPITANO, trailblazer, ITTO, nishinoya, oikawa, SALESMAN, HANNIBAL, your favs

May not be entirely cohesive, just wanted to write SOMETHING. Accidentally became important at work so I'm working 6 days now and can't get anything I want to done writing-wise. let's hope and pray for my manager finding another hire to ease my suffering

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sulkingheichou012 · 3 months ago

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Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 17

Y/N stood on the balcony, the early dawn breeze tugging gently at her hair. Beside her, Jinwoo was still half-asleep, one arm lazily draped around her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. But she didn’t mind. She was too busy staring at her hand.

The sun was rising slowly, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. And when the light hit the stone on her finger— It shimmered. Not just pretty, but alive, as if it was holding a little piece of the sun itself.

Y/N turned her hand, watching it glow. Her chest felt strangely warm, like something quietly settled into place.

“…You okay?” Jinwoo murmured into her ear; his voice still rough from sleep.

Y/N smiled softly, still staring at the ring. “Yeah. It’s just… when I look at this, I feel safe. Like I belong somewhere. Like I’m… loved.”

Jinwoo squeezed her waist, tugging her closer, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are,” he whispered.

She blushed furiously but didn’t look away from the ring. It sparkled again. “…Also, it’s really shiny. I might blind someone if I flex hard enough.”

Jinwoo chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder again. “I’ll make sure they live.”

By the time they got back home, Y/N was still admiring the way the sunlight caught on her ring. She flexed it in front of random shiny things. The toaster. The window. Even Igris’ chest plate when he emerged briefly from the shadows to deliver coffee.

“I am powerful,” she whispered dramatically.

Jinwoo was too amused to stop her. But as soon as they stepped through the front door—

“THERE SHE IS!!” A shriek erupted from the living room. Y/N froze.

Jinah and Mrs. Sung appeared like they’d rappelled down from the ceiling. SWAT-mode: Activated. Y/N barely managed to squeak before they closed in.

“Hand,” Jinah demanded. Y/N instinctively held it up. Both of them gasped in unison like they were evaluating the crown jewels.

“Oh-hoh-hoh,” Mrs. Sung murmured, already dialing her phone. “The dress designer is getting a call right now,” Jinah said, eyes gleaming. “I’ll handle the venue,” Mrs. Sung nodded. “Florist is mine!” “Catering!” “GUEST LIST—”

Y/N stood there, completely blindsided. “Wait—wait!! We just got engaged! We haven’t even picked a date! Or—or—” “You snooze, you lose!” Jinah shouted. “Fast weddings are the trend now!” Mrs. Sung agreed.

Y/N gave Jinwoo a look of pure betrayal, who was… Just watching them with his arms crossed, clearly entertained. “Help me!” she mouthed at him.

He raised his mug in salute. “Good luck.”

Y/N groaned dramatically as Jinah and Mrs. Sung dragged her toward the kitchen table already covered in wedding magazines and fabric swatches.

The grand conference room of the Korean Hunter Association was filled to capacity. Not just with Korea’s strongest hunters, but with representatives and guild leaders from around the world. Some sat in person, others attending through massive holographic screens surrounding the room.

It was a historic event. The final debriefing after the largest and most terrifying threat the world had ever known. The Primordial Hunger—a cataclysm that nearly consumed existence itself—had been defeated.

And standing before them was the man who had made that possible. Sung Jinwoo. The Shadow Monarch. And beside him… Y/N. A mystery to many, but someone whose role was undeniable.

Chairman Go Gunhee cleared his throat to begin. But he did not speak. He gestured to Jinwoo instead.

Jinwoo stepped forward. He didn’t need notes. His voice carried across the entire room, steady and sure.

“The Primordial Hunger has been eliminated.”

“Its destruction halted the collapse of dimensional barriers. The rifts that threatened to devour our world have sealed. The balance between realms has been restored.”

He paused, letting his words resonate through the chamber.

“For now… there are no further threats.”

His gaze swept over the hunters gathered.

“Many of you felt the change. The unnatural silence that followed the chaos. You have asked whether this peace is genuine. I am here to tell you… it is.”

His tone softened, but his words remained resolute.

“For the first time in years, we are not standing at the edge of extinction. No Monarchs remain. No Rulers are moving behind the scenes. There is no enemy in hiding. And if anything changes… I’ll be the first to know.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment, as if weighing something unseen.

“The sacrifices made… were not in vain.”

Jinwoo’s eyes shifted to Y/N briefly before continuing.

“Peace has returned. But peace, as I have learned, is not simply the absence of war. It’s the presence of something worth protecting. Family. Friends. Loved ones. This world.”

Another breath. A heavier pause.

“As hunters, we fight. We bleed. And sometimes we fall. But we do it to protect what matters.”

Jinwoo lifted his head fully now, his presence filling the room.

“And now… it’s time we live for it.”

There was silence at first. Then Go Gunhee stood. And he began to clap.

One by one, everyone in the room rose to their feet. Applause swelled from a ripple into a wave. A standing ovation that spanned countries and continents. Even the hunters online could be seen applauding on the holographic screens, some even saluting.

Y/N sat still. The thunder of applause washing over her like ocean waves. But her mind was somewhere else entirely.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She remembered the manhwa so clearly. Jinwoo had struggled for years alone. He had sacrificed everything—his humanity, his future—for the sake of victory. And he had found peace, yes… but only after losing so much.

Now he stood tall, smiling, surrounded by people who respected him and by shadows who adored him. He wasn’t alone. And she was here. By his side.

Her fingers brushed over the ring Jinwoo had placed there. Warm. Solid. Steady. A promise that wasn’t in the original story.

Maybe this isn’t how it was supposed to be, she thought. But she turned to look at him anyway. And he was already smiling at her. As if to say: This is how it should be.

She smiled back. Even if she didn’t quite believe it yet… She wanted to.

As the room calmed, hunters slowly gathered their things. Many came forward to shake Jinwoo’s hand. Baek Yoonho clapped him on the back with his usual grin. Choi Jongin nodded respectfully, though his eyes lingered curiously on Y/N. Even Cha Hae In gave a polite bow.

“Thank you,” one of the international guild masters said. “Without you, none of this would have been possible.”

Another chuckled. “You two are heroes.” He glanced at Y/N. “You’ve both earned your peace.”

Jinwoo gave a small, polite smile. Then— “Thank you,” he said. “…We’ll be celebrating soon.” He paused. “I’m getting married.”

The room stilled for one stunned beat. Y/N’ head whipped toward him so fast it was a wonder her neck didn’t snap. “WHAT?” Her voice cracked in disbelief.

Jinwoo blinked at her, completely calm. “You said yes, didn’t you?” He lifted his hand, showing the matching ring on his finger. “Seems clear to me.”

Baek Yoonho barked out a laugh so loud it echoed. Choi Jongin smirked faintly, arms crossed. Even Chairman Go Gunhee smiled, rubbing his temple like a tired dad witnessing his kids’ antics.

Another wave of applause erupted—this one lighter, warmer, and mixed with cheers and laughter.

As they exited the room, Y/N noticed Cha Hae In and Choi Jongin standing together. For a second, she panicked. Weren’t they supposed to be endgame?! She glanced at Jinwoo. Was she stealing someone else’s future?!

But Cha Hae In was calm. And Choi Jongin… Well, he was watching Jinwoo with professional curiosity, not personal jealousy.

Y/N shook it off. She smiled sweetly. And subtly held up her hand. The ring caught the light. Flex.

Cha Hae In noticed. She tilted her head, amused. “A good choice, You are lucky.” she said softly. Y/N nearly tripped over her own feet.

No broken heart? No jealousy? Just a sisterly approval?

After the conference and the sudden wedding announcement chaos, Jinwoo gets approached by one of the high-ranking officials from the Hunter Bureau or the Rulers’ envoy.

Jinwoo doesn’t know if this portal is another threat. He tells himself they’ll investigate it together, but deep down…

Y/N notices him getting quieter and more serious as they prepare to leave. She thinks it’s him being careful—she doesn’t realize it’s him being torn apart inside. He’s always been in control, but this? This makes him anxious. He never gets anxious.

They stood in front of it.

An arch of weathered stone, half-sunken into the forest clearing, humming softly with ancient magic. Pale, crystalline blue light swirled inside its frame—calm. Stable. Peaceful in a way most portals never were.

It wasn’t a gate to danger. It wasn’t a dungeon. They both knew it.

This was a door. Her door.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her hand tightening around Jinwoo’s. Neither spoke. There wasn’t a need. The knowledge settled between them like gravity.

This was her way home.

He couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, his heartbeat loud in his ears. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the portal as it shimmered like glass, like water… like a goodbye.

And then— He moved.

Quietly, Jinwoo stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Not tightly. Not possessively.

But his hands trembled when they rested against her waist. And his forehead lowered to her shoulder, hiding the war in his eyes.

Y/N froze at first, then gently laid her hands over his. She could feel the tension running through him like a current.

Jinwoo didn’t trust his voice. If he spoke, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from begging.

She could hear him breathing, slow and uneven against her neck. Feel his grip, warm and grounding and terrified all at once.

The portal in front of them shimmered again, ripples of light flickering softly in invitation. It was ready.

But was she?

Y/N glanced down at his hands holding her, then at the ring on her finger—glinting faintly in the portal’s light. It wasn’t just an object. It was a promise.

Y/N sighed. Then… she laughed. Soft at first, but it grew louder, spilling out of her like she couldn’t believe what was happening. Jinwoo tensed behind her. “What?” She reached up and patted his arm—more like a playful smack. “You idiot,” she said, voice warm and teasing. “You really thought I’d leave you?”

He blinked, stunned by her tone. She half-turned in his arms to look at him properly, grinning up at him despite the shimmer in her eyes. “I already told you,” she said. “You’re my home now.” She tapped her ring against his chest for emphasis. “There’s no one waiting for me on the other side of that portal,” she went on, her voice gentler now. “No family. No adventure better than this. Nothing I want more than what I have right here.”

Jinwoo’s breath hitched as her words sank in, steady and sure, like an anchor pulling him back from the edge. For a moment, his usual calm shattered. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.

He blinked, surprised at himself, and quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to have let it show. But it was too late. The weight he’d carried for so long—the fear that she would leave, that she would disappear from his life—unraveled in an instant. Ever since he realized he’d fallen for her, that quiet fear had lived in the back of his mind, gnawing at him in every silent moment.

And now? She’d cut through it like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Without thinking, his hand reached for hers, fingers threading through like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was warm, solid, grounding.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, voice rougher than he expected. His dark eyes softened, the unreadable mask slipping just enough for her to catch the rarest thing—his heart wide open. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

He smiled then. Not the polite, distant curve of his lips everyone else knew. This one was different—bright, unguarded. Like a golden retriever that had just been told they were a good boy after waiting forever to hear it.

And for once, Jinwoo didn’t care that he looked like a fool. Not if it was for her.

Together, hand in hand, they turned away from the portal. No second glances. No hesitation.

But then—

A ripple of energy made the ground hum beneath their feet. Jinwoo instinctively shifted, shielding her, shadows rising at his feet as they both turned sharply back to the arch.

From the blue light of the portal, a figure stepped through. Clad in muted silver and white, their presence was quiet but undeniable. Not threatening, but heavy with something ancient. Their face was calm—too calm, like they had seen too many futures to be surprised anymore.

Y/N gripped Jinwoo’s arm. “Friend or foe?” “Neither,” the figure said, their voice deep but kind. “Only a witness.”

They regarded Jinwoo first, then Y/N. “You both chose well.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” “A remnant of balance,” they replied simply. “My time here is brief.”

They gestured toward the portal, which flickered softly behind them. “You were right not to cross. That world has already moved on. Your thread belongs here now.” Y/N squeezed Jinwoo’s hand, steady.

But then the figure’s expression darkened slightly. “You’ve brought peace to this world… but do not mistake peace for safety.” Their gaze fixed on Jinwoo. “Even in the stillness, the future stirs. You cannot predict what lies beyond the veil of time.”

Jinwoo met their stare without flinching. “Then I’ll protect this world. No matter what comes.”

A faint smile crossed the stranger’s face. “I know.”

The figure turned back toward the portal. It pulsed once with light—then dimmed completely. The portal stone cracked down its middle, splitting cleanly as if its purpose was finished.

The figure vanished with it. Gone. No trace.

Y/N let out a shaky breath. “Okay, that was intense.” Jinwoo didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled her close again, holding her for a long, silent moment.

Then— “We’re getting married,” Jinwoo said suddenly, voice firm. Y/N blinked. “I mean… yes?” “No waiting,” he added. “No more portals. No more interruptions.”

Y/N laughed. “Deal.”

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting molten gold across the obsidian towers of the Shadow Castle. Everything gleamed, every corner alive with warm light and laughter. It was a day no one ever imagined would come. Not Jinwoo. Not Y/N. And certainly not the army of shadows who had spent weeks preparing for it like it was a royal coronation.

In a way, it was.

Y/N stood at the grand entrance, a soft breeze teasing her veil as she tightened her grip on her bouquet. Her gown shimmered like woven starlight, delicate embroidery reminiscent of shadow wisps curling along the hem. At her back, her scythe leaned casually against the wall, because she absolutely insisted on a candid with it later.

“Ready?” Jinwoo’s voice was warm at her ear. She turned, catching his smile—the rare, one he only ever showed her. He looked devastatingly handsome in a black-on-black suit, subtly lined with silver thread. His tie? Crooked. She fixed it with a smirk, tugging him down by the lapels. His ears went pink.

Their friends and comrades filled the massive courtyard. Cha Hae-In wiped a stray tear, pretending she wasn’t crying as she stood beside Jinah, who was a blubbering mess already. Jinwoo’s mother held Jinah’s hand, her own eyes bright with tears as she watched her son standing proud, waiting for his bride.

And the shadows? Oh, the shadows were thrilled. Igris stood like a stoic knight… except his usually rigid posture was now just a little too puffed up with pride. Beru buzzed in place, making a chittering sound like he was holding in a scream. Even Iron polished his helmet to a mirror shine.

A band of orc shadows played music. Badly. But no one cared.

As Y/N walked down the aisle, her gaze locked with Jinwoo’s, and everything else melted away. His hand found hers when she reached him, his fingers trembling the slightest bit. When he said his vows, his voice was steady—but there was that hitch, that one breath that caught when he said, “You’re my world now.”

And when the priest declared them husband and wife?

Jinwoo kissed her like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

Chaos.

Glorious, ridiculous chaos.

Jinah launched herself after the bouquet, tackling Hae-In like a linebacker. She popped up with it in her hands, cheering like she’d won the Hunter Association Lottery. Before anyone could stop him, Jinho scrambled under Y/N’ gown during the garter toss (with permission, obviously), and came out with the stocking in hand, beaming. He made direct eye contact with Jinah as he slipped it onto her leg. She turned red.

Everyone screamed.

Selfies were taken everywhere. The giants huddled awkwardly behind Y/N and Jinwoo for one, causing the balcony to creak dangerously. Y/N’ favorite photo? A completely candid shot of her leaning on her scythe in her wedding dress, sunglasses on, with Beru photobombing in the background, flashing peace signs with his claw-hands.

The shadows outdid themselves on the decorations—black roses, floating candles, and obsidian tables covered in elegant food spreads. There was even a chocolate fountain. Beru dipped a strawberry in it, offered it to Jinwoo, and Jinwoo (to everyone’s horror and delight) actually ate it. The crowd lost their minds.

Later, as the sun set in a blaze of red and gold, Jinwoo and Y/N stood on their balcony, away from the noise.

She leaned into him, their fingers tangled loosely. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his expression soft, that warmth slipping through again as if it was the most natural thing in the world now.

“We did it,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Yeah. We did.”

Below them, the courtyard still echoed with laughter and celebration. Shadows danced clumsily in pairs; Jinah and Jinho were now inseparable; his mom had somehow convinced Igris to teach her sword stances.

But up here, it was just them.

He turned her gently, arms sliding around her waist. “Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever leave me,” he said quietly, his forehead resting against hers.

She grinned. “You’re stuck with me, dummy.”

His answering laugh was low, warm. “Good.”

And as the sky burned with colors, Jinwoo kissed his wife again, while their world celebrated below.

The world faded away the moment the castle gates closed behind them.

No armies. No Guild business. No ancient Monarch wars to prepare for.

Just Jinwoo and Y/N.

He had carried her over the threshold—because of course he had—ignoring her playful swats and laughter. They’d arrived at a secluded villa Jinwoo had personally reconstructed in his Shadow Domain. It was something out of a dream. Warm sunlight filtered through sheer curtains. The walls were carved from smooth obsidian, lined with silvery etchings that shimmered faintly when touched. A private garden surrounded them, its flowers blooming in colors impossible anywhere else.

And the silence… was peaceful.

“I thought we’d just… rest here,” Jinwoo murmured as he set her down gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “No one can bother us.”

Y/N smiled, still holding his hand like she might float away if she let go. “You’re sure Beru won’t show up offering strawberries?”

Jinwoo’s grin was crooked. “I left him strict orders. He’s patrolling the castle walls for the next week.”

They both laughed, the sound soft and easy. It was still new—this comfort between them—but it was theirs. She watched him as he moved around the villa, taking his jacket off, rolling his sleeves up, undoing his tie. All casual, but something about him was still so effortlessly magnetic.

They ended up on the couch first. Just sitting. Talking. Her feet tucked under her as he leaned into the cushions, his hand never straying far from hers. He told her stories of his mom and Jinah when they were younger. She told him about her world—her old world—and all the things she missed. They laughed. A lot.

And when the sky turned pink, they found themselves in the garden. He had set up lanterns, their lights glowing like tiny stars. They ate dinner under them, Y/N having somehow learned to cook one decent dish. Just one. Jinwoo teased her, but ate every bite.

Afterward, they danced.

Slow, unpracticed, clumsy at first. But he held her close, his hands warm on her waist, his forehead pressed to hers as if he needed to feel her there. She laughed quietly when he stepped on her toes. He just pulled her closer and muttered, “Sorry,” against her hair.

It was like that all night. Quiet, sweet moments strung together like pearls.

By the time they were back inside, standing by the huge window watching stars spill across the sky, Jinwoo’s arms were wrapped around her from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and for a long time, they said nothing.

“You’re my home now,” he whispered eventually.

Y/N turned in his arms, and whatever she said next was lost in the kiss they shared. Slow, tender, and full of everything they couldn’t say with words.

The rest of the night was theirs.

The stars outside the window shimmered, mirrored faintly in the reflection of the obsidian walls. But Jinwoo wasn’t looking at the stars.

He was looking at her.

Y/N stood at the center of their room, bathed in moonlight, her veil set aside hours ago, her dress replaced with something softer, simpler. Something that was just for him. But to him, she would have been beautiful in anything. Or nothing. He couldn’t decide which stole his breath more—her laughter earlier in the garden or the quiet way she was looking at him now.

Like he was the only thing in her world.

His steps were slow as he crossed the room. Deliberate. But his hands were gentle when he touched her, as if she was made of light. Fingers brushed her cheek, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled at him, a small, knowing curve of her lips, and leaned into his palm.

"You're staring," she whispered, her voice soft, playful.

"I’m memorizing," Jinwoo murmured back. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, slow and reverent. "Every time I think I’ve got you all figured out… you do something that makes me fall harder."

Her laugh was quiet, but her cheeks flushed warm. She closed the distance between them with a step, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers fisting lightly in his shirt.

"Good," she whispered. "I plan to keep surprising you."

He bent down then, his forehead resting against hers. For a moment, they just breathed each other in. His hands found her waist, then her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The warmth of her body, the soft sigh she gave when he touched her—it was intoxicating.

Their lips met softly at first. A gentle press. Familiar, sweet. But it didn’t stay that way.

Jinwoo deepened the kiss, his hands moving up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing over the apples of her cheeks as if he wanted to commit every detail of her to memory. She melted into him, her hands sliding up to frame his jaw. Their kisses became slower, but heavier, each one saying what words couldn’t.

"I love you," she breathed against his mouth.

His breath shuddered out of him as he whispered it back, his voice rough, "I love you more."

He didn’t give her time to argue. He kissed her again, slow and thorough, his lips dragging over hers like he had all the time in the world. And he did. This was their time. For once, there was no war waiting for them. No portals. No shadows in the dark.

Only them.

When his hands found the hem of her robe, he paused, his dark eyes searching hers for permission. She answered with a nod, her hands guiding his. She was warm under his fingers, softer than he ever imagined someone like him deserved. But she was here. She chose him.

And he intended to worship every inch of her.

They moved together toward the bed, stumbling a little as they laughed into each other’s mouths. His hands never left her skin, slow and reverent, memorizing the shape of her hips, the delicate curve of her spine. Her fingers were in his hair, tangling as she pulled him closer.

They lay down tangled in sheets and shadows. His touch was patient. His hands wondering around her body, finding a sensitive spot that made her arch forward and whine.

“You’re sensitive.” Jinwoo mumbled against her neck, trailing kisses down to her collar bone. His mouth moving down, his tongue licking the space between her breasts. “Only for me.”

He brought his large hands to her breasts lovingly cupping and massaging them. Goosebumps rose against his skin at the sound of her soft moans.

“Jinwoo.” Y/N whispered. She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair without thinking.

He chuckled and brought his lips to her nipple, his dark hair, tousled and soft, brushed her bare skin with every movement.

He stilled for just a second, and then sighed against her skin, the sound so content and low it made her chest ache.

“I love your hair,” she whispered between moans, running her fingers through it again, slow and gentle. She let her nails graze lightly over his scalp, and Jinwoo’s entire body shivered, just faintly. “It’s so soft.”

“You do?” he murmured, lips brushing over the hollow of her throat.

“Mm, it calms you,” she said with a small smile. “And I like when you melt.”

He chuckled softly, the vibration of it sinking into her skin. “I don’t melt.”

“You do,” she insisted, dragging her nails lightly again. He exhaled a deep, shaky breath, pressing a kiss over her heart.

Jinwoo looked at her with mixture or awe and hunger – a deep lust filled hunger.

He brought his index and middle finger to her entrance, smiling when he felt how wet she was.

“How about I make you melt this time?”

Y/N nodded “Mmm’, yes please. I need you, Jinwoo.” She whined feeling him circle her entrance.

Jinwoo didn’t make her wait as he plugged his fingers in. Her back arched as she gasped, spreading her legs desperate for him deeper. Feeling his fingers arch against her walls.

Still Y/N wanted more.

“Please, Jinwoo.” She whimpered.

Her body whined when Jinwoo stopped and pulled his fingers out.

“What is it, my wife? Tell me what you want.” his voice purred, he brought his fingers to his lips, rolling his tongue over her sweetness.

“You,” Her lip quivered as she shuddered from the cool air of the room. “Please, Jinwoo.” As her hands held him.

He brought his large, hard cock out of his pants, stroking lightly. She swallowed at the sight wondering how she could ever take them.

Jinwoo lined his tip against her entrance, soaking himself in her juices and teasing her a little.

“Are you ready, my wife? I will take it slow so you will feel everything.” He whispered a for the first time tonight she heard his voice start to shake.

Y/N bit her lip as she nodded. “Yes, I’m all yours.”

Jinwoo slowly slid himself in as she let out a moan of tight, firey pressure. The moment he was fully inside her both let out a gasp; they both waited so long for this moment. Y/N wrapped her arms around him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck while she got used to the feeling of all inside.

He waited for her to nod and give him the signal to continue. He planted a kiss on her cheek as he pulled out slightly before thrusting in again. Y/N spread her legs further apart, moaning at the next deeper thrust. She grasped at the muscles of his back for an anchor.

He slowly begins with a slow and steady thrusts. She feels hot around him, her walls sliding up and down his shaft, her canal moist and inviting as he goes back and forth. Her walls are tight around him, making Jinwoo grunt lowly as he places kisses on whatever part of her body he can reach. He drives his cock into her, making her breath hitch, every now and then, her body meeting his thrust, trying to make him go faster.

“Just like that, Y/N”. Jinwoo kept his eyes on Y/N as he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Uhhh – “ Y/N grunts, her eyes squeezed tightly, her legs are shaky,

He thrusted again, harder and faster as he felt her pleasure start to build. He kept a lovely, steady pace.

“Ohh, Jinwoo!” Y/N moaned, making him shiver.

“You like that, my wife?” Jinwoo asks, thrusting in a little harder, his cock coming almost completely out of her and then ramming back inside her.

“YES –!” Y/N hisses sharply. She looked at Jinwoo, meeting his penetrating eyes. ‘Harder” eyes beg, and he goes harder. “Ohh, Fu – “, she cries, out in a yell, eyes shutting again, her legs trying their hardest not to close.

“How’s that feel, my wife?” Jinwoo asked again, when his hand on her neck moves to her breast, cupping it, his palm grinding against her nipple.

She grasped and scratched at his back desperate to have more of him. His heavy breaths and grunts sent electricity through her while his cock pressed lovingly against that sweet spot.

They’re caught somewhere between a purr and a growl, both soft and hungry, needy.

“Hold on.” His voice was quiet whimper while Y/N held him.

Hearing him whimper always sent her feral but she did her best to keep still while Jinwoo pounded into her tight cunt. Her back arched as the waves of pleasure crashed down into a lovely orgasm.

“You feel so good. I love you, Y/N” Jinwoo whispered in her ears while panting, sucking the lobe into his hot mouth. Y/N walls tighten around Jinwoo as he does this and he pushes his hips a little harder. He suck on her ear, his lips and teeth pulling on it, making her moan loudly. He grunt loudly in her ear, “Arrghhh, Y/N” sound filing her ear. He moves one of his hand on top of her, lacing their fingers together, He can feel her shallow breaths, hear he pants. Her hips rolling back against him, his rock pushing in and out, making her croon.

Y/N knew he was close, and she wrapped her legs around him not letting him go.

“I’m, I’m – so close,” she whispers, voice dripping with arousal.

Jinwoo grins against her ear, “I know,” he rasps, pushing harder. He moves into her slowly, but hard, making her grunt and gasp at the same time.

Y/N’s heart is racing, her body on the edge, being thrust a little more each time. “Jinwoo!” she moans loudly, his name coming out with a deep, throaty groan. “Jinwoo,” she whimpers, breathy.

“I’m right here, my love,” Jinwoo tells her, grunting into her ear, squeezing her hand tightly. His pace picks up again, his cock penetrating her.

“Come for me, my wife.” Jinwoo whisper in her ear, his words barely being understood through his deep grunts.

“Yes” Y/N whimpers.

“My wife,” he says again, tasting it like something forbidden and precious at the same time.

Every time he calls her that, her breath hitches, and he feels her heart race beneath his touch. It makes him want more. Makes him need more. Because he’s waited—waited so long, fought through worlds, sacrificed everything—and in the end, she chose him. She stayed.

Jinwoo’s close, his hips working faster and faster, their bodies molding together against the bed.

“Mmmmm – “ Y/N hums again from her throat. She can feel the rush of blood in her body, the scorching heat flowing through her. She hears Jinwoo’s loud grunts in her ear, feels him jerking quickly, and then there’s a rush of hot fluids pushing into her, the delicious feeling throwing her right over the edge. “Jinwoo,” is the last word to come out from her mouth before she’s spiraling, falling into a blissful place of ecstasy.

“My wife,” he says again, voice rough against her skin. “Mine.”

Jinwoo’s arms held her tightly to him as she were wrapped around him lovingly. The heat of their bodies, the feeling of his heart beating and the rise and fall of his chest as he heavily breathed.

“I love you, Y/N” his voice was a husky whisper as he pressed a soft yet deep kiss against her lips.

Her kisses were soft. They spoke quietly between kisses—sometimes teasing, sometimes serious. Promises made. Futures dreamed. It was messy and tender, clumsy and perfect.

He traced the line of her collarbone with his lips. She pressed her hand over his heart, feeling it race under her palm. They were both breathing hard but smiling. Always smiling.

Afterward, they stayed wrapped up in each other, her head on his chest, his hand drawing lazy circles on her shoulder.

"You’re shaking," she teased softly.

He huffed a laugh. "I’m trying not to pass out."

Y/N laughed too, pressing a kiss over his heart. "We’ve fought dragons and Monarchs. But this is what knocks you out?"

Jinwoo smiled, sleepy but happy. "You’re a different kind of dangerous."

She rolled her eyes but snuggled closer. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"It was."

And they drifted to sleep like that, tangled together, their breathing slow and steady. Safe. Home.

Y/N had always suspected Jinwoo had an unfair advantage.

He was a Monarch. The Shadow Monarch. He could fight for days without rest, command legions with a thought, and tear through entire battlefields without so much as breaking a sweat.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for what that meant on their wedding night.

It had started gentle, slow and sweet. Reverent. Worshipful.

But now, hours later, she was pretty sure her legs no longer worked properly.

She lay sprawled across their bed, the sheets twisted, her hair an absolute mess, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Jinwoo hovered over her, dark hair falling in his eyes, his smile that rare, devastatingly soft one he reserved only for her.

And he was still looking at her like he was starving.

“Jinwoo,” she managed, her voice hoarse and breathless, “I… I think I need a break.”

He tilted his head at her, amused. “A break?” His fingers traced a lazy path along her collarbone, down to the curve of her waist. “I thought you said you could handle anything.”

“I was… clearly overestimating myself,” she groaned, flopping her arm over her face. “I’m not built like you, okay? You have a cheat code. You can regenerate stamina like a machine.”

He chuckled. A deep, low sound that made her toes curl, even now. “That’s true,” he agreed shamelessly. “But you don’t hear me complaining.”

Y/N cracked one eye open to glare at him. “Complaining?! Because you’re not the one who’s going to die from this.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her forehead, then her temple, then the shell of her ear. “I’m taking it easy on you.”

“Taking easy???! You are not,” she huffed, but the way her body shivered under his lips betrayed her.

“Hmm.” He nipped gently at her earlobe, and she bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound. “Then maybe I should slow down.”

Her heart jumped into her throat as he kissed his way down the column of her throat, his hand sliding down her hip again, fingers warm and possessive. She squirmed, but there was no escaping his hands. Not that she really wanted to.

“I… I need water,” she tried again, weakly.

His grin was wicked this time. “I’ll get you water after this round.”

“Jinwoo—!”

But he was already moving, catching her wrist and bringing her hand to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to her palm, his eyes dark and full of a heat that made her stomach flip. "You’re glowing," he murmured, tracing her wrist with his thumb. “I could look at you forever.”

“You are looking,” she gasped as he leaned back over her, their noses brushing. “Nonstop. For hours.”

“And I’m not even close to done,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers in a maddening tease. “You’re my wife now. I have the rest of forever.”

Y/N groaned again, sinking into the sheets as he kissed her thoroughly, slow and deep, stealing the last of her energy. She dragged her nails over his shoulder weakly. “You’re relentless.”

“You love it,” he said with a grin against her mouth.

“I might not survive it,” she breathed.

He chuckled again, low and warm. “You’re stronger than you think.”

She didn’t answer this time—mostly because she was too busy kissing him back, even if her body felt like jelly and her legs were about to mutiny. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. He touched her like she was something precious, even when his control frayed. Every kiss, every whispered promise made her fall harder.

And even as she gasped his name again, even as she clung to him and lost count of how many times he stole her breath, one thing was very, very clear.

“Jinwoo… Wait – Noooo! Let me – ”

....

“JINWOO! YEEEESSSS!!”

Jinwoo could outlast anything.

<< Chapter 16 | Chapter 18 >>

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#jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jinwoo #jinwoo

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lxndonorris · 6 months ago

Text

games - Franco Colapinto

Y/N x Franco Colapinto Theme: Smutty, Teasing, Touching playing teasing games with Franco word count: 3520+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests :)

The hum of the paddock was always the same. Mechanics bustled between the garages, engineers huddled over laptops, and the faint smell of burnt rubber and motor oil lingered in the air.

It was race weekend, and as a member of Williams' strategy department, your mind was consumed with tire degradation rates, fuel calculations, and weather forecasts.

This weekend was different, though; Franco Colapinto had been brought in as a replacement for the remainder of the season. It wasn't uncommon for drivers to shuffle in and out, but his arrival left you with mixed feelings.

While his talent was undeniable, his presence also underscored the volatility of the sport.

One moment you're on top; the next, you're replaced.

You tried to keep your head down and focus on your work, but Franco had other ideas.

From the moment he stepped into the Williams garage, he exuded confidence—maybe too much. His charming smile seemed to disarm everyone around him, and his jokes quickly won over the mechanics.

You wanted to be immune to it. After all, you weren't here to be dazzled by a driver; you were here to perform as best as possible.

Still, there was something about his energy that made him hard to ignore.

Friday morning was spent poring over practice session data. By the time the clock struck noon, you were desperate for a break. Slipping away from the chaos, you found a quiet corner of the hospitality area. The cool breeze and a cup of coffee were all you needed to reset your mind.

But, of course, that peace was short-lived.

"Found you," came a smooth voice from behind.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Franco had a knack for making his presence known.

"What do you want, Colapinto?" You asked, keeping your tone neutral as you sipped your coffee.

"Is that how you greet all our teammates?" He teased, sliding into the chair across from you.

He didn't wait for an invitation, naturally.

"I'm not sure we're teammates," you countered, setting your cup down. "You're here to drive; I'm here to strategize."

"Semantics," he said with a shrug. "We're both here for the same goal, aren't we?"

His casual confidence was maddening, but you refused to let it get under your skin.

"Did you need something, or are you just here to disrupt my break?"

He grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better. You seem... interesting."

"Interesting?" You echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's vague."

"Charming, sharp, beautiful. Should I go on?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. "But if it doesn't, I'll just have to try harder."

It was infuriating how effortlessly he pushed your buttons. And yet, you couldn't deny the thrill of it.

If he wanted to play this game, you'd make sure you won.

Careful, Franco," you said, letting your fingers brush over his arm as you stood. "You don't want to bite off more than you can chew."

His breath hitched just barely—a subtle reaction, but one you didn't miss. He tilted his head, smirking as he leaned back in his chair.

"I think I can handle it."

"Good luck, then," you said, walking away before he could respond.

---

The day went on, and you managed to avoid Franco for the most part. But by the time the evening rolled around, you found yourself thinking about your brief encounter.

He was charming, funny, and annoyingly attractive. And yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that getting involved with him was a bad idea. He was a temporary replacement, after all. What was the point in letting yourself get tangled up in something that might not last?

But Franco wasn't the type to give up easily.

---

Saturday morning brought more practice sessions and strategy meetings. You were buried in data when Franco strolled into the engineering office, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"You look busy," he said, leaning casually against the desk.

"I am," you replied without looking up.

"Maybe I can help," he offered, his tone playful.

"Unless you've suddenly become an expert in race strategy, I doubt it."

"I might surprise you," he said, stepping closer.

You glance up at him, your lips curving into a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure you're full of surprises."

His eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. Then, just as quickly, you returned your focus to the laptop in front of you, leaving him standing there.

But Franco wasn't one to be ignored. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

"You know, if you keep teasing me like this, I might start to think you enjoy it."

You turned to face him, your faces inches apart.

"And if I do?"

His grin widened. "Then I'd say we're going to have a lot of fun."

With that, he straightened up and walked away, leaving you to wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

---

A few hours later, the buzz of post-qualifying energy filled the air as team members analyzed data and discussed strategies for the race.

The car had shown steady performance, and Franco had managed to secure P13—a good result considering the car's limitations this season and his inexperience with it all.

You sat in the corner of the engineering office, reviewing telemetry and tire degradation patterns when the door swung open, revealing Franco. His white racing suit clung to him, the logos proudly displayed on his chest. His hair was damp, slightly tousled from the helmet, and a faint sheen of sweat made him look effortlessly rugged.

"P13," he announced with a grin, his voice bright as he strode into the room. "Not bad for the new guy, huh?"

You glance up from your screen and nodded.

"Not bad at all. You might even be worth keeping around."

His grin widened as he leaned against the desk beside you.

"High praise coming from you. I was beginning to think I'd never win you over."

"You still haven't," you said, letting your lips curve into a smirk. "But you're off to a decent start."

He chuckled, his dark eyes locked on yours.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

As the room cleared out, people heading off to dinner or more meetings, Franco lingered. His teasing continued, lighthearted at first, but his words grew bolder with each exchange.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I think you like having me around more than you let on."

"And why would you think that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're still here talking to me instead of running off like everyone else," he said, his tone smug. "Admit it—you’re intrigued."

You leaned back in your chair, studying him.

"Intrigued? Maybe, impressed? Not quite."

His laugh was soft, and he leaned in closer, his arms crossed as he rested them on the desk.

"You're tough to crack, you know that?"

"Maybe you're just not trying hard enough," you shot back, your tone playful.

Beneath the table, an idea crossed your mind.

Without a word, you let your foot drift toward him. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged the tip of your shoe along his calf. You felt him tense ever so slightly, his smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before.

His eyes darkened, but he played it cool.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play?" he murmured.

You didn't respond, instead letting your foot continue its slow journey up his leg, brushing over his knee and toward his thigh. His breathing quickened, though he did his best to hide it. When your foot reached just beneath the edge of his suit, you stopped, withdrawing just enough to leave him wanting more.

"You were saying?" you asked, your voice innocent.

He cleared his throat, his grin never fading.

"I think you're enjoying this even more than I am."

You tilted your head, feigning indifference.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"How about we find out?"

Your heart skipped, but you kept your composure.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Meet me later," he said, his words deliberate. "My motorhome."

For a moment, you let the suggestion hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. Then, with a coy smile, you leaned back in your chair.

"We'll see."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood. In one swift motion, he unzipped his suit just enough to grant you a glimpse of the blue fireproofs beneath.

"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

"Only if you're lucky," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, you exhaled deeply, your mind racing. You didn't want to admit it, but the thought of meeting him sent a thrill through you that was impossible to ignore.

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside Franco's motorhome, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. Your heart was pounding. Was this the right decision? Yet, something about him—his charm, his confidence, his maddening ability to make you second-guess everything—had drawn you here.

You knocked, the sound feeling louder than it should in the quiet paddock. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was.

Franco stood in the doorway, still in his racing gear, the upper half loosely hanging down around his waist. The tight blue Nomex undershirt clung to his chest and arms, highlighting every contour. His hair was still slightly damp, and his grin was as infuriatingly cocky as ever.

"You came," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice laced with amusement.

"You invited me," you replied, your tone light but guarded.

"And I didn't think you'd actually show up," he admitted, stepping aside to let you in. "Come on, make yourself comfortable."

You hesitated for only a second before stepping into the motorhome. It was cozy, the space designed for function but with enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in. A small table and couch sat to one side, a kitchenette on the other. The faint scent of something fresh—maybe soap—lingered in the air.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you turned to find Franco watching you, his arms crossed and that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not bad," you said, glancing around. "I expected it to be messier."

He chuckled, stepping closer.

"What can I say? I like to keep things in order. Well, most things."

You raised an eyebrow. "And the things you don't?"

"Those tend to be more fun," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken again.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

"And you're impossible to ignore," he countered, closing the distance between you.

The teasing back-and-forth began almost immediately. His fingers brushed against your back as he passed you, a casual touch that sent shivers down your spine.

You retaliated by letting your hand linger on his arm, tracing the toned muscle beneath the fabric. His grin only widened.

"You're not making this easy," he said, his voice low.

"Good," you replied, leaning against the small table. "I wouldn't want to."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours as he rested his hands on either side of you, caging you in without actually touching you.

"You're going to drive me insane," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Maybe that's the point."

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Slowly, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. Your heart raced, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your back again, this time more deliberate, more lingering.

You let your hand slide up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. Your fingers drifted to his shoulders, then down his arms, before finally brushing over his thigh.

His breath hitched, his composure faltering ever so slightly, and you knew you had him.

But just as his lips were about to meet yours, you pulled away, stepping aside with a teasing smile.

"Not so fast," you said, your voice light and playful.

His eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"You're cruel, you know that?"

"Am I?" You ask innocently, though the gleam in your eyes betrayed you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mingled with amusement.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You shrugged, moving toward the couch and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other.

"Maybe. But you'll enjoy every second of it."

Franco stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, as if deciding whether to let you win this round. Finally, he let out a breath, his smirk returning.

"You're trouble," he said, joining you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. "And I like it."

You lean closer, your voice a whisper.

"You have no idea."

The air between you felt electric, the tension thick as you leaned in just enough to close the distance without actually touching him.

Franco stayed still, watching you with a mix of amusement and anticipation. His restraint was admirable, but you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes.

He knew you were playing with him, and yet he let you—whether it was curiosity, confidence, or sheer temptation, you couldn't tell.

You let your hands roam over his chest, your fingers trailing along the lines of his toned muscles beneath the fabric of his Nomex shirt. His breath grew shallow, his chest rising and falling in time with the slow, deliberate movements of your hands.

You lingered at his collarbone, letting your fingers drift upward to his neck, where you caressed the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the faintest hint of a stubble grazing your fingertips.

With your other hand, you let your fingers slide down to his thigh, brushing over the firm muscle just barely. The touch was light, teasing, a mere whisper of contact that made him shift slightly under your hand.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just watched you, his gaze dark and intense, as if daring you to push him further.

"You're quiet," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw.

"You're in control," he replied, his voice rougher than usual, a low hum that sent a thrill down your spine. "For now."

The confidence in his tone made you smirk.

You let your fingers on his thigh press down a little more, moving in slow circles that barely grazed where you knew he wanted them. He shifted again, his composure slipping just enough to make your teasing worth it.

"Franco," you murmured, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his ear. "You're enjoying this too much."

He chuckled, the sound soft but strained.

"You don't know half of it."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still exploring his jawline while your other hand continued its slow, deliberate movements on his thigh.

His eyes were locked on yours, his restraint remarkable given the circumstances.

It was a game now—one you weren't sure either of you wanted to win.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was soft but purposeful. He hesitated yet gave in, his hand moving to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, his restraint giving way to the desire he'd been holding back.

The moment felt charged, every touch, every movement heightened by the tension that had been building between you.

Your hand on his thigh moved slightly, your fingers brushing against him just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from him.

You smiled against his lips, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted. You let your touch linger, a faint stroke that sent a shiver through him.

When you finally pull back, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath shallow as he looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

"Was that what you wanted?" you asked, your voice low, teasing.

He smirked, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"It's a start."

Your fingers, still on his thigh, pressed down a little more deliberately, tracing slow, deliberate circles over the firm muscle. He tensed beneath your touch, his breath hitching just barely, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, a challenge glinting in the dark depths.

"Patience," you murmured, letting your fingers drift a little higher, teasingly brushing along the edge of where he wanted them most.

His jaw tightened, and you could feel the restraint it took for him to let you lead, to let you play this game.

"You're relentless," he whispered, his voice rough and low.

"Only because it's fun," you replied, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

You leaned in again, letting your lips hover just over his, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against yours. At the same time, you let your fingers slide up his thigh once more, giving him the faintest, gentlest squeeze.

His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and you couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice tight, his control fraying at the edges.

You didn't answer, instead letting your hand linger, your touch slow and deliberate as you felt the tension coiling in him, the way his body reacted to every subtle movement.

Your other hand moved back to his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the tight, slightly damp fabric of his shirt, before sliding upward to cup his jaw.

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and you took the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to his in another slow, lingering kiss.

This time, he didn't hold back.

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a hunger that made your heart race. His other hand cupped your face, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

But just as he was beginning to take control, you pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling away from his touch. Your fingers trailed down his chest one last time before sliding back to his thigh, giving him one final squeeze.

You smirked as his eyes opened, dark and heavy with frustration and need.

"So much trouble. You're impossible," he said, his voice husky.

"Maybe," you replied, standing up slowly, letting your fingers linger on his thigh until the last possible moment. "But you're still letting me win."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch.

At first, he exhaled and raised an arm, stroking the back of his head. The movement made his toned chest stand out even more, the fabric of his undershirt clinging to him as he stretched slightly, trying to shake off the tension you'd left behind.

"I'm letting you think you're winning."

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, watching him closely.

As he leaned back against the sofa, his head resting against the cushions, he let out a long, steadying breath. His hand moved almost instinctively to his chest, following the path your fingers had traced moments before.

His fingers slid over the fabric of his nomex shirt, pressing lightly against his chest as though trying to capture the sensations you'd left behind.

His other hand drifted lower, brushing over his stomach and coming to rest near the visible strain inside his suit. His bulge was unmistakable, the tension evident even through the tightly fitted material.

"Oh, is that what you're telling yourself?"

He smirked, the heat in his eyes unwavering.

"You'll see."

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as he let his hand hover over his bulge, his fingers flexing slightly.

It was as though he was chasing the lingering heat of your touch, replaying every teasing stroke, every deliberate squeeze in his mind.

The ghost of your fingers on his thigh, the press of your hand against his jaw, the softness of your lips—all of it hung in the air between you, even though you stood up.

He exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against the strain, his body responding to the memory of the game you'd just played. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Next time, I'll make sure to win."

You laughed, stepping toward the door.

"Goodnight, Franco."

Goodnight," he called after you, his voice rich with amusement. As you slipped out of the motorhome and into the cool night air, you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

This was a game you weren't sure either of you wanted to end.

#franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto smut #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 smut #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #franco colapinto x you

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kentoxo · 8 months ago

Text

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 3

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: another part out! it's a tad bit lengthy, so sorry about that! i also wanna apologize about how crazy the taglist looks (im so sorry). it wasnt letting me tag yall so i just spaced it out to make sure yall get alerted. if anyone has advise on how to fix that, pls let me know

all parts: pt.1, pt.2,

December | Tokyo, Japan | 4:45 A.M

It was finally Thursday, and you were spending your early morning tangoing with your vacuum.

Despite doing a deep clean yesterday after work, your paranoia was over the roof. Nanami’s visit consumed you like a parasite, with nothing relieving your nerves. Even the sun could not bear witness to your franticness as you long turned on all the lights and began your cleaning venture. You didn’t want to risk Nanami calling you a slob if he saw even one wrapper on the floor. Nanami was quite the meticulous man after all, his eyes containing radars for this kind of stuff.

As you began to dust your already dusted coffee table, you quickly grabbed your phone and dialed Haibara’s number. After a few rings, you hear a click and groaning sound. “Nnnmmm… who?” He barely whispers.

“Yu, get up!” You hiss. Haibara and you have long established your friendship, backing up your ability to drop honorifics. “I need your help, and now.”

“Y/N?” He groans out. You hear some shuffling before a long period of silence. You continue to clean while Haibara tries waking up again. “It’s not even 6… why?” Though his voice was deep and hoarse from exhaustion, he sounded nothing less than a child complaining about waking up early to go to school.

You huff, “don’t you remember? I texted you after work that Nanami is coming to my house today– in like an hour!”

“‘n why does this have to do with me?” His voice sounded scratchy from the speaker of the phone.

“What should I do? What kind of couches does he like? House smells?”

“Y/N, it’s too early for this,” Haibara says through a yawn. “You wouldn’t even be able to buy another couch, even if you wanted to. No furniture store is open at this time.”

You try to continue the conversation, but you were met with snores in response. Hanging up the phone, you let out a sigh. Nanami was coming over for work, not to criticize your home designing choices. You cover your face with your hands, feeling your cheeks tingle from embarrassment. “What am I doing?” You murmur to yourself. There truly was no need to be nervous. This was not a date.

Even so…

You spent the rest of your morning prior to your shift making sure you looked nice. You style your hair neatly, drape on a comfortable jumpsuit (despite Nanami’s comforting words in regards to you wearing pajamas during his visit), and begin working on coffee. You had managed to ask Tae (your newly hired corporate barista) for some instruction on how he makes Nanami’s favorite coffee. You certainly questioned the ingredients and methods, but you continued to follow the instructions. As you were pouring skimmed milk into black coffee, a gentle knock was heard at your front door.

Your heart threatened to escape against your chest. You quickly give yourself a look in your hallway mirror before rushing to the door. Shaky hands sheepishly unlock the door, introducing you to a Nanami you have never seen before.

Here he was before you, in a trenchcoat, black crewneck and black joggers. His eyes revealed his true exhaustion, with his under eyes slightly darker than usual. His hair was not parted from the side, but rather slicked back and wet as you assumed he showered before arriving at your place. True to the weather, his cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold. You saw him let out a relieving sigh when introduced to the warmth of your home.

“Goodmorning Y/N,” Nanami hums, his voice hoarse from not being 100% awake. His hands were loaded with his briefcase and a big bag. Judging from the smell, it was the breakfast that Nanami promised he’d buy.

Your mouth felt dry in awe, “good morning to you as well, Nanami. Let me take your coat for you.”

“Ah, I’d hate to get your hands cold,” Nanami waives your offer. He puts down his things gently, being mindful of the breakfast. He begins to strip off his coat, and carefully hangs it on the rack by the door. “It’s unforgiving out there.”

There were snowflakes on his eyelashes, “is it snowing hard out there? I haven’t pulled the curtains yet.”

Nanami smiles and nods, giving his head a little shake to remove the remaining snow from his head, “I’m glad I didn’t invite you to my house instead. Otherwise, you’d be freezing like me.”

You burn up, and quickly gesture to the slippers on the floor. “P-please feel free to get comfortable in the living room! I have the heat in there.”

He bows curtly, “thank you for having me.” You watch as the tall man walks towards your living room, taking a seat on the bigger of the two couches. You rush into your room and retrieve two blankets. Joining Nanami in the living room, you offer him your warmest quilt.

“This’ll keep you warm while you’re here,” you hum. Nanami takes your offer and spreads the blanket over his legs. You see him shiver a bit before getting cozy in the blanket.

“You’re too kind of a host,” Nanami expresses his gratitude once more. He then eyes around before chuckling, “ah, I left our breakfast and my laptop at the front–”

“I’ll get it!” You jump at your words, quickly retrieving the items. You pass him his briefcase, and take the breakfast to your kitchen counter. “I wrote my wifi password on the table, please feel free to connect to it. A-and…”

You walk over to your coffee maker, and lift up the mug of coffee you prepared for him. You carefully hold it with two hands, making a slow walk towards Nanami. He quickly understands, and raises his hands as high and close to yours as possible while remaining seated on the couch. Cold fingertips brush against your knuckles. He holds it delicately, his eyes narrowing down at the froth at the top. “Is this…?”

“Your favorite coffee,” you say quietly. You look away shyly, hoping he didn’t see your nerves in your face. “I asked our recently hired barista how he usually makes your cup of coffee when I went to offer him the position. And so… yeah.” You shuffle in your place, waiting for Nanami to take a sip. But your nerves get to you first and stab at your calm facade, “andifyoudon’tlikeit,I’llbuyonefromoutside–”

Nanami takes a big swig from the hot brew, his Adams Apple protruding his throat from each gulp. A drip of coffee decorates his bottom lip, threatening to either drop on his pants, or begin its slide down his chin. He puts the mug down on one of the coasters of the coffee table and drags his sleeved wrist against his lips. “Y/N,” he emits slowly. “That was… very delicious.”

You could melt right then and there. “R-really?” You felt the bubbles in your words. You were practically floating like one! His reassuring smile made your heart skip several beats. “I would never, ever judge you, but I didn’t realize that fig could work with coffee.”

Nanami smiles warmly, his eyes wistful with nostalgia. He takes out his laptop and turns it on, rubbing the mousepad aimlessly with the tip of his index. “I was addicted to sweets, if that surprises you,” Nanami recounts fondly. “My mom was frustrated, unable to really keep sweets away from me. She was too nice, and would submit whenever I asked for a candy bar at the market.”

You giggle a bit, your hand covering your lips to mask the smile you had. “It’s crazy to think that you, Nanami, would be a sugarhead.”

Nanami lets out a light chuckle, “surely, I like sweets every now and then. Just… in moderation. My mother was the catalyst for the dent in my sweet tooth. She stopped adding sugar in my tea. Rather, she would add half a fig into my cup, and pour the hot tea over it.”

From the memory, your body suddenly felt warm and cozy. Imagining the combination of a fresh fig with green tea being poured over it… it was quite soothing. “It sounds like she was a lovely mother,” you hum. Your smile widened when seeing Nanami’s hazel eyes warm from the recollection. “What made you decide to add fig into your coffee instead?”

Nanami shrugged, “nostalgia, I suppose. It doesn’t offer the coffee much of a sweetener, but you can definitely taste it. I suppose the memory is what makes it sweet.”

You were floating. Being able to speak to Nanami like this– it felt like everything. You two don’t hang outside of work, besides holiday parties or work trips. Even then, all these activities are imbued with your job. Although Nanami was in your house to work with you, it felt different. The two of you can speak freely without eyes constantly flickering to you. As you were lost in your thoughts, Nanami cleared his throat.

“Please feel free to clock in and start eating,” Nanami hums. He adjusts the blanket to cover his feet. “Today's work isn’t too crazy, and I’d rather you feel full and awake.”

You take kindly to his consideration and return to the kitchen. You take a platter plate and begin to unload the bag of breakfast he picked up. You start taking out several breakfast sandwiches, your eyes wide at how many there were in that bag. “Nanami… how many did you get?” You exclaim, holding one sandwich in each hand. He looks over at you and smirks amusingly.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Nanami said, his smile still being tickled from your shock. “I just got one of everything.”

You smile from his smile, and begin to stack the individually stacked sandwiches on the platter. Leaving the one you want on the counter, you bring the sandwiches near him on the coffee table. You look down at his mug, the coffee-soaked half-fig sat in the center of it. “Would you like another cup?” You offer kindly.

His eyes meet yours, and after a pause, he nods slowly. You grab his mug and go over to the kitchen to prepare another cup. As you did, you decided to make two cups of his favorite coffee. The curiosity picked at you– you wanted to know what Nanami’s favorite coffee tastes like. As you prepared it, Nanami was tapping away at his computer. You tap on your phone to check the time, and realize you need to clock in now. Once you do that, you check your calendar and turn to look at Nanami.

“You have a meeting in 15 minutes with the head of Sales and Strategy,” you remind him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Nanami hums from your couch, “I got so into responding to emails, I definitely would have forgotten. So, thank you again.”

“Of course!” You chime. With both coffees done, you bring both of the mugs over to the coffee table and quickly go back to fetch your breakfast sandwich. You begin to strip the parchment paper from the sandwich and begin to eat it in the kitchen, with a few crumbs falling on the granite top. You walk over to the smaller sofa and set down your breakfast sandwich. You grab your own laptop from the drawer underneath the coffee table and begin to boot it up.

You ate while waiting, enjoying the crisp bacon and cheddar cheese in the sandwich. Nanami looks over at you while you quietly dance to yourself. “I assume it’s good?” He begins, a small curve at the end of his lips. Cheeks warm from his words, and you nod while chewing on your bite. He leans over and brings his hand to your face. You froze while you felt his thumb gently rub your chin of all the crumbs you accrued as you ate. “Ah, m’sorry,” Nanami quickly retracts his hand, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m really sorry if that made you uncomfortable, Y/N.”

“Ah, it’s okay!” You quickly waive his concerns, “you were just trying to help is all. I appreciate it…”

Silence ensues between the two of you. But Nanami stopped typing once more to comment on the two mugs. “Did you make yourself a cup of coffee as well? It doesn’t look like what you usually get.”

You shook your head, “it’s a bit too cold for iced coffee. Plus, I wanted to try your coffee and see what the hype is all about.”

He smiles sheepishly, “you might not care for it much. It’s a bit too bitter.”

You shrug, “I’m still curious.” And that same curiosity bit you in the ass. You carefully lift the mug and take a sip, the taste of hot, acrid coffee tormenting your tongue. Quickly placing the mug down, you give Nanami the stink eye. “You… are very brave,” you let out as you take another bite of your sandwich.

Nanami lets out a genuine laugh, “it isn’t for everyone, truly. But it warms my heart that you were willing to try it.”

You look over at him, noticing the wistfulness of his eyes. It was worth it, albeit the foul taste. “It tasted much sweeter in my head when you talked about it,” you softly hum. “I’ll… continue to enjoy it vicariously through you.”

“You’re good with not being mean, Y/N,” Nanami says through another gentle laugh, “I envy that about you a bit.” It was like he was shooting arrows directly at your heart. “A-ah, there’s no need to make everything a bad thing,” you let out nervously. You begin to log into your computer, “just because it’s not for me, doesn’t mean I should make you feel bad.” Nanami agrees with a nod, “you’re absolutely right.” He shifts a bit to get more comfortable in his seat, and looks down to make sure his feet are really covered. When he does, his eyes saunter towards the spare slippers you lent him. “Ah, Y/N, I hope I’m not intruding in you and your partner's space.”

Where did that come from? “Hm?” You eye him curiously.

He points down to the slippers, “these slippers are much bigger than your own.”

“I like to keep a pair for when I have visitors like yourself,” you reason, “but you are absolutely not intruding. I’m… very single.” It felt a bit embarrassing to admit that to your crush, but what can you do? You didn’t want him thinking you were taken when you were readily (hopefully) available for him.

“I see,” he comments quietly. Keeping his eyes glued to his computer, Nanami continues, “I apologize for even bringing up something sensitive like this.”

You shake your hand, “it’s completely fine! Honestly, I don’t mind at all.” Fiddling with your thumbs, you look over shyly at your boss, “I’m like an open book so… whatever you are curious about, I don’t mind sharing with you. I trust you… quite a lot, Nanami,” you admit, your face completely hot.

“And I you, Y/N,” Nanami peels his eyes from his screen to meet your own. “You’ve been nothing but an asset since your transfer, and I couldn’t be more satisfied with your work ethic and capabilities.”

You look down at your lap, with your hands finding solace on your knees. “Thank you very much,” you reply humbly, “but I wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t under your guidance. I feel like I’ve progressed much faster within the company since becoming your assistant. I don’t say this quite enough, but… I’m very grateful to you, Nanami.”

“You might sway me with your flattery, Y/N,” Nanami teases, “your words are so soft, it feels like you’re confessing.”

“A-ah?” You exclaim nervously. You knew he was messing around, but it almost feels like… “d-don’t get the wrong idea! I just respect you a lot, is all… nothing more!”

Hazel eyes narrow down at your face, and Nanami lets out a sigh of relief. He hovers his hand over his chest, closing his eyes in bliss. “That’s actually quite relieving to hear,” Nanami hums. Relieving?

“Hm?” You asked, “what do you mean?” What were you missing?

“Ah no,” Nanami begins to smile again, “I had caught wind of a rumor that I was gullible enough to believe a bit. It made it quite nervous, truth be told. But you’ve now confirmed that it was nothing more than a silly rumor.”

“A rumor?” You felt your body go cold.

Nanami nods, while replying to emails once again, “I overheard some of our coworkers rumor mongering. Along the lines of you having feelings towards me beyond friendly ones. But I’m glad it turned out to be false.”

Fingertips felt like ice, and your heart transformed into glass. It shattered moments after Nanami’s words. Everything that you adored about this man was quickly turning ugly. The idealization of your boss was crumbling, with your feelings following suit. This confirmed that your crush wasn’t light– it was deep and sincere. He broke your heart while head on with your adoration. Haibara’s warnings begin to taunt your mind while your sane mind tries to tend to your heart.

You didn’t even get the chance to confess.

He practically threw away all of your efforts. Every time you would get him coffee so he didn’t have to get it himself. Keeping the staff in check constantly so he needn’t ever worry about the progress of the department. Always organizing all of his meetings and attending to things that were considered miniscule to him. Getting the new barista hired so he could enjoy his beloved coffee within the office. Memorizing all the goods that trigger his childhood sweet tooth.

Your throat felt tight, with your chest feeling even tighter. Tears were threatening to gloss your eyes, with the power in your hands going weak. Your body was ready to go numb, and you wished nothing more than to ask Nanami to leave your home. But work just started, and you couldn’t just kick him out in the middle of his shift.

Your feelings were hurt, but you couldn’t afford being unprofessional. You nod, “just a silly rumor.”

You put down the breakfast sandwich, as a wave of nausea quickly entered your system. You grab your mug of coffee and your laptop. Rushing over to the kitchen, you toss out the remainder of the bitter coffee and begin to make your way to your bedroom. Nanami caught light of your stride and looked up at you, eyes asking where you were off to.

“I have a meeting as well,” you force out, “it’s confidential.”

“Ah, right,” Nanami accepts. “I understand. Take your time, and good luck.” He looks back at his laptop, not missing a single beat when returning to his emails.

With that lie, you close the door behind you, run into your closet, and allow your tears to pour out. Drops spill onto your keys, but you didn’t care. Helpless hands wipe away your tears, only to find futility in its efforts. In your silent woe, you let out your own sigh of relief, despite your pain-filled cry.

You no longer had to torture yourself with the what-if’s. You no longer had to wonder what it would be like to be Nanami’s girlfriend. Your crush was at the end of its road.

With a struggle (through tearful lenses), you take out your phone, scroll through your messages and tap on Haibara's name.

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