#What a fuckin fic it wanted me dead

[banannabethchase]

Yuta really only wants one thing in life. He's pretty sure it's impossible. How unexpected it is, then, that his two boyfriends orchestrate it for him.

~

For @sarahcakes613 A super late birthday gift for the incomparable Sarah <3 Love you dear! I hope your birthday month is magical!

Also this fic tried to kill me.

~

Yuta is in the middle of packing up his gear when Claudio presses up along his back.

“There’s my sunshine,” Claudio murmurs, lips to Yuta’s ear. “My winner.”

“We are in literal public,” Yuta laughs, reaching back to rest a hand on Claudio’s hip. “Like, I appreciate it and all, but Caster and Bowens are staring.” He nods over to the Acclaimed, who are scissoring each other and making weird little kissy noises.

“Let them look,” Claudio replies. He kisses Yuta’s neck.

Yuta would do anything to stay in this moment, but he’s already running a little late for his flight. “I can’t, Swiss,” Yuta says. It’s miserable, but Yuta turns around and steps away. “Remember?”

Claudio’s face darkens, just the tiniest bit. “Right. Of course.” He nods. “Eddie.”

Yuta exhales. He won’t feel guilty. He won’t. “My flight leaves in an hour and a half, so I’m already behind.” He chances a look into Claudio’s dark eyes. He sees no anger there, no frustration. But there is something he can’t quite figure out. “I’ll miss you.”

“What would you say,” Claudio begins, so slowly it’s like he’s choosing each word individually, “if I asked to join?”

It takes Yuta second to process what’s been said. “I would ask if you forgot that this is Eddie we’re talking about.”

Claudio nods. “I can understand if it would make you uncomfortable.”

“It wouldn’t make me uncomfortable,” Yuta says. He’s suddenly flooded with images of what could be done when it’s both of his lovers in one room, when Claudio and Eddie are able to put aside their differences for one night. For him.

It’s a wish he’s had before. It’s a wish that’s too good to be true.

“Oh,” Claudio says. His smile is soft and sweet. “What do you think your Eddie would say?”

“Eddie would come at you with brass knuckles,” Yuta deadpans. “You know that. I know that. I don’t even know why we’re entertaining this line of conversation.” He reaches up to touch Claudio’s face. “I love you for it, but I don’t think it’s – it’s not worth it.”

Claudio frowns. “It sounds as if you’re saying you aren’t worth it. I need you to know you are.”

“It’s not that -”

“Go to the airport, my love.” Claudio leans in and kisses Yuta on the forehead. “I’ll work this out for you.”

He’s halfway out of the venue when he hears a familiar set of footsteps.

“Aw, Yoots is off to hang out with one of his boyfriends.” Mox grins at him, and Yuta has to slap his hand away before he grabs his cheek and pinches. Dickhead. “Really getting around, kid. Proud of you.”

“Aren’t you literally fucking half of the Elite right now?” Yuta asks.

Mox’s grin goes devious. “Wouldn’t you like to know. And it’s three quarters.”

“Ew,” Yuta mumbles. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He makes his way down the hallway. “Keep an eye on Claudio, okay? I don’t want him to be…” Yuta trails off. “I mean, I’m going to see Eddie.”

Mox claps him on the shoulder and falls in step next to him. “He’ll be okay, Yoots. He said he had something he had to take care of earlier, so he might be busy and distracted.”

“Don’t make it sound like he won’t miss me,” Yuta says, and he’s only slightly pouting as he requests the Lyft.

“He’ll miss you,” Mox says, “but you’ll be getting railed by Eddie, so I’m not sure why you’re too worried about what Claudio thinks.”

Yuta looks up to see Mox doing something that’s probably supposed to be a wink. “Go get a blowjob from an EVP.”

Mox’s grin goes dopey. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Yuta makes his way to the airport and texts Eddie in the Lyft.

[10:23pm]

Hey King on my way to the airport. Flight leaves at 11:55. See you in the morning <3

[10:25pm]

See ya soon baby

Yuta makes it through security seamlessly, and spends the five hours on the plane asleep.

~

He yawns his way off the plane, the sleep technical but not great quality, and practically stumbles out into the New York sun.

“Jesus, it’s bright here,” he mumbles. He’s still squinting as he fumbles with his ringing phone. “Eddie? Hi!”

“Hey, punkin,” Eddie says, “got Ma’s car, comin’ to get you. What are you wearing?”

“A little early to be hitting on me.”

“You know what I mean.” Eddie’s laugh makes Yuta feel warm and cozy. Safe. “Gotta know what my boy’s got on so I don’t accidentally pick up another cute twink.”

“I’m not a twink anymore!” Yuta laughs. “Jesus. And I’m wearing a black hoodie and black sweatpants. Perv.”

“Aw, baby, you know I like you best when you ain’t wearin’ anything. GPS says ten minutes. I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie hangs up and Yuta checks his phone to see Claudio’s message.

[8:38am]

Going to bed now, love. Fly well and I’ll see you soon.

Yuta replies back letting Claudio know he’s landed safely in New York, and doesn’t expect an answer for a while. Claudio had stayed in Seattle overnight for the show and is probably still out cold.

Yuta fidgets a little while he waits for Eddie, yawning, but he finds a sudden burst of energy when he sees Eddie’s mom’s beat up SUV swing around the corner. He watches as Eddie goes from purely angry to elated when he sees Yuta, his smile beautiful.

Yuta feels unbelievably loved.

“Hey, punkin!” Eddie yells as Yuta swings open the door. “How are you?”

Yuta moves to answer, but he yawns. “Tired. Plane sleep doesn’t count as real sleep.”

Eddie searches his face for a moment. “Yeah, you’re taking a nap when we get to my place. Ma can wait. She’s planning on making a big ass dinner for us, very meet-the-parents of her.”

“I’m – I’m meeting your mom?” Yuta hits his head as he slides into the car, and pretends it didn’t hurt. “You could have warned me so I didn’t pack all BCC shirts and soccer jerseys.”

Eddie leans over to kiss him, hand under his chin in a way that makes Yuta’s knees go a little wobbly. “How ‘bout you just dress up the way I like and don’t worry so much,” he murmurs against Yuta’s lips.

A whistle blows, louder than necessary, and Yuta jumps as he buckles himself in frantically.

“Yeah, yeah, let me live, you prick,” Eddie snaps.

“Dude, the window is open,” Yuta chuckles.

Eddie raises a perfectly shaved eyebrow at him. “You think I give a shit, baby?”

Yuta alternates between laughing and yawning on the drive home, warmth spreading across where Eddie’s hand rests on his thigh, and he’s almost dozed off by the time Eddie pulls into a tiny driveway next to a tiny house. Yuta’s never said it out loud, but he’s starting to think of it as home.

“Go take a nap, punkin,” Eddie says once Yuta’s blearily stumbled his way into the cozy home and dropped his stuff. “Borrow a shirt if you need one. I’m gonna go drop my car off to Ma and I’ll be back before you know it.”

He leans over and kisses Yuta enough that it makes Yuta dizzy. It gives Eddie the chance to steer him by the hips and shove him into bed.

“Cheater,” Yuta says, rolling over into the pillow that smells like Eddie. “You know my brain shuts off when you kiss me.”

“Go to bed, Yoots, I’ll see you in a few.”

Yuta toes off his sneakers and chucks his jacket across the room. It lands on top of Eddie’s big chair. Yuta feels himself blush pink at the memory of what they recently used that chair for. He’s tempted to roll out of bed and get naked, go for some sexy pose so that Eddie walks in and devours him.

But then his eyes close and falls off to sleep before he realizes it.

~

“Hey, sleepy,” Eddie says. Yuta feels the bed dip. “You’re on my side of the bed. Get up.”

Yuta mumbles as he curls his arm around the pillow. And then the pillow shakes him off. He opens his eyes to see Eddie grinning down at him.

“Oh, you’re cuddly today?” Eddie teases. “Good. Keep that energy going.” He pats Yuta’s ass. “Come on, baby, up. I have something for you.”

Yuta rubs his eyes as he sits up, the world fading into focus. “Like, dinner?” he asks. “What time is it?”

“A little after noon,” Eddie says. Now that Yuta’s got a better look at him, he’s recognizing an unexpected hesitance. He’s never seen Eddie hesitant like that. “You ready to wake up and come into the living room?”

Yuta grins at him, stretching lazily. “We could stay here.”

“Uh,” Eddie laughs. “Nah, baby, I think you probably want to see what’s in the living room.”

Yuta pushes himself out of bed slowly. “Do I need to put on a nice shirt?” he asks, trying not to panic. “Is your mom out there?”

“No. And calm down.” Eddie reaches out and grabs Yuta’s hand. “Come with me.”

Yuta walks out of Eddie’s bedroom and – and he’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating

“Surprise, Sunshine.”

Yuta looks between Claudio on the couch, a cup of tea cradled in his hands, and Eddie, fiddling with his phone and anxiously looking from Yuta to the floor and back.

“Um,” Yuta says, trying to come up with something reasonable. He’s still half asleep. “What’s – what’s happening?”

“Sunshine,” Claudio says, smiling up at him. “Eddie and I have – have had a few conversations over the last few weeks.” He chances a glance to Eddie who nods.

“Yeah, we been talking,” Eddie says. He nods to Claudio. “This guy over here was worried he was causing – what was it?”

“Unnecessary friction,” Claudio offers. “After Supercard, I had time to reflect.”

“So did I, laid up in a hospital bed,” Eddie says. “Turns out Dilaudid makes me all weepy.”

Yuta narrows his eyes. “Is that why you called me crying from the hospital?” he fights a smile. “You were really cute.”

“Was not,” Eddie snaps, but he grins over at Yuta, and finally relaxes enough to settle into his chair. Yuta panics for a minute – usually he sits in Eddie’s lap in that chair, but also usually he snuggles up at Claudio’s side, so this is a lot of decision to make in forty seconds. He settles for perching at the edge of the coffee table, most of his weight still on his legs. “You can sit normally, Yoots. You don’t have to hover.”

Yuta sighs. He gets up, walks to the kitchen, grabs a chair and brings it back. “No,” he says, “this is already weird. You are not making me choose between the two of you.” He tries to be stern as he looks between his two…his two boyfriends. He can hear Mox laughing now. “What is going on?”

“Claud called me and asked if I could talk,��� Eddie says, shifting down in his seat. “I hung up on him.”

Yuta waits for what comes next, but Eddie’s silent. “That doesn’t explain any of this.”

“I called him back,” Claudio explains. “It’s been a while that I’ve wished to get this,” he pauses for a moment, eyes flickering to Eddie, “conflict over and done with. And, well. We both have something that matters a lot to us in common.” He looks up at Yuta, looks him dead in the eye. “Someone.”

Yuta fidgets, just a bit, in his chair. “So, what? Is this some sort of truce because you two both wanted to spend time with me this weekend?” He can’t explain the anger or frustration. He just knows it’s there. “This, like, split custody? It’s the kid’s graduation or something, so the two of you will be civil?” He stands up. “Do you two even realize how weird this is for me?”

“This is nothing like that,” Claudio says. He looks over at Eddie again. “Sunshine, you know where the – the problems between us started, yes?”

“Because the two of you are the most stubborn pricks I’ve ever met?” Yuta asks, leaning against Eddie’s fridge.

“That’s fair,” Eddie says. “Yeah, we’re stubborn. Claudio left for Florida, I took it personal, he didn’t think about me, and we decided to be assholes about it for, like, twenty years. And then you came along and fucked both of us up.” Eddie smiles. “In a good way, of course.”

“Last night, after you got in the Lyft, Eddie and I had a long conversation,” Claudio says. He sets down his tea and makes himself comfortable on the couch. “If either of us is to be good enough to be yours, we need to work through the absolute nonsense we have harmed each other with over the years. Otherwise, it will bleed over into you. And neither of us want that.”

Yuta relaxes, but only slightly. “So this is some therapy session?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Eddie says. He stretches out, hands folded behind his back. “It’s more that it’s all about you this weekend, baby. Whatever you want, and he and I,” he nods over to Claudio, “will make it happen.”

Yuta wants to ask more about the phone call, about what exactly went down, but he knows his two boyfriends well enough to know they’ll go into excessive detail or brush it off. “Whatever I want?” he asks. He moves back into the room and straddles the chair. He does his best to get as sweet as possible, a weakness for both Eddie and Claudio.

“Anything you can dream of, my prince,” Claudio says. His eyes are warm and sincere. It almost feels unfair for Yuta to drop what’s next.

“Okay,” Yuta says. “I’m gonna go take a shower, because I smell like airplane, and then what I want is for both of you to fuck me. Together.”

Claudio freezes and Eddie bursts into laughter.

“I told you!” Eddie says through chuckles. “I knew that’s what our boy would ask for!”

“Sunshine, I expected you to be at least a little less predictable,” Claudio says, rubbing a hand on the top of his head. “My goodness.”

Yuta rests his chin on his hands where they’re folded on the top of the chair. “You said you’d give me what I want. That’s what I want.” He’s trying to call their bluff, is the thing. He’s not willing to start something like this, to have everything he’s every hoped for dangled in front of him, only for the two of them to freak out ten seconds into it and run off.

Yuta’s many things, but he’s not an optimist.

“Punkin, you go take a shower,” Eddie says, smiling at him. “And, when you come back, Swiss and I will be civil and kind to each other, and you’ll see we’re not fuckin’ around here.” To Yuta’s surprise, Eddie shoots a smile over to Claudio.

Yuta slowly stands, sure any move will startle one or both of the others as, but Claudio and Eddie just look at him, little smiles on their faces.

“You guys are being too regular about this,” Yuta says, slowly backing toward Eddie’s bathroom. “If I leave the shower and you two are covered in blood, I’m leaving.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like us covered in blood,” Eddie says, waving it off.

“I hate to agree, but you do have a thing for blood, Sunshine.”

Yuta flips them off as he turns for the shower.

~

Yuta’s scrubbing his hair with a towel as he walks back into the living room, expecting Claudio and Eddie at each other’s throats, only to see the two of them muttering under their breaths and staring at the TV.

“Um, hi,” Yuta says. No response. He cranes his head around to see the two of them in an intense Mario Kart battle. “Are you two gonna pay any attention to me?”

“Last lap,” Claudio says. “Hold on, Sunshine.”

Yuta, baffled, lowers himself slowly back into his chair. He watches as Eddie and Claudio continue muttering, leaning their whole bodies as they navigate around obstacles and turns.

“Is this normal?” Yuta finally has to ask. “Is this what I should expect from you two?”

“Yes,” they both say at the same time. Yuta’s beginning to feel a little unnecessary.

“Alright, well, if you two are busy playing video games, I’m going to go back to bed and get started by myself.” He tries to sigh as pathetically as possible, pulling in some of the boo-boo eyed energy Matt had been trying on him during the last couple of matches. None of it works.

Eddie looks over at him. “Watch this, baby.” He presses a button and Claudio yells something incomprehensible and probably German. Yuta moves to see a blue shell hit Claudio just before the finish line, then Eddie’s Bowser careens past him.

“And that’s how you do it!” Eddie says, dropping the controller back onto the coffee table. “Sorry, Claudio. You still can’t beat me at Mario Kart.”

“I could beat you at anything else,” Claudio mumbles, folding his arms over his chest. Yuta does note the tiniest of smiles, so that’s something. “Next time we will play Mario Party and I will decimate you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s smiling – really smiling – and Yuta doesn’t know what to do with that information. He folds his hands behind his head and reclines on the couch. “That’s not what that one episode of Da Party says.”

Claudio’s jaw drops. “You watch that?”

“I’m equally confused,” Yuta mumbles. He’s pretty sure he’s in some sort of alternate reality right now. “What – seriously, why are you two so chill about each other? You tried to kill each other back at Supercard and now you’re all normal.”

Eddie shrugs. “You come first.”

Claudio nods. “If it’s for you,” he looks over at Eddie, “some things are bigger than a grudge.”

Yuta is stuck between wanting to cry and wanting to propose to both of them at the same time. He settles for something in between.

“Alright,” he says. “Fine. In that case, you two are required to fuck me so good I can’t overthink this anymore. Deal?”

Claudio and Eddie exchange a look that has history behind it. Yuta wants to know the story, wants to curl up with it in bed and fall asleep to it, but there’s no time.

“As you wish, punkin,” Eddie says.

“Jesus, you and the Princess Bride –”

Yuta doesn’t get a chance to finish, as he’s pushed up against the wall by Eddie, head spinning as he’s kissed so hard his brain fogs up.

“That’s it, Sunshine,” Claudio murmurs in his ear. “Lean into it. You look so beautiful.”

The combination of Eddie’s lips and hands with Claudio’s voice is destructive, taking Yuta apart joint by joint, until he’s spinning and the world around him turns blurry.

“Eddie, I think he may have forgotten how to breathe,” Claudio says. He sounds far away.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, pulling back. “Wheels, you good?”

Yuta manages to nod, sucking in air like a drowning man. “Yeah,” he gasps. “Just – this is weird. This is, like, every one of my sexual fantasies that don’t involve Zoe Saldana coming true at once.”

“Who?” Claudio asks, confused.

“She was in Star Trek, Avatar, those Marvel movies,” Eddie says. “Our boy’s a nerd, we already knew that.”

“Hey!”

“He’s not wrong, Wheeler,” Claudio laughs. “Let’s get you to a bed so we can really get you out of it, shall we?”

Yuta nods. Before he can process it, Eddie and Claudio have traded places and Claudio’s got him lifted up, like it’s nothing.

“So pretty,” Claudio says, walking Yuta to the bedroom. “Look at him, Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie says. He sounds fond. Yuta made him sound like that. “You’re beautiful, Wheels.”

Yuta beams at it, feels himself glow. He loses sight of whatever’s supposed to happen next, what he was planning on saying, because Claudio’s dropped him to the bed and yanked off his pants with one pull. He’s suddenly glad he decided to forego the tee shirt. He looks over to see Eddie settling in the chair. Yuta has fond memories of the things he’s done with Eddie in the chair, but it’s too far away right now.

“What would you like, Yuta,” Claudio says, leaning in to kiss Yuta’s neck. “Talk to us, love, it’s all about you.”

Yuta has to fight through a delicious fog to answer. “Both of you,” he mumbles. “I want – I want both of you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie says. He’s looking at Yuta reverently, concerned. Like Yuta could ever want him to stay away when he’s in Eddie’s bed.

Yuta nods. “I want both of you. Right here.” He closes his eyes again.

The bend shifts beside him and he can sense Eddie curling up next to him. “You have both of us,” he promises. “What else?”

“Your fingers,” Yuta says. “That – to start. And Claudio, I want you to kiss me again.” He opens his eyes to see Eddie and Claudio grinning at each other, like they already knew.

“We can do that, angel,” Claudio says.

“Wait,” Yuta says. Everyone freezes. “I first want you two naked. Like – no clothes allowed.”

Claudio pulls his shirt off of his head.

“Fuckin’ European demigod up in my fuckin’ bedroom,” Eddie mutters, but he follows suit. Yuta drinks them both in.

“Mine,” he mumbles, beaming up at Claudio and Eddie.

“Yours,” they both say at the same time.

Yuta giggles. “I could get used to that.”

Claudio kisses him, intentional and deep, while Eddie warms lube between his fingers and gently nudges Yuta’s legs open.

“Good?” Eddie asks.

Yuta breaks away from Claudio just long enough to say, “Yes, please.”

“So sweet,” Claudio laughs, pressing his lips to Yuta’s forehead.

Yuta buzzes with the praise as Eddie’s fingers trace his rim and Claudio dives back in to kiss him. It’s almost too much at once already, with Eddie and Claudio working together to make him feel good, and Yuta might fly up to Neptune before all of this is over.

“Good?” Eddie asks, sliding the first finger into Yuta’s body.

"God, yes, Daddy," Yuta moans, arching up against Eddie's fingers.

"Yes?" Claudio and Eddie say at the same time.

Yuta opens his eyes to see Claudio and Eddie staring at it each other. "Oh," Yuta chuckles. "That's awkward. I was talking to Eddie."

"You call him Daddy too?" Claudio asks. He's pouting. It looks ridiculous.

"It's 2023, you two. People can have two daddies."

"Yuta, I'm gonna need you to shut up now." Eddie nods at Claudio. “Swiss?"

"I've got an idea," Claudio says with the kind of grin that makes Yuta sparkle. “Sunshine, love, up you get.”

Yuta mumbles about it, annoyed, but he gets to his knees in front of Claudio. He leans in for a kiss. Claudio grants it, but then Yuta feels Eddie up against his back, and he’s reminded of how nearly impossible this moment is.

He doesn’t have time for Claudio’s ideas. “I – I want you to fuck me,” Yuta says.

“So here to do that, baby, but you gotta be a little more specific.” Eddie presses a kiss to Yuta’s shoulder. “What kind of fucking? And who?” He turns Yuta’s head and grins at him. “You want the big guy, you might need more than just one finger.”

Yuta lights up. “Oh. That’s true. I’m gonna need, like, at least two fingers.” He looks at both of them. “Do you get me?”

Claudio laughs. “Are you asking for us to work you open together, Sunshine?”

Yuta nods. “Yeah. If you wanna be really gay about it you can hold hands during.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing gayer than what we’re doing right now, baby, but we’ll try our best.”

Eddie lays Yuta down on the bed and slides his finger back in, easy as anything. Yuta pushes down on it, finally feeling like this may actually happen. That he’s not going to wake up in a few moments from the best dream he’s ever head.

“If I could, Eddie,” Claudio says.

Yuta opens his eyes to see Eddie and Claudio staring at him, almost hungry, next to each other, and it’s enough that his head nearly spins. “This feels like a dream,” he says as he watches Claudio pour the lube over his fingers. “Like, the best dream possible.”

“Good to know,” Eddie says. “Yo, Swiss, get over here before our boy starts getting desperate.”

“Starts?” Claudio mutters. Before Yuta can reply, he’s slid a finger into Yuta next to Eddie’s.

Yuta babbles out something incoherent even to his own ears. He takes a deep breath. “Oh, that’s – that’s perfect,” he says.

“So no more?” Eddie teases.

“Shut up and stop teasing me,” Yuta insists. “Another – please?”

“So sweet,” Claudio sighs.

Yuta closes his eyes and lets it happen. He doesn’t know whose fingers they are at this point, just that there’s eventually four of them and some are Claudio’s and some are Eddie’s and all of them are blowing his mind.

“Whattaya think, Swiss?” Eddie asks. “He ready for you?”

“I’d say so,” Claudio says. Yuta feels shimmery at them speaking to each other first, like they need to check in with each other as much as with Yuta. “Yuta, love, how are you doing?”

“Ready for you,” he mumbles, twisting on the fingers still working inside him. “C’mon, please?”

Eddie and Claudio laugh in tandem. “Well, I’m not gonna deny my punkin what he wants.” Eddie crawls up the bed and kisses Yuta. “You ready, baby?”

Yuta nods, lifting his legs to hook them around Claudio’s hips. “Yeah, please Claudio.” He sighs as he feels the blunt head of Claudio’s cock at his hole. “Fuck, yes.”

“Wow,” Eddie says, stroking Yuta’s face. “Never seen you so pretty from this angle before, Wheels.” He leans in and kisses Yuta’s face.

Eddie continues his praise as Claudio slowly presses in, the combination of Eddie’s soft touches and Claudio’s thick length blowing his mind.

“Is he doing alright, Eddie?” Claudio asks,

“I’m good,” Yuta whines. “So – move, so good.”

Claudio laughs as he buries himself so his hips are pressed up against Yuta’s ass. “Checking in with Eddie as well, dear.”

“Doing great, man,” Eddie says, his eyes still locked on Yuta’s. “Both of us.”

Claudio begins to move slowly, and Yuta’s eyes flutter closed again. He reaches out and grips Eddie’s arms.

“Kiss me,” Yuta demands. “Eddie, kiss me.”

“Yeah, yeah, little kiss addict,” Eddie laughs. But he kisses Yuta deep and unyielding, and Yuta leans into the feeling. He grips at Eddie’s back, holding on for dear life as he clenches around Claudio enough to make him swear.

“Oh, you swear now?” Eddie asks, pulling away from Yuta’s mouth. “That’s new.”

“I’ve always sworn,” Claudio says. Yuta looks up to see his teeth gritted, brow furrowed in concentration.

“In English,” Eddie clarifies. “You don’t usually swear in English.”

“What can I say,” Claudio says, driving back into Yuta with a push so intense Yuta thinks he feels it at the back of his teeth, “you two take me apart.”

Yuta has plans, and he’s not willing to ruin those plans just for the sake of coming early. He and Eddie kiss lazily as Claudio pushes into him, and Yuta lets it wash over him, loses all sense in the moment.

“Sunshine,” Claudio grunts, his thrusts growing quicker and more intense, “I have to be honest, I’m not sure I’m going – going to be lasting much longer seeing you and him like this.” He continues pounding into Yuta.

“That’s okay,” Yuta whines, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to answer. “I – I have, oh god, I have an idea.”

“Yeah?” Eddie says, grinning. “Tell us all about it, sweetheart. What do you want?”

“I want you to finish inside me,” Yuta mumbles to Claudio. “Then – then, Eddie, you fuck me next.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Really?”

Yuta nods, clenching down on Claudio’s cock. “Yeah, come on. Want both of you to fuck me tonight.” He opens his eyes and looks between the two of them. “Daddy.”

Claudio goes a little wild with it, like he always does at this point. Yuta feels the moment when he loses control, the way he comes inside of him with a growl and a grip on Yuta’s hips so tight it’ll leave bruises, and Yuta sighs with it. His cock aches with the lack of attention, but it’s worth it to get what he wants.

“God, you still look fuckin’ great,” Eddie laughs. Yuta looks to see Eddie gazing at Claudio with something a little close to the way he looks at Yuta. “You good, Swiss?”

“Incredible,” Claudio replies. He lowers Yuta’s legs slowly and pulls out, causing Yuta to whine involuntarily.

“Oh, calm down, punkin, you’ll be nice and filled in just a second.” Eddie winks at him. “Daddy’ll fill you right up, don’t you worry.”

Yuta beams up at him. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Claudio slides next to Yuta’s other side while Eddie grabs his legs and draws him down to the bottom of the bed. Yuta blinks at him.

“Can’t risk fuckin’ up my surgery,” Eddie says. “Leverage, you know? Work smarter, not harder.”

Yuta giggles.

“Is that a harder joke?” Claudio asks. “Quiet, Sunshine, you and your dick jokes will ruin my afterglow.”

“You ready, Wheels?” Eddie asks.

Yuta nods. “Yeah, Daddy, get in me.”

Claudio pouts again.

“You kiss me,” Yuta demands. He grins. “Daddy.”

“Much better,” Claudio says, and he dives in and kisses Yuta.

Yuta’s mouth goes slack as Eddie pushes in. He’s not as long as Claudio but thicker, and the stretch is heavenly.

“He okay, Swiss?”

Claudio’s already pulled away from Yuta’s mouth. “Wheeler? Are you good?”

“So good, don’t stop,” Yuta mumbles. “Get back here.” He reaches up and hauls Claudio back to his mouth, kissing him like his life depends on it. Eddie slides in and out of him so smoothly Yuta thinks he’s dying.

“Baby, I’m not gonna last long,” Eddie laughs. “Seeing – seeing you – fuck.”

Claudio slides his hand down to Yuta’s cock. “I have him, King,” Claudio says. “You’re good.”

Yuta nods. “You’re great.”

Eddie laughs and gets a little stronger with his thrusts. Claudio’s big hand around Yuta’s cock is almost impossible to handle. It’s so much in him and around him, almost too much, and Yuta thinks if he can’t have this more than once it may destroy him.

“Eddie,” he whimpers, “Eddie, please.”

“I got you,” Eddie grumbles. “I got you, baby.”

Yuta looks over at Claudio. “Harder?”

“Anything you want, Sunshine.”

Yuta comes like a train hits him, before he knows it, Claudio’s lips on his. He gasps, open mouthed, against Claudio’s mouth and can’t quite see all that well as the aftershocks course through his body. Eddie pushes in once, twice, a third time, and then he’s coming inside Yuta.

The three of them have to deflate a little before any words are going to happen. At least that’s how it is for Yuta. He’s not even sure if anyone else is talking at this point, only that the spinning in his head is finally starting to settle.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Eddie laughs. “Yuta, you okay?”

“So good,” Yuta mumbles. “Fuck. Holy shit. Dream night. Best night of my fuckin’ life.”

Claudio and Eddie laugh with him, and Eddie slowly pulls out of Yuta’s body, steadying him. “You good?”

“So good,” Yuta laughs. He feels a bit hysterical and chaotic right now, like the whole world is tilted on its side in the best possible way. “Holy shit. This was, like, every fantasy possible come true at once.”

“Well, not every,” Claudio says. “That Zoe lady wasn’t involved.”

“That’s fine,” Yuta says, snuggling himself between Eddie and Claudio. “Totally fine. If I can have this for the rest of my life, I don’t need anything else.”

Eddie laughs and nuzzles into Yuta’s neck. “I think we might be able to do that. Whattaya think, Swiss?”

Yuta looks over at Claudio. He’s smiling softly, and not just at Yuta. “I think we can, King. I think we can.”

~

Mini Playlist: Motivate - Little Mix Whatever You Like - Anya Marina Inside of You - Hoobastank 3 - Britney Spears

[femme-malewife]

It is so hilarious to me how people see me as cool and wise on the surface- literally telling me in anon that they’re too scared to talk to me

but Bean knows how much of a dumb pathetic and uncool person I am irl

[screampied]

Servant who is in love with Sukuna and he finally gives her a "taste" of himself, but then she cums quickly and without permission and gets punished to overstimulation 😭 drabble or fic I'd be very happy either way

❤︎ ໋𓈒 sukuna punishing his favorite servant

warnings. fem! reader, size kink, spit, cowgirl, impact play, degredation, mdni.

“hmph. woman. come here,” he’d say in a gruff voice, two simple words and he had you at your very mercy. as you trod your feet towards him, the last thing you expected was for sukuna to give you a kiss. the kiss was passionate with such roughness attached to it, you moaned before feeling the king’s hand wrap around your throat. he was always so handsy too, especially with you. sukuna was merely fooling around, yet as for you, you were deeply in love with him.

stupid, perhaps. but you craved his attention.

it’d be simplistic things like that, it always started with a kiss. a kiss that never failed to leave you speechlessly dumbfounded.

his taste, you were entirely obsessed with it. a sweetness that forever lingered off his tongue. you couldn’t describe it into words, but it was purely appetizing.

as of currently though, you’d be sat on his lap whilst he’s manspread on his throne. it was awfully quiet, just the two of you.

you’re hovering over his hardened length before breathing in a single breath. “sukuna,” you’d pout, and he’s just blankly staring at you coldly—an unreadable expression, although he found your consistent pouting to be oddly amusing. humans were so fascinating to him. “can i touch myself now?”

“little girl,” he tsks, a hand going around your hip. your breathing hitches from his touch before you’re just hovering barely over his leaky tip now. “it’s sir to you. and what did i tell you about asking stupid questions, hm?”

“but ‘kuna,” you’d frown, and he loathed hearing you have the audacity to shorten his name. he told you to address him as something otherwise, and you completely steered clear from it.

quite the brat you were.

stupid stupid stupid…

but he secretly loved it, only you could get away with something like that. anyone else with the balls would find themselves practically dead. perhaps sukuna has somewhat of a soft spot for his servant, but of course he’d never mention that to you, not in a million years.

“but nothing,” he snarls, and you moan once you start to slowly sink yourself down into his length. so thick, you already started to feel your salivating. sukuna brings a hand to grip your chin, and he makes you stare right into his eyes. “touching is deserved. you gotta deserve it, get it?”

“no,” you grumble, and he smirks.

“well boo hoo, too fuckin’ bad,” he speaks in a raspy tone, and his words alone were enough to have you sopping wet.

it was embarrassing, you were embarrassing…

you didn’t care though, your arms wrap around his neck before you start to gradually grind yourself against him. his shaft stood tall, and for a split second you could feel him pulsate the further he deepens himself into you. your walls grip him tightly like a vice, and it makes him poke a tongue into his hollow cheek.

“mhmm,” he groans, the utter feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole always gets to him.

forever entangled with your warmth, you spot his fangs poke out with his maw slightly opened and it’s cute. you could just about make out a dimple or two on the king’s face. “don’t look at me, move your hips ‘n make yourself u-useful.”

a stutter, you merely giggle but you didn’t wanna test your luck. at least not just yet.

cruel darkened irises stare into yours the entire time, and it takes a good moment until you’re finally in. it makes him gnaw on his lip at how warm you were from the inside. already soaked and ready for him, he leans further back against the material of his throne before grunting.

“…move,” he sighs, gifting your ass with a mean abrupt spank. “you wanted to ride me so ride me, girl.”

you quavered, feeling your cunt twitch and spasm all from the way he sank into you.

it was so lewd, you buried your face into his neck and he just rolls his eyes before an awkward hand pats your head.

“s-so biiiig,” you’d whimper out, and whilst he’s going even further by filling you full of such thick sultry inches, you whine. the feeling of being split in two with your wetness—your love cave that had him addicted made you let off the sweetest gasp. he’s resuming to bury himself into you, and the minute you create up a swift tempo—your knees were ready to just about buckle.

it’s entirely cute, you felt him twitch from the inside and you couldn’t help but slump further into his broad chest.

sukuna snickers at your … interesting durability so to speak.

all the way in and not even moments later—you were fairly worn out. just about. “awh. tapping out on me already i see?” he purrs in a sly tone, a teasing gesture of his hand runs down your back. “and you were so confident earlier too. oh, how disappointing..”

“n—no, i can take you,” you mumble with glossy lips, and his touch against your skin made you let off repetitive soft spoken moans. a thumb of his strokes against the corners of your waist as you rutted yourself back and forth. your rhythm was purely hypnotic, entirely so that it makes him groan for a bit.

his fat tip prods against your slick outer labia and it runs against your entrance. he likes to do a certain motion—pulling out, only to stuff you right back full, he wants you to feel it. feel him and all of his inches, his girth that consumes into your cunt. as he’s stuffing you so full, you can’t help but drool a bit. a bit as in a lot. sukuna’s eyes linger towards you for a long time before he grips your chin once more.

“can you really…?” he hums, and it’s as if he’s challenging you. “or are you just saying that?”

you glare and he only returns with a subtle smirk, he liked getting under your skin. it was his favorite pastime, irking those cute nerves of yours. from the inside, he couldn’t get over how soft you were. such warm walls hugging all around him so tightly, it felt natural. your sopping wet cunt grips against him time and time again—squelch after squelch that it sounds like a melodic harmony.

a lewd melodic harmony.

he watches as your lips part, and you’re struggling to conceal those moans. you whimper from each thrust that it’s got your thighs growing numb in no time.

“f-fuckkk,” you’d whine, feeling sukuna’s cock briefly pull back from your wet folds. whenever he did that, it felt so good…. too good. sukuna’s hefty base thwacked against you in the process too, on loop, a constant salacious repeat. it had you dizzy, you’re grinding and swiveling your hips at such a hectic pace that you can’t even stop yourself. your mouth felt dry, just being sweetly stretched over nothing but a mere squeezing muscle from the inside.

it’s so hot tempered, your warmth had him kissing his teeth in such arousal, such pleasure.

“sukunaaa,” you’d whine once his dick runs against the corners of your inner walls, all throughout your canal. he reaches everywhere, he’s lengthy too, so there’s not a single spot that he misses. he slides in and out, and his base was so fat and thick, so full that it just mimics your movements of being hit against. “i— i’m gonna,” and you abruptly get cut off with a rough kiss.

your moans slither its way into his mouth as your hands ran down his ripped chest, feeling against his tatted body. the battle scars that perfectly painted his broad figure like a canvas, you return the kiss before he precipitously pulls away. a glossed string of spit departs, and sukuna glares at you. “wait, girl.”

and it sounds more like a warning than anything.

his tone being hidden with such baritone underneath it, you were even more soaked. whenever he pitched his tone to show his dominance like that, his authority—you felt yourself pulse for the umpteenth time.

he tells you to wait, but instead you do the exact opposite.

you don’t even realize you came all on his cock until he’s greeting you with the most livid glare imaginable—still, sukuna grabs your hips before muttering. “did you just cum? and don’t lie to me, woman.”

if you aren’t twitching as much as you were before, you certainly were now. the air felt thick, and whilst you straddled him, you shyly reply with a mumbling, “…sorry.”

you don’t mean to giggle after that…

but you do—the soft smile that curls against your lips meets his gaze and sukuna suddenly makes himself pull out. “so funny, huh?” and you’re taken by surprise the moment he makes you part your legs. his right thigh goes between your legs from underneath and you moan once he spanks you. “some fuckin’ audacity you have. ain’t no one told you to finish,” and he grips your chin, giving it a squeeze. “look at me when i speak to you, woman.”

he was so close you could just kiss him. your lashes were half-lidded, and you were so drawn into him that you don’t even realize that he’s shoved two fingers into your cunt. you moaned at how easily it goes in. he swirls his digits inside just briefly, taking it out before bringing it towards your mouth. “open your mouth ‘n stick out your tongue, brat.”

you were amused, aroused too but surely amused.

without question, you loll out your tongue in front of him, only for sukuna to shove his fingers right down your throat. you moan at the candied taste of yourself, so sweet. he remains with a glare on his face as you lapped up his fingers clean, you weren’t supposed to be enjoying that.

“such a disobedient girl,” he huffs, and that’s when he pulls out his fingers, a sheen stringy coat of your own saliva dribbles down your chin before he smears it all over your mouth.

“since you wanna be a impatient whore, that’s all the taste you’ll be getting today. ‘m expecting a thank you, little girl. go on, i’ll wait.”

[angelsforthenight]

MRS. AND MRS. SMITH — abby anderson x fem!reader

ways you can help gaza 🇵🇸

do not buy tlou2 remastered!

a/n: this is way more inspired by the mr and mrs smith series (2024) not the 2005 one!!! this explains why they’re wives :3

you’re an assassin along with your assigned partner/wife, abby anderson. fed up with her toxic behaviour, you’re pleased when the mission is centred around you seducing a man for murderous motives. why? well, because you know it’ll get under abby’s skin. little did you know, things would blow over way more than you thought it would.

cw: mdni, owen feature🤮🤮, long fic, kinda slow-burn ig?, femme fatale, arranged marriage couple, kinda toxic relationship, violence, mention of blades, car sex, mean!abby, bratty!reader, dom!abby, degrading, bdsm, ass-smacking, finger-fucking, cursing, jealous!abby, hair pulling, dry-humping, finger-sucking, choking, rough sex, teasing, squirting.

“short brown hair, rugged beard. got that?” abby’s murmuring voice comes in from the earpiece you’ve got attached. you groan and roll your eyes, wishing you could mute the goddamn thing.

see, any other day, you would’ve loved to hear your wife’s pretty little voice guiding you — her praises when you’d do something right or her degrades if you’d do something wrong both sending shivers down your spine, compelling you to do whatever she wanted.

but not today. today you’re over it. so what do you respond with?

“yeah, i know, anderson. we both got the fucking brief.” you hiss. you know how pissed abby gets whenever you curse at her; so that’s exactly what you do. you relish at the thought of her gritting her teeth, not being able to snap at you in front of all of these people.

that’s right, you two are at a charity gala event. it’s fancy. too fancy to the point where it’s intimidating: glistening chandeliers, artistic decorations and bustling people wearing glamorous attire. you and abby needed to blend in with the crowd so not only are you two dressed smartly for the occasion but are also split up. not that you’re complaining. you’re sick of her. sick of her petulance whenever you’d get glorified by the agency instead of her, sick of how sometimes she can be so simple-minded, sick of how, at points, she lacks at making you feel loved.

your job is to take out an owen moore, for unforeseen reasons. you never question what the agency tells you to do, neither does abby.

you’re planning to lure him in an concealed area with your enticing charisma, make him believe you’re going to sleep with him before slicing him dead with your blade. you prowl through the many people, scanning the area with a keen eye to find him. claude debussy plays as background music, taming your harrowing nerves. killing is never easy.

“found him yet?” abby sighs.

“please don’t distract me.” there’s way too many people and it’s beginning to stress you out. what if you never find him? failing the mission is the last thing you wanna do.

“i’m getting bored. plus, small talk with strangers pisses me off.” she complains.

“not my goddamn problem.” you retort, the ends of your tight-fitting dress flailing against your legs as you pick up the pace, worrying if there’s not enough time, worrying if he’s even here in the first place.

“literally what is your problem? acting extra fuckin’ snobby tonight...”

your eyebrows knit together. abby always finds a way to get under your skin.

“let’s not fucking start—“ you’re about to snap and make yourself look like a fool in front of all of these people until somebody accidentally bumps into you: spilling his drink all over your dress. great!

“oh shit. sorry, i didn’t mean that.” you hear a man’s voice as you stare down at your ruined dress in disbelief. you slowly glance up at the culprit; only to find the noted brown hair and rugged beard staring right back at you. owen moore.

despite your worked up embarrassment and your extreme annoyance, you manage to flash a smile.

“it’s okay, but... you do realise you owe me now right?” you bat your eyelashes, hoping you don’t look silly.

“and what’s that?” owen chuckles, rubbing the back of his head and making immense eye contact. he’s already flirting back, you think. this is about to be so fucking easy.

with a few drinks, owen’s already tipsy and you’re leading him to the vast room. you make him believe you’re just as woozy; stumbling and giggling away. you take advantage of his obliviousness: your hand brushing against the slit of your dress, fingers cupping the wooden handle of the blade in the garter wrapped around your thigh. whilst he laughs and babbles nonsense, you carefully trace the edge of the blade — feelings of excitement rushing to the surface. regardless of the fact that killing is never easy, it’s also never not exhilarating.

you’re about to fully whip out the blade until owen decides to be bold: setting his slobbery hands against the small of your back and trying to lean in for a kiss.

“woah.” you feign a grin, pulling his hands away. “we go at my pace.”

“aww… please?” he mumbles, trying to seem like an adorable puppy but instead making it look disgusting. this is sad, you think. you try to grab your knife again but he’s now grabbing your arms; desperate for a fruitless smooch.

“come on… don’t play hard to get.” he growls, his sudden aggression catching you a little off guard. no need for stress, you know what to do. your knee prepares itself to kick hard in between his legs until somebody’s arm suddenly emerges from behind, wrapping around his neck and squeezing hard.

“what—“ you breathe in bewilderment, eyes widening. despite owen choking and uselessly clawing at abby’s arm for escape, her gaze stays intently trained on yours; a death stare. it’s unnerving.

it doesn’t take long for owen to turn cold and slack, eyes rolling to the back of his head. abby lets him go, but not without cracking his neck first, and you watch as he flops onto the floor.

“what the fuck, abby…” you mutter, palming a frustrated hand across your face. “where the hell did you even come from?”

“there’s doors.” she tilts her head towards the backdoor behind her. you hadn’t even noticed it. your eyes travel back to her; irresistibly ogling at the black suit clinging to her body, complimenting her form. you almost forget you’re supposed to be mad at her.

the blonde chuckles wryly, a petty exhale. “you starin’? assumed pussy boys were more your type.”

“real fucking mature.” you snarl. “i had him. i was this close to killing him, abby.”

“you were taking too long.” abby shrugs, condescendingly pouting. you grit your teeth.

“jealousy? really? grow up.”

“at least i watch where i’m going. nice dress, the wet splotch is a nice touch, really.” she slanders, narrowing her eyes. you scoff, trying to pretend as if that dig didn’t offend you.

“you’re a fucking child. help me with the body.”

you two leave the building with ease, pretending as if owen is a friend that’s had too much to drink, wrapping his arms around the both of your shoulders and leading him to your car. abby opens the boot and you two push him inside. you two will decide on how deal with the body later.

for now, you’re sat on the passenger’s seat whilst abby drives, the two of you salty and quiet. abby’s driving way too fast; her hand gripping the steering wheel like her life depends on it. she’s obviously fuming.

“can you slow down?” you glare at her.

“you owe me… i mean, who even says that?” abby grumbles, ignoring your request.

“a lot of people do. now slow down, we don’t wanna attract attention from police knowing there’s a dead body back there.”

“not to mention that you’ve had an attitude since last night! the way you were flirting with that oliver guy? or whatever the fuck his name was, had to be on purpose. to spite me.”

abby starts driving even faster, increasing your stress. “owen.” you correct, “you’re so self absorbed!” you continue to beg for her to slow down.

“he’s, like, the embodiment of revolting too. don’t even get me started at the way he was trying to force himself on you. i should’ve put a bullet in his brain.” abby rattles on, pure jealousy oozing from her tone.

“you were definitely enjoying it too. i know you were.” she turns her head to look at you, not paying attention to the road.

“abby. abby!” you scream as abby almost runs through a poor family trying to cross the road.

“fuck.” abby murmurs as she swerves messily, just in the nick of time, steering into a deserted field. the two of you are out of breath from the fright, hearts racing from the adrenaline. abby rests her head on the wheel, letting out a long sigh.

“just what the hell is the matter with you?” you scold, “all this shit over a mission? are you serious?” abby’s lack of response leads you to continue yelling at her.

“of course we’re going to have to flirt with our targets now and then! the fuck happened to your professionalism? if i had known you’d be acting like this then i would’ve never—“

“why didn’t you kiss him?” abby raises her head to look up at you, her face blank. you blink, a little taken aback by the unexpected question.

“i…” you look away. you’re not exactly up for abby knowing that you couldn’t kiss him because of her. “where even are we anyway?”

“nice try. since you’re so professional, why didn’t you kiss him? he clearly wanted to. you could’ve easily killed him then.” the corner of abby’s lips arch up into a smirk — the familiar smug look of hers that never fails to get you weak.

“for someone who’s had so much to say just a second ago…” she leans in a little, arm resting against your headrest, “…you’re awfully quiet.” her voice is hushed down to a soft whisper, and you swear you’re beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“look, abby, you’re my wife… so…” you mumble in response to her pressing question, avoiding eye contact. abby chuckles, loosening her tie. here comes the floodgates.

“don’t play dumb and pretend as if the agency didn’t arrange that.” her finger presses against the dome light of the car; illuminating your embarrassed face. just what she wanted to see.

“you’ve been enjoying yourself, seeing me all jealous like this. you liked playing femme fatale, hmm?” her finger slowly twists itself around a strand of your hair, before she yanks a handful, forcing your head closer. you wince, eyes clenched shut. your cunt decides to flex too — reminding you that she’s got a mind of her own, and that she finds being in an empty field like this, in abby’s car, pretty fucking hot.

“let’s face it…” abby whispers, so close that you can feel her breath tickling your ear, shooting heavy tingles down your body.

“you want me so bad it hurts.” her eyes drift down to your thighs that are starting to shift uncomfortably in your seat. it’s beginning to ache down there and it seems like abby’s aware of that. you can’t help it. after all, abby sitting so close: loose strands of hair framing her face, unfastened tie and darkened eyes fixed on you, feels so good that it’s suffocating.

you squirm a little and abby grins, her fingers still laced in your hair. her grip slightly tightens as she licks her lips. she looks hungry.

“maybe what hurts is your fingers in my hair.” you quip, though your voice is a little shaky.

“maybe you need to fix your attitude.” abby retorts, “like, seriously, pipe down… you’re probably soaking down there.” she snickers, right on the money.

“fuck you.” you glare at her, gauging her reaction. you want to believe you’re saying this out of sheer anger for what went down tonight, but deep down, you know that’s not the case. in reality, you just want to get under abby’s skin. it’s what you’ve been craving since the beginning; to get her pissed.

you wipe the pleased look off of abby’s face, which is now replaced with a frown. your heart pounds with anticipation: so much so that your chest faintly heaves, lips parted.

abby’s eyes wander to your lips and in one swift movement, she pulls you in; pressing her lips against yours. you’re quick to kiss her back, the sweetness of her mouth sealing yours. fervent can’t even begin to explain the way you two are kissing. akin to wild animals, small muffled groans escape the both of you.

desperation is thick in the confined air of the car, as abby pulls away and shrugs her blazer off. you stare up at her.

“hurry… with your slow-ass.” you whine.

“watch your fucking mouth. c’mere.” abby commands. you naturally do as she says and she begins to unzip your dress — not without making sure to go deliberately slow.

“why do you have to be so mean?” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of her neck.

“oh, trust me… i’m only gonna be meaner.” she warns whilst planting gentle kisses on your neck. you’ve always admired abby for her ability to vary from being sour to tender in seconds. little did you know, the peppered kisses on your neck served as a prior apology to how cruel she’s going to treat you in a second.

once everything is off, abby marvels at your body. like a painting in an art gallery, she makes sure to pay attention to even the minuscule details of your body. it’s her favourite thing in the entire world.

“turn around.” abby mutters, her eyes hazy; voice bleeding with lust.

“what?”

“just do it.”

you hesitantly do as she says. abby beams: finding your weak resistance amusing yet is also excited to break you.

“now… bend over.” she coos, clearly poking fun.

you shoot her a glare, cheeks flushed. “what am i, your dog?”

“don’t piss me off.”

you glare at her for a few seconds longer before sighing, reluctantly bending over.

“arching that back and everything… wooow.” abby teases, “and to think i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“oh, just fuck off, abby…” you complain, the embarrassment beginning to overwhelm you.

“what was that?”

“i said fuck—“ but you’re cut off by a yelp when abby brings her palm down flat against your ass. you flinch violently; very, very taken off guard.

“mm? didn’t quite hear you. repeat yourself.” abby taunts, smacking you again. you grunt and flinch yet again, feeling the sting of her slap coarse through your body. abby’s humiliating you, milking every last drop of your embarrassment. the worst thing yet? you’re enjoying this way more than you should be.

“i’m not kidding. speak.” abby commands, showing no signs of mercy. your skin is already starting to gleam red, and your pussy? well, it’s a fucking party down there.

“abby…” you cry, completely under her control. the more she smacks, flesh recoiling under her palm, the more your head goes blank.

“go on babe… finish what you were saying before.” abby prods. this time, when she smacks you, her fingers grasp the flesh on your ass tightly; watching in delight as her fingertips leave little red marks. you’re trembling like a leaf, both from the pain and the arousal.

see, the thing with abby is that she never likes to let things go. she adores jabbing at you until she gets what she wants.

another smack, this one so hard that you need to press your palms against the window. abby then grips your waist and pulls you way closer; making your ass press against her hips.

“you wanna get fucked?” abby mutters, teasingly bringing your waist back and forth against her hips: hard, playful thrusts. your bare cunt pressing against her crotch is, without a doubt, driving you insane. you frantically nod in response to her question, in which abby replies with latching her hand around your neck; forcing you upright so that your back is now against her chest.

“use your words.”

“y-yes…” tears begin to stream down your face. you’re desperate, yearning for her touch as if it’s a life or death situation.

“so finish what you were saying.” her fingers slightly squeeze around the sides of your neck.

“i-i told you to f-fuck off but i d-didn’t… haa… mean it.” you splutter. the you a while ago would’ve had her mouth agape in horror at your behaviour right now.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” abby coos, her fingers tracing down your stomach, in between your thighs. long, drawn-out circles are traced on your swollen clit, her fingers pressing just the right amount of pressure. you groan, and abby taps her chin against your shoulder; smirking at how your legs are writhing, desperate for more.

“where’d all your attitude go?” the blonde ridicules. her other hand moves over to your breast, squeezing it, her thumb caressing your nipple. as to the hand working on you, her middle and ring finger brush against your folds; up and down. she’s touching you but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough: abby knows that.

“don’t do this to me, abby…” you exasperate. she lets out a breathy chuckle before flipping you over and setting you down onto the car seat. she reclines it back, eyes yet again fixed on you. you stare up at her with big glossy eyes, your head blank as if you’ve been dumbed down.

abby gloats at how helpless you look, grabbing your face with one hand and squishing your cheeks. “you look stupid.”

“shut up and fuck me.” you mutter in a muffled tone. abby laughs as if what you’ve said was the funniest joke in the entire world. you wonder if abby can feel your cheeks burning up against her palm.

before you know it, abby plows her thick fingers so far inside your cunt that you’d squeal, if it wasn’t for abby’s hand still clenched on your cheeks.

“this what you wanted?” abby purrs, fingers curling up against your g-spot already. you moan, back arching and squirming.

“oh! riiiiight, you can’t speak.” she gloats, playfully shaking your head with her hand. you whine in embarrassment, yet you secretly enjoy how she’s handling you like a doll.

abby’s finger-fucking you rough, wet squelch noises filling up the car. the sound of it is so erotic that it leaves you dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your head. the blonde releases her grip on your face but not her thumb, that slips inside of your mouth.

“suck.” you mindlessly do as she says, as if you’re brainwashed. you can see abby’s cheeks tint red when you slowly suck her thumb, making sure to keep eye contact.

abby chuckles, looking away. seems like she didn’t think you’d actually do it.

“you’re shy.” you point out. you triumph over the fact that now it’s her turn to be embarrassed, but not for long.

“shut the fuck up.” abby says brusquely, her fingers operating way harder than before; relentlessly pounding against your g-spot. you cry, feeling overwhelmingly good.

that rigid attitude you had a moment ago? now dead and buried. you feel surreal, a series of mewls and sobs leaving your lips.

“nothing smart to say anymore? you look fucking pathetic.” and she’s right. you look like a hot mess. abby smothers your tears all over your face. you mindlessly move your hips, fucking yourself on her fingers. she smirks, loving what she’s seeing. you feel a knot beginning to untie in your stomach, sublime throbs coursing all over your body.

“i’m cumming…” you manage to choke out.

“i know.” abby buries her face in the crook of your neck, and you shiver at the feel of her breath against your skin.

“i’ll decide to be nice and let you finish.”

and that’s your cue. with an ending moan to seal it off, you feel your body tense up, eyes widening. abby leans in and presses her forehead against yours. you squeeze your eyes shut, before your body relaxes. you’re panting like a dog, staring up at abby with foggy and depleted eyes.

“so cute…” she murmurs before cupping your chin and kissing you — this time, soft and tender as opposed to the way she was kissing you before. you feel warm.

so absorbed in each other, you two forget about how you’re in the middle of nowhere and how the body in the car boot needs to be dealt with. for now, you two have something more important to worry about: how you’re gonna clean up the mess you’ve left all over the chair and dashboard.

a/n: you made it !!! thought it’d be funny if the target was owen😭😭 hope u enjoyed reading <3

[sanguineterrain]

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

[sherewrytes]

Ms. Good Grip

Inspired by this song

If you know you know. If you don't know how you know. Wanted to drop a fic with a more Caribbean inspo.

C.W : smut, Caribbean dialect, overstimulation, Caribbean black reader. Dom ony. Y/N be actin out

Your fav cousin wedding reception was in full swing. Drinks pouring, shots passing, weed smoke in the air all elders already left. You knew your boyfriend Ony wasn't used to Caribbean style parties. The pacing was completely from the usual parties he's used to. He was faded and tipsy, hands gripping your hips catching every whine you threw his way. You were completely bent over, if it wasn`t for your updo your hair would be touching the floor with how far you were bent over. You both took a break from dancing to get some drinks and more food before everyone's greedy ass ate it all up.

The song changed to Alkaline's on Fleek. As soon as you heard,

Whooo gyal yo pum, pum Gyal, yuh pum pum, Gyal, yuh pum pum on fleek.

You joined your other wild ass cousins in the dance circle and began whining. You made sure to position yourself right in front of Ony. You were secretly putting on all this show for him. All the weed and drinks had you wanting him. He looked so good in his semi casual fit You whined slowly at first slowly going lower to match the intro of the song staring him dead in his eyes while he smoked a joint with a bottle of Stag beer in his hand. His shades resting slightly lower on his nose. You watch him beckon you over with a finger, but you ignored him only because you loved riling him up at times, it makes the sex better.

You felt a hand grip your waist; you knew instantly it wasn't Ony's, but you decided to give the guy a lil dance. You cousin Shanice side eyed know mothing " Aye, you always lookin' for problems. You know how Ony's gonna react." You laughed saying "Oh well, small thing."

(Small thing- Trini slang for No big deal)

You heard the Dj scratch and the song changed to Spice's Jim Screechie

You were singing the song loud and clear while throwing it back on the random guy.

"And your gyal a watch you hard, but me no matter that Hold me tight and don't let me go Whine with me and me a whine with you"

You were giving him a wicked whine knowing for a fact that kinda whining is reserved for Ony but you thought "Oh well." The guy had one hand on your hips pulling you back against his hips while almost dry fuckin you on the makeshift dance floor. You felt a hand grab your wrist and pulled you. You looked up and saw it was Ony pulling you off the makeshift dance floor away from everyone.

"You got me fucked up; you know that. Are you goin out of your head or sum." Ony said his voice gruff with annoyance. You on the other hand were turned on by hearin' him this way. You smirked "It's just a dance Ony. I know you're suffering from not accustom. You bein' a black American I know you won't know much about my culture and shit."

You watch Ony's eye widen with annoyance "Oh really, you really wanna go that route with me. Imma give you a last chance to take that shit back." You rolled your eyes and giggled. "Still just a lil dance Ony." You attempted to walk away big mistake.

You knew it was your fault you were now in this situation. Your hands pressed and pinned against the toilet door with your back arched. Ony was feeding deep, hard strokes. You had to way to move, one of his hands pinned your hands against the door while the other was between your spread thighs rubbing your clit.

You felt your wetness run down your thigh, you were making a mess of yourself. You were coming again. You were pleading with him to take it easy on you "Ony 'm sor-sorry...please I can't"

"Nah, you can't, you weren't whining out there on him like you couldn't so nah you gon' take this dick. It's what you wanted right."

You were panting, moaning moaning his name as fucked you harder. You were now pressed against the door, his hand now pressed against the side of your neck. Between the hard slaps of his hips against yours and the song blaring in the background, you were losing your mind. You came twice already and feeling the third one fast approaching. He was rubbing your twitching clit. Rubbing so fast, your squirt was coming out faster than you realized. Your lust filled sobs were shaking your body and his, it only made him want to fuck you harder.

"Ony! Ony! Ouuu fuck I'm sorry 'm sorry please please please slow down." He stopped only to turn you over so you can be face to face as he lifted you up and pinned your back against the door again. You were both face to face. Ony's eyed still red from smoking.

"You always tryna test me and push me Y/N huh. You don't fuckin listen....actin up and showin out for WHO. that dude..playin' too much."

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your stomach clenched, you saw Ony smirk and slid his hand between both of your bodies and press down on your stomach. Your eyes widen while tears brimmed the corner. "Ouuu fuck! shit Ony..didn't mean to do it. why you fuckin me like this."

Ony tried to reign in his anger but her couldn't he felt it coming back, only pushing him to thrust deeper and harder "Don't play dumb with me Y/N you know I'm actin' like this."

Between Ony tearin your shit up and the music thumping in the background, you were close to another orgasm, tears now running down your face. Ony's hips practically pinning you between him and the door. Ony leaned in and kissed your tears away.

Ony finds your silence a bit annoying. After what felt like minutes, his hand gripped your throat. Through your teary eyes you could see you pushed Ony a bit to far but then again he knew how you were. He loved you for it.

Ony felt your body shivering against his. He kept feeding you deep, hard strokes which you were sure if the music wasn't loud as fuck everyone could hear. He felt his vexation simmering in his veins.

"Ony..please..I love you. I...Ony!" you pleaded. Ony rolled his eyes tired of hearing the same things over and over again come out of your mouth.

"Nah, love me, that's crazy Y/N. Do you really love me Y/N?" "I do Ony! I do. I won't do this shit again I swear...just.."

You were gripping around his dick so tightly he could feel his balls twitching and he fucked you against the door harder. He knew you loved pushing his buttons as much as you loved him. he wrapped your legs tighter around his hips, trying to go deep as he possibly can. You were so overstimulated you were shaking while pressed between the door and him.

"Fuck Y/N you're squeezin' me Gonna nut" you felt him fill you up groaning into your ear. You knew the amount he just came in you would leak out.

Ony sat you on the bathroom counter, helped you clean up then he cleaned up himself. You cleaned your face with make up wipes you had in your bag and reapplied your make up Ony smirked "You gon behave now my love" "Yes Ony I will"

You went back out the wedding party holding hands and smiling.

[darby-rowe]

imagine being a pretty district 12 girl and peacekeeper!coryo just has to have you, he can’t bear the thought of not being able to have you, so when he sees you at the hob he gets you really drunk and then takes you to the alleyway. and of course you’re a virgin and you keep telling him to stop touching you but it feels so good at the same time, and he just has to have what’s his, or else. he wants to see you squirming as you try to take him, to watch as the tears trickle down your cheeks as you whimper and tell him he’s ‘too big’ and you can’t take it.

- a 🎀

i dont write enough peacekeeper!coryo (mainly bc im not a buzzcut girlie at all GASP) but damn there are so many good ideas for dark fics w him 🤤 and this ask is DELICIOUS

mayhaps i got....... a bit carried away..........

18+ | nsfw | mdni cw fem!reader, NONCON/DUBCON, dead dove do not eat, alcohol consumption, vaginal tearing, blood (coryo has an implied blood kink) tw emetophobia (but not graphic)

➽───────────────❥

you knew damn well that peacekeepers were forces to be reckoned with, but one night you let your better instincts slip away from you as you drank nearly a quarter of your body weight in moonshine.

and the pretty peacekeeper with the blonde buzz and piercing blue eyes had been eyeing you all night, getting you drink after drink after drink. even after you kept politely declining, he just kept insisting. you already struggled with standing up to authority, and you weren't going to start. especially since you were quickly losing your ability to make judgements.

somehow you made it to an alleyway with your front pressed against the cold, dank wall with the peacekeeper's fingers forcing their way into your panties. you whined as your body pathetically attempted to push him away, but your head was spinning, speech slurred and incoherent.

you whimpered as you felt his middle finger circle your clit, involuntarily rocking your hips into his touch. "nnno," you slurred, not even attempting to hide the moans threatening to escape your throat. "never... never... done this—"

the peacekeeper just chuckled in your ear as he continued to prod his fingers at your swollen clit. "shh, don't worry, little dove," he cooed mockingly. "gonna take this pussy right here and there's nothing you can do about it. fill you up with my cock. fuck, you're soaking wet,"

you were defenseless as the peacekeeper lifted up your dress and pulled down your cotton panties, making you yelp in a mixture of surprise and fear. you tried again to get out of his grasp, but he had the advantage of being sober and way stronger than you. all you could do was whimper softly as the tip of his cock tease your wet folds, making you shudder.

"can't wait to fuck you," he sighed, easing himself into your small, tight hole. you gasped as you were ripped open, raising yourself up on your tiptoes to try to squirm away from the pain. but once again you were trapped in between the peacekeeper and the dank wall.

tears sprang from your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, your cries coming out in weak croaks. it hurt so bad; a perpetual sting that rocked through your entire body. you prayed for something — anything — to come take away this unbearable pain.

"hurts," you choked, nearly gagging on your tears. "please, sir, hurts s'bad. too big. can't take it...!"

the peacekeeper continued to thrust his large cock into your abused cunt. he looked down, watching as blood began to slowly trickle out of your hole and cover the shaft of his cock. the sight only made him harder, the crimson liquid making it easier for him to slide in and out of you.

"perfect district pussy," he growled, unable to tear his eyes away from his blood-soaked cock. "doing so well taking me. covering my cock in your blood. fuck, baby, 'm gonna cum so fuckin' hard,"

it was a perplexing mixture of feelings; the pain of having your walls abused and ripped open colliding with an earth-shattering orgasm. you didn't even notice the peacekeeper shooting his load deep inside you until he pulled out to admire how your blood and his cum dripped out of your cunt.

you heard the sound of him fixing his clothes. and with a final tap to your hip, he left you alone to process the events that just transpired.

as the wave of nausea finally hit you, you hunched over and expelled whatever moonshine was left in your system.

[katiapostsss]

DRABBLE:

hate sex with anakin skywalker.

AGH FIRST SMUT FIC IM NERVOUSS

warnings!: piv sex, usage of the word 'slut', degradation, swearing. dead dove don't eat!! (ive never written smut before so sorry in advance for any other warnings i might've left out.)

〰️

"fuck— you."

anakin was a drug you could not stop going back to. he found ways to intoxicate you even in sleep, even in waking. he'd haunt you in your damned grave. and you got off on telling him you hated him. you made it a known fact, even as he pounded into you with relentless speed and knowing eyes. you couldn't get enough of that drug. he knew it.

"if you wanted to switch, you could've just asked earlier." that smug grin. with his dick drawing and pushing back into your needy cunt, you couldn't think about much at all. after all, he was the reason your back was arching into him more. he was the reason sweat rose and prickled across the plains of your skin, the reason sounds you'd never even known existed before left your throat so fast and loudly. his dick sheathed itself inside you again and again, each thrust eliciting more and more of that feeling. the feeling within you you knew only he could bring forth. "y'know, when you initiated."

"i— fuck— fucking hate you—" you gritted out, and felt a dark chuckle vibrate against your chest. your eyes were screwed shut and still you could imagine the look on his face. when you finally opened them, you found his own gaze was on yours. you mewled, twisting, back arching and head throwing back to break the stare. it was so hard to think about hating anakin then.

"as you've told me before." his eyes fled to that contact. to his dick in your cunt, to your wetness dampening the sheets and coating him. all of him. you could do nothing but lay there and dig your nails into his back, into his hair, his tip hitting that special spot within you over and over and his abdomen slamming against your pelvic bone in almost a pleasurable, painful way with each thrust. "but you do seem to like my cock, huh? filling you up so nicely. look at your beautiful little cunt, taking me so well. like it was waiting for me. did it fucking miss me?" his eyes were on yours again. then to your tits, jerking upwards every time he drove into you. your face screwed in desire and tears were wetting your lash line. his fingernails dug so lovely into your hips. you couldn't bear it. "answer me, slut. you don't want me to stop, right?" you bristled.

"yes— mhm!" your voice threw out. anakin's eyes met yours again. and he smiled so beautifully you felt your toes curl. you felt your nipples harden. you felt yourself dancing across that lovely edge, felt his hard cock retreat and bury back within you. "mi— missed you soo much," you drawled, and still, that grin. it grew wider, even. you didn't have time to hate him. you couldn't give into that feeling too soon, or it'd feed his pride. so you threw your head back again, and it was only pulled back to face him once more. his hand on your chin.

"that's what i fuckin' thought. look at me while i'm fucking you." your knees weakened, a heat filling your core so abruptly you moaned out into the sex-tinted air. the sound of your squelching pussy filled your ears. "such a fuckin' brat. thinking you can act like you hate me when you know damn well it's my cock you get drunk off of." his eyes darkened over. your chest pushed into his when your back involuntarily arched. "it's my cock you go home too, huh? my cock you wait for." your pussy clenched against said cock, face twisting in pure agony as your climax awaited at the end of the tunnel. you were so close.

"please, ani!" you mewled, dragging your nails down his back, fat tears trailing your cheeks. you looked like a fucking mess. a mess that made him almost tip over. his thumb pressed into your lips and you obligingly opened your mouth, desperate. his other hand reached down and you felt his fingers on your clit, eliciting a borderline-scream from you. one second more and that same finger was in your mouth. he retracted his thumb and patted your cheek, silently ordering it closed. you did so, lips circling over his fingers and sucking off your own wetness. the bitterness of what he was doing to you.

"good girls keep their fucking mouths shut."

.

uh so yea

im ovulating so what can i say? 😁

anyways, i hope you liked it cause it's my first time writing smut and i'm obviously not that experienced in it— requests are always open! have a lovely day! ❤️

[vinnellamadz]

Enemies to lovers Adam x f!reader?

Enemies to Lovers

Adam X Reader

A/N: I shed blood, sweat and tears making this. SORRY IF ITS OOC this is my first real fic Adam is a PAIN to write.

You were never really able to get along with Adam. From the moment Adam arrived in heaven, the two of you were always at each other's throats.

Adam would always pick fights over the smallest things, and it was always enough to make you bite back. There wasn't a single day that he couldn't get under your skin and make fun of you. Calling you names, competing with you, and just being a general pain in your ass.

Today was the day of the first-second extermination of the year.

Adam was off giving his soldiers a 'pep talk', but before he flew off to this hazbin hotel, he came to you first.

As always, he made sure to get his daily insults in before he left, tearing into you with his words, ensuring you knew just how inferior and pathetic he deemed you. His snarky and playful tone only served to aggravate you further. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you snapped back, 'Oh, shut up! I hope you never return, Adam!' His initial shock quickly gave way to a smug grin. 'Calm your pretty little head, babe,' he retorted, his arrogance undeterred as he continued to prattle on about himself."

You weren't even listening; His annoying voice was easy to block out.

“plus I know you’ll miss me, I fuckin’ rock, I’m THE Adam” he pointed to himself keeping that stupid shit eating smile he always had, god you wanted to punch him so bad but couldn't, as you feared you would get sent to hell so you slammed the door in his face instead.

Later that night, you were sitting on your heavenly comfy couch, enjoying the latest episodes of your favorite shows. You were just about to fall asleep when a frantic knock jolted you from the cushions. With a tinge of fear, you approached the door, thinking, 'This is heaven; this couldn’t be bad, right?' As you opened the door and peeked out, you were shocked to see Adam, but he was far from his usual self. Covered in golden blood and bearing multiple stab wounds, he looked as though he had been through hell. (Lol) Without hesitation, you flung the door open, calling out, 'Adam!' before he collapsed on your doorstep.

It had been a while since you found Adam. Earlier, you had managed to drag him to your couch. As you attempted to patch him up, you discovered several more wounds scattered across his body. Shocked by the extent of his injuries, you couldn't help but wonder who could have inflicted such damage.

hours have passed since the surprise at your doorstep. You had fallen asleep on the floor beside him. When you woke up, he had yet to awaken, Panic gripped your heart as you reached out to shake him gently, wondering if he had actually died in his sleep. (double dead) You placed your finger beneath his nose, relieved to feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath. 'Why do I even care so much...' you pondered, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

More hours had passed, and as you were making lunch for yourself, you heard him make a sound. Turning around, you saw that he had finally woken up. “What the fuck am I doing here?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. “You came to me, Adam. You're hurt.” Upon hearing your words, he winced and attempted to sit up, but a wave of pain washed over him, causing him to groan. Reacting quickly, you rushed to his side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. 'Lay down, Adam,' you said softly, concern evident in your voice. “You're going to make it worse if you push yourself too hard.” Adam groaned with displeasure as you stood up and started walking back to the kitchen. However, something he said made you stop in your tracks.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” You froze in surprise. 'What?' Slowly, you turned to him, a shocked expression on your face. “Excuse me? How hard did you hit your head?”

You stood there in silence as he just stared at you “… I’m just fucking with you… dumb b-bitch…” he looked away in embarrassment, you stared at him with a shocked look ‘doesn’t sound like was a joke..’

“I can do it myself!” He argued.

"If you move, you'll probably explode or die. Stop it!" You were trying your best to care for him these past few days, but he's just such a pain in the ass. Currently, you were trying to feed him, but he kept turning his head away, stubborn as ever. Fed up with his behavior and the frustration boiling inside you, you finally snapped. With determination, you grabbed hold of his head, locking eyes with him. "Just eat it, damn it!" you exclaimed, frustration evident in your voice as you forcefully shoved the spoon into his mouth. Finally, he relented and ate it, although begrudgingly.

“I’d rather you shove your-“

“Shut the fuck up”

“Moody Bitch…”

You scoffed at his remarks, striding over to him and motioning for him to sit up, to which he obliges. "Take your shirt off," you instruct. He smirks in response. "Don't give me that look; you know what I mean." His smirk fades into annoyance as he complies with your request. Gently removing his bandages required getting close, and you carefully unwrap them before swiftly replacing them with fresh ones, wrapping them around his body with precision and care.

"You look really pretty down there" he grins at you, his eyes sparkling with admiration. You blush in response, feeling a warm flush creeping up your cheeks, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected compliment.

Wanna know a secret?" He said, catching your attention. You looked at him with a confused expression, but slowly nodded, curiosity piqued.

"you know I live alone right now? No one's going to—" Your words were cut off as you felt his hand grasp your face, Before you could react, his lips met yours in a sudden, electrifying kiss, sending a rush of warmth through your body.

Adam pulled away, leaving you stunned and bewildered by the sudden rush of conflicting emotions.

"You make it so damn difficult to hate you," he confessed, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of something deeper, something you couldn't quite decipher. As you stood there, grappling with the unexpected confession, you realized that perhaps there was more to your relationship than just rivalry. With a mixture of uncertainty and expanding hope, you met his gaze, silently acknowledging the unspoken possibility of a new beginning between two former enemies turned potential lovers.

This was so hard goodbye. It’s so OOC I’m soo sorry I tried to rush the end to put this out faster 😭

[joelscruff]

one thing i'm missing (joel miller/reader) PART ONE

hi there ! i'm new to the tlou fandom but not new to fic, and watching the show over the past few months inspired me to return to fic writing. the idea for this has been milling around in my head for a good chunk of time now and i finally felt ready to put pen to paper and get this thing started. i've already posted this to ao3 if you prefer that medium, but i'll also be posting it here now. let me know what you think!

summary: you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming. rating: 18+ explicit (this part is not explicit but this fic will be) warnings: (for future parts) smut, age difference (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 50s), praise kink - will add more as fic progresses word count: about 2.6k

You don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

It started about a month ago, after all the shit that happened with that monster, David. After Ellie had decided she wanted to start sleeping alone.

It hadn't really been a conscious decision on her part, but you'd noticed that first night how she'd distanced herself from you and Joel when it was time to sleep. She'd curled up against the far wall of the basement with barely a word, shutting herself off entirely while you'd tended to Joel's injury. Prior to this – ever since Joel was stabbed – Ellie had started sleeping at his side, head on his chest, listening to his heart and hoping against all hope that it kept beating. You'd slept a few feet away, hoping desperately for the same thing.

After David, she avoided physical contact entirely. You and Joel wordlessly understood, though you could tell it alarmed and concerned him. Though he'd been in and out of consciousness for the past few weeks you know he'd become accustomed to having her at his side, curled into him with that familiar daughterly affection he'd been missing for twenty years. Seeing her ultimately decide that she no longer wanted that closeness, probably feared it, distressed him greatly.

“Fuckin' bastard,” Joel had murmured to himself that first night as you cleaned his wound – you'd learned what to do from watching Ellie, “I'll fucking kill him.”

“Shhh,” you'd hushed him, keeping your voice low in case Ellie was still awake, “He's dead and gone, she took care of it.”

“Shouldn't have had to,” he'd hissed, “Fuckin' bastard.”

He'd slept poorly. You knew because every so often you'd hear him mutter something else to himself about David between short fits of sleep. You didn't sleep much either, partly because in the wake of Ellie's sudden distance it was now your job to monitor Joel's wound, but also because you felt the same way Joel did. The thought of that monster... what he'd done to Ellie and what he'd tried to do... you'd never felt so much disdain and hatred for one person in your life. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was the look on her blood-spattered face when you'd both found her, the way she'd barely been able to speak... you could only imagine how much worse the images behind Ellie's eyelids were.

So she slept alone now, which meant Joel slept alone.

For a little while, that is.

-

After a few days of short spurts of travel and staying in more abandoned houses (Joel wasn't well enough to walk much, though he tried to deny it, much to the frustration of you and Ellie) you'd set up camp on the outskirts of a small community. Ellie hadn't talked much and Joel hadn't been fully in his right mind since you left that first house, so the decision-making had fallen to you for the time being. Truthfully, you were done with the mouldy mattresses and hard concrete of those suburban basements, the smell of rotting food and being bothered by mice and cockroaches while you tried – and failed – to fall asleep. Neither Joel nor Ellie argued when you suggested setting up a campsite in the woods for a change of scenery.

The snow had melted quite a bit and there hadn't been anything fresh in almost a week, the temperature rising rapidly the further you walked. The idea of sleeping underneath the stars again with fresh air in your lungs and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees was enough to keep you going that day. That night, you'd watched as Joel made a fire with the materials you'd collected, Ellie already bundled up inside her sleeping bag a few meters away.

“Hey, you sure you're not gonna be cold over there?” you'd called to her gently, already knowing the answer.

“I'm good,” she'd replied, sounding earnest enough, “If I get cold I'll move.”

You'd sighed quietly, turning back toward the fire. Joel was blowing lightly on some kindling, eyebrows furrowed in thought. You used this rare moment of him being distracted to analyze his face; the dark circles beneath his eyes had been growing more prominent over the past few days, and he'd gotten into the unconscious habit of blinking very slowly, like he was always just a few seconds from sleep. You'd never seen him look this exhausted.

“You need to sleep,” you'd murmured, and his eyes had snapped up to meet yours instantly, “I'm serious, Joel, you look...”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” you shifted your eyesight to the fire, lifting your hands to warm your palms, “You look like you haven't slept in days, which you literally haven't, by the way.”

“I've slept,” he'd grunted, turning his attention back to the fire as well.

“Yeah, for maybe twenty minutes at a time.”

“Well, maybe if I wasn't bein' woken up every twenty minutes by you checking if I'm still breathin',” his voice was hard and cold, but you were used to it.

“Don't be dramatic,” you'd snapped back, “I check you maybe twice a night now, if even that. Sorry for wanting to make sure you're okay.” The last few words had come out shakier than you'd intended.

He'd inhaled deeply, and you could see him looking at you again in your peripheral vision, “You're right, I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole. As usual.”

“You're not an asshole,” you'd muttered, “you're tired. And so am I.”

You'd sat together in silence for a few moments before Joel had reached behind him for his pack, digging out the blanket he'd started using in lieu of his old sleeping bag. He'd decided to leave that behind; it was what you and Ellie had used to get him back to that first house, the one Callus had dragged across the icy terrain with a bloodied and near-death Joel as its only occupant. He'd pissed himself in it, which he'd attributed as the main reason for leaving it. But you knew the truth: he'd spent too long wrapped up inside of it during that period of time to ever get a good night's sleep from it again. It needed to be put out of its misery.

Both you and Ellie had offered to give him your own but he refused every time, repeatedly stating that the blanket Ellie had found was warm enough, if not even warmer than the sleeping bag had been. You honestly didn't know if he was telling the truth, but he gave you no choice but to believe him.

“You take first watch, then.” he said quietly, “We're out in the open again, gonna have to stay alert.”

“Got it,” you were a bit embarrassed by your brief moment of vulnerability, but you'd quickly busied yourself with picking up the rifle to hold it in your lap.

You'd watched as he spread out the blanket on the ground, carefully kneeling down and wincing at the pull of his stitches. He laid down on the edge of it, then reached over and pulled the other side over his body like a makeshift sleeping bag. Sighing contentedly, he'd closed his eyes.

Despite how much older than you he was, the word adorable couldn't help but cross your mind.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled quietly to you, and you'd forced yourself to look down at the rifle so he wouldn't catch you staring.

“Night, Joel.”

-

You'd quickly learned that Joel's new blanket was in fact not warmer than his sleeping bag. After a few hours of keeping watch, you decided to check on both Ellie and Joel to make sure they were doing alright. Ellie was fast asleep and didn't look to be shivering or experiencing a bad night's sleep; she actually looked more peaceful than you'd seen her for a long time. You'd smiled fondly, fighting back the urge to push her hair out of her eyes; she'd made things very clear and you weren't going to overstep.

You wandered over to Joel and the contrast between he and Ellie was staggering; there was no peace here. He was wide awake, shivering ferociously and hunched in on himself with his hands cupped around his mouth as he blew on them for warmth.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you'd immediately dropped the rifle and leaned down to him, “why the fuck didn't you tell me you were freezing?”

It actually wasn't a very cold night, but the combination of Joel's thin blanket, his injury, and the fact that he was overwhelmingly exhausted were just making everything ten times worse. He also hadn't slept outside for weeks. You immediately began to regret the decision to camp tonight.

“Hold on,” you'd said quickly, scrambling back up to grab your own sleeping bag. You unzipped it so it was wide, then draped it over Joel's shivering form, “I'm gonna give you some body heat, okay? Don't make it weird.” You'd only said the last part because you knew he would protest.

You'd crawled underneath both layers of material and without any hesitation wrapped your arms around Joel, ignoring his shaky mutterings of “I'm okay” and “you don't need to”. He'd surrendered very quickly, relaxing into your embrace as you ran your hands up and down his arms at the fastest pace you could muster. You alternated between his arms and hands, taking them in yours and rubbing your palms against them like you were trying to start a fire, huffing hot breath against his skin. Beneath the blanket, you entwined your legs with his, pulling his socked feet against your ankles and trapping them there to warm them up.

It only took a few moments for the heavy shakes to stop and for Joel's breath to even out again. Despite this, you stayed where you were and kept doing what you could to keep his temperature stable. As he warmed up, he began to feel more like himself; he was no longer a cold statue but the warm and solid man you'd come to recognize, and you were hyper-aware of the fact that despite spending so much time with each other you'd never actually been this close to him. His arms, strong and steady beneath his coat, the same arms that carried around that heavy pack all day, the arms that cradled the rifle, they now laid loose and tender under your touch. His hands, calloused and rough around the edges but soft at the palms, the same hands that set the fire still burning a few feet away, the hands that once held his daughter and had learned to hold Ellie's – and now yours, feeling like in some way they belonged there.

You'd known you felt something for Joel, but you'd never realized how strong and real that something was until it was literally in your embrace.

Without speaking you'd laid your head on his chest, closing your eyes and doing your damnedest to fight back the sudden tears that were threatening to well up. Holy shit, was all you could think, a warmth you'd never felt in your entire life radiating in your chest and somehow extending toward him. Holy fucking shit. It was like time had stopped and all you could feel was him.

You'd looked up at his face, needing to see if he felt it too, felt you the way you felt him, but your eyes widened slightly when you saw that his were closed, mouth slightly agape. There it was, that peace you'd seen on Ellie's face, now transferred to Joel's. For a brief second you felt panic, but it was immediately interrupted by the light snore that emitted from his open mouth. He'd fallen asleep.

And a few moments later, so had you.

-

That was the first night you'd slept solid without waking up even once. Not just since Joel had been stabbed, but since the pandemic had started to begin with. You can't recall ever having such a peaceful, dreamless, absolutely soul-refreshing sleep. And neither had Joel; when you woke the next morning he was still fast asleep in your embrace, that peaceful expression still sculpted on his face like he was a living Michelangelo. In the night you'd only gotten closer to him, legs still entwined and head still on his chest. The only difference was that your arms had obviously stopped their rapid movements to keep him warm, and they'd ended up snaked around his torso, the palm of your left hand laying flat against the hot skin of his waist, just above where his stitches were.

Maybe you should have pulled away when you realized, gotten up and pretended it didn't happen. The thought did cross your mind, but then Joel had shuffled a bit in his sleep and you'd become aware of the fact that his arms were around you, hand pressed flush against your bare back underneath your jacket and shirt, holding you to him. And that was enough to make you stay.

About fifteen minutes later, he'd woken up.

He didn't flinch or yank himself away when he realized the position you were in. He'd blinked slowly at you, and you'd peered up at him just as quietly. His lips had parted and then closed again, as if he was going to say something but then thought better of it. Instead, he just kept staring at you, and you started to feel his hand on your back slowly and tenderly stroke the skin there. In return, you gently brushed your thumb against the bare skin of his waist. It was a moment that felt like it went on forever, both of you touching those small intimate parts of each other without saying so much as one word.

You felt butterflies in your belly when the hint of a smile twitched at his mouth, and you smiled back, sleepy and soft. You never wanted to leave this small piece of existence. You just wanted him to keep looking at you like that, his gaze holding yours with an expression you could only describe as contentedness. You'd never seen him look so relaxed; the dark circles had faded and even the lines on his face had receded into his skin. He looked younger, healthier, like all the bad things that had happened to him had vanished in one good sleep.

“Uggghhhh,” Ellie moaned a few meters away, and both your heads snapped in her direction. She was sitting up in her sleeping bag, back facing you. You could see her arms stretching above her head as she began her typical morning wake-up routine: stretch, groan, flop, repeat.

Without saying anything you'd both untangled yourselves simultaneously before she could see the sleeping arrangement you'd found yourselves in. The loss of warmth and familiarity was palpable as you quickly stood up and grabbed the rifle, walking over to the now completely burnt out fire. Joel silently folded up his blanket and your sleeping bag behind you, then muttered something about needing to look for more shit to burn.

That's how it started.

And you don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

[shankschewtoy]

Yo I got this idea from your pickle fic you did a couple months ago.

Monster trio,law and kidd super gluing a pickle jar and ask their s/o to open it and to their surprise their s/o opens it without any problems

I love your crack fics so much

Please and ty

a/n - I’m so glad you like my humor because sometimes I feel like I’m so unfunny 😂💜 oml kidd would break the jar (also I can’t fit all of the characters so I had to omit Sanji 😭😭)

Warnings ⚠️ - I bully Kidd, crack, g/n reader

- Bro thought that maybe he could troll you back since he couldn’t open the pickle jar a couple days ago (he’s still depressed, so no one talks about it) y’all just pretend it never happened

- zoro: hah! Remember that time when you couldn’t open the-

- everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP.

- luffy: huh?

- poor zoro 💀 he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to talk about it since they left him at the previous island

- He was all tightening the pickle jar with the glue, giggling and kicking his feet just imagining you not being able to open it like him, so you’d be embarrassed like him. (He’s evil, beware)

- he skipped over to you and handed you a pickle jar, “Hey y/n, can you open it for me while I go grab something to eat?”

- you nodded, grabbing the pickle jar and opening it with ease. Huh, that’s weird, why would Luffy ask you to open it?

- he had such a big mischievous grin when he came back and then when he saw the pickle jar sitting next to you, the cap right next to it, oml he freaked out

- “HUH? HOW DID YOU OPEN IT-?!”

- “What do you mean? It was super loose.”

- ….

- nah he’s dead now watch him go sob in the corner

- man was sobbing for about an hour or two before Sanji was able to feed him some meat to make him stop crying. Has ptsd with pickle jars now- and you felt bad so you gave him a jar for him to open (you could’ve opened it but you wanted to make him feel tough and strong 💜💜)

- “Luffy, I just can’t open this thing, can you open it?”

- The way his eyes lit up and he just RAN to help you, “MHM! Sure!”

- opened it without a problem and puffed his chest out, crossing his arms, “Shishishi~ I’m strong!!!!”

- “You’re the strongest captain ever! King of the pirates! Roger wishes he was you!!!” -you

- He was giggling, flexing his muscles and all lmfao

- man Luffy is lucky to have you as his personal best cheerleader 💜💜😭

- oh nah, the prank you did on him did not end well 💀 man literally blew up and poor killer had to just sit there in the midst of his explosion (his mental health was harmed in the process of this)

- things chilled out after you managed to give him a hug and some cuddles and coaching him through calming breaths (he does yoga to relax you can’t convince me otherwise)

- Kidd the yogi 💀💀💀

- So he decided that it’d be absolutely hilarious to do the same pickle jar prank on you bec he’s an asshole and a dumbass

- Idk how he did it, but he spent all night formulating and researching which glue was the best until he just decided to weld it shut

- “Kidd what are you doing?” -killer

- “Go to bed killer.”

- stfu Kidd don’t be mean to your best friend 💀

- fast forward to the time of the prank, he handed you the jar with a literal shit eating grin on his face, bro could not stop giggling (sounds like a fucking clown. And I don’t mean in a good way.)

- “Why are you giggling..?” -you

- “No reason >:)”

- You opened it, continuing to watch your show on the tv, handing it back to him. There was a moment of silence that lasted about 5 minutes. He was not moving, blinking, nor breathing for that matter. Killer walked by the room, and took a picture before walking away 💀

- man just started yelling outta nowhere, scaring the literal shit out of you

- ��WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!” -Kidd

- “WHAT THE FUCK KIDD?!” -you

- “HOW DID YOU FUCKING OPEN IT?”

- “IT WAS FUCKING LOOSE.”

- “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I WELDED THE FUCKIN THING SHUT!”

- “…..”

- “Why the fuck did you weld it shut you dumbass?” -you

- he beat you up (correction) you beat him up for even trying to beat you up

- he didn’t seem that affected by your prank earlier but trust me, he’s crying on the inside, praying to corazon and asking: why tf am I so fucking weak

- after you told him it was just a joke he was pretty mad and ignored you for about a day (before he just couldn’t ignore the love of his life anymore😂)

- but yeah lesson learned, don’t do it again

- well he thought it’d be funny to do it to you since it made him so irritated (he will not admit that and will tell you that Bepo made him do it or something like that)

- the hardest part for him was asking you for help because anytime he does you get all smirky and say: “ooooo you need my help??? 😏”

- “never mind I don’t.”

- “NO- IM SORRY ILL HELP!”

- so yeah he was a bit nervous about asking you- but he had to do it lmao

- “Y/n-ya, can you open this for me?”

- “Sure.”

- you literally opened it in seconds, you didn’t even struggle.

what the fuck?

- “Y/n. How did you open that?..”

- “It was loose, did you loosen it?”

- “…….I’m gonna go to bed now.”

- “it’s 2pm!”

- “I’m. Going. To. Bed.”

- went straight to his computer to look up

- “Is my s/o a demon?”

- “what is the strength level for opening glued shut pickle jar”

- “911 marine hq”

- “counseling hotline”

- “can glue expire?”

- “am I weak?”

- Zoro was still pretty mad that he couldn’t open the jar last time, so he’s added, “opening pickle jars for y/n, 20 reps, 2 sets, give pickles to Luffy.”

- his workout page looks like a Barbie notebook you cannot tell me otherwise

- everything is pink and neon green 💀

- anyway, mayyyyybe Luffy convinced him to do the same prank on you because Luffy kept laughing at him about it, poor moss head’s self esteem was a bit low now 😭

- So he grabbed a jar, glued the damn thing shut and went over to you (took a while because he could not find you)

- “hey y/n. Can you open this for me? I’m gonna go train.”

- “Sure.”

- he hid behind the corner, watching as you took the jar and paused, continuing to read your book before opening it with ease, putting it back on the table next to you

- man was flabbergasted.

- how the actual fuck did you do that?????

- “Zoro??? What do you want me to do with the jar?!” -you

- His plan to hide out behind the corner was ruined the moment Luffy came over and fucking said hello to him

- “Oh hey zoro!! Whatcha doin?”

- “SHUT UP!”

- “huh?”

- You turned around to see Zoro trying to shut up poor Luffy who literally wanted to just say hi 😭

- “Zoro what are you doing?? I opened the jar, is it for Sanji’s meal?”

- “….Yeah just- give it to him.”

- he looked sad, it was painful for your heart

- imagine getting stabbed, then reading something sad, listening to sad music, and then realizing. You’re sad.

- that is what this felt like

- you tried your best to comfort him (even though you didn’t know why he was sad) so you watched him train and you sat on his back while he did pushups. Seemed to make the poor guy feel better, but you still didn’t know why he was so sad in the first place :’)

a/n - poor zoro

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

do you think you could write something where ben/soldier boy is jealous of how butcher looks at reader and maybe add some smut so he makes her understand that she’s only his

Jealous

masterlist

pairing: soldier boy x female supe!reader (pyrokinesis - ability to control fire)

rating: R for language, smut

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, horror movie discussion/spoilers (chucky/child’s play, halloween, it), ends with smut so 18+ only please (not like heavy smut only 231 words), the boys spoilers

timeline: set in an au after season 3

author’s note: thank you for the request, anon! i usually don’t write smut mainly cause i’m bad at it but i hope you like this fic <3

music: all i could think about was jealous by nick jonas while writing this so…

gif source

“Horror movies aren’t really scary! You’re just a fuckin’ wimp!” Butcher shook his head.

“Obviously not all horror movies are scary, but Annabelle is fucking terrifying!” You exclaimed.

“Annabelle scares you?” Ben laughed. “C’mon, sweetheart demonic dolls aren’t real! Demons aren’t even real!”

“Why can’t we just watch something else?” You asked. “If it’s killer dolls you want, let’s watch Child’s Play!”

“Yeah, I’m with Y/n on this one,” Hughie chipped in. “I vote we watch Chucky.”

“Thank you!” You smiled. “Either we watch Chucky or I won’t tell you guys where I keep the Jiffy Pop.”

“Fine, you win,” Butcher rolled his eyes. “Nice to know your weakness is possessed dolls though, now I know how to scare the shit outta you next Halloween.”

“If you bring an Annabelle doll anywhere near me I will burn it to ash before it touches me,” You laughed.

You stood up and made your way over to the kitchen. Butcher watched as you reached to grab the popcorn from an upper cabinet. He watched as your shirt rode up and he could see your lower back. He watched as you bent down to get something from a lower cabinet, and as you placed a large bowl on the table.

“Where’s the remote?” Hughie asked, seeing Ben eyeing Butcher like he wanted to strangle him.

“Should be in the top left drawer by the TV,” You called out from the kitchen. “Ben, could you show him?”

“It’s in there,” Ben grumbled, pointing to the drawer.

“Thanks,” Hughie replied quietly.

Butcher watched as you continued in the kitchen; biting your bottom lip a little as you pressed the buttons on the microwave after tossing in a bag of popcorn. Ben was slowly getting more and more angry.

He suddenly stood up and made his way over to you.

“Every-” Before you could finish he crashed his lips onto yours. You continued when he pulled away, “-thing okay?”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you again. He brought one hand to cup your cheek and the other to slide down your back and rest on your butt. You pulled away when the popcorn sounded done.

“Could you put another one in while I pour this in the bowl, please?” You asked as you shook the bag to distribute the butter evenly.

“Sure thing,” He said, grabbing another bag out of the box. “How long?”

“Uh, four minutes, but you have to listen for when the popping stops.”

He nodded a little before doing as you instructed.

“Hey, so uh…you and Butcher…is there anything I should worry about?” He asked quietly.

“What?” You laughed a little, but then realized he was serious. “Ben you know I only have eyes for you?”

“Well now you do, what about all that time everyone thought I was dead? You’ve worked with Butcher for years, right?”

“Well that’s not fair!” You scoffed. “You slept with a ton of people before you met me!” He furrowed his brows a little.

“So you slept with Butcher?” He exclaimed.

“Shh!” Your eyes widened, glancing over your shoulder to be sure Hughie and Butcher weren’t listening. “I- I may have had a one night thing with Butcher like four years ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before we invited him over to our fucking home?” He gritted his teeth a little.

“Please don’t be mad,” You sighed. “It really didn’t mean anything, Ben. He hates Supe’s and I’m pretty sure he regretted it instantly afterwards.” You took his hand in yours and looked up at him. “I only have eyes for you, Ben. I love you!”

“I don’t think he regrets it, he’s been mentally undressing you non-stop.”

“He can mentally undress me all he wants, you’re the one that gets to undress me for real,” You smirked a little.

“Yeah, I still wanna tear his spine out,” He mumbled and started walking away.

“Ben,” You gripped his upper arm and stopped him. He turned to look at you and you pulled him down into a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you,” He smiled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Butcher before, does it really bother you?”

“Not really, what’s bothering me is how he’s looking at you,” He sighed a little. “They’re sleeping here tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” You nodded.

“Who’s sleeping where?”

“Hughie in the guest room, Butcher on the upstairs couch.”

“The pullout couch?” He smirked. “In the room next to ours?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ at all,” He replied and kissed you again.

**

You didn’t notice, but throughout the movie Butcher was eyeing you incrementally. When you’d reach over Ben to grab some popcorn and he could see your cleavage nicely his eyes were glued. It happened quite a few times until Ben moved the popcorn closer to you so you wouldn’t have to reach for it.

Every scary scene you’d reach for Ben’s hand and snuggle into his side for a sense of security. (Not that you were really scared, but you wanted an excuse to be even closer to Ben.) He’d respond by holding you tighter and whispering sweet nothings into your ear about how he’ll never let a killer doll hurt you.

Dinner was a little awkward between Ben and Butcher; Solder Boy caught him eyeing you over and over. You and Hughie, however, were having a lovely conversation about horror movies.

“Pennywise and Micheal Myers aren’t even comparable, Hughie! What kind of question is that?” You scoffed, laughing.

“Okay but overall, Micheal Myers is better,” He replied.

“No! Micheal Myers is just a run-of-the-mill serial killer, Pennywise is a supernatural shape shifting killer clown!” You exclaimed. “Ben, back me up here.” You turned to look at him and gained his attention by tapping his upper arm.

“What was the question sweetheart?” He asked.

“Micheal Myers from the Halloween movies, or Pennywise from Stephen King’s It?”

“Oh Myers definitely,” He nodded.

“No, you’re supposed to say Pennywise,” You whispered.

“I love you but Pennywise is fuckin’ horrific!” He whispered back, smiling.

“I win,” Hughie grinned widely.

“Wait so Annabelle doesn’t scare you but Pennywise does?” You asked Ben, purposefully annoying Hughie by ignoring him.

“All they had to do to stop Annabelle is set her on fire, Pennywise basically can’t die,” He shrugged.

“Okay one, burning the doll would just free the demon, and two, Pennywise dies at the end of the second movie.”

“Does he though, Y/n? Does he?” Ben teased, you rolled your eyes.

“Butcher, you agree with me, right?” You said.

“Pennywise is creepier but is much easier to beat in a fight,” Butcher replied. “All you gotta do is close your eyes, tell yourself he ain’t real, and the cunt disappears. Myers on the other hand has died several times but it never seems to stick. Myers is better.”

“I hate you all so much right now!” You groaned.

“Ooh how about what horror movie villain could you beat in a fight?” Hughie offered, understanding the Myers vs Pennywise topic had been settled.

“All of them,” Ben stated seriously.

**

You stepped out of the bathroom after your shower, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Ben’s.

“On the bed, now.” He said sternly. You smiled widely, you loved when he got all authoritative in the bedroom. You hurried to the bed and he quickly followed, freeing himself of his own clothes.

He knelt down between your bent legs, spreading them wider with his hands. With almost no preparation, he slid himself all the way in, making you cry out with pleasure and pain.

“Oh, god, Ben!” You exclaimed, squeezing your eyes shut. He stayed there and watched you writhe under him. “B-Ben, move,” You squeaked, urging him to create some friction.

“Nuh uh,” He held your hips down when you tried to thrust upward. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Ben, I’m all yours,” You breathed.

“Louder, I want Butcher to fuckin’ hear you. I want him to know who fuckin’ owns you.”

“Ben! I’m all yours oh god!” You exclaimed. “Please- Just-”

He bent down and kissed you.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t even walk tomorrow,” He whispered. “You’re all mine, Y/n.”

“I’m all yours Ben, fuck!” You screamed.

That was enough for him to pull almost all the way out and thrust back in, repeating over and over. With every thrust he had you screaming his name and proving you truly were all his.

[dreamauri]

┇𝗪𝗘'𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡 - part one ┇୧ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ :🪴: ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨୧ ╮ ┇when the love of your life gets hurt and he for ┇some reason still wont leave you, even in death. ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊   ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( max vertsappen  x  fem! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( angst )  ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠song — ( link ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠word count — ( 1, 422 ) ╰  🌿 :: ⁠ content warning — ( X )

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The drip from the showerhead was becoming annoying as you sat in the steamy shower. You didn’t want to get off the counter. With a towel wrapped around your body, you stared at the tiles on the wall, your hair sticking to your scalp and neck. You didn’t want to move, but that constant tip tip tip was becoming very enraging.

In the heat of anger you stormed out of the warmth of the washroom into your room, pulling pyjamas out of your closet so you can find warmth and solace under your bed’s covering instead. Your emotions were getting the best of you, clawing and scratching at your skin as you dried your body aggressively. 

The frown stuck on your face as you pulled the shirt over your head. You turned to get a headstart in warming up your bed while you dressed yourself, when you met the dutch blue eyes.

You and Max stared at each other with wide eyes like deers caught in headlights. This was the last thing you expected. Max in your messy room and apartment? Not even on your list for depression Tuesday. In fact, you expected almost everyone you know to stop by for a visit, minus Max Verstappen. Max Verstappen wasn’t even supposed to be here? How’d he get in?

 “Y/N-” “FUCKIN HELL!” You screamed, taking a step back only to stumble on your own footing, falling back on your ass. “I just saw you at the hospital!” You pointed at Max accusingly, disbelief in your eyes.

But he wasn’t looking at your eyes, his eyes trailed down accidentally, meeting your bare body. “Max!” You shouted in embarrassment, struggling to pull your shirt over your head. His eyes snapped up to meet yours with a nervous blush.

“I’m sorry.” His accent flowed through as he started to panic looking around before finally deciding to turn around and face the other way. You could feel the embarrassment radiate off him as you dressed quickly. Your brain was working 10, 000 rpm you thought you were going to explode. 

You hesitantly took a step towards him, reaching to turn him around. You were so confused about what he was wearing? How did he get up and come here? What was going on? What was going on?! “Explain-” You needed answers, but apparently, you just answered them. You gasped in a breath as your hand went straight through his shoulder. 

You were going to pass out. You were definitely going to pass out, you thought as you looked down at your hand fearfully. Now the puzzle pieces were complete. Now you knew this wasn’t just a cruel joke. Max really was brain dead. His body back in the hospital was real.

“Oh my god.” This max in your room was also having his own panic attack as he felt his chest heave and look at you in panic. You couldn’t help but look at the shorter ( and now that you’re looking at him you realise that he’s also younger ) Max in pity and sadness. 

“Why are you crying? I’m crying.” Max pointed at you angrily, trying to hold his tears in as you messily wiped your own. “Sorry, sorry. Just a lot going on.” You dismissed it with a deep breath, sitting on your bead with your head in your hands. The panic and confusion faded, and you were once again left in a pit of darkness. “Can’t be more than what I’m going through! Your hand literally just went through me!” 

“What’s the date?” “What?” He scrunched your face at you confused, confusion and distaste on his face. “Your hand went through me, a human who’s supposed to be opaque. The date doesn't matter right now-” “What’s the date, max?” You asked again sternly and he replied this time. “May fifteen.” Wrong you thought. “And the year?” He frowned deeply at you, with a scoff. “What are you stupid? It’s 2016.” He answered like it was the simplest question in history. That date was history.

You examined the race suit he was wearing. Confetti was stuck to it with the red bull logo and colours to match the livery. 2016, you noted. Looking up at him in his face. Younger, way younger than the verstappen laying in the hospital.

Your mom always talked about paranormal happenings like this. Maybe you should've listened to the crazy lady.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were literally dealing with a fresh 18-year-old first time grand prix winner. You sighed deeply taking the food delivery that was left at your door. You sat at the dining room table, unpacking the soul food. The only sound that was going through the entire apartment was the wrapper as you walked through the apartment. “Can you please just leave me alone and stop staring at my nightstand? Go to the light, Max. Please leave.”

“I’M NOT DEAD!” was the response that came from him. He was sitting on the floor, leaning on the nightstand, banging his head back against it. “Okay! Then be . . . not dead somewhere else.” “I’M NOT DEAD! STOP SAYING THAT!” “I didn’t say anything! Chill.” You grumbled as you sat on your bed throwing the box of the mozzarella sticks away, eating the last one. 

“What are you eating?” The blond glared at you, looking disgustingly at the fried cheese in your hand. “It’s called freedom of diet. I’m not a f1 driver, I don't need to watch-” “I’m still in Formula One?!” You had to crawl back because he literally pounced on you with disbelief in his eyes. “Two time world champion.” You replied warily. “Well- technically three now.” You sighed deeply.  

Max settled down on the bed beside you, looking down at his lap in thought. “Three time world champion.” He repeated slowly. “I- wow.” You understand how overwhelming this must feel. Last he remembers is kissing you after winning his first GP and now he’s won multiple across the years enough to make him the best, three times!

“I understand how you feel.” You sighed deeply after a few seconds of silence. “I missed out on a lot.” he grumbled and you nodded, not baring to look in his eyes. “What about us?” You looked at him as he asked hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck. “We kissed, after the podium.” “Yeah we did.” You confirmed remembering the moment clearly.

“What . . . happened to us?” “What do you mean?” “Well, you’ve been a big part of my life since my parent’s divorce . . . did you become an,” he took in a shaky breath, “did you become an emportanter part of my life?” A soft smile spreads on your face as you listen to his question. “It’s ‘more important’.” You corrected softly, gently brushing the back of your hand over his cheek, not touching though because he probably wouldn't feel comforted by your fingers going through his face. “Just answer the question.” He pleaded quietly, closing his eyes. He could almost feel your touch. Andhe wanted to. Max desperately wanted to feel your fingers on his skin. He wanted to hug you and lay in your arms. He wanted to kiss you, again. You are so grown up now. Mature. He can't deny it made you look even more attractive.

“Yeah.” You whispered nodding. Your eyes couldn’t help but look at the night stand, heart pumping with guilt. Maybe this could be a chance to fix things, if things can be fixed at all. 

You hesitantly reached over to the drawer, pulling it open and pulling out a golden band with a beautiful diamond ring. “I um . . .” You looked at it gulping, a shaky breath leaving your lungs. “I took it off to shower.” Pain bled through your heart as you placed the ring on the correct finger.

You brushed your hair behind your ear, looking at Max with a shy yet tiny smile. “Is that- are we-” He was too shocked and speechless to form words as he gently traced the air above your ring finger. “Y-yeah.” Your smile widened as you saw tears well up in his eyes. “Why are you crying?” You chuckled, tilting your head.

“I-i honestly thought you were going to marry Daniel.” You burst out laughing, covering your face at the thought. “Me? And daniel? He’s like 8 years older than us.” You assured him. “Besides, I’m your best friend through hell and back, Maxie. Wouldn’t dream of living with anyone else-”  “I love you.”  “Ok ok, don't cry.”  “Y/N, I’m a ghost. Let me cry!”

[riverbutghost]

Stop The Pain

Pairings: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even though you weren’t supposed to be on the field, you were. And you weren’t alone. You got a rookie under your wing, and that was fine until you got shot.

Categories: Angst/ Fluff, happy ending

Warnings: Graphic language, blood, wound, military stuff, sexual themes. Also, Medic!Reader.

The reader’s call sign is Pearl. I don’t know why.

A/N: This is my second fic and i’m over the moon with my first one aaaaggggh!! Anyway, happy reading lol, don’t forget to rb to support me :) still waiting for the day when someone’s gonna request something-but no complaining-

“Keep your eyes open, kid!”

You yelled over the storm, one hand pressing on his wound and the other trying to pull him by his arm. He was trying so hard not to close his eyes, but you knew it. You knew he was dying soon.

“C’mon, kid. Just a little, ugh, longer,” You huffed as the storm got stronger.

The mission was the hardest mission you’ve ever been to. And it was the first mission you had to use a knife to kill someone. A fucking knife. You were a medical professional after all, why would you need or use a knife to kill someone?

“I swear to God or whatever is above there-“ Your breath hitched and you stopped talking as a bullet pierced through your thigh. You pulled the rookie with you to somewhere safe, then looked at your thigh. It was bleeding.

Thankfully it wasn’t something fatal, but it still hurt. You looked at the kid, you were still holding him with one hand. You quickly retreated your other hand to his wound.

“Deep breaths, kiddo. You got this, I know you do.”

You checked your comm, but it wasn’t there. You suddenly started to feel helpless, useless.

“Shit, okay- you’re okay. We’re okay-“

He coughed blood, making you feel a lot worse.

“C’mon kid, just a little more, stay with me.”

He nodded his head but his eyes were blurring. You wanted to stop the war. It wasn’t fair.

“Talk to me. How old are you?” You said while trying so hard to stop the bleeding. You ripped your shirt, which was under your vest, and started pressing on his wound with it.

“I’m twenty two- this my first…” You nearly cried. this was his first mission, and he was dying. No, you said to yourself. You weren’t going to let him die, he had to live.

“You’re not going anywhere, buddy.” You tried so hard to reassure him, to let him know that he wasn’t dying soon. But he was.

“What the fuck?! “ You yelled when another bullet landed on the tree behind you. You wanted them dead, all of them. Fuckin’ terorists, you mumbled. Killing and torturing people, that’s what they fuckin’ do.

“Stay here, yeah? I’ll find a comm.” You told the kid. He nodded his head, trying not to drift away. You took his gun.

You stood up carefully, walked around the secure area that you found surprisingly. The area before you was almost empty. The keyword is almost.

You placed the sound suppressor on your gun, the rookie’s gun, and shot the enemy who was kneeling before a dead body. He didn’t even have a chance to look at you.

You quickly scanned the area and carefully kneeled down next to a dead body, which was wearing a balaclava. You figured it was someone on your team. You took the little piece and put it on your ear.

“Hello, is anyone there? It’s Pearl, I need immediate help. Please is anyone there?”

You were shaking now. You gripped your thigh, the pain making you more stressed than ever.

“Is anyone fuckin’ there! God damn it!” You yelled and stood up, going back to the rookie.

“Hey rookie, you good?” You swallowed the shakiness.

“Not- not a rookie. Soldier-“ He flinched and gave a shaky breath.

“Of course, just stay with me a little more, hm? ”

You were on the verge of tears now. No one was there. No one could help the kid. No one. You pressed your com.

“Please, I need help-“

A static voice came suddenly from the other line. You held your breath.

“Pearl, where are you?”

You relaxed a bit after hearing your lieutenant’s voice. He spoke in a cold manner, but you knew him. He was worried.

“S- Ghost, I don’t know I- We- The kid is dying- I-“

Your hands started shaking, your breath was limited. You tried to think about different things, but it was hard to do that in your situation right now.

“Are you hurt?”

“My t-thigh-“

“We’re comin’ , stay where you are ‘kay?“

You nodded your head stupidly. You looked down, the rookie was barely breathing.

“Hey kid, c’mon they’re coming!” You yelled and started tapping his cheek to wake him up.

He groaned but still didn’t open his eyes.

You were fully crying now. You didn’t know why were you crying. You’ve lost many many people in your life, some young some old, but this has never happened. Yes, you’ve shed a few tears but you’ve never felt like this.

“What’s your name, kid?” You wiped your nose on your sleeve.

He didn’t answer. You closed your eyes for a moment and when you looked at him, you checked his pulse with trembling hands.

He was gone.

Your shoulders dropped. Your eyes started producing more tears, if that was possible.

You gripped his dog tags and pulled them out. You looked at his name.

Theodore Moreau

You wipes your eyes then got up. No, you tried to, because there was a sudden pain that made you whimper and fall down again.

You had forgotten about your thigh.

You held your thigh, but your head was pounding. You weren’t sure if that was because of the shot. It was because of your panic attack.

You needed your Simon.

You cried harder at that thought, feeling selfish. But you needed him. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about you like that, but after that night you were sure you would talk to him about your feelings. Because losing someone was so easy at this point.

You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth and holding your wound.

You tried thinking about something else, something that would take you away.

You drifted away.

-

Simon was nauseous.

He was panicking inside, but didn’t show a single emotion on the outside.

Were you shot? Were you wounded? Did you need him?

He was angry.

Angry at Price for making you fight with the enemy. Angry at Soap for leaving your side to fight someone.

Angry at himself because you probably needed him and he wasn’t there.

Gaz looked at Price.

“Where are they? What if they’re both dead-“

“What? No way, yer aff yer heid.”

Simon shuddered at the thought.

“She’s not dead, Kyle.” Simon’s cold voice was heard. He had an authority, making Gaz shut up.

“We’ll look this way, and you’ll look thay way, got it?” Price spoke suddenly. Everyone agreed and went down the paths.

Simon thought about the first time he felt a thing towards you. It was three months ago.

-

You were cleaning Simon’s wound.

He was super close, you were super close. He was looking at your eyes while you were looking at his bicep. It was a sight.

You were a sight.

“You’re staring, Simon.”

His heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. It suited you.

How sweet would his name be if you moaned it. Just for him-

“Simon.”

He cleared his throat.

“Sorry, had a rough day.”

You smiled at him. That sweet innocent smile.

Fuck, he thought.

“It’s okay.” You continued working on him, your touch gentle.

“Am I hurting you?” You asked him with genuine concern.

He gulped.

“No, you’re not.”

You smiled again. He was feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

“Well, that’s it. Come again if it starts to bleed, Simon.”

He sighed and nodded. You stood up from the medical bed, and washed your hands.

Simon wasn’t sure if he was okay.

“Simon are you sure you’re okay?” You asked him while removing your white uniform, which was something like an apron.

“I’m, yeah. I’m okay. I’ll just leave,” He stood up quickly.

Your face fall. Did you want him to stay?

“Okay, uhm…” You cleared your throat.

“Do you mind me coming to your room tonight?” You asked him innocently. His pants were tightening.

“What?” He found himself asking.

“Y’know, to- to look at your wound. If that’s okay for you?”

He was sweating now, wanting nothing more than taking off his mask.

“Yeah, yeah that would be okay.”

You licked your lips. He sighed. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t do that.

Your gaze fell to his pants, making him more uncomfortable. Your breath hitched and you gulped.

Your eyes met again.

“I’ll come tonight.” You said breathlessly. He nodded.

And he couldn’t wait for the night.

He was right to feel that way. Because he felt like he was born again that night.

-

“Ghost?”

He turned to Soap, shaking the images of you from his mind.

“Yes sergeant?”

Soap pressed his lips tighter than before.

“I know you care about her.” Simon felt claustrophobic all of a sudden.

“I-“

Soap held a hand for him to shut up.

“I know. And I know you’re my superior and I have to respect you, but you were super loud, Simon.”

Simon gave a slow breath. Soap cracked a smile.

“And I know she cares about you too. I saw how her breath hitched when she saw you on the treadmill.”

Simon smirked. But his smirk fell when he realized you weren’t with him. You were in God knows where, and he was talking about you and him and your relationship with Soap. He gulped.

“Focus, Soap. We have to find her.”

Soap nodded.

“We will.”

-

“Pearl!”

You immediately opened your eyes and looked around frantically.

“Oh my God! You’re alive.”

Price sighed and looked at your form.

“Price, I’m sorry. Couldn’t save him.” You said while trying so hard not to sob. He gave you a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, he knew it was going to be a hard mission. He was a real soldier.”

You smiled weakly.

“Let’s get your wound cleaned up, yeah?” You nodded and let them take you to the truck.

“We’ll meet the helicopter in a second, Pearl.”

You nodded and clenched your jaw. The pain was starting to feel unbearable.

“Where is Simon?” You asked Gaz, who was holding you at the back. He scratched his neck.

“I’ll inform them.”

He held his comm.

“We found her, meet us in front of the heli.”

“Roger that.” Came Soap’s voice in a second.

You closed your eyes, finally feeling relaxed. You weren’t sure if you’d be mentally relaxed though.

-

-

-

You felt like an absolute shit when you woke up. You didn’t wake up because of the beeping or anything, you woke up out of nothing.

“Simon.”

Simon shifted his mask, you assumed, and turned around.

“Y’good?”

You nodded and swallowed.

It was pitch black other than the little lamp near you on the nightstand and it was comforting.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been on the field in the first place. It’s our fault, and I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Simon.” You smiled reassuringly at him.

“It’s not gonna happen again, don’t worry.” Simon said while looking at the floor.

You put your hand on his, which was on your side.

“It’s okay, I got shot. Accidents happen.” He clenched his jaw.

“Not to you,” He said your real name in the end. It made you shiver.

“We lost that kid, sadly. What if that was you? I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Your expression fell after the mention of the kid. You suddenly felt disappointed again, at yourself.

“I want to give his dog tags to his family.”

He reached out for your face, gloves already off. He stroked your cheek and you suddenly felt touch starved.

“Okay,” He mumbled, words vibrating his chest. You blushed.

“Don’t do that.” His hand found your lips, caressing them softly.

“What?” You said, meaning it.

“Don’t blame yourself.” You sighed.

He moved his hand to your chin and caressed there softly too. He was making you forget things, and you weren’t complaining.

“Can I see you?” He stopped caressing your face and took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to!” You suddenly said.

He took his mask off in a second. Your mouth was hung open.

“You’re really pretty, Simon.” You bit your lip, tilted your head. He felt his heart beat faster.

“Knock knock knock!! Pearl!”

A sudden voice was heard and Simon quickly put on his mask.

“How is our little Pearl?” Soap’s sickly sweet voice came in, behind him was Captain Price.

“I’m really good, actually .” You smiled at them softly then made eye contact with Simon.

“I’ll need assisting for a while, though.” You said mischievously. Soap laughed at that.

“Well, you sure need it.” Price said looking at Simon.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Simon rolled his eyes then got up.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight?”

“You will.”

Simon got out, smacking Soap’s head on his way out. Gaz came in a second later, making you stop your chit chat.

“Well, that was disgusting. But I guess I won the bet!”

You rolled your eyes while laughing at their antics.

You couldn’t wait for the night.

Just like 3 months ago.

That was so rushed. I hate it tbh but this is my second fic and I’ll improve. I just feel like I can’t sum up my fics? Whatever, please like and rb if you liked it!!

[kaydenverse]

paperwork

ghost x reader x soap

18+ MINORS DNI

genre: smut with a little bit of fluff

word count: little over 3k

a/n: this is my first smut in at least a year or so but i thought of this out of nowhere and cause there’s so few polyam ghostsoap fics i’m now obligated to write it. this is also my first time posting like a longer writing on here so apologies if it looks weird? also i did get a bit lazy with the end ngl, my bad. lower case is intended.

this is a gender neutral fic, they/them pronouns are used and there’s no specification of genitalia!

the readers call sign is “halo” and they’re a very skilled sniper on the task force.

content warnings: there’s plot to this? i think?, just filth for majority of this tbh, there’s a bits of tooth rotting fluff throughout tho, lots of pet names, degradation like a lot tbh but there’s praise sprinkled in, established polyam relationship, i believe in switch ghost and switch soap supremacy, edging, overstimulation, spit, begging, mask kink if you squint, all three of you are whipped BAD, uhh i think that’s all enjoy!

-

you would like to say you don’t know how you got here but then you’d be lying.

you know damn well that it’s both yours and johnny’s brattiness that’s got you here and you’re glad as hell it did if you’re being truthful.

first, there’s johnny.

he’s laid propped up with his back against the headboard of the bed in nothing but his blue boxer briefs and his hands gripping the sheets as he tries his absolute best not to touch you.

then there’s you who’s on your knees in between johnny’s legs that are bent in front of him and spread to make room for you. your cheek is squish against the scottish man’s lower abdomen due to simon having both your wrists pinned to your lower back and your ass propped up.

now, simon, he’s behind you staring dead into johnny’s eyes as he rolls his hips ever so slowly into yours. the teasing pace draws a pathetic whine out of you and johnny’s face flushes at the sound.

as much as johnny wants to touch you, he keeps his hands to himself and stares right back at simon through that skull mask of his as if you weren’t even there drooling like a cock-drunk idiot all over his stomach.

“i’m impressed, mctavish,” simon’s voice sounds strained as if he’s fighting off a moan. “thought you’d touch them by now.”

and johnny does want to touch you. in fact, he wants to touch you so badly he could cry. but, he’s trying to prove to simon that he can listen, that he can be good.

johnny doesn’t attempt to hide his desperation though because he knows both you and simon would see right through him. you both know him too well for him to try that.

“you gave me orders, l.t., i'm just followin’ them.” the words sound breathless leaving johnny and he can’t bring himself to care much. simon’s mask is pushed up to the bridge of his nose so johnny has a clear view of the smirk that stretches across his face.

“what a good boy, hm?” simon leans down and kisses up your spine. the kiss he gives the scar on your right shoulder you’d gotten on a mission a while back is noticeably a tad longer than the other kisses. “he’s being such a good boy, isn’t he, sweetheart?” you yelp a little when he bites down on your shoulder. a part of you wishes he’d bite hard enough to draw just a little blood.

that’d really drive you wild.

you whine, wiggling your ass desperately in an attempt you try to get him to start fucking into you again. “please, please simon, i’m so close-“

“i asked you-“ simon slid out of you completely, leaving you empty and coming down from your high yet again. “a fuckin’ question, didn’t i, doll?” now you’re the one who wants to cry.

“yes, good! he’s being so good!” you whine in frustration, looking up at johnny with the most desperate look he’s ever seen you give him. he wants to feel bad, he really does, but watching you nearly burst into tears after simon has been edging you for a full half hour has him far too excited.

“he’s being better than you at following orders right now, ” he shrugs as he lightly skates his fingers up your spine. “a first.” the taunt in his voice makes you clench around nothing.

if you weren’t so scatterbrained right now you would’ve bantered right back at him but, alas, there’s nothing going on in that pretty little head of yours except desperation and the need to cum.

johnny just now realizes how hard he’s breathing as well as the fact that if simon keeps this up he’ll come without being properly touched. it’s not helping that you’re squirming, almost frantically, right over johnny’s crotch. ghost lets out a laugh at the pleading look soap tosses him.

“now maybe if you two weren’t such brats i wouldn’t have to teach you lessons like this.”

-

the three of you had gathered in ghost’s office on your lunch breaks just to be around each other for a bit since each of you were busy doing your own paperwork that needed to be done. you and soap sat in the cushioned chairs facing his desk and you all munched away on your sandwiches.

soap did most of the talking and you commented here while ghost just listened. soap can never stick to one topic for long before he’s onto something else but you don’t mind, neither does ghost. you find it cute in all honesty. you’re both his favorite listeners.

you would’ve lost track of time while intensely listening to soap ramble on if ghost hadn’t glanced at the tiny clock in the corner of his computer screen.

“apologies on interrupting your rant of your least favorite lunch meats,” no one else but you and soap could’ve caught the playfulness hidden beneath ghost’s deadpan sounding words. “but it is time for you two to return to your jobs and not bother me anymore.”

soap groans and you slouch in your chair, also making a mental note of johnny’s passionate dislike for processed ham. “paperwork is boring though, ghost.” you give a poor attempt of pouting at him. “and you love when we bother you.” a true statement.

“boring or not you still have to do it, halo.” ghost leans back in his chair and hums, tugging his mask back down over the lower half of his face. he rests his arm back on the armrest, mirroring his other arm, and his legs are slightly spread.

what a sight.

you don’t even have to look over at soap to know his thinking the exact same thing. for a split second, both of you also think how you’ve scored one of the hottest men alive.

like, seriously.

wow.

“and same applies to you too, soap.” ghost says before the scot could say anything. the small tilt of ghost’s head simply makes him all the more attractive.

soap groans again but still stands up and stretches a little. “i guess we should get going and do our work.” he laughs softly and you stand up as well. “it would be nicer to be doing you though.” he winks at the lieutenant.

the joke is so corny you can’t help but laugh a little. but still, he’s speaking both of your truths.

“get going and i’ll consider letting you do so later.” ghost is quick to reply but he keeps his expression unreadable. he watches both sets of his partners eyes light up and shakes his head. “always need to be rewarded, can’t go a day without it.” he tuts loudly so you both hear his teasing and his shake is head.

“i will have it finished and on your desk within an hour, sir.” soap grins, leaning across the desk to press a kiss over ghost’s mask where his mouth would be. you follow suit and ghost’s heart nearly bursts at the gesture. he won’t ever tell either of you that

but he doesn’t need to, you both know already. you know him.

“i’ll have mine in 45.” you challenge and grin. soap rolls his eyes as he turns towards you, cupping your face in one hand.

“oh, you’re on.” soap smirks at you before kissing you gently. you don’t let him pull back, though. when he does try to pull back you chase after his lips and kiss him again. this only happens twice before the soft whine you let out helps soap catch onto your silly little plan.

he keeps his lips on yours and cups your other cheek while your hands go to his hips, thumbs digging into them just the way he likes. you let him nudge you backwards so you’re sat on the edge of ghost’s desk with your back to the masked man.

you both just go at it, for lack of better words.

ghost just watches. he makes no sounds and keeps his reaction hidden exceptionally well. the only time he moves is to catch the pencil holder you nearly knock over when shoving a hand onto the desk to keep soap from knocking you over with the force of his kisses.

ghost straights the pencil holder, slotting a pen that fell out of the container back in before he finally speaks. “paperwork. get on it. now.”

you two fly apart like you’ve been caught, like ghost hadn’t just be sitting directly behind his very misbehaved partners kissing intensely for a full three minutes.

“yes, sir.”

“i’m on it, l.t.”

-

“what? now you wanna give me puppy eyes and beg? now you feel sorry for what you started?” the stare simon gives johnny almost makes the scot nearly moan, “or maybe i should place the blame on you?” he leans back down and rests his chin on your shoulder, “i mean,” his voice drops an octave or two as he plants a kiss behind your ear. “you are the one who started up that little stunt. johnny was just being a good boy and following along.”

now, both you and johnny know the ‘no one is allowed to cum until i say’ rule is in place at the moment but my god, was simon making it incredibly difficult just from his words alone. degradation with just the lightest sprinkle of praise gets you and soap ecstatic and simon takes full advantage of that constantly.

“ooh you’re so worked up, si. glad my plan worked.” you’ve finally pieced enough of your brain back together to smart mouth again.

johnny almost shakes his head at you, almost tells you ‘now we’re really in for it.’ but simon is quick to manhandle you onto your back and latch a hand around your throat. johnny whines from the pressure of your back against his clothed, leaking cock and you whine from the pressure simon puts on your throat. a shameless moan rips from you when simon gives a little squeeze.

simon leans in close to your face, giving you a stare that could kill. “were you just that desperate for me to fuck you that you have to go around plotting stupid little fuckin’ schemes for it to happen, hm? need me to fuck you as a reward for everything? must want me to if you had to come up with a plan to make sure it’d happen.”

and just like that, you’re gone again. every single thought being replaced by one’s of simon and johnny, nothing more.

your whole body jerks when simon’s free hand reaches back down between your legs and he uses his middle and ring finger to slowly trace over your hole, both to tease you and as a subtle way of checking that you’ve still got enough wetness to take him again. of course you’d still have enough though, he’s got you so worked up you’re shaking and johnny has tears of desperation starting to prick at his eyes.

“open.” the hand around your throat moves up and his thumb taps your lips gently. you obliged and simon leans down and spits directly into your mouth. you swallow with no hesitation.

johnny’s hips immediately buck up against your back at the sight, “fucks sake.” he breathes out and drops his head back to look at the ceiling.

“eyes on me, sargent.” simon almost growls. johnny hesitates for a second before looking back down at the two of you. it takes everything in john “soap” mctavish's body to not cum on the spot.

ghost has let you sit up a little and leave various hickies and bite marks along his chest. he’s let his guard down just a little and johnny already knows what he’s gonna ask. “i’m good.” he breathes.

“same.” you murmur as you bite down on that spot on simon’s neck that always makes him groan. with that, as quick as the soft moment came, it’s gone again and simon presses two fingers into you. “simon!” you’re caught off guard and whine.

“they’re so fuckin’ wet.” simon hums to johnny who smiles a little. you love it when they talk about you like you’re not even there.

“i bet,” johnny almost reaches out to pet the top of your head but immediately stops upon the warning look simon gives him. it takes simon all but two minutes before you’re whining and bucking your hips the way you do just before you cum.

this time, a tear or two does slide down your face when simon’s fingers leave you empty again. you want to beg, to plead with the lieutenant but all you do is pant and shake. “so pretty.” simon pats your right cheek twice, making sure to smear some of your wetness on your cheek. johnny chuckles when you toss simon a very annoyed glare.

“please.” you manage. the wrecked tone you say it in actually works and simon sits up, tugging you a tad closer to him, so your upper back is pressed right against johnny’s bulge. the movement makes johnny groan again but simon ignores him. why does johnny find simon ignoring him right now so hot?

“since you asked so nicely, darling,” simon hums, finally sliding himself back into you. johnny isn’t sure if he’d rather be in your position or simon’s as he watches simon pick up the pace, fucking into you fast and hard.

you’re falling apart and falling apart fast. you’re moaning, whining, whimpering, just the full show. you should be embarrassed at how quickly you approach your release (four minutes. still better than johnny’s record of about 25 seconds one time.) but it’s been ripped away from you so many times in the past 45 minutes you don’t care in the slightest. when simon shifts his angle just right and nudges into that perfect spot, you know you’re done for.

“can i,” you pant, clawing at simon’s bicep and squirming back against johnny who looks like he’s about to lose it. “please, sir.”

now you knew, you knew, what that title does to him in moments like this. it’s near impossible for him to not want to give you everything and more when you pathetically beg him like that.

“fuck, yes, go ahead let go for me.”

simon barely gets all the words out before you’re arching up into him and your orgasm hits you like a fucking bus. you’re swearing up a storm, simon and johnny’s names mixed in as well.

behind you, johnny is not-so-subtly rutting against your upper-back. simon glares up at johnny for breaking his order to stay but that look, that glare, that’s what has johnny smacking face first into his high only moments after yours. simon should’ve known that would happen.

johnny’s hands fly into your hair and he grabs which punches a high pitched whimper from your chest.

simon just knows he’s going to think about this exact moment frequently for the rest of his life.

simon stills his hips and sits up back on his haunches he watches you make a mess around his cock and johnny make a mess of his briefs behind you.

“where’s my thank you, darling?” simon hums as he slowly drags his hands up your sides. the touch is overwhelming but a good kind of overwhelming.

“th- oh god,” you breathe out when he pinches one of your nipples. “thank you.” you feel boneless under simon as he hums happily at your response. you can feel johnny panting behind you as well as the sticky wetness of his release on your upper back.

“johnny boy lost.” you giggle lightly after a minute or two of catching your breath and putting your brain back together. you tilted your head back to look up at said johnny boy behind you. he’s got a blush that’s spreading down to his shoulder making the freckles that dot them stick out even more.

johnny is staring up at the ceiling and his entire body is buzzing. “uh-huh,” is all he can think to say to which you and simon smile at. you swear your heart skips a beat when you catch a glimpse of simon’s dimples.

simon leans over you and presses a kiss onto the center of johnny’s chest. “hey, i wanna kiss him.” you grumbled and nudged at simon to get off (and out) of you. simon plants a quick kiss on your lips before completing your request. you flip over and you’re on johnny in a second, the both of you smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths.

simon just contently watches for a few moments before tapping your hip. “oi, my turn.” he doesn’t mean for that to come out so playful, wanting to keep up the tough guy act right now, but he can’t help it. you roll onto your side next to johnny. johnny waves simon over and pats his thighs. simon shuffles forward and straddles the other man’s hips.

johnny looks so small with simon seated in his lap despite them being near the same height. the scottish man has to tilt his head up to get a proper look at his boyfriend’s partially masked face.

“you’re so pretty, baby.” johnny’s accent sounds thick as he presses a kiss to simon’s throat. simon only hums, a little worried that if he spoke he’d sound whiny. “take care of me and our lovely darling so well.” he wraps his arms around the lieutenant and plants more kisses around his collarbone.

you watch that switch in simon’s mind flip and he’s suddenly all mush in johnny’s hold, a soft whine slipping from his lips when johnny bites over one of the hickies you had left on him.

only you and johnny know how to flip that switch.

simon is only ever this vulnerable and relaxed around you two. his two. soap and halo, johnny and you. you’re the only two who can just make him melt on command. just piece the right words together in that gentle tone of either of yours and he’s done for, down for the count. he’s just ready to do anything either of you ask. that makes you smile as you watch them.

simon leans down and kisses johnny before any further praises are said. johnny immediately rocks his hips into simon’s and they moan into each others mouths. they start off a little slow but it doesn’t take long before they’re both desperate and rutting against each other like their lives depend on it.

you’re perfectly content just watching them fall apart against each other, soft groans and hushed praises filling the room.

you love it.

you love them.

crazy that your distressing, life-risking job has led you to the most perfect people you could’ve ever imagined.

you’re pulled back out of your thoughts when simon lets out the prettiest whine as he cums onto johnny’s stomach and his own. johnny had gotten riled up again and was shaking through his second orgasm.

you roll over to the bedside dresser and fetch a washcloth out of the drawer. johnny takes it and gently wiped off the both of them and tries to wipe you off but with a 6’4” soldier dramatically slumped against him in his lap it’s not the easiest.

“such a baby.” you snort at simon and take the towel from him instead so you can wipe yourself down. simon, affectionally, flashes his middle finger at you before he finally rolls off of johnny and squishes himself between the two of you.

the three of you lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence and getting comfortable cuddled together. you’re the first to speak again, “you know, i don’t think i deserved to be edged that long.” you flip onto your stomach as you look over at them.

“oh you’ve handled longer, don’t complain.” simon teases and he’s right. just a month or so ago johnny had you in tears after a full hour of denial and simon just watched from a seat in the corner of the room. johnny laughs in agreement.

“and you love it so now you really can’t complain.” johnny grins when you flip him off. simon snorts and tugs his mask all the way back down.

“are you not hot right now, mate?” soap taps the cheek of ghosts mask.

“i am.”

“then why didn’t you take it off?”

“cause you’ve both got a thing for it, especially you, sweetheart.” ghost nods towards you. well…he’s got you both there.

“well, you’ve got a thing for my accent.” johnny defends himself.

“and my hands.” you hum, drumming your fingers on simon’s bare chest. simon doesn’t bother to defend himself because you’re both right.

you prop yourself up on your elbows. “hey, how come he got off so easy?” you huff. johnny had only been instructed to keep his hands to himself and stay still. he ended up breaking both those rules in the end

“cause he turned his papers in at the time he promised. one hour. you took, two hours to finish yours.”

“i got distracted!”

“distracted by what exactly?”

“…thinking about you and johnny…”

“typical.”

[here2bbtstrash]

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’. 

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late. 

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space. 

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back. 

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume. 

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?��� you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.” 

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit. 

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”