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lipringlrh · 27 days

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HE DOESN’T WANT ME WHEN HE’S SOBER PART 2 (LANDO ENDING)

read: part one | logan ending

summary: lando’s your best friend but seems to like you when he’s drunk. but then again, he seems to like everyone when he’s drunk.

pairing: lando norris x gn!reader

wc: 1.8k

Lando wouldn’t admit it to anyone but that night was the worst sleep he’d ever had. He left as soon as he found out you’d left with Lily and Alex, and made his way to your house just to find out you weren’t there. He messaged Alex to get no response and contemplated waiting outside your door until you came back, whether it be days or months, he’d wait for you. But, after almost falling asleep numerous times and getting laughed at by a group of teenagers, he made his way back to his apartment, knowing you’d be looked after.

He was awake almost all night, messaging and calling you and regretting everything in its entirety. He didn’t fully know if you had even seen him kiss the person that resembled you, he only felt it deep down, but even if you hadn’t, he shouldn’t have done it, and he could never apologise enough. He thought of how to explain his thoughts but nothing would suffice; nothing would ever be able to explain how he felt.

At some point in the early hours, he finally drifted off, but awoke not much later to an aggressive banging on his door and a voice screaming at him to hurry up. He wished the voice was you but it wasn’t and he hated it. He rushed to his door, barely having time to pull on some grey joggers before opening it to an angry Alex, very close to breaking the door down.

“Are you stupid?” Alex questioned, fuming, pushing his way into Lando’s house, “I know that you’re in love with her so what are you doing?”

Lando looked like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t explain his actions, he didn’t even want to think about them. All he remembered feeling was grief at watching you walk away, so when he found someone that looked eerily similar, he took the chance to kiss them and create the image in his mind of kissing you. It didn’t last long. He realised too quickly that they didn’t smell like you and the way they kissed wasn’t the same. He hated it, he didn’t want to kiss anyone but you.

“I know, I didn’t mean to-”

“What, you just tripped into her mouth then?” Alex questioned, pushing a finger against Lando’s chest.

“No- no. I don’t know why I did, I really love them I promise. We almost kissed but then they walked away, I was hurt, I didn’t think they wanted me,” Lando almost cried, his voice cracking.

“You do this every time you go out. You kiss her every time you go out and she follows, you don’t get to pull that card. You might be upset but I promise you’re not even feeling half of it,” Alex spat, not caring if he hurt Lando because he hurt you much more.

“Help me apologise. I need to apologise, please Alex, please help,” Lando begged, wanting you to more than anything, “Please Alex, I’ll do anything.”

Alex sighed. At that moment, he hated Lando for what he did, but he’d been wishing for you both to get together since he first saw you both together, making heart eyes at each other. He contemplated in his head whether to help or not. He always envisioned you together but always wanted what's best for you and right now he couldn’t tell if that was Lando or not. But looking at the state of him, red, wet eyes, begging for his help, he wanted to believe Lando regretted everything and would do anything to prove he loved you.

“Okay, but I’m not letting you be forgiven easily, I want you to prove it,” Alex sighed, running his hands over his face. A feeling of simultaneous relief and guilt eating him alive.

Lando promised Alex over and over again, and in between each syllable, promising himself also that he would give you the world in apologies, and whatever happened he deserved it, but even if there was the slimmest chance you could forgive him, Lando would take it and cherish it.

Alex messaged you and you told him it was fine to bring Lando over, as long as he didn’t expect much, and so they turned up less than five minutes later. Alex left you both alone in the kitchen to sit with Lily in the living room after repeating countless times he was a shout away.

You almost broke down just seeing him but managed to keep it in. You didn’t want him to explain, you didn’t care to hear it at the moment, but as soon as Alex left he began spilling out apologies and trying to explain himself, which you quickly shut up.

“I want some space,” you sighed. You wanted Lando close but you wanted everything you felt for him gone first. You couldn’t believe he ever felt the same, not after that.

“Of course, I understand,” his voice broke as he stepped back, trying to show you he would do anything you said.

“Not like that, Lando. I mean it, I don’t think I can see you for a while.”

“Oh-” he said, “When can I see you again?”

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be, this is my fault,” he sighed, clearly upset and looking at the ground, “I’ll go, I’ll see you soon.”

After he left, you broke down crying, debating your decision on if you handled it right. You already missed him, and still loved him, but you also didn’t want to see him. Alex explained the whole morning, and his perspective, giving you hope you could fix it with Lando, especially after Alex’s approval, which you trusted more than anything.

The next few times you saw him were at hangouts with your shared friends. You knew he’d be there as none of your friends would invite him unless you were completely sure you didn’t mind him there. He stayed away, but didn’t make it awkward to the people around you, and always gave you a shy smile when you caught his eye.

He didn’t try to text or call again, despite wanting to more than anything, and instead waited for you to make the first move whenever you were ready. You had missed him more than anything, in both an “I love him” and “he’s my best friend” way, and it was killing you from being away from him, especially after how well he listened to your instructions.

You were at a mutual friend's get-together, a small barbecue in a back garden when you decided it was time. You had been debating texting him but after seeing him, you decided you couldn’t wait.

He was standing alone in a corner beside a flower patch and some grass, drink in hand, and surveying everyone that was there when you walked over. He didn’t know how to greet you and so awkwardly moved his hands between going for a hug or a handshake. You laughed and hugged him, both of you holding on tightly, unhappy to let go.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered gently, looking down and playing with your fingers, slightly nervous to admit it to him after all this time.

“I’ve missed you too,” he grins, adding on, “So much,” with a quiet whisper.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, trying to make small talk before delving right in.

“Okay, I’ve not really done much. Races have been okay.”

“I saw,” you smiled, “You’ve done really well.”

“You watched?” he questioned, a little surprised. You met his eyes and nodded, explaining how you could never miss one.

“Do you want to talk inside?” you asked, heart pounding as you said it. He nodded immediately, without hesitation, and followed you in through the double glass doors into the kitchen, but only after picking out a daisy from the grass next to him and offering it out to you, causing both of you to grin.

He closed the doors behind you both, blocking out as much other noise as possible, ready for you to begin. “I want to know how you feel about this and about me,” you started, voice shaky.

“I’m sorry, I’m still so sorry. I love you and I want what’s best for you and I can’t even find an excuse, I was being stupid and thinking how you’d never want me. It was all nothing, you’re the only person that’s ever meant anything, I’m so sorry. I will do anything to fix this- anything.”

“Lan,” you let out a breath, “You still want me?”

“More than anything,” he grinned and you stepped forward to reach him, locking your arms around his neck.

Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as you pull his face down until his lips are almost touching yours. He was smiling so much you thought it might be impossible to kiss him but you pulled him into you anyway, finally kissing him again.

“Stop smiling,” you laughed, pulling away to say it before immediately kissing him again.

“What? Can I not be happy? I’m getting my girl back,” he pulled away, grinning harder, then trying to drag you back in, which was almost successful until you pulled away at the last second.

“I can barely kiss you like this and I’d really, really like to,” you giggled, tugging him back again to enjoy another impatient kiss.

Your hands were running all over his head, completely ruining his hair, but he didn’t care. His hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you impossibly close. When you finally parted he still kept you close, resting his forehead on yours.

“Are you sure you want this?” he questioned, his breath still heavy.

You kissed his cheek and looked straight into his eyes, “More than anything, I promise,” you paused for a moment, “But you’re going to have to grovel to repay all the lost time we’ve had.”

“I’m going to prove to you that I’m all in, that I want this more than I could possibly explain,” Lando promised, meaning every word. He was already planning out exactly what he wanted to do - he knew he had to work to become your official boyfriend, but he would do everything possible for you.

You just stared at him, showcasing the biggest smile you’ve ever had, eyes full of love, knowing you weren’t ever going to let each other go or even risk it again.

“God I love you,” he grinned, ignoring the fact he still hadn’t caught his breath and pulling you into another, more intimate, kiss.

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luveline · 1 month

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more hotch with teacher!reader? maybe she’s trying to take a bunch of things into her classroom one morning and hotch jumps in to help (and flirt with) them :)) i adore you’re writing thank you for sharing sm with us lately!!!

you’re so welcome ily ty for requesting! <3 fem, 1k

Today, you and your class are going to make dioramas with a heavy focus on paper crafting. For the last few days, you’ve helped them make plans on what they want to create, and then you scoured the internet for origami and craft tutorials to suit. The only one you couldn’t find was for poor Jamie’s tractors. You’ll figure it out, you’re sure.

You’ve been saving cardboard boxes, toilet roll inserts, and egg cartons for months. There’s a total mountain of things to bring in, so you’re here early. You figure if you carry huge armfuls, you can get everything inside in three trips.

“Oh,” you say, as a cardboard box tumbles to the ground, and somehow doesn’t give you a clearer view, “whoops. I’ll pick that up. Jeez.”

You step over it and almost slip.

“Careful,” someone says.

You jump and send an egg carton skittering across the floor. “Oh, gosh! You scared me!” You twist your head, the cardboard that had been resting on your face falling down into your collar. “Oh, Mr. Hotchner.”

Of course it’s Mr. Hotchner. Aaron, predictably.

“Aaron,” he says, leaning down to grab the things you’ve dropped, before he opens his arm toward you. You lean away from your tower, embarrassed but relieved when he takes the bulk of your tall tower from you.

“Thank you, Aaron. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so early. Is everything okay?”

“Let me help you with this.”

Avoiding the question. You and Aaron carry your cardboard inside to the classroom, where you unlock your door (and you never would’ve been able to do without his rescue). He follows you to the arts and crafts table toward the back of the room, and you deposit your stock.

“Thank you,” you say when he places his armful down.

“It’s no problem. Can I help with the rest?”

“Would you, please?” you ask. “It seemed a lot less before today.”

You bring the rest back in. He’s the picture of a perfect gentleman and carries more than you each time, which isn’t to say you can’t have carried the same as he did, but it’s nice for once to be the one looked after. As a teacher, you get used to giving.

He doesn’t make you ask him twice. “I’m here early because I wanted to talk with you if you’re free, before I head into the office.”

“His Aunt is bringing him today?” you ask about Jack.

“I didn’t manage to get home in time last night to see him, but I’ll be here at pick up time.”

You nod, hyper aware that you’d swayed the conversation again. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“It’s about Jack. Well, it’s mostly about me. I’d like to ask you for a favour, if you’re willing.”

“Oh, sure. Of course.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

You flush under the weight of his knowing smile. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine. So…”

“It’s hard sometimes to get Jack to tell me what you’re doing in school. I had no idea he’d be making dioramas today. And I don’t need your lesson plans, I’d never expect that of you, but I was hoping you could summarise the week for me on Fridays? Or whenever you can. I don’t need updates on how Jack is progressing, it could be a couple of words on the topics you’ve chosen, just so I know what he’s doing while I’m away.”

You’ve never been asked to do it. Parents of kids in the second grade aren’t usually clocked in on what their kids are learning. School is still half fun at this age, your most important job is to make sure they can all read with acceptable fluency. And it’s hard because their parents don’t help, but it’s fine. You love teaching them something so important, and you’re ecstatic to meet someone who’s actually interested.

You beam. “Yeah, of course I can. I can do that, I don’t mind. Nobody ever wants to know what we’re doing, which is such a shame! I mean, they’re so excited and of course their parents care, but if they have just a little bit of support it makes a huge difference. I can totally send you my lesson plans, Aaron. I’d like to.” You laugh to yourself smugly. “I never get to show them off. They’re extensive. And they take ages.”

“You want to show them off?” he asks softly.

His voice is velveteen.

“Is that awful?” you ask.

“No, it makes sense. You really don’t have to if it’s too much trouble, but I… feel guilty, when I call him and ask how school was, and he can’t remember what happened.”

“Don’t feel bad about that. The kids can’t remember what I told them ten minutes ago.”

He isn’t like you, in that he’s very still. He doesn’t move or fidget, which makes his looking at you all the more obvious. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I pay you back?”

You catch one of your bracelets and twist it around your wrist.

Aaron told you without hesitation that he profiles criminals. He can read their expressions, habits, and idiosyncrasies as thoughts and feelings. He can trace movement to the source. You’re positive he wouldn’t keep asking you such leading questions, or insist you call him by his first name every time you see him, if he didn’t already know that you find him attractive.

“How would you do that?” you ask.

“Is there anything else you… need help with?”

A million things, but you’re no idiot. You can read subtlety too.

“Well, I have a bunch of textbooks on the top shelf in the stockroom you could help me with.” You smile shyly. “It gets hot in there, though.”

He begins taking off his suit jacket. “That,” he says, his gaze on you with all the tenderness and amusement of someone who’s known you longer, “won’t be a problem.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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smileysuh · 4 months

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Love Plug

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k

🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕

Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.

Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.

There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.

You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica.

Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?

John: define out. Who is this

Unknown number: shit

Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times

Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n

John: I remember you

John: how much do you need?

Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?

John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour

Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.

When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.

“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”

You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate.

“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”

You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.

You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…

You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.

When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.

John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Thank you.”

You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.

“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.

“Hmm?”

“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”

“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”

John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.

“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.

“Is that a rosé?”

You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”

“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.

John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”

“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”

“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”

“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.

“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”

“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”

“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”

“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.

John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”

“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”

“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion.

Is he asking you out?

Finally, you ask, “Aren’t you working?”

“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”

You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”

The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.

“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.

“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.

“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”

You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”

“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”

So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.

John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.

“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.

“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”

You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.

The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.

“It’s going,” she sighs.

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”

“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”

“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”

“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.

“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”

With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.

The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.

“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”

You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”

Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”

Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”

“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”

“After I got over how annoying you are.”

John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”

You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail.

“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.

You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”

“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.

“How about you? He’s a regular?”

“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”

You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-

Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?

“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.

“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”

You consider what she’s just said.

“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”

“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”

“Hmm?”

“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”

“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”

Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”

“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”

“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”

“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”

The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies.

“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”

“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”

“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.

“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.”

You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.

“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.

Hyuna scoffs loudly.

“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”

“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.

“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”

“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.

You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”

“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.

“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”

You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”

“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”

“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.

“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”

“Deal.”

John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”

You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”

Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.

It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.

“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.

“What sort of movie?” you ask.

“Anything you want.”

“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”

“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”

“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”

“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”

You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.

“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.

John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.

“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”

John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”

A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.

“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.

“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”

“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket.

“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.

“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.”

“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.

“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.

“That’s okay,” you assure him.

“You guys up to anything fun?”

“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend.

“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently.

Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car.

“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”

You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.

You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”

“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.

You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten.

John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.

You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-

The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.

“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.

“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”

“Bad guy,” you scoff.

“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”

“You’re a softie.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”

“Says me,” you insist.

“Yeah? And how do you figure?”

You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”

“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”

You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”

“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”

You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”

He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.

Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”

You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious.

“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”

“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”

God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?

“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.

Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.”

“Do you wanna try it?”

The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head.

Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”

He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze.

You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.

You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing.

“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.

This time, he’s kissing you like he means it.

Like he needs it.

His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer.

He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure.

Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.

You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.

“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”

“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.

This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.

You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.

“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”

Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”

“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.

Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.

He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed.

His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him.

You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.

Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”

“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.”

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”

“I’m mostly sober.”

“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”

“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”

“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.

“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?”

Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.

You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.

“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.

“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”

You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”

“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”

You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.

“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.

Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked.

He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.

You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock.

He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum.

He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”

“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”

“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”

There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.

As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.

“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit.

You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.

Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.

You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.

It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-

God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.

You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.

You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.

You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”

You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-

“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-

Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.

You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless.

Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”

“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him.

“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.

“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.

Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”

“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.

“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”

“What if I want you now?”

“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”

“What if I want you to wreck me?”

Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”

You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.”

The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.

“You know what you said earlier?”

He lets out a humming sound.

“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”

“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”

“Next time?” You cock a brow.

“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”

“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”

“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”

“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?��

“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.

In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”

“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”

“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision.

“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”

“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

“Should I grab a condom?”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”

He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”

“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”

“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own.

You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.

Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”

“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”

He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.

“More.”

Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.

You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.

Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Can I-”

“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”

Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.

You’ll never be the same after this.

No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.

Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.

It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.

“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”

“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.

With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again.

“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”

Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”

Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles.

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”

“Me!”

“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”

“Me!”

“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.

“I’m gonna-”

“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”

All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.

You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life.

Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.

As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.

He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”

“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt.

Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”

When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him.

You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.

“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”

“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”

“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”

You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking, etc… I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked.

Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.

If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.

No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him

You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.

Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.

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snaileer · 11 months

Text

Practice Your Skills

“You ever look at someone and wonder how hard it would be to get past their defenses and stab them?”

Damian snapped his head to the side, looking at the young boy now standing beside him.

The boy put his hands up in front of him with a wince, “Not that I ever do that. Totally not, whaaaat???”

Damian huffed and turned back around to watch the gala participants.

“It’s just you kinda looked like you were contemplating the logistics of stabbing Mrs.Halterguild for squeezing your cheeks.”

Damian scowled. Then, after a moment’s beat, “It would not be very difficult. She is nearly blind in her left eye, I would be able to approach without repost.”

The kid hummed, turning back as well before motioning to another group to the far right, “What about Mr. Beckensmith, he’s a retired vet right?”

Damian rolled his eyes and scowled harder, “The man has only seen the battlefield of an office as he bribed his way from being fully enlisted and instead managed to pay for increasingly higher ranks and medals. He is a disgrace.”

The kid cocked his head to the side, looking suspicious for a second and then nodding with concession, “Fair enough, I bet I could get close enough too.”

Damian scoffed.

“What, don’t believe me?”

Damian leveled a doubtful glare at the civilian, making it clear by looking him up and down, “Hardly.”

The other smirked dangerously, “If I can get close enough to poke him and get away without being noticed, will you believe me?”

Damian narrowed his eyes but nodded succinctly and watched as the boy immediately took off, making a few loops around other people before finally backing up to Mr. Beckensmith and poking him on the opposite side as a group moved past.

Damian pursed his lips. Interesting. Certainly better than he would expect from an amateur. And an amateur civilian at that.

When the boy returns to his side Damian brushes off the asks of meaningless praise.

“Come on, I did it, now you have to go poke Mrs. Halterguild without getting caught.”

Damian sneers, “And why would I do that?”

“Because I don’t believe you either, the woman’s old but I bet she sees you and squeezes your cheeks again. Old ladies just have a sixth sense for that stuff you know.”

Damian nearly growls but sets off on his task. He makes sure to stay on her left side, but the woman turns at the last second, forcing Damian to use a passing waiter as cover to remain hidden and finally get close enough to poke her gaudy dress.

Then he sidles back up to the boy on the edges and provides his best ‘I am more capable than you’ scowl. The boy simply laughs and says, “Who’s next?”

They spend the night like that, choosing each other’s targets to attack non-lethally as though they were attempting to stab them, and Damian finds the gala going by in a significantly less tedious manner.

Right up until the boy laughs at him when he chooses a target. Only one bark of laughter escapes, but it is enough for Damian to consider stabbing him as well. If only with a butter knife.

Instead, Damian grinds his teeth and asks, “What is so different about Masters, do you really believe you would be unable to succeed?”

The other gives a breathless chuckle, “I’m pretty sure even you wouldn’t be able to successfully stab Vlad Masters,” The boy’s shoulders sag even as his jaw tightens with irritation, “He sees everything.”

Damian narrows his eyes. Something naws at the back of his brain but currently the critique of his capabilities takes precedence.

“I would be capable of stabbing Masters even without my favored sword,” Damian scowls and stands taller with annoyance.

“Sure you can, man,” At this, the boy quirks a sharp smile, “If you can actually get him, I’ll personally get you a magic sword,” he says with an air of amused indulgence. Like he thinks Damian is some insipid child saying he will find a fairy.

Damian grits his teeth and shakes the other’s hand, then immediately sets off after his target. How dare this civilian question him! He is the Son of the Bat, this is not even a challenge!

Damian growls as his approach is thwarted for the third time by the man turning in his direction and almost spotting him. How dare he! He will not fail!

Just as he reaches to jab the man in the side, already poised to make his escape, Masters whips around and clamps his fingers around Damian’s wrist with a vice grip.

“Really Daniel I thought we were over-“ Masters pauses, looking at Damian critically as he glares at the man’s offending hand, “You are not young Daniel.”

“Remove your hand from my person at once,” Damian growls.

Instead of listening to Damian’s very sensible directions, Masters tightens his grip and twists his arm, most likely in an attempt to hurt him.

“Now why is a child attempting to-“

Damian doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the man’s words, sliding a dagger into his other hand and swinging towards him, until that hand is caught mid-movement as well.

“Heh-Hey there!”

Damian snaps his head to the side just in time to see Grayson take his dagger and slide it into his pocket. He ignores the bark of laughter he hears from across the room.

Masters’ hand disappears from his arm suspiciously fast, “Mr. Wayne, what a pleasure!”

Damian looks over his other shoulder to see his father standing behind him, a thin smile on his face, “Vladimir!”

His father’s figure quickly obscures his vision, putting an arm over Masters’ shoulders in a way that clearly makes him irritated but forces him to follow as he is steered away.

“Dami, I thought we talked about the stabbing at formal events,” Grayson says through a strained smile as he looks over the crowd to make sure no else saw.

“Tt, it was merely a demonstration of my skills, he was in no real danger until he refused to release me. I simply sought to correct that mistake.”

Grayson pinchesthe bridge of his nose, “Demonstration for who, Dames? We all already know your skills.”

“Tt,” Damian scowls and turns away.

Instead of pushing it, Grayson simply sighs heavily, “Just stay out of trouble for the rest of the gala okay? We’re almost done.”

Damian scoffed and waited for Grayson to leave. Once he does, Damian finally looks over to where he had been lingering with the boy.

Gone.

Clearly he’d taken the cowards way out when he’d seen that Damian had been accosted by Masters.

Pitiful.

Damian spends the rest of the night scowling from the wall and looking surreptitiously for a head of black hair and blue eyes unrelated to him.

Of course it’s not until they are actively leaving that Damian sees him and immediately splits off of from his family.

He approaches with irritation, preparing to grab the other by the shoulder when suddenly he turns around and blue eyes meet Damian’s green.

“You,” Damian sneers.

“Me,” The other shrugs. He has an amused smile on his face, though it’s strained at the edges.

They stare in silence for a minute, before the other’s smile grows and sharpens once more, “I didn’t expect you to actually try to stab him, y’know,” A slight laugh escapes him, “Not that it was unwelcome by any means, but still, unexpected.”

Damian scowls again, glaring at this foolish civilian.

“Oh, I never introduced myself did I?!”

The boy exclaims and holds out a hand, smile dangerous, “Daniel Fenton. Or if we’re being technical,” a pause as Damian finally returns the gesture and finds his hand trapped, “Daniel Masters, a pleasure to meet you Damian.”

“Hurry up little badger,” A voice says beside them, and Damian notices that it is indeed Vladimir Masters.

The man approaches, placing a heavy hand on Fenton’s shoulder, making the boy go taut, and then they both step into a dark car, leaving Damian on the front steps.

Damian’s anger flares and he shoots a glare directly to the boy getting into the car. It dies the moment they meet eyes and Damian sees the fear hiding in the other’s eyes.

Fear that Damian is all too familiar with.

Fear that reminded Damian of himself. Reminded him of his own eyes when he’d been under his grandfather.

But why did Fenton look like that?

#batman #danny phantom #batfam #dc #batman and robin #danny fenton #young justice #danny phantom crossover #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #Damian wayne #Damian Al ghul #dp x dc #dpxdc #Jason Todd #red hood #Nightwing #Robin

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

Text

“DIDJA SEE THAT, DANNY?!” Tim, a scrawny eleven year old now, excitedly smacked Danny’s arm.

“Ow. Yes, yes I did.”

“Oh, gosh, I have to tell Jazz about this!!” The kid waved his arms about wildly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Jaso- I mean, Robin, smiled at me! And said he liked my t-shirt!! Oh my god, he likes literature puns, he even laughed! And then he punched the bad guy in the face! Look! I even saved the tooth!”

“Okayyy, nope!” Danny plucked the tooth and tossed it, ignoring Tim’s betrayed face. “I’ll trade you that for this.”

Danny Held out a piece of paper with Robin’s and Batman’s sigil on it, from when he asked them to sign it after they “saved” the two brothers from the two-bit thugs trying to mug them.

“Oh. My. God. This is like the best day of my life!! I love you, Danny! You’re the best brother ever!! Oh my god! I have to get Nightwing’s signature!!!”

Danny felt a rush of warmth at Tim’s proclamation of affection. Ah, he should probably step in.

“Hey, wait, no, we’re not going to Blüdhaven for you to stalk another vigilante.”

“It’s not just any old vigilante-!” Tim ignored Danny’s dramatic clutching-pearls gesture of mock hurt. “It’s Nightwing. The original Robin! He gave me my first ever hug!”

Danny paused. God dammit.

“…Fine.”

“YESSSSSS!!!!”

——

Danny-

“I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

-is so damn tired.

“Tim. I’m literally a vigilante ghost. What makes you think I’d be stupid enough to argue with a kid who runs around Gotham at night to take pictures of other vigilantes?”

Tim deflated. “Oh. Honestly, I thought you’d put up more of a fight…”

Jazz laughed and ruffled Tim’s hair. “I definitely couldn’t stop Danny when he went out. He trusted me to support him and I trusted him to come to me if he was injured, though. Can you promise me that, Tim?”

“Yeah… okay, Jazz, I promise.” Tim promised, even if he was still pouty.

Danny chimed in.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m totally worried and I’m gonna hover like a mother hen when you go out, but again, I know how stubborn and crazy we vigilante types have to be.” Danny paused. “Do you want me to put up a token protest?”

Tim nodded, sulking. “Yes, please. I had a speech planned out.”

Jazz and Danny exchanged amused glances.

“Oh, okay, my bad, kiddo. Here, let’s start from the top.”

“Okay. Ahem,” Tim straightened his back, settling into his previous mulish expression once more. “I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

Danny placed an appropriately disapproving frown on his face. “No, you can’t! It’s dangerous! You could get hurt! You’re just a child!”

Tim launched into his speech. “But I can’t stay still and do nothing when people are getting hurt! Even…!”

They were gonna be here for a while. There was definitely something about Batman going on a spiral because Jason wouldn’t be able to walk again after the Joker got to him. Danny wondered if ectoplasm could help. He might offer, if it actually had a change of getting Tim out of the vigilante business.

But that’s for later, because they had time. Jazz was on Spring Break… and they’re still staying here for free, after all of these years.

“So, how are you going to convince Robin to let you be Robin?” Jazz asked Tim.

Tim froze. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Well, you could always remind him of the fact that we saved him from the Joker. He seemed pretty ready to leave the Robin mantle, the last time I saw him as Phantom.”

“I don’t want to blackmail him into it!” Tim whined.

“It’ll just be a suggestion, Tim.” Jazz smiled patiently.

“Besides,” Danny continued, smirking mischievously at his adopted little brother. “If you were actually blackmailing him, you’d pull out the photos where he ate dirt.”

“I guess that’s true…” Tim mumbled. “I know! I’ll have to follow them to see how I can best approach him!”

"I think that's called stalking," Jazz deadpanned.

"Well, it's not any worse than what he's already done." Danny shrugged at his older sister. "Sure, kid. Why not? Do whatever you want."

"I was planning to!" Tim bounced off to grab his photography gear. Jazz stared off after him.

"Should we be encouraging that?"

"More like can we actually stop him?" Danny leaned back, lazily completing his GED assignments. Jazz sighed.

"Guess not. Make sure he doesn't get in trouble."

"Do you even know how hard that is, Jazz?" Danny complained, dodging the whack Jazz sent at the back of his head. She smirked at him.

"Womp, womp, Danny. How does karma taste today?"

Danny flipped her off as he put the last punctuation on the paper. He heard a clatter and groaned.

“I’m gonna go watch Tim stalk Batman for the night. Want anything from the store?”

Jazz hummed. “Get me the specialty strawberry ice cream, from that one place?”

“The one that’s definitely a front for Falcone’s money laundering??”

“Yeah. They make good strawberry ice cream.”

“Sure.”

Danny went ghost and flew straight through the walls to catch Tim sneaking out by the scruff of his collar.

“No. Bad Tim.”

“Awww, come on Danny!”

#danny phantom #batman #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dc x dp #dick grayson #nightwing #bamf danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #Tim is a fanboy above all fanboys #Jason is just straight up not having a good time #baby Jason would totally giggle with a kid and punch a grown man in the face right after #jazz: oh how the tables have tabled #jazz Fenton #Danny Fenton #squatter! danny fenton

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

Text

Nico wakes up with a mouthful of hair.

“Are you serious.”

He sticks out his tongue, trying to get it out of his mouth without spitting on it, giving up after about four point three seconds of trying. He wriggles his arm out from where it’s pinned between his body and Will’s, flicking the last few strands off his tongue. For good measure, he kicks the first thing he can reach — his boyfriend’s thighs, go figure — in protest.

“Please, no,” Will mumbles tiredly, batting blindly under the cover until he slaps on big hand over Nico’s ankle, squeezing. “Please. I got in at three thirty last night. It’s barely seven. Please.”

Nico sighs, relaxing his muscles. Will presses a brief kiss to his shoulder in gratitude, face buried in his chest, sinking boneless into him.

“The whole knowing the time without a clock thing will never stop being weird,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to a freckled forehead. He rubs his hands over Will’s bare shoulders, digging his thumbs along the knotted muscles, and smiles as he groans, trying in vain to plaster somehow closer to Nico, practically melting into him. “Gracie keep you up all night?”

He shifts as he nods. “Harley, too. Poor things just want someone to hold their hair outta their face and rub their back, they’re so miserable.”

Nico hums in sympathy. It’s flu season — hitting the little kids, mostly. Will has been on his feet for days trying to mitigate symptoms, soothe aching bones and sore throats. There’s not too much he can do for the flu, but the kids are miserable and they trust him, so his presence is more of a cure and a comfort than anything.

“Kayla there now?”

“Austin and Lou. Kayla’s on after lunch; Piper’s with her.”

“Good.” He squeezes his shoulders again, leaning down to press a long, lingering kiss right between his eyes. He leans into it, sighing. “Sleep for a bit, okay? I’ll come check on you, but I don’t want you up before 2.”

“‘Kay,” Will sighs, unconscious again by the time Nico’s wiggled out of his hold. For a moment he stands, watching him: his bare, broad back, spattered with dark freckles and moles, dipping at the base of his spine and covered barely by the soft, white sheets; arms curled up all the way around his face in Nico’s absence, bicep squeezing his cheek, pursing his delicate Cupid’s bow; long, light eyelashes fanning over round cheeks; even, steady breathing, in and out, in and out.

Golden hair, of course, frizzy and messy and poofing out around his head; haloed in the early morning sun.

He’s barely able to tear himself away to go shower.

———

“They’re everywhere,” says Kayla in disgust, peeling a long, curly strand off her shirt. “I haven’t been in the same room as him in two days. This is a brand-new shirt. How am I still somehow covered in his hair?”

“He’s like a dog,” Austin explains. Nico snorts. “He sheds, and at first it’s subtle, here and there, you get used to it. The suddenly two years go by and people are complimenting the fur coat that was not fur before you bought it.”

Gracie sticks out her bottom lip, eyes watering. “Will is not a dog, he’s a boy!”

Austin groans, muttering something about favourites and annoying older brothers and where was this energy when I ate the last secret cabin twinkie and was accused of being a ratbag, huh, Gracie, where was my defense squad and annoying older brothers again. Gracie is unmoved by his whining, glaring at him with big green eyes — ever her oldest brother’s defender.

Nico hides a smile in his hand. No wonder, with how Will dotes on her. On all his siblings, really, but only Yan and Gracie are young enough that it doesn’t embarrass them.

Kayla and Austin, on the other hand. (At this point, Will enjoys embarrassing them in front of their friends as much as the actual doting.)

Kayla, weak to her sister’s pouting, pokes her playfully in the side. “I’m only teasing, Gracie-girl. Of course Will isn’t a dog.”

“Except the shedding, and the constant yapping, and the fact that if you don’t let him loose to run around for a while he goes batty, and of course the following Nico around like a lovesick pup—”

“Thank you, Austin,” Nico interrupts, clearing his throat. He sends a quick prayer of thanks to his father for hair genetics covering his flaming ears.

Austin snickers. “Anytime.”

After three years it’s futile, but sometimes Nico really considers rescinding his doctor’s note. Is sitting here during meals really worth his peace? Is it?

“He really does shed, though,” Kayla says after a moment of silence. She pinched yet another hair off her shirt, sighing. “Like, not to agree with Austin or anything —”

“Hey!”

“— but, like, damn. If he’s been there, you know it.”

Nico snorts. “Tell me about it. I keep finding hair on my pillows, it’s driving me insane.”

It does drive him insane. He finds it in the shower — although to his credit Will really does try to get them all there — and in his hairbrush, on his clothes, his sheets, his mattress. The floor. Once, notably, on the shrine in his cabin, after which Will had panicked and sprinted to the pavilion to scrape an entire pot roast and pray not to get smited, leaving Nico to laugh himself to tears at the base of it.

Too late, he notices the total silence at the Apollo table, the wide eyes boring holes into his head, the loose, dropped jaws.

“What?” he says, shoulders curled defensively.

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, realization dawns on him. He chokes on a grape.

“You two didn’t tell us?” Austin demands. “How long has this —” he gestures vaguely at Nico and at the infirmary, which, he assumes, is meant to represent Will — “been going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he wheezes. With his rapidly asphyxiating brain, he attempts to summon his boyfriend, still conked out, via sheer force of will. GET THE HELL UP AND COME RUN DAMAGE CONTROL, he screams silently.

Predictably, this does nothing.

Kayla shrieks. “Oh my gods, look at his face! They’ve been doing this forever!”

Nico bangs his hands on the table, trying at once to convey his protest and also hi, hello, children of the god of medicine, I am choking to death, fix please. Neither signal gets picked up, inhabitants of the table erupting an a screeching series of questions so loud that other campers notice, understand, and approach, equally as screechy.

“Will and Nico are together?”

“Holy shit! Since when?”

“I thought they’d never get out of the pining stage!”

“Don’t they hate each other?”

“Bro, are you stupid? Do you not know what bad flirting is?”

“Hey, is di Angelo turning purple, or is that just me?”

Throwing himself into the nearest shadow, Nico disappears.

———

“Get up, get up, I fucked up, I fucked up!”

Will shoots straight upright with a gasp, force of his own body sending him careening right over the side of the bed. He goes down in a tangled heap of cursing and yelping and ow, fuck, shit-damns.

“What happened?” he demands as soon as he’s free from his fabric prison. He rushes (stumbles) over to wear Nico is still wheezing, hands braced on his knees, for dizziness now as much as to catch his breath. “Neeks, woah, slow down for a sec. Deep breaths with me.”

He tries to follow along to Will’s exaggerated breathing, steady, long inhales and exhales. A calloused hand touches the curve of his neck, warmth blooming under it, and suddenly his airways are cleared.

“Thanks,” he manages hoarsely, breathing back somewhat under control.

Will squeezes his hand. “No problem.”

There are several pillow creases criss-crossing on his cheeks, making him look soft and sleepy, although his eyes are alert, crinkled in poorly-concealed amusement. His hair is somehow more mussed than when Nico left him this morning.

“What happened?”

“So I. Um.” Nico clears his throat. “Your bother was roasting you for shedding like a dog. I, of course, had to join —”

Will rolls his eyes, mouth twitching. “Of course.”

“— and I mentioned super casually that I get your hair all over my shit, right? And, well — well.”

“Well?” Will prods, when Nico cuts himself off. Chancing a glance, Nico finds he doesn’t look angry, or nervous, or disappointed — and of course he wouldn’t. Not for something as silly as this.

He is gonna laugh, though. Nico hates when he’s righteously clowned.

“Well, I.” He lowers his voice to a mumble. “May have said something about all of your hair that ends up on my pillows.”

For a moment it’s silent. Nico keeps his eyes trained away, although he leans into Will’s touch, his hands in his face, the side of his neck, the warmth thrown off his sleep-addled body.

He’s almost startled by the giggle.

Almost.

“…Oh, you dumbass.”

He tries very hard to look annoyed as Will cracks up. He taps his foot, crosses his arms, and tries very, very hard to frown, but Will’s laugh has always been the most musical thing about him, and he loves to serenade. And Nico is very weak to song.

“Stop laughing at me,” he snaps, without heat.

Will’s cheeks puff up from the force of him trying, face going red around the edges.

“I’m trying, Neeks, I am —”

“Not very hard.”

“I am, I am.” Valiantly, he draws in a deep breath, only breaking into giggles twice before managing to hold a somewhat straight face. “Nico,” he says, suddenly very close and very warm, “I love you.” He presses a kiss to his forehead. “And I love sneaking around with you —” the bridge of his nose — “and making out in dark closets —” his cheeks, both, quickly, one after the other — “and behind the Big House —” the base of his jaw — “and in the —”

“I get it,” Nico interrupts, flushing. He can feel the curve of Will’s smile against his skin.

“My cabin, if it’s empty,” Will murmurs, kissing the underside of his jaw, his neck. “Yours.” Slight nip of his teeth. Nico gasps.

“Will,” he whispers. His knees start to shake. “Will, c’mon, we gotta —”

Will presses a kiss square to his Adam’s apple, lingering. “We’re in yours quite a lot. I’ve gotten used to it, honestly, Neeks, I —”

The door bangs open, making both of them yelp. The matching screeches to not help the general air of panic and sitcom level foolishness.

“Oh my gods, you really are porking!”

“Get out, Kayla!” they both yell together.

“Jesus,” Will curses, forehead resting on Nico’s shoulder.

Nico bites his lip. Will shifts, turning to meet his eye.

They last two whole seconds before losing it.

“Three years of sneaking around without so much as a soul finding out,” Nico huffs as Will snickers. “Three whole years.”

Will pecks him loudly and exaggeratedly on the cheek. “And endless more in the open.”

“You’re such a goddamn cheeseball.”

“And yet you’re in deep, deep love with me.”

“…I am.” He cradles his face, pressing a kiss, finally, to his lips. Will presses back, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#i’m sorry i love secret relationship so so much #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico di angelo/will solace #nico/will #will/nico #established relationship #secret relationship #fluff and humour #apollo kids #my writing #fic #longpost

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ma1dita · 4 months

Text

solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant)

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! more to come like i promised even during my birthday break ! scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace.

“Holy shit, you scared me!”

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed.

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose?

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.”

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.”

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape.

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.”

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill.

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco.

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you)

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning.

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for.

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans?

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist!

Gods.

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow.

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before.

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan imagine #percy series #luke castellan angst #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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eddiesxangel · 1 year

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“Eddie please I can’t” you’re almost crying at how frustrated you are. You want to cum, you need to cum but you just can’t! Eddie is holding the vibrator to you like it’s his last mission on earth. “You can and you will” his words were firm but gentle.

You’d told him earlier in the night you’ve never been able to cum by the hand of someone else and he was going to fix that if it was the last thing he did.

“Please Eddie… I just… it’s not working” you were squirming. Embarrassed at how long it’s been and how much you wanted this. Your clit was almost numb. The build would happen and then it would disappear again.

“Come on sweetheart, you’re too in your head” Eddie removed the vibrator and leaned down to kiss your neck, light pecks but then he started sucking that one spot.

“Mmmph daddy please” it had slipped out, almost a whisper and before you knew what was happening Eddie’s demeanour flipped.

“Ohhhh I see baby, you just need someone to take care of you don’t you?” He pouts, “Don’t worry Daddy’s got you.” He stroked you face and moved back down to your wet pussy.

“Now baby, look at you, I know you can do this, you’re so wet for me baby you’re already half way there.” He grinned up at you, almost patronizing.

You nod your head pathetically.

Eddie started kissing down your inner thigh, making his way to your dripping core. He gave a small kitten lick to your clit to test the waters. Your body squirmed again at his touch. “Oh baby you’ve been so neglected. Don’t worry I’ll take care you you.” He didn’t break eye contact with your clit. He gently rubbed small circles hitting it each time. Your hips gyrated as he worked his hand.

“How are you feeling baby, use your words”

“It feels so good eddie but… more” you whine.

“More what?” His voice firmer.

“Please daddy I need you, harder”

“Good girl”

An involuntary moan was released from your throat at his words.

“Come on baby, you can be my good girl” he slipped in a finger, than another. He slowly started pumping them until he got a good rhythm going in coordination with his thumb circling your clit.

“Please I need more I can’t” it just wasn’t enough.

This wasn’t the plan. Eddie was never supppse to be here, seeing you like this. You hardly even spoke about sex with one another, never mind having him 3 fingers deep inside you. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the way he offered his bed because he didn’t want you driving home at 1:00am after a night out together. But here you were in his apartment, spread open for him like a book he couldn’t stop reading.

“More?” He raised his brows at you.

You pause and think about what exactly you’re asking of him. You bite your lip and nod slowly.

“Please Daddy. I need it so bad” it was official you’re in the subbiest space you’ve ever been in. A tear rolled down your cheek.

Eddie kissed it away and nodded his head. You looked to him as he stroked his already hard cock. You weren’t even thinking about how this situation was affecting him. Biting your lip in anticipation, shirt already off, he pulled down his pyjama pants exposing himself to you. Your eyes grow wide, sure you’ve thought of what it would look like but you weren’t expecting this. Thick and long, you instinctively reach out to touch him, he punches you back down on the bed.

“You let me know if you want to stop, ok? I mean it. The second you feel uncomfortable tell me, your safe word is Red” you silently nod again. “No sweetheart use your words” his tone firm. “Yes Eddie, I will say Red if I want you to stop.” You whisper. “That’s my good girl” and just like that you were back to grinding your hips for any sense of release.

“I have an idea. Flip over, ass up” you do as you’re told. You feel the anticipation waiting for him to enter you. You think maybe he’s getting a condom, but he knows you’re on birth control and all you hear is a whisper “beautiful” he says under his breath.

“Daddy please” Eddie breaks out of his trance after your word snap him back into reality, seeing you wiggle your ass for him. Finally he grips each globe of your ass in each hand and slides his cock into your dripping pussy. The sound that came out if your mouth as he entered you almost had Eddie cumming right then and there. This was your favourite position, Eddie hit your spot on every stroke.

The bed frame hitting the wall, the moaning coming out of your mouth the grunting Eddie had been letting out, it was rough, it was good, but not good enough. “Please give it to me Daddy!!” he thrusts we’re harder and harder. “That’s it, be a good girl, cum for daddy.” He gritted through his teeth. “More please” you were crying, pleading with him.

He reached over the bed, for what? you don’t know, too cockdrunk to think you don’t even hear the buzzing until you feel it on your clit. Your hands were gripping the bed sheets so hard your knuckles were hurting. The vibrations pulsing through you and you had to scream into the pillow to muffle the sounds.

“Yes!”You could feel the sensation building and building, for once it wasn’t going away. Your head pressed into the matress, Eddie gripping your left hip for dear life you’re sure there will be bruises where his fingers are, his right hand gripping the vibrator not letting it leave your clit.

“DON’T STOP PLEASE” you beg him. He didn’t slow down he keeps pounding into you. The feeling was building more and more, it was so good, you couldn’t help it. “Come on baby, I can feel it, you’re getting tighter, come for me, cum for your Daddy.” His words were what broke your dam, a silent scream caught in your throat. Your body trembled beneath him. Spasming beneath him as he road out your orgasm, not stopping. The feeling was so intense, you’ve never cum this hard before, it was becoming so intense, you’re over stimulated. You reach back for Eddie to grab on to something, anything. You find his wrist beg him to stop. It was too good, “please I can’t no more” “oh little baby can’t take anymore, you were begging for more, I’m giving you more” he kept pounding into you, until your second orgasm built up again. You cried out from the pleasure. He finally released the vibrator from your clit, it was so hot to the touch. Eddie pulled out and unloaded on your ass.

After a few minutes of silent recovery only the sounds of both your heavy panting Eddie broke the silence “holy shit” Eddie got up to get a wet cloth to clean you up. He softly padded back to the room, you’re still laying face down with a stupid smile on your face. “Thank you Eddie” you sighed. “Any time sweetheart. I’ll gladly do that again” you giggled softly and yawned. “Get some sleep baby” he stroked your hair and you fell asleep in seconds.

Wow this one really got away from me, it was suppose to be a paragraph 🫣🫢

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bookyeom · 4 months

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pairing: vernon x reader word count: 3.7k warnings: angst (she did it y’all!!!!), swearing, kissing, wet!vernon

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary. Happy Birthday, Bononie!

kissing in swimming pools by holly humberstone

do you think we were made to last in the coldest of weather? maybe i don’t have to leave so soon you look heavenly in this shade of blue

Vernonie [8:48pm]: finally back from dinner

Vernonie [8:49pm]: everyone’s gone btw, so i’ll come get u now?

Y/N [8:51pm]: yeye! Just text when ur outside

You hear his car before you see it.

His parents must have kept his old, beat-up car from high school for when he came back for the summer, you muse, and it makes you smile. You’d spent a lot of time in that car, listening to whatever new indie band Vernon had “discovered” that week, or eating take-out in the department store parking lot after hours, or your personal favourite: with the engine shut off at the lookout Vernon had discovered on his way home from work one day, tucked away from most of the world as the two of you reclined in his car seats and looked at the night sky.

You used to wonder if it was there that you fell in love with him, but the truth is that you loved him long before he showed up at your door at 1am, eyes wide with excitement over his new discovery, and brought you there in your pajamas.

You still have the hoodie he’d leant you that night in the closet of your childhood bedroom.

Tonight, you shut the door quietly behind you out of habit, twisting the knob so it doesn’t make a sound. You’re long past the days of sneaking out, but your muscle memory won’t quit.

It’s been eight months since you last saw Vernon. You only came home for two days at Christmas, claiming you couldn’t take that much time off from your part time job, and had managed to avoid him. You had still needed the space from him, then. December had only marked four months since he’d broken your heart, and you weren’t sure at the time if you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again.

The months after Christmas break had finally begun to heal you. Your new semester had started, and you had decided to dive headfirst into both academic and social endeavors instead of wallowing away in your dorm room. You’d finally made new friends, your grades had improved, and while it still hurt to see his name when it popped up across your social media platforms, it wasn’t all you thought about anymore.

Right now, you kind of can’t wait to see him.

“Hi,” you say, breathless, and when Vernon meets your eyes, you know you’re not breathless because of the jog from your front door to his car.

He looks good. His hair is a bit longer, curling at the ends and falling softly across his forehead, and you think his shoulders have filled out. His jaw is just as sharp, eyelashes just as long, and you immediately wonder how you’d gone so long without him.

“Hi, stranger,” he says, and you’re terrified that the sound of his voice might tear you apart — but it doesn’t. You hold firm, despite the sound of your heartbeat roaring loud in your ears. It hurts, but it’s a dull ache instead of the sharp pain you’re used to. Seeing him sends a wave of relief through you instead of the dread you’d been half expecting, and you can feel the tension in your chest ease just the slightest bit. You can do this. Because it’s Vernon, and because life sucks without him.

You stare at each other for a few moments, and then he raises an eyebrow as if in a challenge, and you can’t help it. You break into a smile, and then you’re surging across the middle console and pulling him in for a hug. He laughs against your neck, and you know he’s just as happy to see you as you are him. The hand that was on the steering wheel finds your back, and your eyes fall shut.

“I missed you,” you say honestly, and you swear you can feel him exhale.

“Yeah,” he says before squeezing you tight, once. Brief, but enough for you to feel it, to understand, as he adds, “Me too.”

You pull back. Vernon puts the car into drive as you click on your seatbelt, and you fall into an easy, comfortable silence as he begins to make the familiar way back to his place.

When you texted him a few weeks ago, your hands trembling but determined, you hadn’t been sure what he would say. You hadn’t spoken in months.

For a while, you didn’t think you’d ever get over the rejection of last August, but a year away at university had done you good. It was full of distractions; you’d even had a couple of flings here and there. Vernon had texted you a bit at first, because you’d insisted that you were fine, but it had hurt to see his name show up on your phone. You had responded slowly, using any and all excuses to explain away the days that passed without you answering. You’d texted sparingly throughout the year on birthdays and holidays, and you knew he watched your stories the same as you watched his. You knew he knew the real reason why you were distant, but he never pushed. After all, he’d broken your heart, not the other way around.

Eventually, you had recognized that the distance was helping, and conversations between the two of you had become even more sparse after that. It had been hard — one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do — but you’d needed the space. So when his response to your text a few weeks ago had come quickly and enthusiastically, a Vernon-esque “bet :)” in response to your ask to hang out when you got home for the summer, you had been so relieved that you’d cried. Though you’d known he would never hate you, deep down a small part of you had still been afraid that you’d pushed him away for good.

The silence in the car tonight is comfortable, and you’re grateful. Vernon is tapping in tune to the beat on his steering wheel while you hum along in quiet contentment. After a couple of songs that you recognize play in a row, you turn to him in surprise.

“Is this the playlist I made you for your birthday two years ago?”

Vernon simply nods, eyes on the road as he makes a turn. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Vernon laughs. “Am I not supposed to listen to it?”

“Just surprised me, that’s all.”

”Okay, weirdo.”

The conversation moves on, but you don’t forget about it, even as you pull up to Vernon’s childhood home.

It looks almost exactly the same. You follow Vernon up the steps and to the front door, through the foyer and to the kitchen where you used to help his mom prep for their summer barbecues. He tosses you a bottle of water wordlessly before he’s slipping out the back door without warning, and you trail behind without question. His peculiar mannerisms don’t faze you, even after all this time apart, and that realization brings you a warm sort of comfort.

As soon as you step through the back door and into the warmth of the summer evening air again, you can’t help but smile. This, too, remains unchanged. The heated pool with its blue and white tiled sides; the metal table with its umbrella, a single tip bent out of shape so that it sags just in one small part; the overgrown trees whose leaves spill over the sides of the wooden fence. You’d spent many days and nights here, too.

You join Vernon, who’s already sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs hung over the sides.

“Damn, you didn’t waste any time, Sol.” The nickname falls out before you can stop it. It’s been so long since you’ve been around him, since you’ve even let yourself think of him as anything other than Vernon. If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t say.

”It’s hot out,” he points out, simple. “Why wait?” He takes a swig of his own water bottle, and you’re smiling again.

You join him without further comment.

Quiet settles between the two of you again, which would be fine if you weren't suddenly itching to ask him a million questions. How was his first year of university? How are his parents, his sister? Is his favourite food still carne asada tacos? Does he still only own t-shirts and jeans? Is he… seeing anyone?

Is he happy?

Had he really missed you?

“I’ll be right back.”

You’re surprised when Vernon gets up, barely missing you with the water he sends splashing as he does. But you don’t question him, your legs swinging back and forth in the water. You watch the underwater lights distort in the ripples you make, distracted by the simple movements and your racing thoughts. When you hear him re-emerge, you turn to find him with two towels in hand. Your eyes widen and you frantically shake your head.

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit, Vernon.” And I am not getting into that pool with you in just my underwear.

He pulls something out from under one of the towels, and you recognize it as one of his favourite band tees that he’s had for years. He raises his eyebrows at you, eyes twinkling in a teasing challenge, and you narrow your eyes at him. The smile on his face briefly sends you reeling back — back to before that night last summer when everything changed. Back to when he was just your best friend who liked to tease you for fun, who brought you your favourite ice cream every movie night, who took you to your high school graduation dance even though you knew he would have rathered gouge his eyes out with a spoon.

Back to when you were in love with him, but he didn’t know yet.

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll get in.”

He grins, and your chest does a little flip-flop. You forcefully ignore it as you take the shirt from his outstretched hand. He turns around to give you privacy, and you keep your eyes on his turned back as you remove everything except your underwear and his shirt. Though he’s grown up now and wears things that fit him better — you had noticed the bomber jacket in his backseat, and the t-shirt he’s wearing that fits him just right — he used to love things that were three sizes too big. The old, worn shirt just brushes your thighs, but you don’t have time to think anymore about it when he moves to pull his own shirt up and over his head.

You watch the muscles in his back contract, and you swallow. Don’t go down this road again, you tell yourself. It’s just going to hurt like hell.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re starting to wonder if you’d ever really strayed from that path in the first place.

Because when he turns back to you with raised eyebrows and a smile, when he pulls you with him by the hand, it hits you with as much force as the cool water you jump into. And when you resurface and your eyes find him already looking back at you, his hair sticking up every which way and water dripping from his lashes down onto his cheeks, it hits you again.

That you don’t know if there will ever be anyone else for you but him.

You turn away from him, running your hands through your hair, trying desperately to keep your cool. You feel like you’re being punched in the stomach, like that sharp pain you’d felt since last August had never left. You thought you were ready to see him again, and you had been so, so wrong.

You can feel all those months of mending, of trying desperately to get over your feelings for him so you could have him back in your life — you can feel them as they slip away.

“I’m sorry,” was all he’d said that night, and your heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. You could tell through blurry eyes that he was hurting, too, because he loved you, you knew he did. Just not like that. He hadn’t said anything else, even though it looked like he wanted to, and you just didn’t understand. You thought for sure that he felt the same, because he’d kissed you back, because you knew him just as well as he knew you.

And it really felt like you’d healed. Just an hour ago, you’d even been excited to see him again.

You will yourself to breathe.

“Hey. I’m sorry I pulled you in with me.”

You don’t respond.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t answer as his voice breaks through your racing thoughts, your back still turned to him.

“…Y/N?”

He sounds concerned, like he cares. You know he does — know that he always has. And it hurts.

You can feel the water moving behind you when you still don’t respond. You can feel it as he takes a step or two closer, and you can almost imagine the look on his face as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. You feel like you’ve been burned when he reaches for you, when his hand tries to find your arm to turn you back to him. You can hear his inhale when you flinch away, your skin on fire where his fingertips just barely brushed your shoulder.

He tries again, because he loves you. Because he loves you — but not like that. “Talk to me?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you take a deep breath. You know you have to face him in order to get through this, to leave here in one piece even if it’s by pretending. You have to. You don’t want him to know, don’t want him to know that you’re still the reason you can’t be close to him, that you still love him, that you probably never stopped.

But when you turn to find him right there, find him so close, when you see that his eyes are full of worry, you can’t find a single word. He looks beautiful in the dim blue light of the pool, and it makes your heart ache.

“Y/N.” Your name is nothing but a whispered breath as he says it, his eyes locked so intently on your face that you suddenly feel warm all over despite the slight chill of the water. His gaze pierces through you, and you watch as it travels across your face, down to your lips, where it lingers.

You’re not sure you’re breathing, not sure what to do, not sure how to possibly move on from what feels impossible. Why isn’t he moving away? Why is he so close?

“I…” He tries again, eyes still on your mouth. Then he snaps his gaze up again. “I’m… I’m really happy that you’re here.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You…”

“I missed you.” He looks hesitant before he says it, but he says it anyway, and your breath catches when you hear the tender, soft tone of his voice. It makes your head spin. “I really missed you. So much.”

You take a steadying breath at the same time as he does. The air between you feels charged — charged with something you won’t let yourself name.

Then he’s stepping even closer, a hand lifting to your face, and you freeze. You can’t move — you don’t even know if you want to. You’re confused, but you don’t move, and all you can manage to say is a single word.

“Sol,” you caution.

He takes a deep breath in, and then he says, “You haven’t thought about it?”

His hand is gentle on your jaw, thumb tracing lines back and forth across your skin. You feel goosebumps everywhere he touches. Your eyes search his, trying desperately to understand. You hate that you’re finding him extra hard to read right now — now, when you need to know what he’s thinking more than ever.

“Thought about what?” Your voice is small, and you hate it.

Vernon’s other hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin up towards him. His eyes search yours as he speaks, his voice low. “Last summer.” He pauses. “Us.”

The words hit you like a truck.

“What the fuck, Vernon?” You finally manage. You can feel the tears begin to well up, and you pull his hands away from your face. “Don’t you dare.”

He takes a step back, eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

You stare at him incredulously, frustration bubbling to the surface the longer you look at him. “Don’t be an asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and all you can hear is the water gently hitting against the side of the pool. You frustratedly tuck a lock of wet hair behind your ear before crossing your arms.

“Why would you say that to me?” You’re hurt, and he knows it.

“I just…” He searches your face for a moment before he breathes out, “I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time.”

You can feel angry tears pricking at the back of your eyelids. You blink them away rapidly as you spit out, “You were the one who kissed me back and then pretended like nothing happened. You—“

“Would you have gone?”

You blink when he interrupts you, and it takes you a second to try and understand what he means. You wrack your brain, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “What?”

“Would you have gone to school there if I had told you I loved you last summer? Or would you have chosen somewhere closer?”

You’re absolutely dumbfounded as you process what he’s saying. You’re blinking away furious tears, mouth agape as you try and settle on something to say. “Was that your fucking choice to make?”

“I was trying to make it easier for you. It’s your dream school.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “What the fuck? I was in love with you, Vernon!”

“I was in love with you, too!”

The silence is deafening. You stare at him with wide eyes, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. You wonder if he can hear it. Then you squeeze your eyes shut, your hands lifting to cover your face as you try and regain your composure.

“I thought I was doing what was best for the both of us.”

His voice is quiet. You know he’s telling the truth. It hurts, but you know he’s being honest. That he thought he was doing the right thing.

“I thought that maybe the distance would make it a little easier,” he continues, voice carrying softly across the water in the space between you. “But it didn’t. Not for me.”

Moments pass, and you realize you’re shaking. Your hands stay covering your face as you take deep breaths, waiting until you’ve recovered enough to say, voice low, “I have never been more upset with you than I am right now.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he responds. “I know, and I deserve it. I’m sorry that I made that decision for you. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it.”

You nod after a minute, after you force yourself to breathe, letting your hands fall from your face. You can’t look at him, though, eyes instead focusing on your fingers that begin tracing patterns in the water at your sides. “Okay.”

“And I'm…” He trails off, and you wait. He takes so long that you look up to find him looking at you, waiting, and something in his eyes has you stuck there. He searches your face, and then he says, “I’m sorry that I made you think that I don’t love you back. Because of course I do.”

Your heartbeat has begun to roar in your ears again. “You do, present tense?”

Vernon freezes, eyes wide. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally settles on something. “Shit. Sorry, fuck, I—”

“Is that a yes?”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah — yes. I don’t expect anything from you, though. I promise I’m not —“

“You are such a fucking idiot.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I know. I know. I’m—”

“I spent so long figuring out how to put myself back together,” you say softly, and he cuts himself off. You can feel tears pricking at the back of your eyelids again. “Without you.”

Vernon’s shoulders sag, and he nods, looking down at the water. “Yeah.”

Your breath catches before you steady yourself and you say, “It’s literally always been you, Sol. Even though you’re a fucking idiot.”

His eyes are wide when they shoot back up to meet yours. You inhale a shaky breath, watching as he waits, unsure.

“It’s still you,” you add quietly, and you’re certain that you hear his breath catch.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathes out before you can say anything else. “I love you back. I did then, and I do now, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I wanted to, I swear. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair as he finishes, “I’m just really fucking sorry.”

“I believe you,” you say softly, because you do. You believe him, and you’re not sure your heart has ever beat this fast. Because he loves you — the same way that you love him. Vernon looks down at the water again, and you think you can see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks as he thinks. “Sol?”

Your soft voice makes him look up. He still looks uncertain, like he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do.

“Come here?”

You’re in his arms so fast you can barely process. He’s hugging you so tight against his chest that you can feel the warmth of him through your wet t-shirt, and it sends shivers down your spine. He doesn’t say anything else as he holds you, and neither do you. Your arms are wound around his neck, and you can feel the way his nose nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder.

You pull back, your hands finding either side of his face. He blinks, slowly, taking in every part of you in the same way that you’re taking in every part of him. You brush away a stray drop of water that falls from his hair down onto his forehead, and you’re certain you’re dreaming. He’s so beautiful, a perfect juxtaposition of sharp edges and soft lines, so… Vernon.

And he’s gazing at you like you hung all the stars in the sky — because he loves you, in the same way that you love him.

For the second time in a year, you kiss him first.

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Here’s the sixth of our Thirteen Valentines in honour of Bononie’s birthday. Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @tae-bebe @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @bella-l (Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!)

#Vernon x reader #vernon angst #vernon fluff #vernon x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #vernon imagine #seventeen imagine #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #thirteenvalentines #my writing #chsfic

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mattitties · 6 months

Note

Can you please do one where the reader dreams that Matt’s cheating and she founds out because he posts the other girl on his Instagram…So after she’s awake she’s upset and tells real Matt about her dream. Matt just cuddle her and says his sorry even tho his not dream Matt and then he orders to the house white roses for her (the note from the flowers should say something like “dream Matt it’s an idiot and I’m deeply sorry about that bae…I love you”

🥹

Bad dream - matt sturniolo

“I’m so, so sorry. It was such a mistake but I swear to God it’ll never happen again,” he pleads. “I love you so much baby, please.”

All I can do is cry. I’ve never felt so fucking betrayed in my life. We’ve been together for over a year, we’ve talked about kids and marriage and the rest of our lives together, and he didn’t even care enough. He ended it all with one stupid night.

“You don’t care about me. You don’t love me,” I sob. “I hate you! Get the fuck out!”

He opens his mouth to say something but ultimately decides against it. I watch as he opens the door to my apartment, turns around to look at me for the last time, and leaves.

I suck in a breath as I jolt awake. My heart is pounding, and my face is wet with tears. I turn my head and see my boyfriend, Matt, sleeping soundly next to me. It was just a dream. He would never cheat on me. I know he wouldn’t. I have never had an ounce of distrust in him, but that dream just felt so real that my anxiety won’t come down.

I quietly get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, turning on the sink so he won’t hear my sobs. I don’t even know why I’m crying; it was a dream. It was fake. He’s literally in the room right next to me, and he never fails to prove his love to me. But there’s this annoying little voice in the back of my head screaming “What if? What if?” and it won’t shut off.

After a few minutes of crying and trying to keep my anxiety at bay, I go back to his room and lay down next to him, but there’s just no way I’ll be able to fall back asleep anytime soon, so I pull out my phone and start silently scrolling through TikTok.

The brightness of my phone must have woken him up despite it being all the way down. “Baby?” he says, wrapping his arm around my stomach. “Why are you up?”

“Just can’t sleep. I’m sorry, go back to bed,” I say, pushing his hair out of his eyes and trying to hide my tear-covered face. But of course, he notices. He always notices.

“What’s wrong? Were you crying?” he sits up and wipes my tears, which only makes me start crying harder. “Shhhh,” he consoles, pulling me into him. “What happened?”

“It’s so stupid.”

“If it’s making you upset, it’s not stupid. Tell me.”

I take a breath. “I just had a dream. And it made me anxious and sad. That’s it.”

“What was the dream?” he urges softly.

“You just… you cheated on me. And it was so bad because I’ve been cheated on before and it was so humiliating and it made me so upset and I just thought you’d never do that to me and I know you wouldn’t but–”

“Baby, baby, slow down,” he tilts my head so I can look up at him. “I love you. So much. And I would never, ever, ever cheat on you. You’re it for me. Okay? Dream Matt is such a fucking idiot but real Matt, the one right here, is not. I mean, I can be sometimes, but definitely not enough to cheat on you.”

I nod and give him a little smile. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry for freaking out.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re fine baby. I love you, okay?” he says softly before kissing me in a way that reminds me just how much he really does love me. “Go to sleep baby, I’m right here.”

I wake up the next morning in the same position we fell asleep in. I check my phone and see that it’s only 10 AM and Matt won’t be awake for at least another 3 hours, so I quietly dip out to the kitchen to make some breakfast. I always check the front door when I wake up to see if there’s any mail, and today I almost miss the large bouquet of white roses I see sitting on our front stoop.

I pick them up and take them inside, extremely confused and slightly concerned that a fan found our address and sent roses to one of the boys. I set the vase down on the kitchen table and read the note attached.

I’m sorry dream Matt is so stupid, but your real Matt adores you and would do anything to make you happy. Dinner tonight at 7 as an apology? Love, your wonderful loving boyfriend ;)

I just about curl into a ball and start sobbing right there. How did I get so lucky?

I head back to our room and snuggle back into him, kissing his cheek softly.

“Hmmmm,” he hums, still half asleep.

“I love you,” I whisper. “When did you order the roses?”

“I love you too, baby. Last night after you fell back asleep,” he replies, his eyes still closed and his groggy morning voice evident.

I give him one last kiss as a thank you before we fall asleep for the rest of the morning.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo x reader

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reikissu · 6 months

Text

Baji Keisuke dating headcanons.

a/n: a new dating hcs for baji, since my last ones were ooc as hell 😟 (mikey, draken, mitsuya, pahchin, kazutora)

genre: fluff, a bit of comedy

reader: gender neutral

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence and injuries

baji’s an odd one, despite him being an infamous delinquent and being held back a year, he’s the sweetest boy ever.

he’d call you baby, dumbass or babe, it depends on different days.

he’ll do anything for you, even if it meant killing someone. need help with something? alright, he’s up for the job, but if it involves homework, he’ll try his best. you hate someone with a burning passion? he’ll beat the living hell out of them for you.

he sometimes gets into fights on purpose so you’ll take care of him, you’ll hear a stone hitting your bedroom window and you’ll see your beaten up boyfriend with a shit eating grin outside your house.

“babyyy! treat my wounds please!” “you got into another fight? oh my god. 😠” “hehe.” “don’t hehe me, keisuke! whatever.. get in here.”

his mother adores you, she’s very happy for you and keisuke. she’s proud of her son because you always tell her how well he treats you, she now knows her son will be a good husband. ryoko would give you food as thanks for making keisuke happier, she’d also always ask him about you.

“how’s y/n?” “huh? oh, they’re doing good.” “oh okay, when will they stay over again?” “hmmm.. not sure, i’ll ask them tomorrow.”

there’s times where he’s in a bad mood, he gets the urge to punch someone or burn cars, but he then remembered that you told him not to. so he just pays you a visit whenever he feels cranky.

his type of dates would be after school or at night, after school you both would go to his favorite café and eat while telling each other what happened in your day, at night he would take you out on a ride or bring you to a night market.

he dreams big, and he works hard to make sure he’ll be able to achieve that life with you. a life with you where you both are newlyweds, living in an apartment without a single worry, having cats and cute kids. it makes him blush when he thinks about it.

if you’re a hardworker who never takes a break, he’ll drag your ass out. “Huh? Kei, where are we going?” “We’re going to that place you like so much.” “Why? I was doing something you know!” “Dumbass, it’s been days since you haven’t left your room, i don’t wanna open the door and see you dead on the floor.”

he would give you small things as his way of showing you his love aside from kisses and hugs. like your favorite snacks, keychains of your favorite flower or animal, and jewelry he can afford.

you both would have matching phone charms and rings, the phone charms would be cats and the rings would be sun and moon themed. he never takes off his ring, even if he was in a fight or if he was taking a bath.

he would proudly introduce you to mikey and the others, he doesn’t care if it’s embarrassing, he wants to show you off.

“Meet Y/N, they’re my lover.” “Wait, what?!” “Woah, you got yourself a saint if they can handle how much of an asshole you are.” “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” “Man, i never thought you’d be able to get a lover!” “They’re hot.” “HA?!” and everyone else has to hold baji back from beating kazutora up.

he gets jealous, even of kids. one time, a little boy came up to you and told you that he wants to marry you one day, you just said thank you and laughed it off… while keisuke, was glaring down at the kid and was like “😠… Hm.”

he would introduce you to every cat he owns. “This one’s Yuko, this one here is Peyoung, and this one, my favorite is named Y/N Jr.” “You seriously named a cat after me?” “Duh, you should’ve expected that from me.”

he’d always crave for your warmth, even at school. whenever you two are alone in a place at school, he’d hug you, if you two are staying over at his place or your place, he’d cuddle you. his arms around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he takes in your scent.

if you have younger siblings or pets, he’d gladly take care of them if you are busy or anything. he’d be the type to get along well with your parents too.

he would smell like Versace Eros, he would probably have that as his perfume because one of his rich relatives gave him that as a birthday present. so it makes you giddy inside whenever you hug him.

he isn’t very talkative and nice to other students except you, if they’d try flirting with him he’d immediately tell them you’re his lover. you are the only exception to him, no one else can play with his hair, touch his body, or even try to fix his necktie and fake glasses.

rando: “Ah, Baji-kun, your collar’s wrinkled.” he’d swat their hand away if they even try to touch his clothes, “Don’t touch me, i can fix it myself.” but if it’s you, it’s an automatic yes.

baji would ask help from you if he was having hard time with some topics in some subjects, and he’d feel bad for bothering you. but you always assure him it’s fine for him to ask for help. that’s why his test scores went up, all thanks to everything you taught him.

in short, he’s the type to improve his flaws, to study hard, to be more careful with his attitude, all for you. he’s willing to do everything, even if it has risks of death. his heart only belongs to you.

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leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Text

Just A Trim

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I had this idea like this morning or last night, I don't remember. And then I was not physically/mentally able to write until the sudden Need To Write hit me and I cranked this out

When writing this, I noticed I kept making references to Tav being shorter, but bc I want this to be enjoyed by everyone, I took them out. Pls let me know if I missed any instances of it tho

Ending loosely inspired by this scene from Big Fish

Warnings: scissors, brief references to low self-worth, anxiety, pure fluff

Word Count: 1,287

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion didn’t trust his hair with just anybody. Pulling on it during sex? Okay. Playing with it while cuddling? It takes him a bit to actually trust someone enough to enjoy it. Washing it? Absolutely off the table. Cutting it? Out of question, and he’d probably insult you for asking.

So when he came to you, frowning and grumbling, and struggled through grit teeth to ask if you would please help him cut his hair? That meant something.

You tried not to let your glee show as you dropped whatever you were working on and followed him into your shared bathroom. He plopped onto the edge of the tub like a pouting child who’d just got a good telling-to after misbehaving. He held the scissors up for you to take.

“If you cut my ears, darling, I’m going to make you regret the day you were ever born.” He glares over his shoulder as you step into the tub behind him, rolling up your sleeves and taking the scissors. “And don’t you dare do anything funny. All I need is a simple trim. I assume you’re capable enough to manage that?”

You smiled as he growled at you like an annoying customer. You lean down and gently kiss his cheek. “I promise I’ll only take a little bit off.”

There’s an unspoken conflict on his face. He’s not sure he actually wants you to go through with this… But he’s sort of out of options. Any salons nearby closed before the sun went down, and he definitely did not trust any of your past traveling companions to do the job. No. He’d just have to trust you. He sighs and faces forward. “Just… be careful.”

“I will, my love.”

It had been difficult to notice during the course of your adventure together, but his hair did grow. Not as fast as yours, but curls that delicately curled around the edges of his ears now almost completely covered them, like strangling vines. You’d heard him cuss too many times when a strand got caught in his earrings and tugged when he went to brush the hair from his face. The curl that lay persistently over his forehead now brushed his upper eyelid. Very frequently, he would huff and fight to push it back, with nothing to show for it.

With gentle, smooth motions, you combed your fingers through his hair. Your nails lightly scratched at his scalp, running from his hairline to the nape of his neck, and carefully untangling any knots all the while. You heard his quiet sigh, and saw his shoulders begin to relax. You pressed a kiss to his head.

Assessing his full head of hair, you figured out where to begin. You separated out a section, trying to determine how long it used to be, so you knew how short to cut it now. He tensed again.

“I’m going to start cutting it now, okay?” He hummed, short and anxious. You pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Relax, dear. I’ve got you.”

“It’s difficult to when you have the means to turn me into a glorified clown.”

“But I won’t.”

He sighed. “I know.”

You wait for him to relax again, and he nods slightly. You take the scissors to the first section of hair. With a shink, a small clump of hair falls into the tub. The sound certainly doesn’t fill him with confidence, but he trusts you won’t mess it up too bad…

You begin talking about your friends, about the letters they’ve sent lately keeping you updated with their lives. Apparently, Gale sent some interesting information regarding potential cures for his vampirism - though most of it was only on temporary remedies. “In good time,” you’d assured him when he groaned. Stepping into the sun again would be nice, but an end to his sanguine hunger would be better.

It takes a while to cut all his hair, especially with how meticulous you’re being. You give special attention to the hair around his ears, making sure not to nick him. You step out of the tub and in front of him while you cut the stubborn curl there, where you catch it before it can fall into his lap, and deposit it in the basin. He can’t help watching you then. You have such determination and focus on the task at hand. Only once the curl is trimmed do you actually see him staring, and you smile and peck his lips. He rather enjoyed that.

As you go through each section, you consistently run your fingers through his hair. It’s the most relaxing bit, and he’s certainly glad he asked you for this. He would die before Gale ever got his grubby mitts anywhere near his hair.

By the time you finish, his eyes are closed. He listens to your chatter, to the random tunes you hum, to the way you hold your breath as you make a cut. It’s rather peaceful, despite the underlying nervousness to it all. He can’t see himself. All he can hope is you make him look nice.

You brush your fingers through his hair to knock loose any stray strands. It falls like snow by your feet. Satisfied with your work, you begin running water for a bath, kicking the hair down the drain before you plug it to fill the tub.

“Done, love?”

“Mhm!” You lean around to kiss his cheek again. “You can take a bath, wash all the hair off, and I can get you some fresh clothes.”

He grins. He stands and turns to face you, taking your hands in his and running his thumbs along your knuckles. He’s worried, anxious, but he tries not to let it show. “How do I look?” he asks with a careful bravado, tilting his head to the side, chin upturned, like a haughty nobleman.

You let go of his hand to cup his cheek. He automatically leans into it, mask slipping ever so slightly to reveal his worry. “You look beautiful. I think I did a rather fine job.”

“‘Rather fine?’ Oh, darling,” he lilts, “for your sake, I’d better look the spitting image of perfection.”

“You always do.” It’s earnest. A solid fact to oppose the teasing of his words.

He cannot prevent the true smile that tugs the corners of his mouth as he leans in to claim yours, tasting and nipping and teasing with soft sighs of content. You are much too good to him, but he doesn’t say that out loud, lest you lecture him and treat him to endless spoils until he believes it himself.

He reluctantly pulls away, but his lips continue to brush yours. “Bathe with me.”

You open your eyes to study his face. “Are you sure?”

“Undoubtedly.”

A mischievous spark glints in the corner of your eye as you grin wickedly. “Do I get to wash your hair?”

He chuckles. “Don’t push it.”

You hum. “Would you wash mine?”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

“I want… to turn off the tap before our bathroom floods.” You pull away and he has to laugh as you wade through the water to stop the steady stream. The warm water reaches just below your knees. You sigh, but the annoyance is dampened by your grin. “Look what you’ve done - distracting me like that. Now my pants are all wet.”

“All wet?” He makes a show of looking you up and down. “I don’t know, love. I see quite a few dry spots.”

Without warning, he steps into the large tub, still in his own clothes, and grabs you, pulling you down with him into the water. Your laughter fills the house. Astarion has never been more in love.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #fluff

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undercoverpena · 7 months

Text

x. make me yours

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings/love confessions. smut - p in v, mirror sex, praise (for both) worshipping frankie's cock. happy ending in more than one way.

word count: 4.6k

an: thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for being here every step of the way, holding my hand. to @secretelephanttattoo for the comfort over the last week since i finished and to you, amazing readers, for putting trust in me once again that i could write something. i was so nervous after late night texts i'd never deliver a thing you'd all love, but here we are. thank you.

There’s a calmness to an early morning—especially one where you feel his legs tangled with yours.

Your room splayed in the glow of a new day, it fluttering through the slit of the closed curtains. Just enough for you to know it’s morning, but not enough to convince you that you need to rise.

Especially when he’s beside you.

From the steady, faint way the tips of his fingers seem to trace up and down your arm, you can tell he’s been awake for a while. The world around all so silent, just his breath and yours—the soft thudding of heartbeats and the occasional moving of limbs brushing against your sheets.

It’s enough to soothe you back to slumber, faintly hearing him whisper I’ll be right back, just awake enough to mumble an okay as the mattress dips and your cocoon of warmth begins to cool without him.

All of it perfect, almost picturesque—doing all you cannot to ruin your own delusion or fantasy with thinking about last night.

When you finally move from your sheets, you listen for him. The heavier footsteps, the way he occasionally bumps into the corner of your counter—a thing he’s done ever since you moved here.

But, there’s none.

Not even as you layer on a jumper, or pull on some socks from your bedside drawer—nothing flooding the silence except the water down the drain as you brush your teeth, as you make eyes at the bleary eyes coming back to you in the mirror.

It’s only when you leave the haven of your room, do you see him walking back in through your front door, his keys joining yours in the bowl on your side table—jacket hung beside the other, hat thrown onto the sofa.

And it makes your heart squeeze, makes your chest tighten for a moment. Because this is what you want. This. Him. His things being all messily arranged around yours, your things moving for him. A morning like this, down to the sheepish smile he gives you.

Lifting the paper bag, he begins to grin—all soft, gentle—lines beginning to appear near his eyes as he does. “I got us breakfast.”

Biting your smile, you nod, moving from the doorway to the kitchen—helping. It being all you can focus on, breaking the things down into small tasks, because it’s that or fall apart. It’s that or spill to him a mess of words you’d rehearsed for last night.

Swallowing them, the two of you move instead. All in a fluid motion, grabbing plates, a mug for him and a glass for you. The scrunching of the paper bag is all that can be heard, not the clatter of your hand against the plate as it shakes or the way you keep swallowing back a lump. One which sounds awfully like I don’t want to lose you.

He must know—be able to tell. Always able to read you like you’re the most obvious flight plan laid out for him. Because he nudges you, just ever so slightly:

“We’re okay, alright?”

You’re not sure if it’s the years of being let down by others or the sheer weight of your feelings for him, or the odd combination of both, but it crashes together inside of you, dissolving the lump, making fresh tears rise to your eyes. One falling, unable to cling itself to your lashes—unable to hide it, disguise it, not quick enough in turning before he’s already seen it.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he whispers, all soothingly.

It’s similar in tone to the one he used in the Heli that one time. Close in relation to the voice he used sometimes when he had his hand between your thighs, pleading with you to give him another, because you can do it, hermosa, you can.

Covering your face with your hands, you bite down on your cheek—the tide of pain enough to halt the fallout of tears. The pitter-patter on your cheeks, fingers sliding them down, smoothing them out over your skin as you take a breath, remove your palms, lashes lifting.

His brows are pinched together, one thick line, surrounded by a few others—eyes wide, all brown, glistening in worry and concern.

“I don’t want breakfast.”

Blinking, his eyes move around the room, before landing back on you. “O-okay, that’s—that’s okay—”

“I want you.”

It isn’t anything you like you rehearsed.

Nothing close to the script practised in mirrors and as you chopped, prepared and cooked the dish last night. It’s more an array of balled-up words which hastily leave your lips—chest rising and falling, a pang in your chest.

“I want you—and admittedly I do actually really, really want breakfast. But I want… this, the whole thing, not just the food, the act. I want the morning we began having—I…”

Your voice trails off. Keenly aware that your body has begun to tremble, the enormity of it all rising inside of you like a snake—slithering, clotting, making it hard to breathe without focusing in on it coming up your throat.

“I’m not—this isn’t making much sense. I want mornings like this. I know you saw what I did—and I don’t know if you cleaned it up because you don’t feel the same and that’s your wonderful, gentle way of telling me. And, I’m not sure if you came to fetch me out of some guilt, just like I’m not even sure if you lay with me because you wanted to make sure I wasn’t sad…

“But, Frankie, I like you. I like the way you make me feel lighter and happier, that you don’t even pretend to have all the right words. I like that you show up, that you make me feel…”

His head tilts, eyes fixed on you—unwilling to move.

Captivated. Enchanted.

It makes your skin warm and the nerves seem to settle as you take a settling breath.

Swallowing, you smile. “I like the way you make me smile. That you make me feel good, incredible even. I like you, Frankie. You.”

You watch him roll his lips, gentle movements, brain likely whirring a mile a minute under his curls. Ones you want to run your fingers through—soothe him, comfort him.

But you remain where you’re stood. Feet planted, unwilling to move closer. Not prepared to bend and curl into him, even if everything in you is screaming too.

The fear of him rejecting you keeps you still, braced—waiting and watching, studying each micro-inflexion for an insight into whether sun or rain is going to come and land on your parade.

Then, he whispers your name.

It sounds so jagged—sharp in places it is usually soft. It hits your ears wrong, not matching the look on his face, as a hand reaches inside of your chest and squeezes, while other parts of your crumble.

“Do you… not want to be with me?”

You shouldn’t ask, but you have. It's more pitiful when you replay it back, worsened by the look he gives you. It’s one you assume he’d wear if you’d slapped him. Half-wounded, half-irritated. As though what you had just proposed was the most stupid thing you could ever say.

“Fuck, no. I just—”

“Just, what?”

His jaw slides from side to side, fingers picking at the bread he’d just gone out to fetch. “I just think…

“Think what?”

“That you deserve better, alright?”

Your face falls.

Inch by inch of it shifting, feeling it do so—as though a mist has washed down over you, clinging to your features, dragging them down. From your eyebrows to your upturned lips.

Slowly, you press your spine into the back of your kitchen counter, hand resting on the top of it, not moving, not circling the pattern or tapping against the side.

“Frankie…”

“No, listen. You deserve someone who has their shit together, someone who can take you out—spoil you—give you the life you want. I… I can’t do that. But someone else, someone like—“

“Like Will?”

His chin lifts, his eyes landing on you. Fear and panic eroding away the earlier irritation.

You’re breathing heavily, seething and panting. Adrenaline darts through you, making your back straighten and your fingers want to close into fists.

“Yeah, I know. Surprise, surprise, you don’t need to be military-trained to know that you’re being a dick to him because you’ve created a narrative in your head. Which, by the way, is all that is, because I don’t like Will like that. Never have. He’s… he’s not my type for one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I like you.” You chew your cheek, staring at him, sighing. “Frankie, I don’t deserve better.” Trying to blink away tears that begin to spring, feeling them practically stinging. “What is even better than you?”

He shoots you a look, lips rolling, before he pushes a heavy breath out through his nose.

You don’t care if it’s childish, you fold your arms. Anger suddenly crawls up your throat, wanting to throw whatever you can at him.

Narrowing your eyes, you drop your voice, “So, what? You’re good enough to be my best friend, to have a key to my house, to sleep with me—fucking regularly, by the way—but not to put a different label on it?”

He says your name, soft, barely in a breath. Eyes all dark, swarming with things you can’t begin to work out.

And it rises in you again. The feeling from last night.

The matted mess of emotions that rumbled out of you in floods of tears as your glare intensifies, your heart aching as you dig your stare into him with all you have.

“No, Frankie. No. You know I like you. I always have. It’s… it’s always been you. And, I think you know that, just like we both know this hasn’t just been fucking.” Straightening your spine, you take a more measured breath. “So, if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine—but I’d like you to go.”

The latter comes out more shaky—a crack in your resolve. Each syllable all practically broken by the time it hits the air, eyes unwavering in their stare at him, watching, studying. Easily able to spot the slight shift of his jaw, the tick of it to the side, and the way his throat bobs as he contemplates it—whatever he's fighting inside his head.

Then, he takes your hand and moves it from being around your other bicep, unfolding your crossed arms.

It’s simple to take your hand. Easy. A gesture he hopes says more than it does.

From your glare, he’s not sure it does.

So, he takes a moment. Weigh it up, tries to align up the words which will make the most sense, and have the most impact. Holding your fingers in his. Allowing himself to feel the little bones that make it up, the knuckles and the way your hand just instantly fits inside his own.

If anything, it’s only more evidence of how long this has been in front of his face. A thing he now can’t unsee or unnotice. Because with you it’s never forced, not the way he feels or the way you fit. A place there for you, growing as he did, especially made for you inside of him.

He beats for you.

A realisation he really only accepted last night when he stood in your home—the one littered with the little quirks he’s been around to witness take shape. Like your obsessions with fake hanging plants, because you can’t keep real ones alive; that you like black and white images over colour, because it doesn’t matter what colour the room is.

“I think…”

Your brows rise, pulling your eyes with it—making them wider, more like pools. There’s hesitance embroiled in the rest of you, appearing so close to unravelling that it hurts his heart.

But it’s your eyes he focuses on. He’s always found them beautiful, and expressive—a thing he could happily dive into and contently live inside of if allowed.

“I think we make new rules?”

His grip tightens on your hand, and he feels your fingers slide with ease between his. Letting yourself soften to him, come to him—like you always do.

It would be easy for someone else to admit it all, to tell you that he wants you, likes you, practically fucking needs you. That you’re important, the most important thing, if anything—that he couldn’t leave you, not ever.

It had already pricked at him before the of you began all of this. When the two of you were nothing more than just best friends. It being there, ready to pierce him when he leaves for work, when he says goodbye; when he’s in a different city reading your text messages.

The idea of leaving, leaving, would kill him. Would be worse than a bullet ripping through flesh or a knife plunging into muscle. It would ruin him, end him.

Because you’re the light that leads him back. The hands that somehow find all the pieces of him that have shifted from their places, able to solve him, complete the puzzle. You see him, bloom inside of him, force away the darkness and add little beams of sunshine when it had only ever been shadows.

“We can’t see other people—”

“Frankie—I already know this.”

He gives you a look, a pointed one. A give me a second kind of look, and you relent, mouth clamping shut, eyes narrowing a touch.

Tracing his tongue over his bottom lip. “And, one of the nights I’m back—we go out. Whether it’s for a drive, for dinner, for a movie, something—anything. I… I wanna take you out.”

Your face flickers, attempting to shift. “Okay… I think I can do that...”

Taking a half-step closer, he watches your other hand fall to your side, allowing him to slide his hand over your hip. “And, I want you to cook for me. Baby, I miss your cooking so fucking much. I miss the little smile you do when you see me take a second bite—I… I miss it.”

“You gonna turn up for it?”

Smirking, he pinches your side. “I deserved that.”

Nodding, you smirk, and he takes the opportunity to look at you—really look. The shine in your eyes having returned, the slight upturn of your lips.

Seemingly, and obviously, coming to the conclusion he’s offering—and he’s sure if he could tell you what he thinks, what he said to Will, it would shift into a grin.

Holding your hip, he takes another half-step, the gap gone, faded, vanished. “And, I’m going to buy you wine—because… well, hand it to you, I never actually stopped.”

“Wait. What? What do you mean?”

Letting his hand release yours, Frankie instead cups your cheek, thumb stroking against it in a soft line. “Couldn’t help it. Each time I went to the store, I ended up buying it anyway. I have been for months, since we first began our arrangement. It’s just…. stored away. My cupboards are full of it, my truck even—it felt wrong not to buy it for you.”

Glancing down at you, he quickly spots how your eyes have begun to fill, water filling at the bottom that he already feels is different from the way they had done earlier. The sun catching them, twinkling, practically shimmering with something he hopes is joy.

It’s why he reaches his finger to brush out over the corner of your growing smile, feeling it, basking in it.

Clearing your throat, you bite your lip before saying, “Can I stay at yours—'cause your bed is so much nicer than mine.”

Laughing, he feels a grin explode across his face. “Can stay over at mine whenever baby.”

“Because I’m yours?”

The question makes his throat tighten, just a touch before his body floods with warmth. “Because you’re mine.”

And fuck, the way you look at him as the words hit you, it’s like nothing he can ever explain. No words able to describe it, no phrasing that can properly explain it. It’s like a thousand things all flickering over your face.

It’s why he kisses you, needing to feel it, taste it. Finding you moving your fingers around his neck, nails scratching lightly at the base of his hair.

“I like our new rules,” you whisper, mouth hovering over his.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, twirling a curl around your finger before tugging ever so lightly.

“Yeah. I agree to all our new rules.”

As he smirks, you must want to feel it—because you press your lips back to his, deepening it, tongue sliding past his, licking behind his teeth as his body presses you more to the counter. So reminiscent of that first time—your words coming to him.

That is—if you didn’t find me so repulsive.

He groans against you, keeping you close, flush. “Fuck you must really like me, querida.”

Licking your lips, he hears you let out a soft breath. “I do, actually—in fact, I love you.” Lifting his brows, knowing they’re cutting into his forehead, likely all deep lines appearing as his eyes get even wider. “Have done for a stupidly long amount of time.”

“How long?”

Needing to hear it—needing it to coat him.

Shrugging, you smile, his hand rising, taking yours from around his neck and pressing it against his cheek. “Too long to not have said anything.”

“Me too.”

He wants to tell you it all. The speech that barely makes any sense. How his feelings for you are something akin to love at first sight, but not. Like an ache, a need. A purpose to make you smile, to make you happy—a thing he tried to do at all the chances he had.

And at some point, between then and now, he’d fallen, head over.

And fuck was he glad. More so as he has the opportunity to dance his breath along your lips, feeling the softest flicker of your hammering through his chest.

“Been crazy about you for ages,” he says, instead. “Made it easy to be too. Nothing about you has ever been difficult.”

“Not what I’ve heard you say in bed.”

Smirking, he purposefully slants his mouth over yours, wishing to paint your lips in the feelings that rage and flow throughout him. That he wants this, you, for the rest of his life.

“Thought I could never deserve you.”

“Fra—“

Your chastise is swallowed, muffled against his mouth as he silences you with his lips. Moving you, walking you—happy that you let him, as he twists his body, the two of you walk back to the room the two of you had woken up in. The one he wishes he gets to wake up in many more times.

“Tell me again.”

He knows he’s not specific, but he hopes you know. Not hiding the doubt he knows that usually strums inside of him, offering the chance for you to brush it away, remove it. Like you have done so many other times, but just never like this Your brain is cruel to you, Morales.

“I love you, Francisco.”

He kisses you, a groan vibrating against his lips as your body smothers his—all welcomed, a weight he’d missed.

“I love you so much, Frankie,” you whisper again, closer to his ear, his mouth on your neck, finding that spot.

Lifting the bottom of your jumper up, his thumb brushes over your soft stomach as he pulls it up off your body—unveiling you, smothering you in soft yellow as the sunlight tries to peek through your curtains.

“I love you, querida.”

He speaks it, then he burns those three words against you. Right under your ear as he casts your clothing to a corner, then against your pulse as he cups your breast, thumb brushing over the hardening peak as you whimper, before he does it a millimetre from your lips, watching you fix your gaze on him.

Your body is slowly smothered with his, letting himself feel you, all that he can. The few items the two of you are wearing are removed, falling in a littered pattern against the floor, until it’s just a skin-to-skin—the cool air pebbling both of your skin.

It’s your turn: say it again.

And he does. Not just with his lips, but with everything he has. Warming you, making you smile against his mouth as he slides his hand between your thighs, feeling it, how much you want him, how much you love him. Coating his fingers in it, that honeyed slick that he would feast on forever—almost tempted to drop to his knees and draw each letter of those three words against you.

“Wanna try something,” he whispers, instead.

Your eyes pinch, before smoothing out as he slides two fingers inside of you, easily up to the knuckle. Feeling enveloped, delving into silken warmth that welcomes him like you have done since the beginning.

“Wanna show you how pretty you are.”

His thumb catching your bundle of nerves, your pussy fluttering around his fingers—tightening, pulling him in. A gasp of his name leaving his mouth, already so wet, all beautiful, a sight to fucking behold as the tension fades and you relax around where he’s touching you.

“Can I?” he asks. “Show you?”

Yes.

I love you, he responds.

And you grind into him at the words, chasing a high from the fingers buried inside of you. He wants to say it more, let it be all he says to you today. Press it to every part of you, make sure you know only those words—

Your hand wraps around him, gripping him, thumb sliding over the head of his stiff, leaking cock as he grunts—and you grin. Twitching in your hand, mouth open as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Y’have the nicest cock, Frankie.”

“Fuck, baby.”

His eyes clench shut, your name falling from his mouth.

“Love how it feels inside of me.”

“Y’want it now, baby? Want my cock inside you?”

Please, you whimper. But, it’s only when you moan his name does he move, shifting you, removing his fingers from you, noting the whimper at the loss of him, as he guides your body in front of him, shifting until the two of you are standing in front of your mirror.

That mirror.

The one he’d thought of nothing else since you’d begun sending the photos, the phone call, the noises he was able to pull from you even miles away.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about your mirror, baby,” he whispers, nipping at your ear lobe. “Thought of taking you in front of it.”

Your head tilts, eyes meeting his, lust there—

And you sink to your knees without hesitation, staring up at him, waiting. That wave of whether he deserves you darting through him, but he stuffs it away, easily able to do when you offer your hand to him.

Following behind you, your back to his chest, a hand planted on your hip, the other guiding, leading the head of him in until you’re sliding yourself down on his cock. He buries himself inside of you, hissing as he does, as you take all of him, hearing the noticeable gasp as you do.

You’re so right, tight—so perfect. Moulded around him, adjusting, stretched just for him.

“So good for me.”

“I like it when you say that to me,” you whisper, eyes locking with his.

His fingers are on the base of your neck, staring at you in the mirror, letting his gaze wander up and down your naked frame. His hips slowly moving—cock sliding in and out. All slow, deliberate strokes that are so deep you whine in the base of your throat each time he leaves just the tip in.

“You look so beautiful taking me,” he hums, fingers flexing on your hip. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Me or—fuck, Frankie—my—“

He doesn’t let you finish, nipping your ear lobe. “You, querida. Always you.”

Your hand coming up around his neck, gripping, digging your nails into him as you move with him, hips slamming back into his—thrusts increasing, the noise the two of you are making together filling the air, a poignant reminder that it’s real, this, the two of you.

“I’m yours,” you croak.

Heat pools in his stomach, more so when he watches you in the mirror as your fingers slide between where the two of you are conjoined. Moaning, whimpering as your fingers move just above where his cock pistons in and out of you.

“All yours—always yours—“

Your walls tighten around him, fluttering, sucking him in and he wants nothing more than to fill you. Taking in each moan, noise, gasp you emit as your fingers begin to draw circles, his eyes focused on it, lasered in on your movements—knowing your eyes are on him.

“Gonna come, Frankie—so close—“

He’s tight, fingers grasping as his hips snap to yours, his mouth on the space between your neck and shoulder, licking, kissing, biting.

“Please, baby, please—“

“Let go for me, baby. Show me, let me have it.”

It’s heaven.

Getting to both feel it, watch you in awe of yourself as you do, while still getting to enjoy a view of you as your body tightens and then snaps. Your body arching into him, nails likely cutting into his skin, but he doesn’t care. Wants a bruise, and desires little half-moons scarred on his skin—evidence of the marks you constantly leave on the inside of him. The ones he welcomes, thankful for.

M’gonna come.

It leaves his mouth all foreign, your eyes opening, landing back on him—in awe, like he’s something you’ve fantasised about and found truly exists. And it’s all he needs, the look in your eyes, so close, impossibly so, flames dancing through him, all twisting, becoming an inferno.

“I love you, Frankie.”

His eyes lock with yours, your words hit his ears—and he comes hard. Shivering from it, shaking from it. Blissed out and fucked out as your name rips from his throat, painting the air in the same way he paints your walls.

Then he breathed, twitching, one last roll of his hips as he dragged your chin to face him, kissing you hungrily, desperately.

“I love you too,” he says, breathless, but very much fucking content.

At some point, you’re led back from the carpeted floor, back to the sheets you both woke in. His mouth sliding over your shoulder, fingers looped in yours.

The breakfast he had bought long since cold, but devoured, his hand on your knee as he grins at something you say, and you want to find your phone, open the camera and snap it.

It isn’t until the two of you are lay, silent, your hand inside his, head on his chest.

“When are you taking me on a date then?”

Hearing him snort, you look up, finding his eyes already on you, watching. “You free tonight?”

“I think I could move things around.”

And you smile, mirroring the one which slides across his—your heart thumping, all in a pattern it has been since the very beginning. I love you. I love you. I love you. Excited, thrumming with energy that slides against contentment, because—

“Really glad I’m yours, Frankie.”

Feeling his fingers fan out across your jaw and cheek, you let your eyes trace his smile.

“Glad you’re mine too, baby.”

Body curling into him, you let your fingers slide across his chest, you let the beat of his heart hammer against your wrist, smiling. Brain ticking, thinking, suddenly coming to a thought.

“Since Will knows. How long do you think it’ll take Benny to figure out we’re together?” you ask.

Staring off, you watch his eyes narrow as he begins to smirk. “Wanna see?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

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