#but like.. this week is so horrible.. like not counting eating and the way from work to uni and then from uni back home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theorist-fox · 2 months ago

Text

Bug

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Crossposted on AO3

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Johnny eats you out in front of an audience.

18+

CW: smut (cunnilingus, masturbation, some sexual fantasizing, brief dubcon turning into enthusiastic consent), a bit kinky (voyeurism, exhibitionism) fluffy? sort of, pwp. Soap/Reader established relationship + Simon joining the party I guess

Masterlist 🦊

Your toes are cold. So cold that you think your body might never recover, that maybe you’re bound to be a corpse for the rest of your life.

Dramatic, you’re aware.

And Johnny is so delightfully there, isn’t he? On his side of the bed, in a deep slumber. He’s a heavy sleeper too, so you’re sure you could start sighing and coughing in subtle discomfort and he wouldn’t budge.

You know his senses are perked when he’s on duty, and you’re glad to know he feels safe enough in the four walls of your home that he turns those alarm bells off.

But goddamnit, now would be a fantastic time to cuddle up. Wonderful to have those thick arms wrapped around your shoulders, his chest to your back. Pressed tight, until the coarse hairs on his abdomen would start to tickle and then scratch a little.

Clicked in place like two puzzle pieces, you’d be, with his knees tucked in the folds of yours, and your ass snug perfectly into his crotch.

And then you’d start rolling your hips slightly. You’d crane your neck back to meet his face, and you know he’d nuzzle your nape for all it’s worth. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, burying his face until his nose would meet your skin.

His kisses would be unhurried but open, slow but voracious. They’d make goosebumps sprout from your neck to your thighs, and you’d drench your knickers in the blink of an eye.

By then, his cock would have grown hard against the swell of your ass.

He’d hook his thumbs at the waistband of your pants. Slide his cock through your folds, already wet but now they’d be even more soaked with his prec—

Great.

Now you’re horny. Horny and freezing and frustrated.

Unable to sleep because you’re cold and Johnny forgot to call the plumber for the heating—leaky radiators, a boiler that's been fussing for the past couple of days. Not even taking a shower is safe anymore, for fuck's sake.

Unable to sleep because you’re dreaming about your boyfriend fucking you into the mattress. Fucking the ice cold seeping into your bones right out of your body, melting it into delicious sweat.

Alas, unable to fuck, because his mate is sleeping on the sofa, and the walls of this stupid flat are thin.

"He’s got mold in his flat", Johnny had told you. "Give it a few days and he’ll go back."

Not.

It’s been three weeks, and Johnny's lieutenant still hasn’t left. Actually, you think he might’ve moved in altogether,because you’re starting to have less and less space in your closet, and Johnny's socks are mixing up with Simon’s.

But you’d bend and break for your boyfriend, and by extension for whoever he cares about—including his fucking lieutenant. Spooky geezer. Walks quietly around the house and scares the living shite out of you when he materializes in the darkest corners of the room.

It’s not that you hate him. You tolerate him—or, okay, you like him. You would like him even more if it weren’t for the predicament he’s inadvertently stuck you in.

He is a fun addition to the household and has wonderful chemistry with Johnny. Stores a sharp wit and a repertoire of horrible jokes that somehow make you laugh. He’s clean, buys groceries, cooks meals when you and Johnny aren’t home—he’s a decent flatmate, after all.

But still.

You want to fuck your boyfriend.

“Johnny,” you whisper, turning under the bedsheets to face his way.

Even in the darkness shrouding the room, you can spot his silhouette.

It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when you do, you can finally make out the lines of his face.

He’s sleeping soundly, like nothing can wake him even if it tried. His lips are slightly parted, a habit that comes hand in hand with the crook of his nose—a curve that makes it a bit harder for him to breathe.

You don’t want to be the one who interrupts what looks like a dreamless rest, but it is his fault if the flat feels like you’re sleeping on a slab of ice.

You scoot closer. The tips of your noses touch.

“Johnny,” you whisper again. “Baby, can you wake up?”

Nothing. He doesn’t even flinch.

You kiss him. A swift peck.

“Baaaaby,” you singsong to his lips, quiet yet cheeky.

It’s then that Johnny finally grumbles something. You quickly agitate a victorious fist under the covers.

“I need you to warm me up,” you tell him. “Because I’m too cold and I can’t sleep and it’s your fault.”

There. Evil. Digging your thumb into the guilt wound you’ve carved into his very soft heart.

Johnny’s eyes flutter open. It takes him a while to adjust. A smack of his lips to hydrate his tongue, the heel of his hand digging into one closed eye. When he comes to, and finally connects the dots, you hear him snort.

“Unbelievable,” he murmurs. “Could’ve grabbed 'nother blanket.”

You frown.

“But you’re warmer than a blanket,” you retort dramatically. “And to get one I’d have to leave the bed, go wander helplessly into the cold, look for it in the da—”

He groans and slaps his arms around you until your face is plastered to his chest.

You press the very cold tip of your nose into the warm skin on his sternum. He flinches.

“Fuckin’ Christ, hen,” Johnny rumbles. “Ye weren't talkin' shite, aye? Proper icicle.”

You giggle. He shushes you as his chest rumbles with a quiet chuckle of his own.

He thinks it's over, then. Thinks he’s done with it now that you’re cuddled up in his arms, and closes his eyes.

But sneaky little you leaves kisses on his chest. The cheeky thing that you are, you press your thigh against his crotch, where he’s half-hard already—but that’s just because of men’s weird physiology, not because he’s horny.

He hums. “Not now, love.”

“Please,” you say, lips dancing about his chest until you reach his nipple.

You tentatively lick there. Johnny hisses and you triumph.

“Please, it’s been so long,” you plead. You purse your lips and suck so gently that Johnny’s hips thrust forward in a twitch, rutting against your thigh.

“He’ll hear us, hen.” He warns, but his voice cracks and you know that you’ve won.

Simon can handle a few moans just fine, you reckon. He’s old enough.

“Let him,” you mumble to Johnny’s skin. “I don’t care, I miss you.”

You feel his hand reach to the back of your head. Gently, his fingers thread through your hair, massaging softly at your scalp until you’re a puddle in his hold.

“Aye? Ye don’t care, eh?”

His eyes roam your face. Hooded, already heavy with lust, but a tad more balanced—managing to rein it in, unlike you.

“No.” You insist. “He can fucking watch for all I care.”

Your tongue darts forward, and you lick a stripe bisecting his lips.

Johnny fucking loses it.

His hand slides to your nape and holds firmly, enough so he can crash his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You sigh contently in it, no matter how hungry it is—to you this is the most awaited moment in weeks.

Your hands are as frantic as his own. You tug at his pants as he tugs at your shirt.

Johnny is very tactile, and you just know he wants to touch you thoroughly before he gives you the blessing of a fuck.

In fact, the first thing he does is flatten his palm on your sternum to guide you on your back. His mouth nips and tugs at your lips, then at your jaw. He finds that softer spot on your neck and sucks lovebites on it.

You moan like a slut, without a care in the world. Simon be damned. The neighbors be damned, too.

Johnny's lips finally wrap around your nipple, while his hand plays with your other breast.

You get louder, and it's a clear sign for that man on the other side of the wall to go and pop in some earbuds because you’re not shutting up tonight.

“You’ve never been this loud I swear to Christ,” Johnny says with a hint of a chuckle that gets lost in your skin. “S’like yer doin’ it on purpose.”

He pinches your belly. “Are you?”

You look down at him. Eyes narrowed. Smirk barely hidden. “No?”

But he can see right through you like you’re made of glass.

“You like it, eh?” He says with a hint of surprise, like he’s discovered a goddamn goldmine. “Oh, you fuckin’ like it.”

And what if you do? What if there's a thrill in knowing the man in the other room might hear you getting railed the way you deserve? Are you deranged for it?

Probably.

But fuck it.

Johnny’s mouth travels lower, from your breasts to the hollow between your ribs, until he’s fully hidden under the covers.

Instinctively, your fingers thread through his hair. Tight.

Oh, he’s gonna eat you out.

It’s much easier to quiet down when you’re having sex, because Johnny’s a kisser and he always keeps your mouth busy. But he knows you’re not exactly prim and proper when he makes you cum on his tongue.

He knows what he’s doing, and it’s then that a lightbulb flickers on in your head.

Bright, excited.

Johnny likes it too.

And you love that he does.

So, since he’s as into this as you are, you settle on giving him the show of a lifetime.

It takes Johnny very little to get to the gist of it. He’d usually nose at your clit through the cotton of your panties, bite at the flesh of your thighs to tease you and get you wet. There’s no need for it this time—your knickers are already past the point of salvation.

He pulls them down and off, not sparing an inch of your skin from the hungry onslaught of lips. Legs draped comfortably over his shoulder, the soft fat of your thighs cushioning his ears.

Johnny dives in.

Your groan scratches your throat when the flat of his tongue lands on your clit. Tingles ripple from your sex to your head—some electric shockwave that makes your toes curl and your throat tight.

You collapse onto the pillow, and you let go.

Johnny licks fat stripes or twirls his tongue around your clit, sucking it in at times. You moan and whimper like cameras are pointing your way, like you want the man who’s stolen your couch, your privacy and your sex life to know how good Johnny’s making you feel.

Your eyes are closed but your mouth is open, fingers curled in a fistful of his hair.

It’s then that you start riding Johnny’s face. He stays perfectly still, tongue out and conveniently flattened against your sex for you to grind against it.

It’s been so long since you felt him pant against your cunt, so long since you’ve had him tucked between your thighs until your hamstrings ache.

So long that you think you might cum already, and you’re not even five minutes in.

And you feel it in your stomach first, taut and clenching. You feel your orgasm grow as Johnny allows you to take it from him, handing you the reins of your own pleasure.

“M’gonna cum,” you breathe.

The only way you know that he’s heard you from beneath the duvet is because a muted groan echoes from somewhere below you, and his fingers tighten around your hips.

“Gonna fuck her after this, Johnny?”

Your orgasm withers, but not as much as your heart.

You jolt away from your boyfriend even though you're suddenly petrified, scrambling in an attempt to pull away from his tongue.

But he doesn’t let you go—no.

Johnny, the bastard, holds you with a resolve you’ve never witnessed before, and uses one hand to quickly shove the duvet off both your bodies.

Cold air slaps your bare skin. Gooseflesh rises at the first icy touch, nipples perked and hard. Your eyes automatically follow the voice in the dark, until they land on a shadow lingering at the door—broad shoulders filling the entryway of your bedroom.

As soon as your vision adjusts, you focus better on it. A pale face stands out on top of a body clad in charcoal black. A hand, you see, palms at the crotch of his sweatpants.

“Johnny—” You say, or try, in between pants.

His eyes finally poke from between your legs. Swiftly, his fingers take the place of his tongue, rolling more languid circles on the knot of clit—throbbing as your orgasm is rudely snatched away.

You whine at both the loss of his mouth and the discomfort of being watched.

And yet why aren’t you trying to cover yourself? Why are you still there, naked, back arched to press further into Johnny’s hand, with your fingers uselessly grasping the sheets at your sides?

“Let him watch, bonnie. You said it yerself, aye?” Johnny coos softly.

He can fucking watch for all I care.

Fuck. You. And your big mouth.

He presses kisses along the stretch marks of your thighs. “Bet he’s not seen a beauty like ye since Christ was born.”

“Cut it out, MacTavish,” Simon barks from the dark corner he's carved for himself.

In response, Johnny’s breathy chuckle hits your skin.

And while your vision might be compromised, your hearing isn’t. You can clearly hear the soft thud of socks against the hardwood floor. You can definitely feel him looming next to the bed.

You have to blink furiously when Simon turns on the nightlamp, bathing your body in yellow light.

His eyes, darker than Johnny’s, take you in as you writhe under your boyfriend’s skilled fingers.

You sigh helplessly. “Fuck.”

Perhaps this is too much. Perhaps you’re not ready. And yet—

Simon’s hand grabs a handful of his cock through his sweatpants. You can see the outline of it, fat and straining against the grip of his fingers. A sight so delicious it makes your mouth water.

Your boyfriend catches on the exchange of looks. The way your eyes drop to his lieutenant’s cock. His fingers slow down—and as enraptured as you are, you don’t notice the smile that blooms on his cheeks.

“What d’you want him to do, hen?” Johnny pitches in, finally diluting the soupy mess of your thoughts to reveal what this truly is.

A spotlight on you.

Both men are starving to see, touch, taste. This is heaven, even for an introvert such as yourself.

Small bug on the wall, observing—for once, observed.

Suddenly, you want that. You want to see them both kneel for you and study your body to learn how to keep it warm, sated, happy.

“Touch yourself,” you whisper before you can think.

Warmth licks at your neck when your own voice reaches your ears.

You swivel your eyes to Johnny again, who’s looking at you with a dangerous glint in his eye—enjoying every bump on your body that rises from the cold, every shiver his fingers cause to wreck your spine.

“You heard her LT,” Johnny says at length.

And before you can utter a word, his mouth returns on you.

Your voice breaks into a moan, eyes rolled back. There’s an insistent fizz in your ears, like there are suds stuck in there.

Simon’s “Yes ma’am” barely makes it through.

Slow blinking yourself back to reality, you manage to focus on Simon’s hand which is now stroking his bare cock. Tip a furious red, glossy with precum he smears down his length.

Fuck, you’d pay good fucking money to have it on your tongue, but you’re not in the right headspace yet. You find yourself content with the idea that he’s that hard and that leaking just because you look that hot to his eyes.

Perhaps this is a first step. And it's okay.

It’s invigorating. You love it to bits. So much so that, once again, you hear yourself say “Touch me.”

Johnny’s chuckle vibrates against your clit, but he doesn’t stop. He palms at your lower stomach as he eats you out, keeping you still and comfortable, until you feel your thighs tremble.

The mattress dips under Simon’s weight when he comes to kneel right beside you. The anticipation might kill you, and you’re so focused on him that you don’t realize how impending your orgasm is.

A big hand comes to touch your lips. Simon fits two fingers into your inviting mouth, and you don’t fight it when he touches the back of your throat.

Instead, you moan at his praise of “Good girl” slipping hoarsely past his lips.

He pulls them out and uses your own spit to lubricate the head of his cock. His cheeks glow red, mouth parted to catch his breath—you never thought a man as apparently indifferent as him could look so delightfully affected.

All because you took his fingers in your mouth like a champ.

You almost cum there and then.

His other hand comes to thumb your nipple. He pinches it, toys with it. He cups your breast in his big hand and squeezes softly just to feel the softness of it.

He rises upwards, then. Curls those same fingers at the base of your throat in a grip that progressively tightens, until he can hear your breath get stuck in your throat.

It’s then that you cum.

With the sound of Johnny’s mouth sucking at your clit. With the wet noises of Simon’s cock being tugged in rapid strokes, as if he’s forcing himself to cum earlier than intended.

Your orgasm is so strong that your mind blanks for a moment, not registering the way your voice breaks as you catch your breath again.

Not registering when sudden wetness paints your tits and puddles at your stomach, followed by a groan so loud that it breaks through the fog in your brain.

When you come to, you blink at the ceiling.

Your heart pounds viciously, so much that you can feel it on your tongue. It’s wonderful and it would be embarrassing, your current position, if it weren’t for Johnny’s face coming into view.

His lips land fondly on the tip of your nose. “Yer gorgeous when you cum.”

And you smile.

It broadens when another voice joins in, lower and panting, “Affirm. Fuckin’ lovely.”

As you reach down between your and Johnny's bodies with a trembling hand, if only to return the favor, he gently swats it away. However, your fingers make it just in time to feel his softening cock, how wet it is at the tip.

You bet there's a twinning stain on the sheets, too.

“Wee bit at a time, aye?” He offers, kissing your cheek.

You don’t dare to rebut, as spent as you are. Instead, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

Your eyes blink closed.

"Did you cum?" You ask dumbly.

"'Course I did." Johnny nibbles at your lip. "Ye taste like fuckin' heaven."

You giggle, obviously flattered, though it sounds quite weak, sleep already taking over your brain.

"You could've fucked me," you tease.

"Nah," Johnny replies, leaving a fat kiss on your mouth. "Woulda killed Simon to see ye—"

"That'll do, Johnny," Simon cuts in.

He doesn't sound angry—more exasperated than anything. He's still panting, though.

You crack one eye open and find him unabashedly staring at his cum dripping down the valley of your breasts.

His hand lands on your forehead, then, brushing back the hair that has stuck to it. It's awkward, like he's not sure what to do but still wants to check in on your well-being.

Through the fog of pure ecstasy, you think he wants to feel somewhat included. Which is why you reach out, your fingers searching blindly for somewhere to land. You find his thigh, the soft fabric of his sweats, and squeeze.

He tenses beneath your palm, but the muscles relax soon afterwards. Welcoming the touch—perhaps welcoming you altogether.

"Tired, aye?" Simon whispers, sounding uncharacteristically tender.

"Yeah," you reply wearily, though his was more of a rhetorical question.

You're too fucked out to realize it. Or to care about realizing it at all.

The comfortable silence that has settled in the room is broken by the shuffle of sheets. The creek of the mattress.

Simon disappears beyond the threshold of the room, only to return moments later with a warm towel in hand.

You get cleaned and pampered, dressed back into your comfy pjs. Sandwiched, at some point, by four arms instead of two, six legs intertwined instead of four.

Your toes are still cold, but the rest of you isn’t.

And you think it can't get any better than this, as you fall back asleep.

Written for February writing challenge, to fill the prompt "Ghoap x Reader body heat trope"

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taegularities · 2 years ago

Note

Hi,Rid.

How are you,honey?

girl, dying

#LMAO y'all... i promise i am not ignoring anyone i swear ill get to all messages tysm for being so so sweet #but like.. this week is so horrible.. like not counting eating and the way from work to uni and then from uni back home #i overworked my brain for like 13 fkn hours.. doing either work or uni stuff and i am DEAD #pls give hug or smooch or pat bc i can't lmao #butttt im almost done and should be able to take a breather (max two) this weekend lol #in any case i love you all a lot and never stop sending all your love and random msgs :')#also sorry to hijack your ask like this ash how are you bby!!! 🤍#notes for rid 🌹#ash <3

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soaps-mohawk · 10 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 31: Forced Proximity

Summary: John and Kyle are gone. You have no choice but to lean on the alpha you've betrayed, the alpha that hates you.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,071 words

Warnings: ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, anxiety, reader has a panic attack and several breakdowns, Simon being mean, ANGST, depression, lots of mentions of vomiting and the reader does get sick quite a bit though it's not descriptive in any way, ANGST, heat cycles, pseudoscience, medical stuff (that's probably very wrong), brief mention of needles, medical procedures (nothing very detailed), ANGST, very heavy emotionally again, some very light fluff like barely there but nothing compared to the ANGST

A/N: I did it. I finally got it up. It's uh...it's a heavy one again, I'll tell you that much. You'll hate me even more but oh well. I expected that through this part of the story. I'm so evil I know.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“I don't like this. It's too...”

“Convenient?”

“Suspicious.”

“I know. But we don't have much of a choice in this.” John says, staring at Simon and Johnny. “You keep your eyes on her at all times. Stay in the barracks when you can. If you have to leave the barracks together, she goes with you.”

“We won't let her out of our sight.” Simon says. “If anything happens, Kate will be the first to know.”

“Good.” John says. He trusts the two of them to look after you. Yet he can't deny the timing of this is a bit suspicious. “We'll be back as soon as we can. Take good care of our girl.”

Two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since John and Kyle left.

Despite the fact it’s not the longest someone has been gone, it doesn’t ease the ache in your chest, the pain slowly carving its way into your very soul. You haven’t spoken to them. There’s been no word. Nothing. It could be a good thing. Sometimes no news is good news, and you suppose it’s better than a phone call saying they’ve died in some horrible accident.

You keep waiting for that phone call.

Every time Johnny or Simon’s phone rings, you begin to panic, fear eating away at that hole in your chest. It’s bad news, it’s Kate calling to tell them your alpha and beta aren’t coming home.

You’ve hardly been able to relax, tense and jumpy at the littlest things. Being enclosed in the barracks at all times isn’t helping. You haven’t left once, not even to the med center. Dr. Keller has been coming to the barracks, more than she normally would for your appointments. You wonder if it was Johnny’s doing to try and help you relax, or Simon’s doing in hope you stop stinking up the barracks with the sour scent of nerves and fear.

Simon has been distant still, avoiding you as much as he can. It’s impossible to avoid you completely, though, as Johnny can’t watch you 24/7. It’s a bit claustrophobic, the way they hover, always keeping one eye on you. It’s been a bit suffocating for the last three weeks, but with John and Kyle gone...it’s almost worse.

Johnny has tried to fill that void, tried to support you in any way he can, but it hasn’t worked. You know it’s Johnny, you love Johnny, yet not even he can fill the void that has become your life without your alpha.

You hate it.

You hate their job, you hate that it takes them from you. You hate the uncertainty, the constant fear and worry that makes you sick. You hate that it’s dragged you into it. You know they were digging for the perpetrator of the cameras, who put them up, who ordered them to be put up, who potentially wanted to look into your personal life in such a violating way. The sudden deployment feels too suspicious, too sudden to be coincidence.

But as John says, entertaining conspiracies won’t get you anywhere.

Still...it smells fishy to you.

The hole in your chest has left you in a constant state of uneasiness which has left you on the verge of tears constantly. Every day that passes without word of a tragedy or that they’re coming home makes your stomach churn, tears constantly brimming in your eyes. John’s shirt is constantly in your grasp, a dirty one you’d fished out of the bottom of his laundry basket, soaked in his scent. It’s beginning to fade, slowly eroding away until there won’t be anything left. Then you’ll grab another and another until you have none left. His room still smells like him, his pillows still fresh with his scent.

You know it will fade, though, and fade fast.

You’ve been avoiding spending too much time in his room and Kyle’s in favor of keeping their scents in there as long as possible. The fading of their scents is like an omen, marking a fading of their presence in your life, of the bond between you. The constant fear that you’ll forget them, what they sound like, what they smell like, what they look like.

It makes you physically ill.

That painful churning in your stomach is back as you sit on the couch in the rec room, curled up as far from Simon as you can get. Simon is still angry at you, at your betrayal of his trust. So much progress down the drain because you proved you’re not trustworthy after he trusted you enough to begin opening up. You still hate yourself for it, for keeping the secret for that long. Even a month would have been better and would have had less consequences for everyone. Maybe then you might have caught the camera in the bear sooner, and not been so violated during some of your most private moments.

Some of those moments with Simon.

How violated does he feel, having such vulnerable moments between you recorded and viewed by someone out there? You can’t help but think back to that night when he came back, and the morning after. Someone watched you. The bear had been right there, those black beady eyes staring right at the two of you. How many times had you fucked the others in your bed, the bear sitting there, watching, projecting those moments to whoever was on the other side.

Your heat.

The bear hadn’t been looking then, but it had been listening. It knows what happened, every last detail, every slam of the bed against the wall, every knot.

It makes you sick.

Your stomach churns, your arms wrapping around your middle as you let out a shaky breath. You’re going to puke again, the bile rising in your throat. The intense tingling in your hands is starting again, your fingers curling in as your extremities begin to go numb. You’re panicking again.

Instead of vomit, a choked sob leaves your lips, your tears hot and burning on your cheeks, stinging like they’re composed of acid.

Simon glances up from his phone, his face the mask of indifference that it has been for three weeks. A mask that he had worn for the first few months after your arrival. “What?” He asks, his tone flat and voice rough.

You can’t answer him, too busy hyperventilating and sobbing where you sit. You can’t even think if you wanted to, your body aching as your muscles begin to tighten. You can’t distress. You’ve been fighting the urge since the day the truth came out.

You can’t trust Simon to help you.

You’re not even sure he knows how to.

Of course, it would be easy to call Dr. Keller, get her to help him, but you’re not sure he’d want to. Could he be so angry and betrayed he’d just stand there and watch you distress yourself to death?

He wouldn’t. He’d have to explain himself to John, why he let it happen. It would tear the pack apart. It would tear them apart. You wouldn’t put it past John to try and rip Simon’s throat out with his teeth in anger. It would be a bigger betrayal than yours, and Simon wouldn’t let you lose your spot at the top of that list.

“Fuck.” Simon breathes, setting his phone down before moving in front of you. He lowers himself onto one knee, reaching for your arms. If you had been more aware you might have flinched away, but the lack of oxygen to your brain is making everything fuzzy.

Simon grips your elbows, tugging you forward gently. Your legs are forced off the edge of the couch, your body upright as Simon holds your arms in his grasp, your legs between his as he kneels in front of you. You stare down at him, the sudden change in position shocking you for a moment. You choke around another sob, eyes blurry as you try to look at him.

“I need you to breathe.” He says, squeezing your arms gently.

You can’t.

Your breaths are sobs, wracking your body, tearing at your lungs. Your chest hurts, aching and burning as you quickly begin spiraling out of control.

“Look at me.” He says, shifting his hold to your wrists, taking them into one hand before he grabs your chin with the other. He keeps your head still, locked on his face. His eyes are blurry to your own teary ones as you look right at him, looking through the mass of blurry black that surrounds him. “Breathe.” He says, his voice rougher than normal, rumbling with the command of his alpha around the edges.

It goes straight to your head, a shiver running down your spine. Your body shudders in response, your next sob catching painfully in your throat. You cough, lungs spasming as your body suddenly begins to follow his order automatically. Simon lets you go as you attempt to gain control over your out of control body. One part of your brain is still panicking, still pushing towards distress while the other fights to follow the alpha’s command. It’s a battle, your instincts at war with each other.

The next inhale is a gasp, inhaling until your breath stutters and your lungs ache. You let it out slowly, the flood of oxygen making you shake in Simon’s hold. He keeps his hand around your wrists until your inhales stop stuttering and your muscles start to relax.

He slowly releases you, pushing himself up to sit on the coffee table. You’re surprised it can hold so much weight after it’s been sat on so many times. Not even a creak as Simon lowers himself onto it.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he stares at you. His figure begins to get clearer as your tears slow, no longer blurring your vision. You're expecting the sharp sting of his harsh gaze, or worse the indifference you've grown used to over the last three weeks.

Instead there's a soft look in his eyes. Not soft as you would describe Johnny's, but soft compared to what it has been. Pity, you think.

“You're a fucking mess.” He finally says.

You laugh. You can't help it. The deadpan delivery of such a him statement in response to everything has a laugh escaping your lips. You wipe your eyes, sniffling. He hates it, hearing your sniffles. It annoys him when you cry, it always has.

You push yourself back onto the couch, pulling your knees up again as you stare at him. There's a slight tremble to your fingers still as you sit there in silence for a moment.

��I'm sorry.” You say, still looking at him. “If I had just said something sooner...” You swallow thickly as you stumble over your words. “None of us would have...the camera would have been found sooner...we wouldn't have...both of us...”

“You shouldn't apologize if you don't even know what to say.” He says, the softness in his gaze hardening again.

“It's not that it's just...” You take a breath, trying to straighten out your thoughts. “I feel so guilty. This is all my fault and if I had just said something sooner, none of this would have happened. What happens next is my fault too. I know you and John have been digging into who is behind it and I know how risky that is. They know that we all know now, and...I'm scared of what might happen.”

You let out a long breath at your confession and attempt at an apology, squeezing your fingers together as they begin to tremble even more. You want to look away, his gaze piercing into you again. You're reminded of the moment the words had fallen from your lips that had caused this in the first place. Your heart begins thumping in your chest, your breathing picking up slightly at the memory. Will he get angry again? Will he snap at you and drag you down the hall to lock you in your room until John and Kyle get back, or Johnny calms him enough to rescue you?

“I feel so violated.” Your voice shakes. “I can't even imagine what it's been like for you. It took us so long to get to that point and...” You swallow the bile trying to rise in your throat. “I'm so sorry.” Tears blur your vision again. “I didn't know...I didn't think...I was so stupid.”

He scoffs. “You are.” His words are sharp, and they sting as they slice through you. “Fucking stupid, I'd say.” You wince at his words. “But you’re inexperienced. You don’t think about things like we do. No matter how much everyone has tried to drill it into your head, you’ll never truly understand until you experience it yourself.” He holds your gaze for a moment. “I hope you never have to.”

You stare at him, the meaning of his words not lost on you. You’ve put yourself in danger, you’ve put all of them in danger by keeping this all a secret. Whoever put those cameras up knew you were keeping it a secret and hadn’t done anything in retaliation against you for finding them and destroying them. Maybe that was their plan all along. They knew you’d keep it a secret and use that to their advantage. Strike when they least expected it, or perhaps wait for the moment the truth inevitably came out and then strike.

The thought has a cold chill running down your spine.

You’re afraid for a different reason now.

John and Kyle are gone. Anything could happen to them and it wouldn’t look suspicious. Or whoever put those cameras up wanted everyone split up. Attack when there’s less knights defending the castle.

A shiver runs through you, making you curl in on yourself. The feeling of being watched is back. The darkness peeking out from around the blinds over the rec room windows suddenly feels very threatening.

“What’s goin’ on in here?”

A startled yelp leaves your lips as you whip around to face Johnny where he’s leaning against the door to the rec room. Simon’s body tenses in response to your fearful yelp, an unconscious motion he has no control over. Alphas will always have the drive to protect the omegas in their pack. It’s a natural protective mechanism, no matter how they may be feeling about said omega.

Simon’s body relaxes as you do, putting a hand over your heart to try and calm yourself down again.

“Jumpy this evenin’.” Johnny says, entering the rec room. He steps up to the couch, bending down to rest his hands on the arm next to you. “Didnae mean to scare ye.” He says softly. “Ready tae get to bed?”

You nod. “Yeah. I am.”

“Come on.” He holds out his hand and you take it, letting him help you up off the couch. “We’re usin’ yer shower, Si.” He says.

Simon rolls his eyes. “Course.”

“Simon?” You say before Johnny can pull you from the rec room. The alpha turns to look at you. “I am sorry.”

He stares at you for a long, tense moment. “I know.”

Johnny leads you down the hallway, his hand on your lower back. He’s gotten touchy again, letting his hand rest lower and lower on your back, brushing your breasts as he pulls the covers up around you at night. He refuses to let you shower without sitting on the toilet lid. You know the chances of Simon opening up like that again are slim, if at all. You’ve ruined that opportunity, and you’ll have to be satisfied with where he draws that line permanently.

“Have a good conversation?” Johnny asks.

You nod. “He called me ‘fucking stupid’.”

Johnny nearly chokes for a second, covering his mouth to hide a laugh. “He’s certainly not a man of eloquence.”

You shrug. “I mean, I don’t exactly disagree with him.”

Johnny leads you into Simon’s room, steering you to the bathroom. Your stuff is already inside from the unanimous decision to solely use Simon’s bathroom for ease and also safety.

Your towel is neatly on the rack next to Simon’s and Johnny’s, all folded the same way and hung evenly apart. Your soap and shampoo are neatly placed next to his, along with your toothbrush and other products on the sink. Always so neat and organized, despite his anger at you.

Can’t break his system even after you break his trust.

You pull your shirt over your head after starting the water, letting it get warm. Johnny stands behind you in the doorway, and you know he’s watching. You strip your shorts and underwear off, Johnny grunting quietly as you bend over to add them to your pile of dirty clothes. You’ve been tempted to leave them on the floor for the past two weeks just to peeve, but you’ve riled Simon up enough. With your luck he’d just toss them in the trash.

The water is hot as it pelts your skin, your shoulders relaxing as it begins to loosen the stress of the day. The emptiness in your chest continues to eat away at you, never disappearing despite what happens. Your stomach churns, the nausea returning. You stand under the spray, letting the water pour over your head as you attempt to calm the continuous twisting in your abdomen.

The shower door slides open, another body joining you before it slides closed. Warm skin presses against your back as arms slip around you, pulling you out from directly under the spray. You rest back against Johnny’s chest as he leans his cheek against the top of your head.

“I miss them.” You say quietly, just audible over the shower.

“I know.” Johnny says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“When will they be back?” You ask him, even though you know he can’t tell you.

“Hard tae say.” He says, grabbing your strawberry scented soap from next to Simon’s. He’s just been using Simon’s soap, something you probably assume he does often anyway. “Kate will update us as soon as there’s a possible ETA.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can take.” You say as he begins to wash your back.

“I know.” He says, gently massaging the knots in your back, trying to help you relax. “I wish I could get them home faster. I wish it had been us instead of them for your sake.”

His words make you feel guilty, but you both know it’s not anyone’s fault. John is your alpha, you belong to him, you were claimed by him. You’ll always hurt more about your alpha and beta’s absence than the other members of your pack can comfort you. If Simon had claimed you, things would have been different. The ache in your chest would have been less intense as you would still have an alpha you could lean on.

You’d always miss John, but if you had Simon, the black hole slowly devouring you would have slowed its progress.

Four weeks.

A month.

It's been a month since John and Kyle left. The familiar hole in your chest has widened, a gaping black hole now threatening to swallow you and string you out until you’re nothing but particles lost in its center. It’s worse than the hole Simon left when he went on his solo deployment, it’s worse than the hole they all left when they went on their first mission. Neither of those previous deployments lasted this long, and despite Johnny's attempts to console you, you don’t feel any better.

There’s been no contact.

A month with no contact, a month with no word. You'd know if something had happened. Even if you got no word on it, you would know. That sense that omegas have when something happens to the bond would be screaming.

It's been a rough four weeks.

There’s a heaviness that’s started to permeate the air as you try to adjust to the prolonged absence of your alpha. It’s nearly every day that you’re breaking down now, standing in John’s room to catch any whiff of him that’s left. You’ve worn the scent off his bed, his pillows, his clothes. You’ve run out of shirts that smell like him.

You’re terrified they might fade from your memory entirely. Kyle’s scent had disappeared quicker, fading fast until you were left unable to even picture the sea. The beach is a blurry, distant memory, the smell of the salty air faded and wiped away.

Still you cling to their shirts, as if you can hold them through the fabric. You carry them everywhere, packing them from room to room as you float around in a daze.

You’ve left the barracks once in four weeks for a training session that neither of them could miss. You’d gotten looks as you sat there, the sole audience member, but you're not quite sure what had happened or even what the training was far. You had been far away, lost in your own head, the haze of depression and grief numbing you to everything.

Dr. Keller continues to visit you in the barracks, still more than you normally would see her. You miss her office, the soft warmth of it, the plants and the colors lacking from the sterilized prison that is the barracks. It has become like a prison. You’re trapped inside, unable to even wander around alone. You feel like the princess locked in her tower under the watchful eye of the guards keeping her trapped inside. You need someone to come and rescue you, someone to set you free so you can at least wander the tower alone.

You want your alpha.

You miss John and Kyle desperately, their absence chewing away at your insides. The hole in your chest continues to widen as the days pass, consuming more and more of you as you slip deeper and deeper into the black hole of depression. Johnny is being affected too, sucked in by the gravitational pull of the black hole you have become. Even Simon is starting to feel it, softening a bit more towards you. He’d even let your hands brush a couple of times when he’s escorted you places, and he didn’t yank them away like you might pass some disease onto him.

You wouldn’t necessarily call him affectionate, even before all of this, but this is the first glimpse you’ve gotten of him being back to where the two of you were before you fucked everything up. You know it’s not going to happen overnight. It might never get back to what it was. He might simply be acting out of sympathy, and out of necessity because of your pain and grief being channeled through the pack bonds. Sometimes you wonder if John and Kyle can feel it too from wherever they are in the world.

You miss them so much it hurts.

The tears slip down your cheeks as you sit on the couch in the rec room. Johnny is off taking his turn to work out. It’s early, the sky still grey outside, the perfect epitome of how you feel inside. Simon is seated in his usual spot, book in hand. Your own that he had grabbed is still on the coffee table. You’re staring at it, tears gliding down your cheeks as you hold your knees against your chest. It’s become almost a normal occurrence, the tears, the blank staring, the lack of desire to do anything, even the position you’re seated in.

Simon glances up at you as you sniffle again, lowering his book slightly. “What?” His tone isn't annoyed per se, but you know he has to be tired of your constant blubbering.

“Tell me they’ll be alright.” You say, your voice shaking.

“You know I can’t-” He starts, but you cut him off.

“I need you to tell me.” You sob, your gaze lifting to the black screen of the TV. “I can’t take it. I can’t do this.”

He lets out a sigh, closing his book. You jump as the couch sinks down on your left, Simon taking a seat next to you. The flinch is subconscious as he reaches over to grip your chin and turn your face to look at him. Your tears slide down your cheeks, wetting his fingers.

“They’ll be alright.” He says, eyes hard as he looks at you. He’s lying but you need to hear it. “They’ve been gone for far longer than this before. Trust Price knows what he’s doing. He’s going to do everything in his power to come back. We’ll know if something happens. Laswell will let us know.”

You know that, you know all of it. Yet it does little to calm the pain in your chest. “I miss them.” You sob, Simon’s eyes softening as you continue to cry. “My stomach hurts.”

You’ve been nauseous since the day the truth came out almost five weeks ago. The nausea has been churning in your stomach, making you constantly on the edge of vomiting. It’s the stress, the combination of the truth coming out and your alpha being gone. You’ve been choking food down, eating only out of necessity.

Simon lets out a sigh, releasing your chin to wrap an arm around you. His other hand drops to rest on your stomach. It’s warm through the fabric of your shirt, applying gentle pressure. He smells like alpha, different from John, but still an alpha. The tears continue to fall as he holds you, your body slowly leaning closer and closer to him. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t even try to push you away as you fall against his side.

Your stomach is churning, gnawing. It’s not an unusual feeling. It’s felt this way for the last few weeks. It’s never woken you up before, though. You blink in the darkness of Johnny’s room, his arm still thrown over you. The gnawing continues to intensify as you continue to be pulled from your semi-peaceful sleep, becoming more and more aware.

You’re hungry.

You slowly unravel yourself from Johnny’s snake-like hold, ready to slip into the rec room to peruse your snack stash. Instead you’re pulled back onto the bed by the arm that slips around your waist.

“Where ye goin’?” Johnny rasps, still half asleep.

“I’m hungry.” You whisper.

He lets out a groan, letting go of you to rub a hand over his face. “Give me a minute.”

You rise from the bed as he stretches, slowly sitting up as he draws himself from sleep. It’s just past one in the morning, neither of you having been asleep for long. You feel wide awake as the gnawing in your stomach continues to intensify. You rock back and forth on your feet, debating just going and letting him catch up. It’ll force him to wake up faster, and ease the gnawing hunger threatening to turn you inside out.

Finally Johnny rises from the bed, stretching again as you impatiently open the door. He pads behind you to the rec room, watching as you dig out a bag of chips. He leans against the back of the couch as you stand there, devouring the chips like you haven’t eaten in days. You haven’t really eaten much in the last five weeks, so perhaps it’s finally catching up to you. You finish the bag but it’s not enough, so you grab another, devouring it halfway before you freeze. The bag begins to tremble in your hand, nearly falling from your grasp.

Johnny is alert immediately as you begin to panic. “What?” He asks stepping closer to you, ready to defend you from whatever has you on edge.

Your brain frantically does the math, thinking over the last few weeks. The bag falls to the floor as the realization slams into you like a bus. You turn to face Johnny, eyes wide in shock, fear shooting through you like lightning and clouding the rec room in the sour stench of omega fear.

Your lips tremble, the words stuttering out as you fight the panic rising in you, the nauseous churning of your stomach threatening to bring up the bag and a half of chips you just ate. Your fingers are shaking, clenching into fists again as they begin to go numb. Ragged breaths wheeze from your lungs as you stare at Johnny’s worried face, brows furrowed as he tries to understand what has you in a sudden panic at one in the morning.

“My last heat was eleven weeks ago.”

“The timeline is right,” Dr. Keller says, taking the blood pressure cuff off your arm. “The symptoms point to pre-heat.”

You take another bite of your candy bar, eating half out of necessity and half because you’re nervous. You hadn’t even considered this when John left, but of course you didn’t know how long he would be gone.

“Any word from John yet?” Dr. Keller asks as she packs the blood pressure monitor back into her bag.

“None.” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “Kate sent out a message, but there’s been no response.”

You’re numb to that fact, the hope that had filled you two days ago gone now that there’s been no word, not even for something like this. Simon had gone out of his way to call you when you needed him, but John can’t even send a simple message through, even a simple no.

“We may have to consider alternative options if he can’t get back in time.” Dr. Keller says.

He won’t get back in time. They’re all saying it silently. They all know it and so do you.

Your hands close into fists. You had hoped with your new pack and alpha you wouldn’t have to go through this again. But, of course with them having to put their job first, this was always a possibility. It was bound to happen eventually, you just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.

“We’ll wait as long as we can.” Dr. Keller says, looking at you. “We don’t have forever, though.”

You shove the rest of the candybar in your mouth. You don’t want to say anything, you don’t want to do anything. You’re numb except for the incessant hunger. You’ll know when it’s getting close, when the hunger fades and you’re facing down the reality that your alpha won’t be here. You know he won’t. Even if Kate can get ahold of him, he won’t make it back in time.

You’re going to have to do this alone.

Well...perhaps not.

Maybe there is someone that can help you after all.

You’re terrified. You’re not sure how to even approach this, how to bring it up. It’s eating you alive, but you have to ask. You have to know. That small bubble of hope still rising in you that maybe, just maybe you can avoid the horror awaiting you. It’s a big request, but perhaps you can be convincing enough to play to his pity.

“Simon?” You ask, your hands curled into fists so they’re not visibly shaking. Your hair is dripping onto your shirt, soaking it but you don’t care. The cold is keeping you aware, keeping you from floating away into your head again.

He grunts, looking up from his phone. You’d used the shower in his room again so he could watch you while Johnny took his own shower. You won’t sleep in here. You’ll stay with Johnny just like you have for the last almost five weeks. It’s safer, should your heat start in the middle of the night again. And also because he doesn’t want you to stay with him.

This is stupid. It’s a stupid decision but you need to know.

What if he says yes?

“Can I...ask you something?” You say, shifting nervously on your feet.

He pockets his phone before pushing himself up to stand. He towers over you as he moves closer, staring down at you as you look up at him. Sometimes you forget just how big he is, just how commanding his presence can be. You fight the urge to cower, to submit to him in fear. “What?”

The nervous lump in your throat threatens to choke you, the memories of his anger directed right at you burning right through you. What if he gets mad again? What if he reacts the same way? You can’t know what he will do, though. You steady yourself, wrapping the fabric of your shirt around your hands.

“Will...” You clear your throat. “Will you help me through my heat?”

It’s a big request. A huge request. You’re asking him to jump past barriers he’d kept up even before, something he’d never even suggested or hinted at wanting to do even before your last heat. You’re asking him to jump past barriers he’s put back up since your betrayal, making it clear you’re not welcome back in, you’re not going to get to where you were before. The most he’s done is let you lean against him that one night in the rec room.

You hope maybe he’ll agree out of necessity, maybe he’ll take pity on you and save you from the horrors of going through a heat without an alpha. It may be stupid, but you’re terrified of what’s awaiting you if he doesn’t agree. You don’t want to do it, you don’t want to be put to sleep and then wake up a week later sick and disoriented, and then spend the next few days still in the same state.

It makes your stomach churn, and not from hunger.

His eyes widen in shock as your words register. His hands tighten into fists at his sides, his shoulders tensing. You fight the urge to flinch at the movement, the sudden hardening of his stance before you. He wasn’t expecting it, obviously. You came out of left field with it, but you have to ask. You’ll beg if you need to. You’ll get on your knees and beg like your life depends on it if he wants you to. Anything just to avoid what’s looming in the near future.

His eyes harden as he stares down at you, and you suddenly begin to regret your decision to ask. His gaze is piercing, taking you back to when you confessed. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve made a huge mistake.

“No.”

The word is simple, two letters, one syllable, yet it slices right through you. You should have expected it, should have known that would be your answer, but it still hurts. He knows, he knows John isn’t coming back in time. He knows you’re going to have to do this alone. You had hoped maybe pity would push him into saying yes, maybe he’d open up a bit more before your heat started, maybe he might be merciful.

“I can’t.” He takes a step back, then another. His gaze softens to what you almost perceive as panic. He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

So maybe it wasn’t anger at you keeping him from agreeing. You can feel it, the edge to his scent starting to cloud it, the way his hands open and close as he squeezes them into fists over and over.

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at him, lifting your hands so they’re laced together in front of you. You knew that would be the answer, yet you can’t stop the disappointment. “Oh.” That's all you can say. You don’t trust yourself to say much else.

You swallow the lump in your throat as Johnny appears in the doorway, looking between the two of you before his eyes settle on you. He can tell something happened, something transpired between the two of you while he was gone. How much of it he heard, you’re not sure. Perhaps none at all judging by the look on his face.

“Ready for bed?” He asks, his gaze cautious. He’s trying to assess the situation, figure out what could have transpired to cause such a reaction between you and his alpha. He’ll never know. Not unless Simon tells him.

“Yeah.” You breathe, scurrying out of Simon’s room before you can make more of a fool out of yourself.

“H-How long will it take?” You ask, your heart thudding in your chest. Your pre-heat symptoms had stopped earlier this morning, the hunger gone, the itching beginning under your skin.

“As soon as your temperature goes up, we’ll get started.” Dr. Keller says, sticking electrodes to your chest. You’ve already got the blood pressure cuff around your arm and pulse monitor on your finger.

“Ye were prepared for this.” Johnny says, sitting next to the hospital bed. You’re in a private room, well away from any others, even though no one will know you’re in heat. There won’t be any scent projecting, no neediness, no aching. You won’t be aware at all that anything is happening as your body rapidly cycles through that sudden flood of hormones.

Dr. Keller nods. “This was always a possibility, so I made sure I had everything on hand for when it did happen.” She takes your temperature again. “Tell me when you start to feel warm. The last thing I want to do is send you under too late.”

Your skin crawls at her words, memories flashing back to the time you were put under too late. You trust Dr. Keller to take care of you, though. She’s far more competent and aware than that nurse had been. It’s her job to take care of you, to watch after you in moments like this.

You just wish you could talk to John before you go under.

You want to remember his voice when you come back out.

“I’ll be here the whole time.” Johnny says, taking your hand, obviously sensing your discomfort.

He’s brought a bag of things with him, since he’ll be staying with you for the few days it’ll take to get through your heat. It won’t be as long this time, your body being forced through those hormones quickly. It won’t even register it needs a knot, flying through those symptoms.

The wait is the worst part. It takes forever, every minute seeming to take an hour. Johnny waits dutifully by your side. You wish this wasn’t the first heat he would be here for. You wish he had at least gotten some experience with a normal heat, just so this one wouldn’t scare him off. Even Kyle might have been shaken by it, though, even with his experience.

Eventually the heat begins to prickle under your skin, your heart rate jumping. Johnny calls in Dr. Keller, looking nervous as sweat begins to bead on your forehead.

“It’s time.” Dr. Keller says, taking your temperature. It’s jumped quickly, your body starting to prepare for the onslaught of hormones about to be released.

She turns your arm, hooking up the IV that will deliver the sedative as well as fluids to keep you hydrated. The heart monitor beeps rapidly as you grow nervous, Johnny squeezing your hand gently. You know he’s trying, and there’s nothing more he can really do. There’s no stopping this. It’s going to happen no matter what.

“I’m going to administer the sedative. You’ll start to feel sleepy.” Dr. Keller says. “I’ll put in the feeding tube after you’re out.”

You swallow nervously, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. “It’ll be okay right?”

Dr. Keller gives you a soft smile “You’ll be just fine. It’ll be a few days for us, but it’ll be a few seconds for you. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You swallow nervously before nodding. Dr. Keller pushes the sedative through the IV, your body starting to relax as it begins to take effect. The itching under your skin stops, the heat fading as the ceiling gets further and further away as your vision tunnels. Johnny squeezing your hand is the last thing you remember before everything goes dark.

He’s seen a lot of things, done a lot of things that would make the average person violently ill. He’s no stranger to blood and gore, yet he can’t watch as Dr. Keller inserts the feeding tube into your nose. The thought of having it in his own body makes him nearly gag, his eyes closing as he breathes.

“I’m done.” Dr. Keller says, a small smile on her face as he turns back around.

“About gart me boak.” He says, looking at you where you appear to be sleeping peacefully. He supposes you are, blissfully unaware of anything and everything around you.

“You’re not good with needles either, are you?” She asks, obviously noticing how he had turned away when she put in your IV.

“Not my favorite.” He admits.

“She’s all set.” She says, stepping back. “You’ll want to move her every few hours, turn her on one side, lift her legs up. Keeps her from getting bed sores or blood clots. I’ll be next door, and I’ll check on her periodically. If anything happens at night, I’ll have my phone on full volume.”

“Thank ye, doctor.” He says, squeezing your hand despite the fact you can’t feel it.

Dr. Keller takes her leave, the room going quiet aside from the beeping of the heart monitor, and the occasional buzzing of the blood pressure cuff as it tightens around your arm. He stares at you for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you sleep. It’s probably the most peaceful sleep you’ve gotten in the last few weeks, despite the changes happening internally. Dr. Keller had explained it to him, the hormonal changes, how sedation works differently than going through a heat consciously. Omegas do go through heat cycles awake and aware without an alpha sometimes. Institutes cycle between isolated heats and sedation.

The thought of you going through both makes his stomach twist.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you lay there, something that will continue for the next few days, the doctor said. Your heart rate is higher than normal, another sign that you’re in your heat as your brain cycles through the sudden rush of hormones. He’s not quite sure what to expect, not quite sure what it’ll look like if something goes wrong. He’s never done this before, and the little research he’d done doesn’t feel all that helpful. Dr. Keller trusts him to know, though, and he supposes it’ll be pretty obvious should something go wrong.

You’re not going to be doing much aside from laying there for the next few days.

The hours seem to drag on and he can’t help but wonder if this is how Kyle feels during your heats. At least Kyle had a job to do, had to focus and listen for the breaks in between rounds when he’d go in, ensure nothing was wrong, nothing happened, that you’re being fed and taken care of. All he has is the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional buzz and crinkling of nylon as the blood pressure cuff expands. Dr. Keller brings him meals, keeping him fed and occasionally keeps him company as he watches dutifully over you. His back is aching from the uncomfortable chair and the makeshift bed, but he can hardly complain. He’s slept on worse.

He’s sketched a lot in the silence between watching videos on his phone and napping. It’s been a peaceful time, aside from his initial worry. You sleep away, sweat still beading on your forehead. Every so often he grabs a wet paper towel, wiping away the sweat.

He jumps as his alarm on his phone goes off in the silence, his pencil falling to the floor. He picks it up, setting his sketchbook to the side before he gets up. He’s careful as he slips his arms under you, easing you over onto your side. He bends your legs, making sure you’re steady and not cutting off circulation anywhere. He runs a hand over your hair, the strands starting to slip out of the braid he had put in before your trip to the med center.

He moves around to the other side of the bed, pulling the tie out before undoing the braid. He’s careful as he redoes it as best he can, making sure not to pull too tightly on the strands. The last thing you need when you wake up is to feel like your hair is being yanked out of your head.

He ties off the braid before moving back to his seat, staring at your peaceful face for a moment. It’s nothing new to him, but he can’t help but stare. He’s seen you sleep many times, held you, watched you blissfully unaware of the world. The softness in your face, the worry and the stress and the weight on your shoulders of just being who you are gone.

He picks his sketchbook back up, going back to drawing.

His stomach churns nervously. There’s a subtle shake to his hands, something that doesn’t happen often. He likes to think he’s prepared for anything, conditioned enough to not be shaken by anything. Yet he can’t help but feel unsure as Dr. Keller closes off your IV.

“She’ll be coming out of it soon.” Dr. Keller says. “She’ll be confused, disoriented. She might get combative. Your job is to talk to her, try to calm her and help ease her back into awareness. She’s a crier after heats, so I don’t doubt there will be tears. She may get sick as well.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be alright. Coming out of a heat is hard, and so is coming out of sedation. Both at the same time is always a struggle.”

There was a time he thought maybe sedation would be the easiest way to deal with a heat, but from what he’s hearing, he might have been wrong. Sure it might be easier in the moment to not have those week long symptoms of intense desire, the fever, the desperation. Coming out of it though? From what he’s heard so far, it’s not as easy as it sounds. He’s been through it, coming out of sedation after an injury in the field. It’s a confusing feeling, disorienting enough before you find out days or weeks have passed. It’s hard to conceptualize without all those hormones going crazy in your head.

You start to stir, your brows pinching as you slowly begin to wake. You let out a groan, reaching for the feeding tube immediately. Dr. Keller gently pushes your hands away, nodding to Johnny. Your brows furrow deeper, a groan leaving your lips as you begin to move more and more.

“Easy, kitten.” He says, leaning down close to you, projecting his scent so you can hopefully get a whiff of it to help calm you. “I’ve got ye. Yer alright.” He brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead as you continue to groan. He takes your hand as you reach for the tube again, squeezing it gently.

You crack your eyes open for a moment before quickly pinching them shut. Dr. Keller reaches up, turning off the overhead light before leaning down close to you again. She’s projecting her natural beta scent as well to try and help calm you. “I’m going to remove the tube, I know it’s uncomfortable.”

Johnny has to look away again as Dr. Keller removes the feeding tube, pressing his face into your hair as he projects his scent even more. You squeeze his hand back, the other gripping the side of the bed. You take in a harsh, gasping breath before you begin to cry, tears spilling out of your eyes as you sob. He had heard that you’re a crier after your heat from Kyle, he’s just never witnessed it before.

It takes him back to just a few weeks ago in John’s office when you had sat there crying as they interrogated you. It had made him uneasy, the stress and the fear clouding your scent. The fear he’d felt in those moments, listening to you cry and panic, nearly sending yourself into distress before John had calmed you. He might have done more, but he had been angry, angry at whoever put those cameras in your room, and slightly at you for keeping it from them for so long.

He can’t blame it completely on you, though. That had been back in the time where you still weren’t sure if you could trust them, before you fully opened yourself to them. Maybe they were slightly at fault for not making you feel like you could trust them, for not being realistic with you about the dangers. Sure you had been warned, had it drilled into your head why your safety was paramount, but maybe they had kept too much hidden from you. Maybe they had put you in more danger by trying to keep you safe.

Your eyes are still pinched closed as you continue to cry, sobs wracking your body as you grip his hand tightly. It tugs at his chest as he whispers quietly against your hair, trying to get you to recognize him, pull you out of the confusion and disorientation you must be feeling. You begin to hyperventilate, your hand slipping from his as you try to push yourself up. Dr. Keller already has the bed lifting, her other hand holding a vomit bag in front of you. It seems almost instinctual, but she’s been through this many times before. She had told him how many during one of their talks, when he’d asked her how long she's been working with omegas. He hadn’t realized just how little he really knew about your doctor before now.

Johnny has to look away as you vomit into the bag, his own stomach churning. Not just because of you being ill, but also because of how distressing this all seems. How you haven’t gone into distress is a miracle to him, but perhaps you’re still too out of it to be that aware.

Your breathing has calmed just slightly, your forehead beaded with sweat. Dr. Keller removes the vomit bag from in front of you, grabbing another and setting it on your lap.

“I’m going to dispose of this.” She says. “She’s going to be sick for a while. I’ll grab more fluids and I’ll be back shortly.”

Johnny nods, wiping at the sweat on your brow. You lean into his touch, letting out a quiet whine. His touch is gentle, almost scared he might hurt you in your fragile state. You’re still crying, the tears cascading down your cheeks. His chest hurts, guilt and sorrow churning inside of him from seeing you in this state. All thought that sedation was the best option goes out the window as he holds the vomit bag for you, keeping your braid out of the way.

Kyle had told him about what it was like during your heat and after, partially to feed his curiosity, but also in case something like this happened where he had to be the one taking care of you. He’d heard about the pain, the tears, the disorientation. This is different, though. This is far worse than what Kyle had described to him.

Dr. Keller returns, IV bag in hand. She removes the empty bag and replaces it with the full one, hooking it up to your IV. You have to be thirsty after a few days of having nothing but a feeding tube and the fluids to keep you going during your fever.

Johnny catches her hand as she pulls out a syringe, small enough to be discreet. Something tickles in the back of his mind as he stares at it, his instincts on edge.

“What is that?” He asks, starting to get defensive, his metaphorical hackles rising.

“Pain medicine.” She says simply, handing it to him. She has to be able to read him, sensing the sudden protectiveness wafting off of him.

He takes the syringe, reading the label. Morphine. He feels silly for distrusting the doctor. She’s never proven herself untrustworthy. While he knows they can’t be too trusting of anyone, she’s never done you any harm, never given them a reason to suspect her. She wouldn't hurt you, not after the dedication he’s seen from her these last few days alone.

“She might need it later once she’s more aware.” She continues, taking the syringe back when he hands it to her, putting it back in her pocket. “Her body just went through an intense hormonal cycle and those hormonal levels are now dropping suddenly. It can cause a wide range of symptoms from crying to illness to physical pain. When omegas are allowed to go through that cycle naturally, usually with an alpha, the symptoms of coming down from that cycle are typically less severe compared to when sedation is used, of course besides the physical pain. The pain with sedation is obviously quite different from the pain when the cycle happens naturally with an alpha.”

Johnny’s brows furrow as he rests his hand over yours, your breaths stuttering through your sobs. Your hands are clutching at the blanket, one of yours he’d grabbed from your room in hopes the familiar comfort might help you through the process. He hates that you’re in pain like this, he hates that you’re in pain at all. He’s beginning to feel the bubbling anger deep in his stomach at Simon for letting you endure this. He has no idea. He’s isolated himself for your safety, and he’ll never get to see what this is like, what you’re going through right now.

Dr. Keller says your name softly, leaning against the side of the bed, electing to ignore the swirling emotions of her fellow beta. He’s not her concern, you are. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

You continue to cry, but you manage to get your eyes opened, squinting at her through your tears. Dr. Keller takes your face in her hands, using her thumbs to gently pull down your lower lids, trying to get a good look at your eyes. You try to jerk away, letting out possibly the cutest defiant sound Johnny has ever heard, and he might have reacted had it been a different situation. Instead he leans over the side of the bed again, talking to you quietly so you calm a bit. You do relax at the sound of his voice, his scent projecting even more to try and comfort you, bring you back into reality.

“There we go.” Dr. Keller says, looking at your eyes before she gives you a soft smile. “Welcome back.” She removes her hands from your face leaning against the bed rail again. “It's all over. You did perfectly.”

You let out another groan, lifting a hand weakly before letting it drop back against your stomach.

“I know you're thirsty.” Dr. Keller says. “I'll get you some soon. We need to make sure your stomach has settled for now.”

Your eyes squeeze closed as you start to cry again, your inhales shaky as the tears start sliding down your cheeks. Johnny shushes you gently, petting your hair. Sweat still drips down your face, your hands curling around the edge of the blanket.

You try to push yourself up to sit, Dr. Keller immediately understanding what you need again as she lifts the vomit bag up to your mouth.

Johnny peels your hand from around the blanket, holding it tightly. His own stomach is churning but he swallows it back, bringing your hand up to his face. He kisses the back, the skin clammy and warm to the touch. Your scent is a swirl of things he’s never smelled before, drowning out the natural sweetness. Kyle had mentioned how your scent and John’s change during the heat and after. He hardly recognizes it right now, and he finds himself missing the sweet scent of strawberries.

Your fingers squeeze around his as you lay back against the bed, eyes cracked open and sniffling as the tears continue to slide down your cheeks. You let out a groan, tugging weakly at his hand.

“Hi kitten.” He says, leaning over the bed rail again. “Yer alright. Get ye feeling better soon.”

Your inhale is shaky, catching in your chest. You weakly tug his hand towards your face pressing your sweaty cheek against his skin. You nuzzle against his hand, your tongue darting out to lick his skin. He can't help but chuckle, wiping at a tear that falls with his thumb. You’re still out of it, but he knows that’s a sign that you’re starting to come through, starting to come back to yourself through the haze.

You let out a long groan as you pull away from his hand, licking at your lips. They're horribly chapped, almost rivaling Simon's, but at least you have an excuse.

“Thirsty?” Dr. Keller asks, returning to the bedside with a cup of water. “Drink slowly, you'll get sick again.” She warns, holding the straw up to your lips.

You manage to do as she says and take small sips of the water despite how thirsty he knows you must be. Johnny keeps caressing your face with his thumb, your fingers still laced with his.

“Let me get your vitals.” Dr. Keller says, setting the cup of water on the table. You let out a groan in protest, smacking your lips, obviously wanting more. “You can have more in a minute. Too much on your stomach could upset it, and I’m sure the last thing you want to do right now is get sick again.”

You let out a quiet grunt, leaning your cheek against his hand once again. Your skin is still a bit warm to the touch, but that could just be from the exertion of trying to come out of sedation and being sick. Dr. Keller takes your vitals once more, recording them on her sheet. She’s been tracking them your entire heat, using them to judge how far along you are since she doesn’t have the benefit of you being awake to track the symptoms that way. He had wondered why she tracked them on paper, but then he remembered John telling him about how Shepherd had requested all of your private records and Dr. Keller’s notes.

She is smart. He’ll give her that.

“Things look good, even if you might not feel like it right now.” She says.

You try to shift on the bed but you let out a quiet groan, freeing your hand from his.

“Hurting?” Dr. Keller asks.

You nod, letting out a whine. It tickles in the back of his brain, his beta wanting to reach out and comfort you, but he knows he can’t. He can’t ease the physical pain. One downside to beta evolution. Their ancestors never learned how to fix physical pain. Maybe that would have made them too perfect. All he can do is try to comfort you through it.

“Let's get some pain meds in you.” She says, pulling the syringe out of her pocket again. “Then we can get you somewhere more comfortable.”

She injects the pain medicine through your IV, giving it a few minutes to begin working before disconnecting you from all the machines. Johnny helps her get you in a sweatshirt, wanting to keep you warm. You are shaking, though what that might be related to he’s not sure. Perhaps everything.

Dr. Keller hands him the cup of water. “Keep her drinking. I'll go grab a car, then we can get her back to the barracks.”

You feel far too light in Johnny’s arms as he carries you from the car into the barracks. Simon is nowhere to be seen, though he hadn’t expected a welcome back party from his alpha. He’s probably still hiding out in his office, or in the gym, his usual hiding spot. Johnny is kind of glad he’s not here, though he would like to rub it in his face, the decision he’d made.

Johnny takes you to his room, still avoiding yours. It’s almost like a crime scene, Johnny tempted to take it off. He knows placing you in there might make you panic when you wake up after everything. That’s the last thing he wants. So instead he takes you to the place you’ve spent the last almost six weeks in, somewhere you’ll recognize the scent and be comfortable when you wake up.

You roll onto your side as soon as he lays you down, curling up on his blankets. He drapes yours over you, tucking it around your shoulders before he steps back out into the hallway.

“Keep her hydrated. Lots of water, tea, clear sodas.” Dr. Keller instructs him. “She'll be drowsy for a while because of the pain medicine. Give her a couple hours and once the pain meds wear off and her stomach settles a bit, try her with some bland foods. She did well with mashed potatoes after her last heat. She’s going to be out of it and sick for a few days. Keep an eye out for anything abnormal. Vomiting blood, can’t keep food down, if she complains about pain somewhere or is hard to wake, give me a call.”

“Got it.” Johnny nods, committing everything she’s told him in the last ten minutes to memory.

“You did really well.” She says, giving him a soft smile. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you, doctor.” He nods, internally beaming at her praise.

“Keep me updated, and don’t be afraid to call.” She says.

He watches her walk to the door, Simon’s door opening as soon as she’s gone. He at least looks guilty, like the shame is eating him alive. Johnny hasn’t seen him like this in a long time, not since he caused you to distress. It makes him a little too happy to see him in such a state.

“How is she?” He asks, not moving from in front of his door.

The sound of you vomiting into a vomit bag reaches their ears. Simon at least has the decency to flinch at the sound. It’s subtle, probably unnoticeable had Johnny not been able to read his alpha like a book.

“Sick.” He says, trying to hide his anger and disappointment. They’re complex feelings. He knew Simon would turn you down if you asked for his own reasons, but now after seeing what happens when there’s no alpha available during a heat, he almost hates Simon for doing this to you. “Confused. Still a bit out of it.”

“You know I couldn’t do it.” Simon says, using that uncanny ability to read everyone around him.

Johnny hates it sometimes.

He turns to glance at you through his open door as you continue to be sick. You’re going to be miserable for the next few days, likely more than you are usually after your heats. This one will be less physical pain after taking knots for a week straight, and more pain from being sedated, pain from being mostly immobile, pain from just being alive and carrying this status. Such pain omegas live with, physically, mentally, emotionally.

He hates it.

“Ye don’t know what it was like.” He says, his hands closing into fists. “Seeing her like that.”

You let out a long whine, a sob tearing from your chest as you inhale. Tears prick behind Johnny’s eyes as he holds Simon’s gaze. “Ye just had to say no.” He shakes his head, turning to go back into his room.

He doesn't want to tell you. He can see the look on your face already. The disappointment. The pain. The agony. He can smell the souring of your scent already, the painful grief filling it and there will be nothing he can do to ease it. It's a rare moment they've left you alone in the last month and a half, forced to after a call with Kate and Shepherd.

He's not even sure how to approach it.

He opens his bedroom door slowly, his stomach clenching as he looks in at you. You're on the bed, wrapped in a blanket where he left you, cuddled against your big bear. He doesn't want to wake you, especially not for this but he has to. He has no choice. You have to know.

He lets out a sigh as he sinks down on the edge of his bed, gently putting a hand on your shoulder. “Kitten?” He shakes you gently. “Kitten, wake up.”

You inhale sharply, startling awake despite his attempt to be gentle. There’s a sharp spike of fear in your scent for a moment as you’re yanked from sleep suddenly, but it fades as soon as you realize where you are and who is with you. You turn over onto your back, winding up resting against his knee as you rub your eyes.

“Johnny?” You croak, still partly asleep.

“Si and I just got off a call with Kate.” He says carefully, not wanting to scare you too much.

You're wide awake immediately, pushing yourself up to sit. You swallow nervously, your scent already souring. “What is it?” Your voice wavers as you ask, eyes already shining with tears.

“John and Kyle are fine.” He says, regretting not starting with that. He can see the temporary relief on your face. “But, they need some backup for this one.”

It takes a moment for your brain to process his words. A hole tears through the center of his chest as he watches the realization hit, your face falling as your scent begins to sour even more. Your arms wrap around yourself as you stare at him, the relief gone from your face as you stare at him. He swallows the lump in his own throat, your scent causing his beta to stir, the drive to comfort you itching in his brain. He can’t though, he can’t comfort you through this.

Your voice shakes, a tear sliding down your cheek as you figure out what it is he woke you to say, why Kate had called. Your inhale is shaky, catching in your chest before you speak.

“You're both leaving too, aren’t you.”

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #tf141 x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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nikkento-writes · 9 days ago

Text

Guess

Summary: You’ve got the most horrible roommate imaginable. The worst part of it all: he’s incredibly fucking hot. When you find out he’s stealing your dirty underwear, you decide to get back at him the best way you know how.

Word Count: ~2.6k

cw: explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, mutual masturbation, underwear stealing, panty kink

Author's Note: In honor of brat summer approaching, I’ve written a little piece inspired by the song Guess by Charli xcx (ft. Billie Eilish of course). This song has always seemed so Toji-coded to me. I hope you enjoy! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

To say that you’re not the biggest fan of your roommate is the understatement of the century. The disdain and contempt you have for Toji Fushiguro isn’t without reason, though. Since you moved in about two months ago, he’s been nothing but the epitome of a bad roommate. He’s messy, never cleans up after himself, eats your food without asking, disrespects your boundaries. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, used take-out containers on the counter until you can’t take it anymore and have to throw it out yourself. Groceries you’ve allocated for yourself always mysteriously disappear into his protein smoothie or post-workout meal. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s “accidentally” walked in on you naked in the bathroom after a shower. His apology is always a lazy, “Oops, sorry”, his gaze lingering way longer than it should. He was a walking red flag since the beginning. If the rent wasn’t so cheap and the location so close to your work, you’d have been out of there after the first week.

It also doesn’t help that you’re stupidly attracted to him.

Call it carnal attraction or whatever, but no matter how fucking irate he makes you, you can’t help fantasizing being trapped beneath his massive pecs, bulging biceps surrounding you, kissing and licking him all over that delicious scar across the right corner of his lips. You know he has a big dick; you haven’t seen it for yourself, but you’ve peeked at the outline of it through those grey sweats he always wears, parading it around for everybody to admire. He’s brought women home before, railing them in his bedroom across the hall, their moans always so excessive and wanton that even the max volume on your noise-cancelling headphones isn’t enough to drown them out. Another goddamn reason he annoys you beyond wit’s end, even if you do imagine yourself being on the receiving end, getting pounded by that huge cock of his. Screaming “Fuck me Toji!” over and over again into his pillow until it’s wet with your spit.

Ugh, what a fucking prick.

It finally crosses the line though. You start noticing it two weeks ago when you were folding laundry. A few pairs of missing underwear. At the time, you chalked it up to the washing machine eating them to never be found again. It happens, nothing too concerning to worry about. But when you clock that it’s always a certain pair, something skimpy, something silky, something tiny, like the thongs you typically wear on a date, then you start to suspect something more nefarious. In this case, someone.

You decide to test it out by laying out a trap, a small piece of cheese to lure the rat. In this case, it’s panties, the lacey black pair with the little bows. You suspect the worst, that your disgraceful and frustratingly hot roommate is totally sneaking into your room to steal your worn garments. Part of you still gives him the benefit of the doubt, a very tiny, miniscule part of you. But of course, it’s just as bad as you think. Because when you come home, it’s completely gone from the top of your hamper. Despite the evidence being clear as day, you can’t fully believe it. This sick fuck is actually taking your dirty underwear!

When he leaves for the gym, your body reacts before your brain can tell you to stop. If this motherfucker is sneaking into your room to take your things, then you have every right to sneak into his room to take it right back. You march straight for his bedroom and search the first place you think he’d be hiding this filthy secret of his: the bedside drawer. And lo and behold, it’s there in all its perverted glory. Five pairs all bunched up next to a half-empty bottle of lube and an obscene sex toy. Real classy.

In theory, you should be disgusted, absolutely appalled by this abhorrent discovery. And you are, you absolutely are. It’s right there, your dirty underwear further defiled by whatever vile acts he’s committed with it. It’s awful, totally repugnant and revolting and sleazy. Straight up nasty. You imagine him laid out on this bed, your hot pink thongs between his fingers as he strokes his throbbing cock in his fist, precum dribbling out of the tip. Or your silk piece stuffed inside his mouth as he fucks his fleshlight so hard that its fake pussy lips rip at the seams. Perhaps all he does with it is sniff it, inhale your womanhood through his nostrils so deeply that he can almost taste your pussy. And maybe he does just that, running your lacey panties across his tongue, salivating at how delicious you are in his mouth.

Oh no, oh god no. This is bad, this is so so bad. You’re not disgusted by this at all. In fact, you’re aroused. You’re wet just thinking about him getting off to your panties, his brows furrowed tight, sweat beading off his forehead as he jerks himself into oblivion. And if he’s allowed to have this much fun with it, why can’t you?

By the time he returns from the gym, you’ve already washed the evidence and have it back in your possession. You confront him after his shower, knocking lightly on his door dressed in a nightgown that’s a little too short on you. He opens it, sporting a tight white tee and an even tighter pair of briefs, scrubbing a towel over his damp hair as if he isn’t casually looking like a Calvin Klein model. “What do you want?” His tone is blunt as usual, expression indifferent, though his eyes take a quick scan of you up and down in the attire you’re wearing.

You swallow your nerves, smiling politely at him. “I just wanted to ask you something. Can you come to my room?”

There’s a tinge of confusion when his brow raises ever-so-slightly at you. This never happens; the two of you tend to avoid each other at all costs. He’s never been invited to your room before. Still, he follows you down the hall, not questioning it. You lead him inside, not bothering to shut the door closed. Pointing at the floor, you tell him, “Please sit.”

He glares at you. “Excuse me?”

“I think you’ll want to be seated for this,” you respond, unbothered.

“What the fuck are you – ”

“I found my underwear in your room.”

He gawks at you, then quickly gathers himself to deny it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You narrow your eyes. “Really? Seems like you know exactly what I’m talking about. It was all there, right next to your lube and fleshlight.”

This shuts him up. Taking a deep breath, he steps towards you, pointing an accusing finger. “You had no right to sneak into my room.”

You do the same, shortening the distance between you. “You had no right to sneak into my room and steal my dirty underwear, you fucking freak.”

“You have no proof,” he challenges you.

“The proof is right here, asshole.” You point to your bedside drawer, where the evidence lies hidden from view. “I have reason to report you to the police.”

He crosses his arms over his big chest, his nipples peaked through the fabric. “Then fucking do it. See if I care.”

The tension is so heavy between you, it’s taking everything to resist yourself from pouncing on him. You give him a smirk, feeling confidence you’ve never felt before. “Not yet. Doesn’t seem fair that you got to have all this fun in my expense. I want to play a little game with you first.”

He snarls at you. “What the fuck are you on about?”

You sit down at the edge of your bed, the hem of your nightgown riding up your thighs as you cross one leg over the other. “Out of all the ones you’ve taken from me, I want you to guess which pair of underwear I’m wearing right now.” You fold your hands over your lap. “And no cheating.”

At first, he’s perplexed by this proposition, unsure if this is real or if it’s just some trap he’s destined to fall for again. Then, he gulps loudly, asking, “What happens if I guess right?”

You grin at him. “I’ll let you fuck me.”

He licks his lip, erection growing in his briefs. “And if I’m wrong?”

“You’ll have to watch me play with myself. And get these panties dirty all over again.”

He can’t help himself from swearing under his breath. “Sounds like a win-win situation.”

You chuckle. “Trust me, I think you’re a loser either way.” Scooting farther back onto the bed, making sure to pull down the hem of your gown to hide yourself, you ask, “So…what’s your guess?”

You’re fully aware of how ridiculous this “game” is. Toji is completely right; it’s a win-win situation. If he’s right, he’ll fuck your brains out. If he’s wrong, you get to torment him by spreading your legs while he watches, wishing he could fuck you. And to be quite honest, you’re hoping he’s wrong. To see him on his knees, groveling, begging for a touch, a taste. It’s a sight you want to engrave in your memory. You realize in this moment that you’re just as much of a freak as he is, finding pleasure out of this fucked up situation.

Toji studies you carefully, trying to see if he can get a glimpse of an outline, shape, or color. He’s not ashamed to admit he’s familiar with the panties he stole from you. You haven’t accused him yet of specifics, but he can guarantee that whatever your suspicions are, they’re absolutely right. He’s sullied them in all the ways he can think of. But this is something he never dreamed could actually come true. First and foremost, you absolutely despise him, for good reason. Even he can admit to himself that he’s a terrible roommate. He knew he’d eventually get caught, he wasn’t exactly being discrete about it. It was always there, your bedroom door wide open, waiting to be snatched up. In his fucked-up mind, he saw it as an invitation. You were too dumb to notice it before, but he always figured you’d catch on. His secret would be exposed, get the cops called on him, maybe get a smack in the face or restraining order, no big deal. But this right here is an outcome straight from his wet dreams. You in front of him, on the verge of spreading yourself open upon finding out the truth, wantingto be fucked. Being a complete degenerate has finally paid off for Toji.

After what seems like hours of him contemplating, you clear your throat to regain his attention. “Final answer?”

He’s got a one and five shot of getting it. There’s no way he can tell what you’re actually wearing, no matter how hard he tries to manifest x-ray vision. So, he makes an educated guess based on his own personal favorite of the bunch. It’s a tough choice to make, considering he likes them all. The silk ones were the first he stole from you. It feels so good on his cock, smooth and luscious on his skin. The cheeky pair is fun because he imagines you parading around in it, your ass bubbly and bouncy as he pictures himself admiring each cheek with a hard slap. Despite all the options, there’s still one that reigns supreme in his head. “The pink thongs,” he finally answers.

The pervert likes the ones with the least fabric, big shocker. You mimic a wrong buzzer sound, shaking your head at him. “Nope, you lose.” Lifting the hem of your dress up, you reveal the lacey black underwear, the one you caught him with. “Guess you’ll just have to watch.”

He sucks air through his teeth, breathing out, “Fuck.” His hand hovers over his briefs, palming his boner. “You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you?”

You slip your hand beneath the fabric, middle finger circling your already aching clit. “Takes one to know one.”

It surprises you when he actually does get down on his knees, getting as close to you as possible without making contact, rubbing himself faster. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

“Only if you do it first.” You gaze at his hand, obscuring the cock you’ve been dying to see for yourself. “Show me how big you are.”

“Fuck,” he swears again, shrugging his briefs down his thighs. His cock is sprung against his abdomen, bigger than you imagined. The tip leaks with precum, veins prominent on the shaft, his balls hung heavy. Your brain turns to mush as touch yourself, thinking about how good he’d feel completely unsheathed inside you.

“Am I big enough for you?” he grunts, stroking himself with a tight fist, his forearm flexed.

You nod, spreading yourself wider, your wetness starting to seep through the lace. “Even bigger.”

“You think about this cock?” He massages his balls in his other hand, saliva practically drooling out the corners of his lips. “Fuck yourself to it?”

“All the time,” you tell him, dipping your finger in your wet cunt, smearing arousal on your clit.

He laughs, his voice getting huskier the closer he gets to his limit. “I bet you do. Smelled it all over your panties. Tasted it.”

Asshole. An absolute deviant. Depraved and disgusting human being. It’s all so fucking filthy and you like it. You’re getting off to it. It drives you crazy when he admits it, the mere thought of your dirty underwear in his mouth. His debaucherous nature has clearly rubbed off on you, and at this point, you’re too far gone to ever go back to normal. Hell, the two of you aren’t even touching each other and this is still some of the hottest sex you’ve ever had. Some of your guilt for being equally as weird as him is absolved by the fact that you’re not crossing that line of actually fucking one another. Not yet at least. For now, you can live with that.

You jerk against your hand, needing to feel more. Toji groans, “Are you close?”

Unable to verbalize your response, you nod, bucking your hips faster.

“Show me,” he demands. “Show me how wet that pussy is.”

You hook your finger on the crotch of the panty, revealing yourself to him, cunt shiny and glistening. All of it for Toji.

This does it. He curses, lifting his shirt up, wrist working overtime as he orgasms on himself, cum shooting out onto his chiseled six-pack. It’s enough to push you over the edge; you rub yourself through it until your panties are soaked.

He relaxes, pulling his briefs back on slowly, using the hem of his shirt to wipe himself off. You watch him as he stands up, staring at you still on display for him. You smile, removing your hand from the mess you made, fiddling with the waistband. “Want a consolation prize?”

He scoffs, trying to contain his excitement at this unexpected offer. “Are you serious?”

You shrug as you slide the panties off, tossing it over to him to catch. “Yeah. It’s pretty hot knowing you get off to this kind of shit.”

Toji plays it cool, walking away with them in his hands and leaving with a quiet, “Goodnight.” An hour later, he’s sucking on the fabric saturated with his saliva and your cum as he fucks his fleshlight, desperately wishing it was you.

#toji fushiguro x you #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk smut

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evqa3 · 21 days ago

Text

'𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓮𝓯𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮..' ✮

summary: after you best friend suho slipped into a coma, you shut yourself off from everyone including your boyfriend sieun. you disappeared without a trace. months later, while visiting suho at the hospital you run into sieun for the first time in months.

pairing: yeon sieun x female!reader, bestfriend!suho x female!reader.

warnings: none!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The only sound in the hospital room was the soft beeping of suho's heart monitor. you sat right beside his bed, hoping and waiting for him to just randomly wake up and ask if we can get food. it had been six months since the accident, six months since you last saw suho awake and annoying you, and six months since you disappeared.

ever since suho slipped into a coma you became horribly depressed, you couldn't contain the grief of losing your best friend by someone who you had considered a friend. so you stopped answering calls, you shut yourself off from everyone. you didn't even say goodbye to sieun.

especially not sieun..

you never stopped thinking about sieun tho. you would remember the way he would read through you, the way he would knew if you were upset or mad without even saying anything, the way he would wait for you by the entrance after school so you guys would walk together. but the one thing you never forgot was his warmth. the way he would wrap his arms around you at night when it was just the two of you alone.

but now you wonder if he hated you. hated you because you left him without a word. hated you because you left him while he was also grieving.

you push those thoughts away as you stood up quietly and collecting your things, before leaving you look back to suho who was still lying down in that hospital bed motionless, "i’ll see you tomorrow gremlin." gremlin was a nickname you would call suho growing up because of the way he would eat his food like he hasn't eaten in years.

you smiled softly as you turned around opening the door quietly and stepping out has if suho was fast asleep after a long night of deliveries. as you turned around you froze. there sitting on a bench in front of suho's room was sieun.

he looked the pretty much the same. his hair was little longer, his eyes were a little heavier as if he hasn't spelt in weeks. his eyes widen a little when he saw you, his breath caught up in his throat.

"y/n.." he said softly just liked he used to when you would be tangled up his arms at night, just like he used to when things were good back then.

guilt rose up pulling your words under like a tide. you didn't know what to say so you just stared at him, eyes widen a little as well. your fingers slightly shaking inside of the pocket of your jacket.

he slowly stood up from the bench, taking a step closer towards you. "i came to see suho." he said quietly. "i didn't think you'd be here.."

"i come when it's late and quiet or whenever i have the time.." you murmured softly.

he nodded as his gaze dropped down before looking back up. "i missed you. i never stopped looking for you.."

your throat tightens as you felt the guilt lingering around you. "i know." you said quietly while looking down. "i'm so sorry i left you without a word.." then you felt his arms wrap around you softly, you froze for a second before wrapping your arms around him as well.

his warmth finally wrapped around you after so long of not being in his arms. he slightly nuzzled his face against your neck before murmuring, "i’m just glad you're here now.."

for the first time in months, you let yourself breath. a sense of relief finally hitting you. you sighed deeply before letting your head rest against his shoulder. this was what you have been craving for, his warming touch against you. both hoping that everything would be okay now and that this wouldn't be the end of it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

word count: 758!

a/n — this is my first time writing.. so don't judge if its bad.😭 i don't know... so lmk if there is any mistakes or something!! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

#yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #ahn suho #fluff #angst #weak hero class #park jihoon #sieun x reader #x female reader #x female oc #kdrama #whc1 #whc2

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cherrxboy · 3 months ago

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I had this idea and I HAD to write it because I know my bitchass would NOT write it any other time (it's 5 in the morning and I haven't slept)

CW: explicit smut, I think - GN!reader - Mean!Satoru - uhhh rough seggs - Toru being an asshole - eating out/bj/whatever (reader receiving) - overstimulation I believe - a bit (probably a lot) of degrading/humiliation and stuff... he calls you a slut like two times - pet names used: baby, sweets, love - he refers to himself as "daddy" once but there's nothing else about that - mentions of death but like he's just joking - aftercare. (Not proofread) tell me if I missed anything!

English is my second language and I'm sleep deprived auauughh this is probably shit but I hope you enjoy hehe cause I personally love mean!Satoru he makes me go tehehehhehwojspsjpsj. Sorry if there are any typos ;((

♡

We've all read the fics, we've all seen the man, we've watched the show and I can't get this image outta my head, this little broken tape going off in my brain that Satoru is one of the biggest meanies when y'all are going at it. Doesn't matter what you are, what's in your pants, if you're giving or taking– he's mean.

Satoru is the type of guy that would keep you spread for him while he goes down on you, not caring if your thighs start to cramp or your legs feel sore. At some point it's not even about your pleasure anymore. He just wants to see how far he can push you, what new faces you can make, what little noises he can take out of you and Oh his favorite: how many times can he make you cum with just his mouth in a certain time limit.

He starts going and counts, each and every one of your orgasms, while also keeping track of the time. He's the strongest, he's definitely broken some records and one thing he really loves is breaking his own records. How many times can he make you cum in 15 minutes? How about 10? How about 2?!

"C'mon, love..."

"just one more, yeah? Oh I know, I know it's hurting but I'm almost breaking my last record, isn't that amazing??"

"Puh-leaseee? I'm making you feel good too, aren't I? Don't deny it, babe. I'm pretty sure everyone heard us with how loud you were being."

"No no no, I'm not saying it's baaad. Actually, makes me curious about how many noise complaints we can get in a week–"

Satoru is the type of guy to literally make fun of you while he's rearranging your guts. The type of guy that laughs in your face when you're crying all prettily, telling him that 'oh you can't take it' or how 'it's too big!' He's folding you in half at this point, not even letting you look away, hide your face in the pillows or anything as one of his hands keeps you still for him and the other holds onto your face, cupping you cheeks and squishing them together to make your face all pouty and adorable; you're just drooling and your eyes keep rolling back but Oh you better pay attention to him otherwise he's slowing down until you're begging for him to go faster and harder.

His thrusts suddenly become so weak and lazy and it's just not enough but he doesn't care, doesn't care that it practically hurts him too, he just wants to see you try and beg him to move with that fucked out lil brain of yours.

"Ah- Ah- Ah~! Harder, Toru! Puh-leaseee, faster, daddy!" As he giggles and mimics your voice (very horribly).

"Oh it's too big? But you're taking it so well, love, look at you! Shiiit~ I'm all the way in your tummy, see? Yeahhh well maybe you can't with all those tears but I definitely can."

"Hey, eyes on me, sweets– thereee we go~ Lemme see your pretty face, yeah?"

"What was that? Oh you're gonna cum? Again? That's a bit rude, baby, don't you think? You're being really greedy tonight. But it's okay, you can cum~ I'm feeling generous tonigt."

Satoru is the type of guy to pull on your hair when he's fucking you from behind, just to bring you closer to himself and make your back arch almost uncomfortably, just to whisper dirty ass shits in your ears that he knows would get you off.

He's got you on all fours and his free hand is on your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh as he pounds into you, sometimes giving it a little smack, groaning and moaning deeply against your neck and sometimes whimpering if you give a roll of your own hips as well. He's not shy and doesn't see why some guys hold back their moans... you seem to like it a lot, so he definitely won't stay quiet.

"Fuuuck baby~ you're so tight and so fucking warm– mmm! I'm gonna break you... uh-huh, you're gonna stay here in bed for at least a week, sweets. And I'm gonna take good care of you, yeah? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Staying here, full of my cum as we just cuddle and hide away from the world... I'll give you load after load, baby, as many as you want~"

"Taking my cock so fucking well, like a good little slut– no no no, don't you dare run away, sweets~ fuckkk... I can feel you squeezin' me, baby. You like when I call you that? Like when I treat you like the lil slut you are?"

"Oh fuck– please, give it to me sweets, please! Wanna feel you, baby, wanna feel you tightening up– shiiit.. just like that! I'm gonna fill you up so good~ just a little more, 'k? You can take it... yeah you can, good job~"

Satoru is the type of guy that's mean during sex but Oh so sweet afterwards. Man does not care how many rounds you've all been through or how tired he is... he's giving you a nice warm bath and a massage because he just can't have his sweet partner be in pain, can he?

He talks all that shit about making you unable to walk but god he thinks he'd die if he had to stay in bed with you for a whole day! He loves you, don't get me wrong. He loves spending time with you and just being with you merely in your presence but he's an active person to say the least and he can't just sit still for more than 10 minutes!

So you best believe he's giving you the best aftercare as soon as you guys are done. A glass of water to sooth your throat, soft towels to clean you up with, a nice warm bath along with a massage to make sure you won't be sore by the next few hours and finally he takes you to bed and cuddles you, kissing you all over your face and mumbling little "I love you"s again and again and again.

"You were so good for me today... such an angel. God, I'm so lucky to have you."

"I love you, you know that, right? I love you so much. You're the best thing that happened to me. I love you... did I mention that I love you??"

"If you ever leave me I'm gonna cry myself to death and then haunt you in your dreams and possibly fuck you there if you let me. Sorry, was that too descriptive? I just love you so much, sweets. You can't blame a guy for loving his amazing wonderful perfect sexy partner, can you?"

♡

First post and it's a thirst daaaamn. I'm not making a good first impression y'all I'm sorry 😞☝️

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luvergirl-535 · 4 months ago

Text

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #pazzi smut #lilah’s works #that’s so true pt 2

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vampzity · 5 months ago

Text

neglectful | FL

“It always goes like this, could’ve predicted it. I’m so naive to think you loved me for me.” — goddess, laufey

pairing: bf! felix x reader

after a rough disagreement with your boyfriend, you can’t help but feel like a terrible parter to him. he does his best to go out his way to show you you’re more than enough but unbeknownst to him, it was already too late.

[warnings]: slight arguing? self-consciousness. this is far from fluff i fear…! angst only hehe

word count: 1.5k

“You just don’t seem to care! All you’ve been doing is pushing me aside and I’m tired.”

You stormed out of the house, completely forgetting the lunch that Felix had packed for you. You’ve had enough of the excuses, of the silence whenever you were right, the “ifs ands and buts.” Felix stood there in disbelief, your plate of breakfast still in his hand as he hoped you would just come back through the door.

Except you wouldn’t, not this time.

There was going to be no more, “letting him off the hook.” Every time you argued, you’d let him have the last word— you’d forgive him so easily and let it go as if it wouldn’t continue again in the future. You were exhausted and you just wanted him to listen.

Felix wasn’t always this way, oh no. He was a completely different person back then, but it just left you with the many wonders of what had changed. When did he become so cold, so distant and why? For some odd reason he didn’t want to talk about his feelings toward you and that bothered you. Relationships should be all about being open with each other, communicating.. he was doing the exact opposite.

The cycle was the same, he’s cold, he’s distant, you comment about it, he brushes it off as nothing and then you argue. With him moving on like it was nothing hours later. It hurt you to see someone who you still cherish so deeply, switch a flip on you unexpectedly.

Felix placed your plate on the table, staring with a blank expression. There wasn’t a single day that you’d go without eating breakfast, especially not before work. It shouldn’t have. bothered him, but it left a heavy weight on his shoulders that he didn’t like. He sat at the table, pushing the food on his own plate around with a fork as his mind raced.

Was he really as neglectful as you made it out to be?

He glanced over to your plate across the table, full and missing your presence. An empty feeling washed over him— it was odd to be eating breakfast without you, as it was something you two have done every morning for the last 2 years. For once, there were left overs. Your untouched leftovers.

A frown painted his face as he got up to clear the table. He searched through the cabinets for a container to save your food in, but to his surprise there was none. How far in the gutter was his mind? Did you ever mention anything about needing more containers before?

Felix glanced around the kitchen, his eyes catching a small list against the fridge. He walked over to it and pulled it down, scanning it for a moment. Milk, eggs, cereal, and there it was.

Storage containers.

“A grocery list, for me?” He tilted his head in confusion, his eyes catching the date of the note.

1/03/25.

That was nearly a whole week and a half ago. A sighed escaped him as he imagined the many times you had told him to bring back groceries on his way home, or simply go and get them on his days off.

It all made sense now— why you came home furiously carrying multiple bags of groceries the other day. Why you gave him the cold shoulder whenever he cooked for you. He was neglecting you without noticing and didn’t even bother to see the signs you threw his way. Felix’s heart sank at the realization, feeling horrible for the way he let you feel. He loved you, he always did, however it was clear you felt that he didn’t anymore. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel less than enough.

How could he make it up to you?

— ✧⁂✬ —

You pulled into the driveway of your shared home, groaning as you turned off the car. You sat in your seat for a minute, contemplating if you even wanted to walk inside— it’s not like you’d be greeted with any warm welcome. A useless argument seemed more likely to occur the that at this point, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to it.

You got out of your car, locking it as you walked over to the door. You fumbled with the keys for a moment before the door swung open in front of you. Startled you jumped back, being greeted with a guilty look from Felix. You looked at him for a second, before brushing past him to take off your coat and shoes.

“Can we talk?”

Felix closed the door, trailing behind you as you switched into your house slippers. You ignored him, walking over to the kitchen to spot a small plate of brownies on the table. You raised your eyebrow, giving him a quick glance only to be met with a half smile. Sending the cold shoulder his way, you grabbed a drink out of the fridge and walked toward the stairs.

It’s been months since he’s made you anything, let alone brownies. Though to make brownies all of a sudden, especially knowing you were upset with him? It was unusual.

“Hey,” he grabbed your hand, tugging on it slightly. You turned your head to look at him, sighing as you pulled your hand out from his grasp.

“Please talk to me, I’m sorry.” he mumbled, searching for even the slightest bit of light in your eyes.

“Talk about what, Felix? I’ve said more than enough to you yet time and time again you don’t care. Why waste my breath?”

He gave you a small frown, accepting the harsh truth that you had every right to be upset with him. All he wanted to do was fix things and make you happy— was it too late for that?

“I’m just, I feel horrible. I spent so much time in my work, I neglected you and.. that’s not right.”

He looked away from your cold gaze, picking at his chipped nail polish. You sighed heavily, turning away from him and walking back up the steps to your shared bedroom. You dug through the closet and pulled out a suitcase, soon fumbling through the closet and drawers for clothes. Felix watched from the doorway, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

You ignored him once again, walking into the bathroom to grab things and soon placing them in the stuffed luggage. You closed the suitcase, pulling it off the bed. Felix walked into the room, grabbing the suitcase from your hands and pulling it to him.

“Hey, give me that back!” You tugged at the handle that he held a firm grip on. “I’m serious Felix, I’m done here.”

“So you’re just going to leave like that? After everything? Where are you even going to go?”

His questions felt like knives, turning and twisting inside of you. Still, you ignored them, yanking the suitcase from his hold and walking down the steps. You changed back into your sneakers, Felix standing a good distance away from you. You glanced over to him, watching as tears escaped his eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to you. Brownies doesn’t fix anything, especially this and you know that.” You put on your jacket, pulling the car keys out from the pocket.

“I’ve fought, I’ve communicated, I even thrown hints at you and still you pushed them aside as nothing. Can’t you see it Felix? I loved you more than I loved myself, more than you even loved me.”

Felix stood there still, his face covered in tears as he wiped them away. He couldn’t respond to you, he wouldn’t. There was nothing for him to say when you were right. He had to bring himself to see the harsh reality of it all— he hurt you, put you last, every feeling you had at this moment was valid.

He wasn’t always cold, he was never the cold mean guy toward you, and the tears may have proven it, but a part of you couldn’t bear with it anymore. He showed you his true colors without a warning. He was more passionate about his work than he was of your relationship, and it tore you apart.

“Felix..” your voice broke, tears rolling down your face as you walked up to him.

You held his hands in your own, bringing them up to your face before you placed a soft kiss against them. You gave him a small frown as you wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I love you, but I deserve better. I’m sorry.”

His heart shattered at your words. He subconsciously pulled you into a hug, squeezing you softly as if he didn’t want to let go. You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his head gently before pulling yourself away from his hug.

“Please don’t go, I can do better. I promise.” His doe eyes met your own, making you look away.

You walked back to your suitcase, holding it tightly as you made your way to the door. You stopped suddenly, taking in a deep breath before looking back at his fragile gaze. It hurt you to see him like this, but that was only part of the extent that he ever made you feel. He may not ever know how you truly felt.

“You’re too late.”

You shut the door behind you, tears streaming down your cheeks as you made your way to the car. The worst part was over— at least for you, unlucky for Felix, it was just beginning.

uh, i’m sorry for this LMAO. part 2 maybe?

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @jjongibears @rvereri

@kittykat-25 @sundaybossanova @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @vnessalau

@tiredlittlevirgo @roomsofangel @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @minghaoslatina

#—♡vampzity #—♡︎vamp’s angst hours #stray kids #skz #felix stray kids #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix #skz stay #skz x reader #skz angst

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compulsivebites · 1 month ago

Text

Meat for a dog | butcher!Simon x f!reader

based off the comments from this post | pinterest board | word count: 5,097 (soz)

warnings: 18+ ONLY (MDNI), dubcon (god i wish i could write noncon), fingering, animal meat & blood mention, piv, simon not shutting the hell up

a/n: i took a gummy and edited this so now I hate it

The swap of his gun for a cleaver- a human body for an animal one- felt like a natural exchange for him. He liked it well enough. Showed more respect towards the animal meat he carved than the human ones. He was good at it.

His days were always the same— a smoke before his shift. Wrapping the stained white apron around his broad body as he chopped various meats for the display fridge in the front. The discards would go in a plastic bucket to be thrown out. The scavenger in him knew it could probably be useful for something- fuck if he knew for what though.

Usually he recognized most of the faces that came in, bulky arms resting against the display as he watched bodies pass by, waiting for someone to summon him when they were ready.

***

Ok. Just go in there and ask. The worst they could do is say no. The idle noise of your car engine stops as you take the key out and drop it into your bag. You hate this, and almost hate how much you love your dog enough to do this. For the past month, you did a deep dive into dog nutrition. Reading about raw food, what kinds of bones he could eat, the types of diets there were within raw feeding, the different components of a balanced bowl, and the different ingredients within each component. After weeks of research, you eased your way into it. Starting with tinned anchovies- simple enough and easy to find. Your dog loved it, well- he regularly ate goose poop and food on the street so you weren't sure if that mattered but you kept going, his excited spins as you would place his bowl down was encouragement enough. It was also easy enough to buy some extra chunks of meat for your boy when you went to the grocery store. Chicken feet, duck heads, turkey neck- a little harder, but you always found it. Some other things, though- liver, heart, kidneys- are a little more difficult to source and expensive. Everyone online said a local butcher was the answer- a lot of edible meat for cheap. That felt a little bit more difficult for you, feeling embarrassed to have to ask someone if they had any scraps of meat you could give your dog. You could already imagine a scary man behind the counter laughing at you, but this was the only butcher shop around so you had no choice. Choosing this as a form of exposure therapy, it was a task you had to see through— no matter how uncomfortable.

The bell above the door rings as she pushes the door open. Simon watches your eyes scan across the store- sees the slight relief when your gaze is able to familiarize yourself with his shop. You look like a nervous little thing. Giving a small smile when you pass the elderly woman, avoid eye contact with the loud man screaming on the phone, you're shoulders tense and your feet move quickly.

"Hiya mate," Simon takes his time looking away from you. Bored eyes looking at the balding man in front of him. Sees a flash of annoyance in the mans face at Simon's lack of enthusiasm to help him.

"What'll it be?" Simon doesn't move at all as the man lists off the meats and weights for each protein. He waits a beat after the man finishes listing everything and leisurelymoves to get everything for him, a small smirk as he turns his back towards the customer, hearing him let out an irritated puff. He hands the man his things without a word, putting the cash in the register, and returns to his spot. He holds dirty, crumpled black gloves in his hands as his eyes scan the store for you. Easy enough, as it's the end of the day- neither of you notices that it's only the two of you in the store now.

"Hi, I have a weird question to ask." Decades of war made his hearing horrible and he's feeling like a shit so he almost can't help his tone when he asks.

"A little louder, love" It pisses you off and you almost leave- but you can't. You watch the smirk form on his lips. You take a look at him, his towering body at ease in his shop. He's hot in an unconventional way. His dirty blonde buzz cut growing out, his dark brown eyes that sparkle with a hint of mischievousness, his face roughened from scars that didn't heal correctly, big crooked nose that looks like he didn’t bother to get set back into place. He scares you, in an 'out of your league' way. He radiates confidence, indifference— like he always gets what he wants.

He can see the anger flicker in your eyes, but as quick as it's there— it goes. A sore spot, and he can't help as his smirk turns into a smug grin as he watches you repeat yourself a little firmer- but your politeness doesn't hinder.

"I was wondering if you had any meat you were getting rid of, for my dog. I’ll pay for it" you add the last part in quickly, hoping that will make him ease up on you. He may be handsome, but you can tell he's enjoying your discomfort. You feel like an awkward teenager again; this answer puts you on edge, makes you shrink into yourself.

"Hm— never had anyone ask me that" his thick finger taps on the display as he makes an exaggerated thinking face. "Might have some in the back- let me just switch the sign and we can take a look." He gives the glass one last tap before he pushes his broad frame back and moves towards where you're standing. His heavy boots get louder as he passes you and goes to flip the 'Open' sign to 'Closed' and lock the door.

Your mouth falls slightly open. You checked the store hours a few times before you came and everyone online said it's best to go closer towards closing time but you weren't expecting him to close the store while helping you. You were a customer surely he should just leave it open? The thought felt a little selfish as soon as you had it, so you close your mouth.

He watches your throat move as you swallow, oh— he wants to play with you. Wants to trap your tail under his paw and watch you try to run away. See you squirm under him. Force pretty little noises out of you. He’s aware of how he comes across, relies on it. Expected to be a selfish lover, to take without care, and they’re right— he is. Normally he enjoys taking, gives just enough to keep the other person from complaining. Not a bad fuck but not one that needs to be repeated either. But with this situation, a perfect one where he can take his time and play with his food— doesn’t need to maul it. He wonders how much of a fight you’d put up, if any. He’ll find out soon enough.

He stands in front of you now and makes himself big, raising his tattooed arm onto the top of his head. Hand rubbing up and down his buzzed hair as he starts asking you questions he doesn't really care about- wanting to hear your trembling voice for a little longer. Like a cat playing with its food. He cuts you off mid-sentence feeling impatient, he leans down towards your ear and whispers for you to follow him.

"Let's check together." His voice feels like a boom compared to the whisper in your ear he gave a second ago. It catches you off guard and makes you jump a little. You clear your throat and take a final glance at the 'Open' sign that faces you.

"Oh, I don't want to intrude. I can wait here—"

"No, you have an odd little request. Let's figure out if I have an answer for you together." He holds the hefty stainless steel door open with his boot, thick arms crossed in front of his chest, his head following you as you enter. You hesitate for a second and force yourself to move past him and into the back room.

The smell of raw meat is the first thing you take in— it’s almost jarring how much stronger it is back here. Obviously, you think to yourself as you look at the skinned lamb bodies hanging from a hook. You wonder how he deals with it every day, but the scent follows him always, all blood smells the same no matter the species. The loud hum of the refrigerators fills your ears as you turn back to look at the butcher. The door makes a loud bang as it rushes to close and you flinch. Neither of you talk as he makes his way next to you, his massive frame hovering beside you— let’s you shrink in the silence for a few seconds before moving.

If he’s good at one thing, it’s perceiving people— had a career that depended on it. After entering the back with you, he decides to just stand there— see if you’ll leave, back out. But you don’t, instead he watches your neck bob as you swallow, pick at your nails, bite your bottom lip— you must really like that dog.

He walks towards two massive buckets sitting next to a metal table. He lifts one and lets the thick plastic container bang against the counter as he puts it down.

“This ones got some good bits, edible but wouldn’t make a profit if I put it up front.” Your eyes light up, it’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. He lifts a brow, amused by the ardent look on your face, before continuing. “It’s time for my smoke, so sort through this and pick out what you want.” He places a plastic storage container in front of you. So worn that the measurement lines are gone. “Whatever you want can go in here.” You nod without looking at him, hearing his heavy steps head towards the back exit to your right.

He waits for you to pick up a piece of meat from the bucket and whistles at you. Like an obedient dog, your head whips towards his direction the second you hear it.

“Look left.” Your head turns just as fast towards the area where you two walked in. Your eyes scan the off white walls, the steel door, the metal table. “See that small box, there? Gloves.”

“Oh, yeah, ok. Thank you.” You head towards the metal sink to wash your hands quickly. Since you started feeding your dog raw meat— you had gotten used to the cold, smooth textures. Not thinking twice about putting your hand in the bloody bucket.

“Dirty girl,” he chides. “Even I wear gloves.” You watch the end of the cigarette glow as he sucks the nicotine in. You don’t answer as you return to your table, opting to give a little shrug instead. You hear him snort as he turns his back to you to finish his smoke.

* * *

You don’t know how long it’s been, but your container is halfway full by the time he finishes his cigarette. Content in your task, sorting through the cold meat and fat chunks, you don’t notice him till you feel him pressed against your back. You go rigid. Hands frozen in place as you suddenly feel trapped.

“Good little worker, almost done filling your container.”

“I— yeah, thank you. For letting me do this, he’s gonna lo—” your words get stuck in your throat as his body twitches closer to you— like he couldn’t help it. It pushes you forward into the counter, your body causing everything on the table to lightly jerk once.

“Easy. Keep working, let me see how well you're doing.” His big hand wraps around your neck, not too tight, hanging there like a collar. Fingers lightly resting on your carotid artery as if he was feeling your pulse. He can, basks in the stuttering beats.

“Gotta tenderize the meat,” you hear him purr into your ear as his tattooed arm rubs against your hip, occasionally rubbing your stomach under your shirt. You wonder if you’ll find any bruises on your hip tomorrow.

You try to keep a steady hand as you rush to finish filling your bucket. No longer paying attention to whether the meat is good or not. You then feel him at the button of your jeans, on instinct, you jerk your hips back to get away from his hand but feel his unmovable body.

“Ah ah ah, pick that piece up again.” You pick the limp, red chunk of meat up from the bucket and let it dangle in front of the two of you. From your peripheral you see his head lower to rest his chin on your shoulder, the smell of meat, cigarette, and very faint cologne fills your nostrils. You can feel the prickle of his facial hair through your shirt. “That’s a nice cut, I reckon that one should go to the mutt, hm?” Your hand trembles slightly as you add it to the clear bucket with a weak noise of agreement. He squeezes your neck in silent approval before dragging it down. He gropes at your breasts, thumb circling your nipples, you bite your bottom lip to avoid letting out any noise.

You add a couple more pieces of meat, while both of his hands casually unbutton your jeans. He returns one hand to your chest to continue playing with your nipples through your shirt. His other hand pulls your underwear and jeans down at the same time. You feel the calloused skin of his finger scrape against the fat of your hip as he hooks it around the fabrics. You haven’t moved, your jeans pushed down to your knees, frozen until you hear his gruff voice.

“Spit.”

You slowly look down with wide eyes at his two thick fingers in front of your mouth. You swallow the excess saliva in your mouth without thinking. You both hear the quiet tu sound as you watch a small, pathetic drop of spit fall onto his fingers.

“That’s it? It’s like you want it to hurt, unless” He cuts himself off, the two fingers disappear to swipe your folds. Your face feels like it’s on fire when you feel his fingers easily glide across. He starts rubbing circles as he lets out a raspy laugh.

“Fuckin’ hell. How long have you been standing here dripping? Was it me or the meat hanging in the fridge?” You try to move your head to the side, to get away from him, but he moves his hand from your nipples to its previous spot on your neck. Thumb on the back of your skull, forcing you to keep your head straight. You feel his teeth on your ear as he nips at your lobe. “Dirty little puppy. Might need to line you up with my lamb carcasses and hose you down when we’re through, clean you off.”

“I— please, can I just go. I didn’t mean to.” You lose your words. Didn’t mean to what? Get this wet? You try to figure out a way to convince him to let you out, yet your body felt glued to the ground. His words are a bit coarse, but his touch hasn’t been so bad— a bit rough but nice nonetheless. Every touch he gives you feels like it slows your brain down. You begin to get lost in your thoughts, disappointment in yourself growing until the butcher interrupts them.

“Settle, love. What kinda man would I be if I let you leave here with that dripping cunt. And without food for your dog? I’m not cruel.” The period to his sentence is a quick slap to your pussy, you let out a suprised gasp. “I’ll take good care of you, just need you to take what I give you, yeah?” You can only let out a pathetic whine in response.

You weren’t expecting his hands to leave you so soon. Confused for a moment before you feel him lift your shirt and bra over your head, the plastic, blood covered gloves roll off along with it. His hands fall into their previous positions on your body.

“Now, how about a little quality check, see if this needy pussy is ready for me?” In any other situation you’d ask if he’s always this chatty— you feel like he hasn’t shut up since you both walked into the cold, metal kitchen. His hands have you too distracted to think anymore about it as he spreads your folds apart before sinking his big finger into you slowly, all in one go.

Like a trained dog you fall into line immediately, any form of objection, not that you’ve shown any really, gone from your body and mouth at his say so. Simon thought of all the moments he gave you to bite and bark at him, but you did neither. Like a dog who didn’t know its leash was taken off. Simons body let out another involuntary twitch into you as he thought about it, pushing his finger deeper into you. He decided that he was probably doing you a favor. A feral dog that finally got some guidance from a trainer, doesn’t really know what to do without a firm hand. He felt your warm walls pulse, like your body could read his mind and agreed with him. Simon couldn’t help but let out a deep moan. He uses his free hand to unzip his jeans, letting his hard cock bounce out, ignoring it as he places his hand on your chest, tweaking your pebbled nipples.

He knew he’d have to stretch you out a bit more before you could take him, barely able to push his finger into your soaked cunt. His thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clitas his finger curls inside of you, working in tandem as he feels you squeeze around his finger. You can’t help the way your hips push into his hand, desperate to create more friction.

“Yeah, hump my hand needy girl.” You whine and push your hands flat against the table as you try to grind your hips against the palm of his large, calloused hand. He keeps his hand steady, making you figure out how to reach your peak on your own. Another whine slips out— more desperate this time, beginning to get frustrated that you can’t get the right rhythm.

“That’s alright, you need me to help you out?” You feel pathetic as you nod your head in response. The butcher pinchs an ass cheek before he puts his hand on your back and forces you forward till your front is laying on the table. You cringe as you feel the blood from the meat against the front of your body, you fold your arms under your forehead to avoid putting your face in it. His hand runs down thumb draws circles around your clit slowly while his long finger curls into you, feeling for your g-spot. He strokes it until he feels your cunt flutter around his finger, he can hear you panting as your body begins to shake. He bends down towards your head, as if you wouldn’t be able to hear his deep voice while he was standing.

"Don't cum yet- want you to tell me the word you use on your dog when you release him"

"What?" You want to tell him to shut up and let you cum, your pussy flutters impatiently around his finger as you try to focus.

"Like when you release him to do something. We had dogs when I was in the military, wouldn’t move until they gave a command. What’s his?" His breath tickles your neck with each word, talking casually like you’re not on the edge of an orgasm.

"Um, break." You're confused, not getting where he’s going with this. or caring.

"Alright then, Break. Cum for me like a good girl." You've never been so confused while having an orgasm, body twitching as he leaves his finger wedged inside of you. He hears you let out a shakey moan as you cum, your chest rising and falling quickly. He leans down to rest his heavy body on top of yours, his free hand wipes the light sheen of sweat from your forhead before haphazardly grabbing the top of your skull to turn your face to look at him over your shoulder and smiles at your disheveled state— can see your dialated pupils and the way your mouth hangs open as you pant. He lets go of your head and can’t help but bite on your bare shoulder until he hears your heavy breathing turn into a hiss, swiping his tongue across the crooked indents left over by his teeth, feeling you shudder beneath him.

“Want you to do a little trick for me now.” You have no time to ruminate on your orgasm or what he just said, suddenly feeling him bully a second finger to join the first one without warning, you let out a whimper as your eyebrows scrunch together. His other hand moves to your cheek, roughly pinching it as he talks.

“Breath through it, know you can take it. How else is that needy little pussy going to take my cock, hm?” You pull away from his hand and shake your head in displeasure, your wetness not enough to alleviate the painful stretch. He begins rubbing down your soft skin, stopping at the inside of your thigh and stroking it softly.

Simon doesn’t move the fingers inside of you. Takes time doing new tricks, so he decides to give you a second to adjust, the flutter of your warm cunt isn’t the worst thing his fingers have felt either. Like a trainer standing still while a dog thrashes around at the feeling of being on leash for the first time, a new sensation— he can be patient when it’s worth his while.

“That’s it— “ You don’t know how long your eyes have been squeezed shut or how long you’ve been chewing on your bottom lip, but you try to soften your face. You’ve never had anything thisbig inside of you before. You push down the thought of what he’s stretching you out for, opting for deep breaths instead. Then you feel him move his fingers, stretching them open and shut.

He curls them as he pushes them in and out, when he can tell that you’re close he pulls his fingers out. You hear him jerk himself a few times, the wet strokes sound obscene in the quiet room. Grateful that you can’t see how big he is.

He lets out a deep moan as you feel the head of his cock bully itself into your soaked cunt, his two fingers feel like they did nothing to prepare you for the size of him as you let out a quiet groan of discomfort.

“It hurts.” you whisper as you feel begin to thrust in and out of you. You don’t know how he hears you but he lets out a hum of acknowledgment and takes a hand off of your hip to play with your clit.

“I know, your cunt is barely letting me pull out.” He starts to pick up his pace now. The hum of the refrigerator now joined by the sloppy sounds of his thrusts into you. Eventually, your body adjusts to his size, you push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Plea- e- ease” You pause for a beat, realizing you don’t even know his name. “Sir?” You don’t know what else to call him, cringing as soon as you hear the formality leave your mouth.You don’t remember seeing any name tag on him when he was standing in front of you earlier and the politeness ingrained into you since you could speak wouldn’t allow for anything else to come out.

“Sir? Some set of manners on you. Or do you not know my name?” You shake your head that’s resting on the table, his thrusts unrelenting. You bite your lip to prevent a moan from slipping out before you talk.

“I don’t- know your na-” His thrusting doesn’t let up as he speaks at you, humor in his voice, “I’m inside of you, fucking you raw. You’re letting me— a strange man, fuck you. And you don’t even know his name? Oh, you are a filthy thing.” You feel embarrassed as you listen to his deep voicechastise you. A flicker of frustration fills you as you think about how he doesn’t know your name either. You let out an annoyed whine, both at him talking and his refusal to let you just cum again.

“Guess I don’t know yours either.” He emphasises the last word with a particularly hard thrust before pulling out of you all together, both of you moan, his desperate cock twitches at the loss of warmth.

He knows you were both close to cumming, but Simon doesn’t usually get to edge himself with his partners. Always opting for a quick fuck, but he couldn’t help himself this was such a unique situation— knows that you’d let him do anything right now so he can’t help but indulge by edging himself a little with your pussy.

You feel him pull you up by the shoulders, turning you around to face him. His brown eyes look down at the pink liquid covering your chest as an eyebrow quirks up, can’t help the smirk from forming before he grabs your chin so your eyes met his. He ignores the disgusted look on your face at his reaction to the blood on you.

“Forgot to tell me yours.” You tell him your name as you get distracted by his heavy boot moving. You look down and watch him step on the crotch of your joined underwear and jeans, pushing them down until they’re at your ankles, blocked by your shoes. You look back up at him to see what he does, his dark brown eyes are already on you. He lifts you up without a word, setting your warm body down on the cold table. You watch him as he kneels down to slip your shoes and socks off, tosses them somewhere to the side along with your jeans and underwear. Your breath begins to return to normal as you watch him. You notice that he didn’t bother to get undressed, his black jeans unbuttoned just enough to let let his cock out. You’re nakedness makes you feel like the lamb carcasses hanging from the hooks in the big refrigerator behind him. When Simon stands you can’t help but look down, swallowing the lump in your throat as you see his erect cock for the first time, it almost looks painful, your eyes follow the veins up to the tip covered in precum. You can’t look away as you watch his thumb spread it around before stroking his length one time before leaving it alone, turning his attention back to you.

Your hands go behind you to brace against the table as he firmly pushes your thighs open to their limit. He leans down slightly, fingers spread you open as you hear him spit on your cunt. He doesn’t bother to spread it, just forces himself in all at once. He watches your face as you struggle to adjust around him, enjoys the way your eyebrows scrunch together as he starts moving. His movements are obdurate, not giving you any reprieve from his harsh thrusts as he speeds up.

He feels the moment you adjust to his size. You both moan as you feel your pussy clench around him, feel the cum at his base being pushed out with each thrust. He uses a hand rub at your clit, alternating between rubbing it and lightly pinching it. Your body begins to quiver, you’re almost over the edge when you hear his voice.

“Break” You groan in embarassment as your body shakes, pussy clenching around his thick cock as you cum.

His hands find your thighs as he grips them harshly, thrusts losing rhythm as he chases his high now. You enjoy the grunts that leave his mouth as he gets closer. You feeli his cock still for a second before it twitches inside of you. He braces his arms against the edge of the table, surrounding your body as he pants above you.

You whimper when he begins to pull his soft cock out of you, feeling empty. He tilts his head down slightly as he looks at your opening. His finger opens your hole to give you both a better view. Your cunt twitchs at the attention, you both watch cum leak out of you. He chuckles before he moves back, tucks himself back in his jeans as he goes towards the sink. He pulls a few napkins and walks back to you, you’re surprised when he instead scoops some up to push back into you. He has a grin as you look at him with annoyance. He laughs as he hands you the napkins, he grabs the container of meat and places it on the other table, his back to you.

You swipe the rough napkin, flinching as you clean yourself off. Your skin makes a squeak as your bare skin rubs against the metal counter, you pushing yourself off. You put your clothes on as you watch his back, he’s quiet as you hear the rustling of plastic wrap.

He turns around, holding the container with one hand, he uses the other to grab your chin to make eye contact with him.

“I’ll see you here next week, yeah? He nods your head for you, "Yeah. I'll find you if you forget— I’m gonna want that container back." He pats your cheek before handing you the container.

You hold it against your body as you give him a small smile. He smirks at you as he herds you towards the back exit.

“Forgetting your manners, pet?” He lifts a brow at you, broad frame standing over you.

“Oh, thank you.” You offer him a small smile, brain trying to process what just happened.

“Good girl. Break” You hear his raspy chuckle as you walk away on shaky legs.

#i got scared and didn't write his accent out but please know its nice and heavy when he talks #sorry for all my em dashes I physically couldn’t help it #simon riley x reader #butcher!simon #cod fic #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x reader

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clovermoters · 2 months ago

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Omg y/n having to take care of Lando after he caught Josie’s bug 😭 he’s so miserable and jojo feels so bad because she got her daddy sick and just wants to cuddle him all the time. Even worse if it’s race week or media day 🥺

nursed by love - lando norris x wife!reader

a/n: whayayayyaayay this is soso cute thank u for the request ml! i hope i can live up to your expectations <3 !!

warnings - slight mention of throwing up

word count - 730

apart of the josphine elliot norris chronicles

Lando felt like shit, you had been taking care of him ever since he came down with the same bug your daughter Josie had last week.

Only this bug had hit him harder.

It started when you woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Lando getting sick in the bathroom, it was two days after your girls' night. Josie had felt miles better, your husband however…felt like he had been run over by his 2025 mclaren.

Now, Lando is thankful this hit him harder than his daughter. He wouldn't have wanted Josie to go through the sickness he's currently battling. The problem was the British grand prix was this weekend, and Lando still was bedridden with you trying to feed him light foods.

You sat on the edge of the bed next to him and he picked away at the sandwich you brought him, you hated seeing the life sucked out of him. His everyday tan skin is visibly paler than usual, the man was a shell of himself

“Are you sure it isn't time to let Jon or Zak know?” you ask, pushing him lightly. Your husband has been stubborn all week. His persistence to keep his illness a secret from his team and the media was driving you nuts.

He promptly shook his head. “No, I'll be fine for silverstone. I'm racing.” he finalized. You sighed, patting his leg before returning to the living room where you left Josie on her playmat. The girl had her head low and she fiddled with the dress on her babydoll.

“Mama… is daddy sick because of me?” the girl asked, looking up to meet your eyes and you could tell she felt horrible, the guilt eating away at the little girl. Your heart squeezed at her concern for her father, how she felt personally responsible for Landos illness.

You sighed, picking her up to place her on your lap in front of you, smiling at your daughter, you explained, “no sweetheart, it's not because of you. he's not angry with you either, he's just tired and weak. Like how you were when you were sick.”

the girl thought for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed as she came up with an idea, “can i give him cuddles like he did when i was sick?” she asked innocently. you smiled at her, thinking back how lando didn’t leave her side for 17 hours while she was ill. letting her lie on him while they watched movies and eat her bodyweight in popsicles.

your heart melts at your daughter wanting to help, her empathy was something you and lando were proud of, taking it as a parenting win for yourselves. Smiling softly at your daughter, you stand with her on your hip and walk down to where you just left lando moments ago.

“Room for two more?” you ask, lando rolls over in bed, sitting up showing his biggest most genuine smile he's shown in days once he sees you and josie, his two favourite girls, making their way into the bed.

“‘course c’mere jojo” he coos, you drop Josie at the foot of the bed letting her run into landos awaiting arms. The three of you cuddle into the mattress, josie nuzzled between the two of you as you put on a movie. You always loved having your little family under one roof, a bundle of warmth and love casting a gentle calm over the room.

“daddy?” Josie speaks up, Lando coughs slightly, clearing his throat before answering “yeah angel?” “im sorry i got you sick” she mumbles, eyes not meeting landos as he makes eye contact with you over her head, you both physically soften, your heart clenching at the josies guilt.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for sweet love,” he leans down, placing a soft kiss to her curly head of hair. “Besides, now I get to have both my girls to nurse me back to health.” he jokes, tickling the toddler, the room erupting into giggles from josie, her laugh spreading a warmth throughout landos heart.

The following day, lando felt much better he went back on solids and began packing for the race weekend, he’s telling you that he beat that cold so good but you know that all he needed was some josie love to help him snap back to health.

eheheh i hope u enjoyy, thank u so so much for reading !!!

#lando norris fanfic #ln4 #lando x reader #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #lando norris #f1 x reader #lando fluff #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando imagine #dad lando norris

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sturnmeovr · 6 months ago

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Changed Woman - Chris Sturniolo

Babydaddy!Chris - Positive - Mama - Scavenger Hunts & Cinnamon Rolls Pairings - Babydaddy!Chris x fem!Reader Summary - Your babydaddy, Chris, comforts you after morning sickness continues to kick your ass. Warnings - established relationship, pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness, mentions of vomiting, sassy Nick, lil fluff Word Count - 1950 Authors Note - I knoww it's short but it would've been way too long if I didn't break it up. With that being said, another part will be out soon! I hope everyone enjoys! 🫶🏻 Also I made my own dividers, feel free to use! The own used in this post is also mine🫣 (not proofread yet) Masterlist Current Series - City of Love

Clutching the countertop in a death drip, you suck in a deep breath in an attempt to steady yourself. Recently hitting ten weeks a few days ago, your morning sickness had been kicking your ass ever since you found out you were pregnant. ‘Morning’ sickness was a horrible term because it lasted all day and night for you. Half of the things you ate your baby didn’t agree with, even if you craved it for days on end. Throwing up sporadically throughout the day made your body exhausted and achy from all the heaving. Currently in the family bathroom of a local Chili’s, you were trying your absolute hardest to pull yourself together, mainly because you were out to eat with Chris, Nick, and Matt.

Chris made you vow to keep it a secret until he was ready to tell them, but you knew time was ticking. With your small bump getting bigger by the day, the secret was getting harder to keep. You wore baggy clothes to keep the growing bump concealed but you could only do so much, you were a pro at hiding the fact you were running to the bathroom every 30 minutes to either pee or puke. The boys were starting to catch on, and both you and Chris knew it. There had been a few times where you stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night, rushing the bathroom the boys shared to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet, forgetting to shut the door behind you which gave Matt the perfect view when he’d walk out of his bedroom. Matt would rush to Chris’s room every time, waking him up to tell him what was going on, but he’d never ask questions, always assuming you were just sick. Nick was too observant, when he noticed your sense of fashion went out the window, he began to ask questions and make teasing comments - “well don’t you look bummy today,” and “why’re always in one of Chris’s hoodies? You have one on like every day.” On most occasions, Chris would be by your side to defend you by saying a quick-witted comeback like - “My girlfriend can’t wear my hoodies?” or “so what? She’s comfy.” Other times, you were left to defend yourself all by your lonesome, whether Chris wasn’t there or just wasn’t paying attention.

A light knock on the bathroom door snaps you back into reality. “Just a minute,” you manage to call out. “It’s me,” the familiar voice echoes from the other side of the door. As you recognize the voice, you reach a hand out to the door, unlocking it to let him in. Chris gently pushes it open, stepping inside of the family restroom with you and closing the door behind him, “you okay?”

Looking up at your boyfriend, you see a sympathetic look engraved into his face. He had been worried about you, ‘no way pregnancy made a woman throw up this much,’ is what he thought each time he saw you scurrying to the bathroom. Chris did his best to help out where you needed it, holding your hair, rubbing your back, and always having a water bottle in hand. He couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t enough, like it was all his fault. It was starting to take a toll on him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he broke down to his brothers, telling them you were carrying his baby.

When Nick and Matt started asking questions, he started making up excuses and little white lies to cover both of your asses. Lying to the two people he had always been closest to made him feel like the worst person in the world, but he knew the time wasn’t right. Right before he left the dinner table to check on you, Matt asked if you were throwing up again, making it obvious what Chris’s plans were. Whether he meant it in an innocent way or not, it didn’t put Chris’s mind at ease.

Sucking in another deep breath and nodding to your boyfriend, “m’fine, Chris. Baby didn’t like the mozzarella sticks. I don’t know, I had them last week and I kept them down just fine,” you ramble. Ten weeks in and you felt defeated and drained. Watching as Chris rubs a hand down your arm, pulling you in for a hug, “hey, it’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong, he’s just being indecisive,” making sure to give you the reassurance he always did. His calm demeanor soothes you almost immediately. You nod a few times and turn to the mirror, looking over yourself. You were pale as a vampire; it looked like all the life and energy was sucked out to you. If this is what pregnancy was like, this baby was for certain going to be your one and only.

Chris inches behind you, letting both hands fall to your waist. A nervous expression plastered on his face as he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, “we have to tell them soon.”

Sucking in another scattered breath, you open your mouth to speak, “I know.” You let out a lengthy sigh, “they’re catching on.” Chris nods slowly, agreeing with you, “asking too many questions,” dipping his head down to plant a kiss on your temple. His hands smooth over your small bump, lifting your shirt up, “and he’s getting big. Can’t keep him a secret much longer.”

His words put you at ease, making a smile pull at your lips. Chris had been manifesting a baby boy ever since he found out. He only referred to the baby as he or him, never she or her. You wanted a girl as bad as he wanted a boy, so it pinched a nerve every time he mentioned it. Deep down, you didn’t care what the gender of the baby was. As long as they were healthy, you would be over the moon, and you were sure Chris would be too. Regardless of the short amount of time you and Chris had been together, you knew your baby was made with so much love.

“You’re gonna be real shitty when we find out it's a girl,” you poke at him. You can tell by the way he screws up his face that he doesn’t agree with a single word you said. Bellowing out a laugh, “a girl wouldn’t be bad,” you tell him, running your hands down his arms and pulling your shirt up further to expose more of your growing bump. He lets out a soft sigh, “I know. I just really want a mini me,” he muffles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Well, don’t get your hopes up. We don’t know yet,” you tell him before turning your attention to your reflection in the mirror. Your bump looked bigger than normal. It seemed like every time you raised your shirt to look in the mirror, your belly grew in size - kind of like Pinocchio and his nose.

“We should tell them tomorrow,” you blurt out. Chris digs his head out of the crook of your neck, “tomorrow?”

“Yea, why not?” you beam, even though you dreaded the thought. His brothers could be a bit judgmental at times, especially Nick, who had no idea what a filter was. A lot of the time, he’d impulsively say the wrong thing, but he’d always feel bad and apologize later on. It’s not that Nick didn’t like you, he just didn’t care to not be himself around you. Matt, on the other hand, didn’t seem to give two fucks. He was happy for Chris and his intuition told him you were a perfect match for his brother. He was the main person Chris vented to which made Chris feel like he was keeping everything bottled up. He wasn’t wrong. Chris lets his hands drop to his side, pinning his bottom lips between his teeth once again as he takes a step back, “I don’t know, baby. I don’t think tomorrow is a good idea.”

“Nuh-uh,” you grumble, “what happened to a few minutes ago when you were trying to convince me the time was right?” You spin around, wrapping your arms around his neck, and playfully narrowing your eyes at him, “we’re telling them tomorrow. No ifs, ands, or buts. I mean it, Chris!”

“Yes ma’am,” he holds a hand up to his forehead, jokingly saluting you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips, “let’s get back out there, yeah?”

You follow Chris back to the secluded booth Matt had picked out for the group. Going out to eat was out of the norm for the four of you, usually you guys would go through a drive thru, but Chris suggested it and didn't let up when everyone was opposed to the idea. He wanted to get you out of the house and if he was being honest, he wanted to butter up his brothers before he broke the news to them. Chris was nervous to tell them. Nervous was an understatement. He was so scared to tell them, he felt like telling his parents would be a piece of cake.

"Please don't tell me y'all were fucking in the bathroom," Nick spits out in a playful tone. You give him a funny face, scooting into the booth while Chris mimics your actions. He didn't find it that funny, though. Nick had been giving you shit over a lot of things, from your sudden change in style to the way you ran to the bathroom. Even though you all knew Nick loved to pick on you like the little sister he never had, your hormones were at an all-time high. Chris knew your waterworks were a ticking time bomb and you were ready to explode at any given opportunity. He had not been super attentive since you revealed your pregnancy to him, he had become really overprotective. Nick constantly picking on you didn't sit right with him, but he knew if he told his brothers that you were in the bathroom throwing up again, they'd ask questions. The last thing he had the patience for was more questions. He already had too many of his own.

The four of you sit together, chatting about numerous topics as the boys finish their food. The mozzarella sticks being the culprit of your sickness just a few moments ago, you didn't dare touch them. You had thought your reluctance to finish your meal had gone unnoticed, but the waitress came back to set the bill down, asking if you need a to-go box in the process. You give her a toothless smile as everyone turns their attention to you, "that'd be great. Thank you," you tell her sheepishly.

"You didn't finish your food?" Matt asks, still chewing his last bite as he sets a few twenties down on the table. The boys get up from the table, and you follow quickly behind. You shrug off Matt's question, "you guys eat too fast," pulling the excuse out of thin air, "and I was in the bathroom." Your comment earns a nudge from Chris, indicating he liked your comeback. He crouches down to your level, "good one," making sure to whisper so his brothers don't hear.

"She didn't order her henny margarita either," Nick points out as you guys walk to the nearby exit. His comment makes Matt come to a realization, "you do always order a henny margarita!"

"What can I say? I'm a changed woman," you shoot out playfully as Chris intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly to let you know your response was valid.

🏷️ - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @emely9274 @loveparqdise @frickin-bats @sweetshuga @thepubeburgler @katie-tibo @leila-marie4 (I think i got everyone. For some reason my tags weren't working in my last post?? Idk tumblr always acts weird to me 😫 Let me know if anyone else wants added. Going to make an actual taglist post soon!)

#♡‧₊˚ cheyenne's works #♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo

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angelicyoongie · 22 days ago

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(you're) always on my mind (Il)

— pairing: bird hybrid jimin x (f) reader — word count: 5.4k — summary: When your workplace announces that they've decided to promote collaboration between departments, you suddenly find yourself face to face with your sworn nemesis Park Jimin. Your plans to avoid him are quickly foiled as his presence turns the floor into a madhouse, your coworkers all vying for his attention. With so many people at his beck and call, why is it that Jimin is always so insistent on getting in your way?

01 - 02 - 03 / Masterlist

You stifle a yawn, blinking your bleary eyes at your screen.

It's not that the project is so demanding that it's keeping you from sleeping, it's more so ... everything else. It's been two weeks since you started working with Jimin and those weeks have consisted of jealous looks from the bird hybrid's groupies and dealing with an increasingly infuriating partner.

The thing is, Park Jimin just won't leave you alone.

"Coffee, for you."

You look up at Jimin as he gently pushes a takeaway cup over to your side of the table. He holds another one in his hand, presumably for himself, and gives you an encouraging nod as he catches your eye.

You tentatively reach out for the drink, finding it just the right side of hot as you wrap your fingers around it. You eye it suspiciously as you bring it up to your nose, giving the cup a discreet sniff. It simply smells like coffee, nothing more and nothing less. You doubt Jimin would poison you – but you wouldn't be surprised if the bird hybrid's definition of funny would be to prank you by putting something less than savory in your drink. Still, you hold his gaze as you bring the cup to your lips, determined not to give him the satisfaction of reacting if there is anything wrong with it.

You take a small sip, expecting the worst, but the taste that hits your tongue is normal. You drink a little more just to be sure but the taste remains the same. Based on the roast, you know that it's from the café down the block, the one that sells really good but horribly overpriced coffee. You've gone there with Jungkook a few times for a special pick-me-up when work has been rough but it's not something you would splurge on regularly.

"Thank you," You mumble, confused yet grateful that Jimin went out of his way to buy it for you.

Jimin's lips curve with a proud smile as he sees you enjoying the drink, his feathers ruffling happily as he takes his seat.

"My pleasure," His eyes crease under the force of his grin, the pale blush in his cheeks quickly hidden by his coffee cup.

You turn your attention back to your work, determined to get as much as possible done. Somehow it feels like you've seen more of Jimin in the past two weeks than you did Jungkook in the past three years, even though you worked side by side for all that time. It might be because Jimin insisted that you would work on the project together – squeezed into the smallest meeting room the department offers. If you're not looking at your screen, there's nowhere to look but directly at Jimin.

The bird hybrid just seems to constantly demand your attention in one way or another. If he's not sitting in front of you, he's walking around in circles, airing his ideas out loud to get your input. No matter what changes you propose, Jimin is always ready to challenge them, often turning a simple yes or no question into a discussion. He has a peculiar working style that absolutely grinds your gears but you can't deny that it works decently well.

Though, the absolute worst part of it all, is that Jimin is somehow becoming more and more attractive every day – and it's not like you can avoid looking at him. Your traitorous heart is beginning to feel confused and it certainly doesn't help that Jimin keeps pestering you about eating lunch together every day.

Even now, it's like clockwork as the time shifts to noon, Jimin's piercing eyes flicking up to meet yours as he coyly asks, "So, what are you doing for lunch today? I found this really nice ramen place just around the block a few days ago, I think you'd like–"

"Jimin-ssi!"

The smile on the bird hybrid's face turns into a grimace as the door to your private work room is flung open, his question interrupted by the same gaggle of people that never leaves him alone. The woman who called out his name, the one you've learned is another bird hybrid from Jimin's old department, sends you a hard glare when you don't immediately remove yourself from Jimin's presence.

You know this situation isn't exactly well-liked by his admirers – you've seen the frowns and heard the whispers whenever you leave the room – but she truly seems to detest the fact that you're working together in such close proximity. You're not sure what gave her the idea that you would take her precious Jimin away from her when that's the last thing you'd want to do, but you don't want to stick around to stoke that ire even more.

"It seems I'll have to decline, Park. Do enjoy your ramen though."

You quickly grab your essentials, shooting Jimin a strained smile before you slip out of the room. As scary as that woman is, you're thankful for her interruption today. A small part of you was tempted to take Jimin up on his offer for once, just to see why he's trying so hard to share a meal with you.

Shaking your head, you beeline straight for Jungkook, desperate for some fresh air and to look at something that isn't Park Jimin. You think you might be starting to go a little crazy from being cooped up in that room. That has to be the only explanation as to why you'd be willing to spend more time with him.

Of course, you should have known that Jimin wouldn't give up that easily.

You've been working on the project for a month now and despite the constant interruptions by his groupies, he never misses a chance to ask you out for lunch. He is nothing if not persistent. You have steeled yourself since that day you almost slipped up – now more determined than ever to not give into Jimin's charms. The thing is, you still can't figure out if he genuinely wants to share a friendly meal with you or if it's just another ploy to one-up you somehow. So many weeks of working together has started to shift your perception of him and you can concede that he's not as horrible as you first thought, but that's all there is to it.

You hold back a tired groan as you settle into the two-seater squished into the corner of the room, taking the tablet Jimin hands you with a muttered thank you.

The project has finally gotten to the stage where it's time to review all the ideas and plans you have so far so that you can narrow it down and choose the best direction to move forward with. Once you settle on that today, you should only have to spend a few more weeks crammed in here with Jimin before the design department takes over.

You watch as Jimin chooses the chair next to the couch, his wings looking awfully squished in that narrow space. The bird hybrid looks as unbothered as ever, tapping around on the tablet in his lap. Still, you can't shake the feeling that maybe Jimin has just gotten so used to conforming and contorting himself in public spaces that he doesn't even notice it anymore.

Clearing your throat, you catch Jimin's attention, his eyes as attentive as ever as they find yours. You nod at his compressed wings as you say, "Let's switch places, you look uncomfortable."

"Oh."

Jimin stares at you as if you've grown two heads, the purples in his eyes twinkling under the overhead light as he cocks his head. He glances over his shoulder as if he had forgotten he even had wings, seemingly considering your offer for a second before shaking his head.

"That's okay. You're tired and the couch is more comfortable than this chair anyway," He smiles.

"Park, you're crammed in there," You huff, ignoring the warmth that creeps up the back of your neck at Jimin's consideration. "You have wings, I don't. Please take the couch."

You can tell from the gentle look that crosses Jimin's face that he's going to chivalrously deny your offer once again. Before you can stop yourself, the part of your brain that maybe cares just a little opens your mouth and you find yourself saying, "Then let's share the couch at least. It would still be better than that chair."

For a moment, the shock on your face is mirrored on Jimin's. The bird hybrid shakes off the surprise much quicker, his smile brightening to a grin as he pushes himself out of the chair.

"Well, if you insist, then I'll gladly accept your offer."

The couch dips under Jimin's weight, his deep blue wings taking up so much space it almost feels like you've squeezed in another person between the two of you.

"Are you sure this is okay?"

You can tell by Jimin's shuffling that he's trying to make himself as small as possible and that just won't do. You won't allow him to view himself as an inconvenience.

Scooting forward on the couch, you leave a decent gap behind your back and the seat, making room for Jimin's wings.

"There, you can relax them a bit if you'd like. It looks painful holding your wings so tightly to your back all the time."

You look away before you can read Jimin's expression, turning back to the tablet in your lap. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, belatedly realizing that maybe you just overstepped a boundary – that maybe it would've been better to wait until Jimin asked instead of just assuming what he needed.

Your cheeks turn warm with embarrassment as you mindlessly click around on the screen, your mind elsewhere as you try to come up with a decent apology. Judging by how Jimin hasn't said anything yet, you fear that you really did do something inappropriate.

Just as the words reach the tip of your tongue, your hands clenched awkwardly in your lap, you feel movement behind your back. Jimin lets out a deep, relieved sigh as he loosens up the position of his wings, letting them splay out as much as the couch allows. Even with the added space you gave him, his wings are so large that you can feel the feathers ruffling against the back of your shirt in tandem with Jimin's breaths.

"Thank you."

Jimin says it so softly that it catches you off-guard, your heart skipping a beat from how tender his voice sounds.

It seems it has caused your brain to short-circuit, because the next thing that comes out of your mouth is, "Are they heavy? Your wings, I mean."

Jimin is quiet for a moment. "Yes and no? They're the same as any other limb so I'm normally not very conscious of them. I don't notice the weight, but they can get tired and achy, just like an arm. Choosing to work for a human-based company probably wasn't the best decision on my part – it's not exactly made to accommodate someone like me."

You see Jimin shrug out of the corner of your eye.

"I see," You murmur.

The pit of your stomach feels unexpectedly heavy. Even though Jimin is your sworn nemesis, it still upsets you that he has accepted that hurting himself is the only way he'll be able to fit in. It makes you wonder if Hoseok is experiencing the same thing too – if the deer hybrid hasn't told you simply because he's expected as a hybrid to change himself to fit in alongside humans.

Jimin lightly knocks his arm into yours, the touch shaking you out of your thoughts.

"We should start reviewing our work if we want to go home today," He says, raising an eyebrow as he angles his tablet in your direction. "But if you want to spend more time with me–"

"There's no time like the present, let's start reviewing!" You sputter, tapping your screen rapidly in other to wake it back up.

Jimin lets out a low snort at how easily flustered you are, hiding his smile behind his hand as he begins to look through your collected ideas.

Once your embarrassment dies down, you find that the review session with Jimin goes by without a hitch. For the most part, you both agree on what ideas to keep and which to scrap, making your review session more productive than you had anticipated. You had imagined that Jimin would oppose all of your picks just to torture you, but it's quite the opposite. The bird hybrid listens and agrees with your chosen ideas and for the few he doesn't like – he provides good reasons as to why they won't work. You find yourself nodding along to his criticism, agreeing with the points you hadn't thought of yourself. Not only that, Jimin seems to do the same – in turn valuing your input and insight when you go through his proposed plans. It's such a stark contrast to the Jimin you've gotten used to that it's enough to make you wonder if you stepped into an alternative universe this morning.

You pause as you click on the next slide, your brows furrowing as you see a familiar idea.

You had included it in your proposal to Mr. Shin, the same one you threw away and never got to turn in. So how did it end up here?

"What's this?" You ask Jimin, pointing to your screen. "I never submitted these ideas."

"Ah," Jimin glances at your tablet, scratching the feathers at the back of his neck as he admits, "I did."

"I saw you throwing out your proposal when Mr. Shin announced that he had picked mine. It didn't feel right that you spent so much time on it and didn't even get to submit it because of me so I, well, turned it in for you. After you left that day."

You blink at him. "You went through my trash?"

"Well, it sounds bad when you say it like that!" Jimin groans. "I wanted us both to have an equal chance. Once Mr. Shin looked at it, he realized that your ideas were just as good as mine and wanted them implemented. I was favored because I'm a transfer, that's all. And I would never steal your ideas – I told him that I would refuse to use your concepts if you weren't willing to work together on this project."

You're not sure you like how it makes your stomach flutter. The high walls you've built to protect yourself are crumbling more and more with each passing day you spend together.

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

The smile Jimin gives you is almost blinding, his wings curving slightly inward almost as if they're trying to get a little closer to you.

You hate to admit it but maybe Jimin isn't as bad as you made him out to be. You may have imagined him as your enemy, someone who only wanted to tear you down and steal your opportunities, but so far Jimin has been nothing but nice to you. A little annoying sometimes sure, but he's never done anything malicious.

You offer him a smile in return, noting how the tops of his cheeks seem a little more red than usual.

Maybe it's about time that you admit that Jimin deserves a second chance.

"I've missed you," Jungkook whines, clinging to your arm. "Work is so boring without you!"

"We literally eat lunch together every day," You laugh.

You use your sleeve to wipe off the layer of dust that has settled on your monitor over the last few weeks. Jungkook holds on tighter to your other arm, pouting as he says, "That's not the same."

"I know," You sigh, lightly knocking your head against Jungkook's, "I missed you too."

After six weeks of working with Jimin in that small room, it almost feels foreign to be back at your desk with so many people milling about. You're honestly thankful that the bird hybrid had a meeting outside the office today, it gives you half a day to work without any disruptions. Your poor heart needs a few hours of calm and there's nothing like Jungkook's antics to take your mind off the rather confusing feelings you've been dealing with lately.

"Soooo.." Jungkook leans back in his chair, his eyes wide with faux innocence as he asks, "How has it been working with the enemy? You haven't complained as much the last couple of weeks."

It seems you're quiet for just a moment too long, Jungkook letting out a gasp as he exclaims, "Don't tell me Park Jimin has won you over?"

"Shut up," You huff, knocking his hand away from your arm. You bite the inside of your cheek, annoying flashes of Jimin's smile as you accept the coffee he brings you every morning – and how he never ceases to be irritatingly attentive and kind – racing through your mind.

"I guess he isn't as bad as I first thought," You concede.

Jungkook hums, avoiding your sharp glare as he turns to his computer. You can tell from the slight smirk on his face that he definitely isn't going to let this go – he's just going to wait until the perfect moment to interrogate you.

"Interesting."

"Don't make it weird," You hiss, "He's just a decent person, nothing more."

Jungkook nods. "As I said – interesting."

You rub the skin between your brows, already regretting not faking your disdain for Jimin. It seems your time apart from Jungkook has softened you too much and made you forget just how much of a persistent gremlin he can be when he thinks there's some juicy gossip to be uncovered.

You boot up your computer with a groan. You still have four hours to go before Jimin will return to the office and Jungkook is going to use every available second to interrogate you until he does. A fleeting, hopeful thought crosses your mind that maybe Jimin will come back sooner than he's supposed to in order to save you. Just as soon as you realize what you were just daydreaming about, you pinch your leg so hard it makes you wince, bringing yourself back to reality.

You were so excited to have some time away from Jimin but the moment he's gone, you're what, missing him?

You shake your head, ignoring the little flutter in your stomach that confirms you're right.

Sure, Jimin might be charming and sweet when it's just the two of you but the bird hybrid is an absolute flirt and you really shouldn't be reading anything into his advances. It's a recipe for getting hurt.

It seems the time you've spent alone with him has made you forget just how shameless he is when it comes to getting attention. You don't have to wait very long, only a few hours in fact, until that reminder smacks you in the face again.

"You're so annoying," You whine, giving Jungkook's chair a shove.

The moment Mr. Shin left his office for a meeting in another department, it was like the whole floor exhaled, low chatter bursting to life as the elevator doors closed.

Jungkook had seen it as his chance to get some answers, his mischief mode activated, and the constant pestering was starting to get on your nerves.

"Says you," Jungkook huffs, rolling himself back to his desk. "It's a simple yes or no question! Do you like him or not?"

"I tolerate him," You say, narrowing your eyes as Jungkook grabs the arms of your chair.

He pulls your chair flush with his, his own eyes narrowing in return, "That's not what I asked."

"Too bad," You wave your hand, "That's all you're going to get."

"Don't make me tickle you," Jungkook shakes out his fingers, "You know both of us will regret that."

"Jungkook, that's inappropriate! We're at work," You hiss as you snatch one of his hands out of the air, pressing it firmly against his chest. You're not going to let Jungkook expose you as a tickle squealer in front of your coworkers just because he's curious about something you don't have an answer to yet.

"What's inappropriate?"

You jerk back at the sound of Jimin's voice, shocked that you didn't notice the bird hybrid approaching your desks. You drop Jungkook's hand as you notice Jimin's burning stare, his violet eyes fixated on where your skin touched your friend. The fact that you feel so flustered by Jimin's sudden appearance makes it hard to think, your brain refusing to catch up.

"Nothing?" You squeak. You quickly clear your throat as Jungkook snickers under his breath, adding more confidence to your voice as you say, "It's nothing. You.. You're back earlier than expected, though?"

Jimin's gaze flickers between the two of you slowly, his expression unreadable. "The meeting didn't take as long as they first assumed. They offered to take us out to lunch to make up for it but I told them I already had an appointment I couldn't be late for."

Your heart thumps in your chest as Jimin pointedly looks your way. Surely he didn't rush back just to ask you out to lunch like he always does?

"Anyway," Jimin says, "I wanted to tell you that I'm back and that we can hold our progress meeting after our break is over."

"Right, sounds good," You smile.

"Talking about taking a break–"

Alarm bells start going off the moment you register Jungkook's teasing tone. The swift kick you land on the bottom of his chair is ignored, Jungkook's doe eyes spelling nothing but trouble as he continues, "If you don't have any lunch plans yet, Jimin-ssi, you'd be welcome to join us today."

It takes everything in you to not reach out and throttle him. You have no doubt Jungkook is doing this partly for the drama and partly because he thinks he's helping you in some roundabout way, but this is not it.

"I'm sure Jimin has some prior arrangement already–"

"I'd love to," Jimin's feathers ruffle happily behind his back, his beaming smile directed at you and only you, like you were the one to personally invite him. The force of it makes your heart race.

"Great!" Jungkook claps his hands, undeterred at being ignored. "Mr. Shin won't be back until the end of the day and there's only ten minutes left until lunchtime, so how about we head down now?"

Jungkook sends you a pointed look before you can protest. "Half the floor has already left, so we won't get in trouble."

"Fine," You smile through your teeth, your fleeting plan of sending Jimin to his desk and using that time to slip away foiled before you could even set it into motion. "Let's go eat lunch, then. Together."

"Let's," Jimin grins, taking a step towards the door. The bird hybrid's wings seem bigger than before, more relaxed, as he waits for you and Jungkook to grab your things.

You drag your feet as you follow Jimin, dreading the not-so-subtle questions you're sure Jungkook will be asking to test the water for you. While Jungkook is one of your closest friends and an overall great guy, you think his biggest flaw might be how much of a meddler he is.

"You and your damn muscles," You huff as Jungkook manhandles you into the elevator, blocking any chance you have at escaping.

"Please, you love them."

You only roll your eyes in response, knowing he isn't entirely wrong. You do like the extra space his muscles provide on packed elevator rides but aside from that, you couldn't be more neutral about Jungkook's body.

"Oh?" Jimin inquires, his violet eyes staring intently at Jungkook's arms, "They don't look that big?"

"I'll show you," Jungkook puffs out his chest, gladly offering his arm to the bird hybrid as a chance to show off.

Jimin wraps his hands around Jungkook's bicep, his gaze briefly flickering over to you before it returns to the man next to him. Something awed, maybe jealous, passes over Jimin's face as Jungkook flexes his muscles.

The bird hybrid doesn't shy away from squeezing and feeling up his arm, a sly smile crossing his lips as he says, "I didn't think you could get more handsome Jungkook-ssi, but look at you."

Jungkook sputters at the unexpected compliment, his cheeks turning red under Jimin's undivided attention.

You cross your arms, something unpleasant bubbling in your stomach as you watch Jimin's touch linger, the bird hybrid offering a few more compliments before the elevator announces its arrival.

Jimin exits first, leaving a flustered Jungkook behind. He looks at you with big eyes, hand covering the left side of his chest as he says, "Oh, he is good at this. I think my heart fluttered a little."

You swallow thickly, the reprimanding voice of your past self echoing in your head, reminding you that this is what Jimin is - a flirt. You're not special for receiving a little more of his attention lately, it's all just circumstance.

"You should get that checked out," You mutter, stepping out of the elevator to catch up with the bird hybrid.

Your goal is to do everything as quickly as possible – get your food, eat, and get out. But even you couldn't have expected just how awkward lunch would be.

From the moment Jimin took his seat next to you, you could feel the other people in the cafeteria staring you all down with envy. The situation certainly isn't made better by Jungkook and Hoseok - the two of them openly gawking and giggling whenever Jimin makes a comment that's even remotely funny. You know Jimin is charming, you can't deny that yourself, but you expected a little more resilience from your friends.

In the end, you end up picking at your food, unable to stomach much with the growing pit in your belly.

"Are you okay?" You glance over at Jimin, noting the concerned furrow between his brows.

"I'm fine," You force a wobbly smile, "I think I must have eaten something bad for breakfast."

"Should I go get you some medicine? There's a pharmacy right around the corner."

"It's fine." You quickly shake your head as Jimin begins to stand up, grabbing his arm to pull him back down into his seat. The bird hybrid doesn't seem convinced, his wings ruffling with protest behind his back.

"Wait, Y/n, did you try one of the protein shakes I gave you for breakfast? I told you not to drink it on an empty stomach–"

Jungkook's voice turns muffled, blending into the background noise as you shift your eyes from Jimin and meet hers across the room.

It's the same woman, the bird hybrid from Jimin's old department, who stops by your little makeshift office every day to drag him out for lunch. She's a swan, you think, known to be awfully territorial over what they consider to be theirs. And you have no doubt that she's staked her claim on Jimin, regardless of whether he knows or not.

But he's not hers.

And he's not yours either.

The realization feels like a shot to the heart.

Even from the other side of the cafeteria, you can tell her gaze is venomous as she stares you down. The uneasy feeling in your stomach keeps growing, clawing at your insides, desperate to get out. She's looking at you like she knows what you're thinking – what you're feeling – they all are, and you absolutely cannot let Jimin find out.

"Uhm," You hastily push yourself to your feet, "I need to use the bathroom. I'm not feeling good."

You scurry off as fast as your legs can carry you, ignoring the familiar voices that call out your name. You don't stop until you reach the bathroom that's a little ways down the hall from the cafeteria.

Locking yourself in a stall, you sink onto the closed toilet lid, hands covering your face.

"Fuck," You whisper.

You like Jimin.

You can't pinpoint exactly when it happened but in retrospect, it's obvious your feelings for him have been growing for a while now, blossoming into something beyond your control. The worst part is – you don't even know if Jimin is single. It's never been a subject that has interested you before recently and you honestly just assumed that he must be taken based on the amount of attention he always garners when he walks into a room.

You take a deep breath, lightly slapping your face to bring yourself back to reality.

Jimin might be taken but he might also not be. You won't know for sure until you ask - or well, until you get Jungkook to not-so-casually bring it up with him. You might have a chance.

Until then, you just have to go out there and pretend that nothing has changed, that all is still like it was. You still have a job to do, regardless of your feelings.

Quickly washing your hands, you brace yourself to walk back into the cafeteria. Your flushed appearance can be blamed on not feeling good – you're certainly not going to admit it's because you finally understand that you like Jimin.

You tap your hands on your trousers as you step out of the bathroom, making sure they're dry as you walk back down the hallway.

Your steps halt as you reach the corner, your feet rooted to the ground as you hear Jimin's hushed voice in tandem with another. You plaster yourself to the wall, holding your breath as you listen in to what they're talking about.

"Be serious!" A female voice hisses. The swan hybrid.

"You expect her to help you? To treat you right? She's human, Jimin-ssi, she doesn't know anything about what it means to be a hybrid."

The swan hybrid spits out the word like it's a curse, followed by the sound of annoyed, rustling feathers.

"Do you think she's going to even look at you once your little project is over? She's just going to run back to her "friend"."

Oh.

She's talking about you.

The anxiety bubbling in your stomach roars back to life, your hands shaking as you find you can't do anything but listen - your feet unable to move.

Jimin's silence feels like a knife through the heart. Surely he doesn't think anything is going on between you and Jungkook? He knows you're just friends. And even so, you believed that you had grown closer lately, so much so that maybe you would continue to talk even when the project was over. But judging by his lack of response, it seems that you haven't given Jimin that impression at all.

"She doesn't deserve you. She can't do the things I can do, babe. "

You hear a deep sigh, Jimin's, his voice tight as he admits, "You're right. I know that. She's not you–"

Before you even realize it, you're already halfway down the hallway, feet carrying you straight back to the bathroom. Your blood is roaring in your ears, the last part of Jimin's sentence mercifully too muffled for you to hear.

It seems you got this all wrong. It doesn't matter if Jimin is single, because he clearly doesn't like you like that. It seems the kindness he's been showing you has just been him being a good co-worker, keeping things civil and friendly.

You must have been projecting your feelings onto him, reading into things that didn't even exist.

How mortifying.

You stumble back into the same stall you only left a few minutes prior, eyes burning, as you lock the door behind you. You're not sure which emotion is strongest – disappointment, embarrassment, heartbreak, but it hurts all the same.

You can only hope that Jimin hasn't noticed your growing interest in the same way as the swan hybrid had.

There's only one thing you can do to save yourself from further humiliation, to make sure that doesn't happen.

You have to pretend your feelings never changed. That you only tolerate him at best.

You have to pretend until it becomes true again.

Maybe it's time to go back to how things were, to distance yourself. Even if you fooled yourself into hoping for something more, the truth is that there is only one thing you and Jimin can be.

Enemies.

a/n: welcome back! it sure wasn't my plan to spend two months on this chapter but i've been jumping from one assignment to another and i've been more or less sick this entire time, so it sadly took me much longer than expected :( but here we are with ch 2! there will be three chapters total for this fic, so we still have one more to go.

what do you think so far? will jimin be able to clear up this misunderstanding and will the mc trust him enough to accept it? 🫣

i would love to hear your thoughts so far and reblogs are very much appreciated 💖

#bts x reader #bts x you #jimin x reader #hybrid au #office au #hybrid jimin #jimin au #enemies to lovers au #hybrid bts #rivals to lovers au

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the-witty-pen-name · 1 month ago

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Can I Cut In?

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: alcohol consumption; fluff

Based off request: Heyyy, would you write something fluff about Ghost? Maybe reader overhear ghost talking to soap about how he likes y/n but it's afraid of make a move.

A/N: Thank you for the idea! @drownedinverse

Requests are open!

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you also didn’t keep walking when you definitely should have. Walking past one of the briefing rooms, you heard Soap and Ghost talking. You were going to just stop in and say hello on your way to the mess hall. You froze just before the doorway when you heard your name.

“Would you just drop it?” Ghost says, and you can tell he sounds irritated. You wince, your anxiety getting the better of you- convinced maybe you did something to annoy him.

Ghost always seemed to avoid you. You assumed maybe he just didn't like you- which was fine, he was always respectful and he never let it interfere when the two of you needed to work together. You hoped when you joined the taskforce you’d become close with everyone, but you accepted that Ghost and you wouldn’t be friendly- you don’t have to be friends with your coworkers.

“I just don’t understand what your issue is,” Soap replies, and he sounds exhausted. You can hear the heavy steps of his boots as he’s pacing back and forth.

“God, there is no issue-” he tries to insist, but Soap must have given him a look or something because he doesn’t even finish the sentence as his voice falls in defeat. “I just get so fucking nervous.”

“Nervous?” You hear Soap chuckle. Your brow furrows in confusion- Ghost… nervous? Because of you?

“What if I ask (y/n) and it goes horribly? It could ruin everything… Shit, it would be such a mess, Soap.”

“It’s a date, not the end of the world.”

A date? Ghost wants to ask you out? There’s no way- he avoids you any opportunity he can. He tolerates you at best- you can’t even bring yourself to believe your ears.

“It’s not just a date- and you know that Soap.”

Dating you would be complicated. For weeks Ghost imagined how asking you out would go. He imagines every possible rejection- from polite, to rude, to you just laughing in his face. He thinks he can stomach rejection, it’ll hurt- it would devastate him, but he could move on. What he fears more is if you said yes. He’s played it out in his head way too much. He’s worried about what it would be like to open himself up, to become vulnerable- just for the inevitable downfall that he always manages to find himself in. He’s convinced himself that no matter what he’d just end up losing you so up until now he’s just shoved his feelings down as always. But as time passes, and the feelings he holds for you becomes stronger- it’s becoming unbearable.

“Fine, be miserable forever,” Soap says in defeat and you decide to walk away quickly before either of them realizes you’d been there.

You’re eating at one of the long tables in the mess hall when Simon takes a seat on the bench across from you. His words that you overheard are practically ringing in your ear as he looks at you. This isn’t like him. Usually he sits away from you, at the other end of the table. You feel that your face is hot under his intense stare. He looks so nervous, and you know it has to do with the conversation you overheard. You think maybe he knows you heard them, and he’s here to set the record straight- you misunderstood everything.

“So,” he begins, his eyes now focused on the table in front of him, unable to meet your eye. “The guys mentioned maybe hitting a pub off base on our day off.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head. He nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, uh, I- Soap, uh, you know, he’s trying to get a headcount- wants to know if you’re going, you know- to the pub, obviously.”

“Oh, um, yeah- I’ll try to be there,” you say with a smile.

The whole team is shocked to see Simon walk through the doors of the bar. He never opts to go out on his days off. He usually always stays behind, left to be by himself on base. Soap already knows why he’s here and he can’t help but find the whole situation amusing. He’s never seen his friend like this before.

“Holy shit! Look who it is,” Roach exclaims, lifting up his pint in Ghost’s direction. Ghost nods, maneuvering through the crowd to get to where the team has taken over the corner booth. He tries his best to hide his disappointment when he sees you aren’t there. He feels so defeated, and he’s almost tempted to just turn around and head back to the barracks.

He slides in next to Soap anyways. He grabs one of the unclaimed glasses from the middle of the table and pours himself a beer from the pitcher from the middle of the table. If he was here, he might as well drink his sorrows away.

The music is loud and it’s crowded when you arrive. Anxious butterflies swarm in your stomach. This is the first time the team has met outside of work since you joined the force. You’re hoping tonight will give you a chance to bond with them, and in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that Ghost is there.

Ghost sees you before you see them, and honestly, you take his breath away. This is the first time he’s seen you out of uniform and god, you looked amazing. Everything about you just made his heart practically beat out of his chest. He’s usually so much better at keeping his emotions at bay. He’s never let himself feel like this before.

But it’s you.

When your eyes find them as you scan the room, you smile and Ghost thinks you might be the death of him. He knows you’re being waved over by Soap and you’re smiling at him, but he can’t help but hope that maybe you’ll smile like that because of him. You’ve completely ruined him, and he can’t see past anything else except you when you’re in his atmosphere.

“Hi everyone,” you smile, not even hesitating to slide in next to Ghost. You smell good too, he feels like he might go insane. Everyone on the force greets you with a smile and a boisterous hello, except Ghost, who sits there with gritted teeth like being next to you is so uncomfortable that he’d rather be anywhere else.

You realize you must’ve misunderstood what you heard earlier. There’s no way he’s interested when he just asks like this whenever he’s around you. You start to feel especially foolish, looking down at the outfit you picked out especially to get his attention.

Price passes you a beer and you thank him with a polite smile. You clear your throat, trying to cut through the awkward tension you feel sitting next to Ghost. You can’t even imagine how you let yourself get wrapped up in the idea that he might actually like you.

The group gets lost in conversation as some time passes and you’re eventually able to focus on the group and not on Ghost. The music is loud and people are starting to dance, recognizing the song that someone put on through the jukebox.

“Oh I love this song,” you say with a grin, turning to watch the people who’ve started dancing. It looked like everyone was having so much fun. You turn back around and finish your drink.

“Come on,” Soap says with a grin, offering you his hand. Your eyes widen, pleasantly surprised as he leads you over to the floor. He puts a hand on your waist and leads you as you both dance to the fast paced song.

Ghost knows it’s just a friendly gesture on Soap’s part but he’s fuming. His eyes are shooting daggers at Soap the entire time, jealousy bubbling up inside him when he has no right to feel this way.

At the end of the song, Soap spins you and it makes you laugh, and you need to hold his shoulders afterwards because it leaves you dizzy. You’re both laughing, out of breath from trying to keep up with everyone else, and Ghost can’t watch it anymore.

The song changes, something much slower and couples around you begin to sway. Ghost gets up and strides over to you and Soap before you both begin dancing.

“Can I cut in?” He asks, and Soap steps aside. He pats Ghost on the shoulder, a grin on his face- his plan working out exactly as he hoped. You rest your arms around Ghost’s broad shoulders, and his hands rest on the small of your back.

“I didn’t think you were a dancer,” you say after a few moments. Ghost chuckles.

“I’m not,” he answers.

“Oh,” you reply, and you both fall into silence again. There’s an unspoken tension and a nervousness that the two of you feel.

He’s so nervous. He can hardly steady his breathing, the feeling of you against him is overwhelming- it’s all he can think about. The moment with you is perfect and he’s so worried about saying anything wrong that ruins it. You’re just so pretty, and it makes it hard for him to think straight.

“Would you wanna go out sometime?” He asks suddenly, surprising himself but his sudden outburst.

“Like- like a date?” You ask, surprised. He gulps.

“Yeah, like a date.”

“I’d like that,” you say with a smile, and all of his nervousness melts away. “Can I, can I try something?” You ask, looking up at him. He nods. He doesn’t care what it is. He’d say yes to whatever you asked for.

You lean up and press your lips to his, hesitantly at first. All you feel is sparks, but you’re worried you overstepped when he doesn’t kiss you back at first. Embarrassed, you move to pull away but he pulls you closer, kissing you back finally.

Suddenly every book you’ve read, or movie you’ve seen with an amazing first kiss makes sense. Both of you are left breathless, smiling like fools and you hide your face in his chest when you hear the obnoxious cheering of your teammates.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost fluff #Simon Riley fluff #ghost cod

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earthtooz · 1 year ago

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x : CALL ME BACK : *+ﾟ

in which: ratio has been waiting for your call since you left.

warnings: FLUFF i promise, 1.6k wc, gn!reader, ratio being horribly in love and pining so badly, reader works as a space researcher, reader is a sunshine so this is basically sunshine x grump/asshole, written during his first release/ v1.6.

a/n: the way i wrote the synopsis made it sound like it was sad. maybe i'll write an angst version of the same prompt. anyways i listened to 'she calls me back' by noah kahan on loop when writing this, enjoy!

Dr. Ratio is not happy with you.

It has been three weeks and three days since he last received any sort of notification from you, any sort of indication that you were healthy and alive whilst traversing the universe. Typically, you would send daily updates of how your exploration was progressing, or new intergalactic discoveries of yours, regardless of whether or not he cared.

(He cares. He cares more than his indifferent texts lead on. There’s a reason he always responds, after all, and it’s not just because you’ve been friends for almost two decades now.

To him, your constant messages and calls told him that you were thinking of him, and the more space he occupies in your mind, the happier he is; that is a theory he discovered years ago.

He happily listens to all of your rambles. He'll listen whilst in the middle of grading various papers or writing one of his own, he'll listen whilst eating, he'll listen to you as long as you reach out.

So where are the messages he was waiting for?)

Today is the arranged day for you to return from your new mission. Ratio has been counting down the days since he first marked it on his large desk calender, your return being the first event on his list.

He is undeniably excited to see you, yet he feels petty enough to not make the trip down and welcome you by the docks, even if your ship’s landing zone is just outside the University.

It’s irrational of him to hold your inactivity against you. Perhaps you just encountered an inconvenience and lost your phone, or wherever you are does not have good reception to send a text halfway across the galaxy. He understands that your safety comes first on these missions, but he can’t help but feel neglected, and he curses the fragility of his ego for making him this way.

The clock strikes another hour. From his office, Ratio cannot see the ships and come and go, but his ‘scholarly instincts’ are telling him that you are on your way.

Not even ten minutes later, a figure comes barrelling into his office.

“There he is!” You exclaim exuberantly. It seems that the length of the mission did not erode your enthusiasm, and he’s grateful that it is as contagious as he remembers. “And here I was wondering where you were, did you dig your nose too deep in those encyclopaedias you love to memorise?”

You’re still in your research gear, hips and legs buckled to the brim with various equipment that are necessary to your work, and his heart beats guiltily at the sight.

You came to see him as soon as you landed. He was your first destination after a tiring three and a half weeks away from home, not the comfort of your home or bed or shower; him.

“Ha. Ha.” The purple-haired laughs dryly, getting up from his chair and rounding his desk. “Good to see you still alive.”

“What’s with the lack of energy? Didn’t you miss me, Veritas?”

He did. More than you could ever imagine. “Of course I did.”

Opening his arms for a hug, you all but run into his embrace, throwing your arms and anchoring yourself to the sturdiness of his torso. After not seeing you for so long, your familiar frame and warmth provides nothing but comfort.

“Welcome home,” Ratio murmurs into your hairline.

Your arms squeeze him tighter. “Good to be back.”

After a few beats of silence, you step away from him and he reluctantly detaches himself from you.

“I got you something,” you say whilst setting down your bag. Pulling out a suitcase, the purple-haired looks at you inquisitively. “It’s a chess board! I got you a new one to add to your collection!”

Ratio doesn’t bother correcting you that his ‘collection’ only has seven boards at most, but that does not negate his gratitude.

Even whilst away, you thought of him, and that is a great victory.

“Thank you. We can play together, sometime,” he proposes.

“Oh, please. I could never beat you.”

“Giving up before you even start? That does not sound like the Y/n I know.”

“It’s not ‘giving up’, it’s picking my battles wisely. I could never best you in a game of chess, or any competition of intellect,” you laugh as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

“You shouldn’t discredit yourself based on your own assumptions. I think you make a very capable opponent.”

“I know your tricks, Veritas. Buttering me up just so you can chip at my armour and knock me down when I’m weak, have you no shame?” Your voice is light, with an air of joviality to it, and the purple-haired is enchanted.

It seems that you don’t know him as well as you think. He finds no shame in hogging as much of your time as possible, even if it is through a game of chess that he will beat you at. He also hopes that you don’t know him well enough to hear the subtle desperation in his voice when he enquires if you’ll be leaving for another mission soon.

“I don’t believe so,” you tell him nonchalantly. “I’ll be stationed here for about two months. They’re expecting a detailed, twenty-page length report from me, so I guess I’ll be locked in my study until that’s complete.”

Ratio clicks his tongue. “Pity.”

(It’s not a pity. He gets to spend two months with you in compensation for the month that he was robbed of.)

“Not to sound self-absorbed, but why weren’t you there are the dock to pick me up?” You ask.

“Were you disappointed?”

“A little. You’re always the first face I see whenever I come home. It was jarring to not see you amongst the crowd.”

Jealousy slashes at his chest, and he turns away from you to hide his sour expression. “I apologise, I must have lost track of the days.”

“You’re Doctor Veritas Ratio. According to your crazy schedules, there are 72 hours instead of 24 in a standard day, you never lose track.”

Truth is a fascinating thing. By nature, it is black and white, but it’s perception is what traps fools. Humans have strived to discover an uncontested truth for as long as they have existed, but as long as opinions exist, it will constantly be revised and put together again, ambiguity heavy in the air that surrounds it.

You, however, are even more fascinating with the way you can deconstruct him so easily.

“If you must know, I was… upset with you because you were not messaging me.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Your laughter is even more so.

Hubris can really kill a man. Ratio does not need to consult the texts of ancient philosophers to confirm that.

“Really?” You choke out in between cackles. “I didn’t think such menial things mattered to you!”

“Normally, they don’t.”

“So, I’m a special case then?”

“I shouldn’t need to spell it out for you.”

“Veritas!” You coo, placing your hands on either sides of his face. “I am so flattered!”

Dr. Ratio is a renowned scholar with eight doctorate degrees. The mere mention of his name will inspire hundreds, if not, thousands, of people who have the faintest lust for academia, spreading marvel and fear amongst students and professors alike. His achievements will be engraved and celebrated by the university for centuries to come, and his classes are so notoriously hard that the passing rate is 3%.

And yet, here he is, reduced to putty in your hands.

Perhaps that is who he is at his core. Rid from him the alabaster head, the codex, and pride, you’ll be left with a man who is ardently in love with his best friend.

“Stop it, this is ridiculous!” He mutters, hoping to salvage his image at least a little.

You listen to his demands, separating from him with a hearty laugh. “So you really do like me, that’s nice to know.”

(It is far beyond ‘like’ now. Can you come back and hold his face again?)

“I like you when you’re quiet.”

“Clearly not if you loathed my virtual silence! Which, by the way, was caused because the planet I was on had horrible reception. I really need to switch cell providers, mine doesn’t even reach to half way across the galaxy, apparently.”

“Well. I am glad you survived the three weeks without reception, it must have been a formidable challenge for you.”

“Were you worried for me?”

Of course he was. Whilst you freely roam the expansiveness of the universe, the only thing that anchors him to you across the span of light years is a message. “You should stop asking questions you know the answer to.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” You lean down to grab the bags that lay at your feet, swinging them over one shoulder. Do you have to leave so soon? “Well, I better get going. I’m aching for a shower and a nap. Now that I have proper data and Wifi, rest assured that I will be texting you soon.”

“Cannot wait.”

“Goodbye, Veritas! I shall see you soon!”

‘Soon’ is a relative time frame. He can only hope that you won’t keep him waiting again.

The door clicks shut behind you, and not even five seconds later, his phone buzzes with a call.

“Sorry!” Your voice greets from the other end of the line. “Was just testing if my reception actually worked.”

“There is a reason your day job is a Space Researcher and not a comedian.”

“Can’t you at least laugh? Let’s grab dinner tomorrow at half past six, make yourself free, Veritas!”

You hang up before he can even get a word in, and he’s left to stare at the blank screen of his phone with an idiotic smile.

Everything’s alright when you call him back.

#earthtooz: honkai star rail #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr. ratio x reader #tumblr please show this in the tags

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melanchol1cs · 6 months ago

Text

FRUITS OF THE FLESH.

widow!reader x priest!leon

word count: 3.4k summary: a man reaps what he sows. masterlist | taglist | wips

18+ MDNI. catholicism, religious connotations, no specific time frame but i’d like to say victorian era-ish, alot of allusions to the lord or god, reader’s dead husband idk, inner conflict, denial, guilt, leon asking for forgiveness like a hundred times, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex.

a/n: started this like two months ago, just had the motivation to finally finish. i don’t really know how i feel about my writing on this one… i feel like i’ve lost all my skills after not writing for a few weeks

grief is truly a horrible thing. an all-consuming force that threatens to eat you from the inside out.

it’s a shadow that lingers, a specter that moves silently but persistently, weaving itself into the fabric of every moment. it does not announce its presence with fanfare, nor does it depart when you will it to. instead, it creeps, slow and steady, like the cold wind before a storm, pressing against your chest until breathing feels like a sin.

grief is not a feeling; it is a presence. it is a weight, heavy and suffocating, as if drowning in a dark, endless sea. the surface is so far above, unreachable, and the water presses in from all sides, choking the breath from your lungs. there’s simply no escaping it. eve when you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, it finds you there too.

grief is a thief that takes more than just what you’ve lost—it takes time, peace, and clarity. it takes pieces of you.

and ever since your husband’s death, you’ve been trying to pick those pieces back up. but they slip through your fingers like sand, scattering in the wind, impossible to gather in their entirety. every attempt to rebuild feels futile, as though you’re trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts, the picture never quite forming the way it once did.

the room is relatively empty, save for a few devout attenders who are spread out in their pews. the priest stands on the altar, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his features as he continues the mass. it’s a somewhat traditional ceremony, filled with prayers and rituals that you’d grown accustomed to.

the priest stands before the small congregation, the words of the mass flowing effortlessly from his lips.

you sit near the back, hands folded tightly in your lap. the rhythmic cadence of the priest’s voice, the latin prayers echoing in the cavernous space, should bring you some semblance of peace, but it doesn’t. it feels distant, as though you’re watching the service through a veil, separated from the others.

the priest's voice drones on, a familiar melody that fails to soothe the ragged edges of your heart. you feel like an outsider, a stranger among the devoted faithful. even the rituals that once brought comfort now seem hollow, the prayers falling flat against the weight of your sorrow.

as the mass draws to a close, the priest's eyes meet yours, his gaze piercing and knowing. for a moment, you feel like an animal trapped in his sights, vulnerable and exposed.

the priest's gaze lingers on you a moment longer than necessary as he processes the end of the mass. the small congregation begins to file out of the pew, murmuring gentle blessings and well-wishes to one another. he watches them go, his eyes lingering on each face, before turning to face you once more.

the nave slowly empties, leaving only a handful of devotees behind, including yourself. he remains at the altar, hands folded in quiet contemplation. the soft rustle of the evening breeze carries the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a melancholy reminder of the passing seasons.

"you stayed behind," leon observes, his voice a gentle whisper.

"is there something on your mind, my child?" he approaches you slowly, his large frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor.

“no, father, everything’s fine," you lie through your teeth, your voice barely a whisper.

"is all well?" there's a pause, and in it, you sense an invitation to share your burdens, to unburden yourself to this man of the cloth. but the words stick in your throat, tangled around the aching void your husband left.

what could you possibly say? what good would it do? the priest's eyes search yours, his face etched with compassion. then, he nods, as if he understands the futility of words.

he accepts your silence, his gaze softening with understanding. in this sacred space, he knows better than to pry, to force confessions or unburdenings. instead, he allows you the solitude you crave, the quiet contemplation you so desperately need.

the silence between you stretches on, a fragile truce that exists solely in this sacred space. it's a comfort, of sorts, to have this shared quiet, a reminder that even in the depths of your grief, there are still moments of solace to be found.

"i'll leave you be for now," leon says eventually, his voice a gentle murmur that breaks the spell.

"thank you, father." he nods, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he takes his leave, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the hallowed space.

eventually, you rise, stretching your stiff limbs. the cool stone beneath your feet is a jarring contrast to the warmth of the pew. making your way to the front of the church, you light a candle, your fingers brushing against the smooth glass as you set it upon the altar. the flame flickers to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the surrounding statues.

you linger a moment longer, savoring the peaceful atmosphere, before making your way out.

the church is bathed in an eerie, moonlit glow when you return late that night. the candle you lit earlier still burns, its flame a slowly dying down.

you move with a quiet reverence, your footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting as you make your way to the front row of pews. you've come seeking answers, but none present themselves as you approach the altar. the statue of the crucified christ looms above, his suffering face a poignant reminder of the pain that accompanies loss.

the shadows cast by the statues seem to deepen and twist, taking on a life of their own in the dim light. a shiver runs down your spine, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. something feels off, a discordant note that you can't quite place.

you pray, hoping it’ll all go away, but unease persists.

it's subtle at first, a whispered thought on the edge of your consciousness. but the longer you have your back turned, the more you feel as if someone is behind you. but you don’t dare look.

not until it speaks.

“what are you doing here, my child?," you hear him say softly, his voice carrying a note of gentle warning. "you shouldn't be here this late."

his words send a chill down your spine, the softness of his tone at odds with the tension emanating from him. you slowly turn around, your heart pounding in your chest. leon stands just behind your seat, his silhouette large and imposing against the blackness outside. his eyes glint in the candlelight, a predatory keenness that makes your blood run cold.

"father," you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. "i... i just felt the need to pray," he takes a step closer, his footsteps deliberate and heavy.

"at this hour? prayers can wait till morning. you shouldn't be here, not alone, not now.”

“but, why?” you ask, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “does the church not allow visitors at any time?”

guilt pricks at his heart, a sharp pang of conscience that he's not entirely sure he wants to acknowledge. “no, of course not. the church doors are always open. but this is late, and you're alone... it's just not safe,” his tone is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of something else - a hunger he's trying his damnedest to suppress.

“is that really the reason, father?”

guilt gnaws at him, a growing sense of unease that he can't quite shake. "of course, that's the only reason," he lies, his voice wavering slightly. but the truth lingers in the air, a palpable tension that he can't seem to dissipate.

he takes a step closer, drawn to you like a moth to flame despite his better judgment. "perhaps... perhaps i misjudged. the church's doors are always open, for the faithful and the lost alike," his eyes roam over your face, drinking in the curves of your features, the softness of your skin in the candlelight. “especially to you.”

a low groan escapes him, half-desire, half-anguish. "forgive me, child. i should not be saying these things,”

“no, wait—“ you softly reach for his arm.

he freezes at the touch, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers make contact with his arm. the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling like sand beneath the tide.

"don't," he whispers, his voice rough with strain. "please, don't." but even as the words leave his lips, he can't bring himself to pull away, to sever the connection between you.

“but i haven’t done anything, father,”

"you've done plenty, my child," he murmurs, his voice thick with a mix of longing and self-loathing. "just by being here, by existing... you've awakened desires i thought long buried." leon's breathing grows ragged, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

he steps closer still, the heat of his body radiating towards you like a physical manifestation of his turmoil. "i am a man, not a saint," his confession hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his forbidden attraction.

“and…” he shakes his head, a bitter struggle that leaves him weak-kneed and aching. "i should send you home," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cover yours, to hold it in place. "before we both regret this.”

“no, please don’t push me away, father,” you plead.

his eyes flicker closed, as if in supplication to some higher power, as the admission spills from his lips: "i'm sorry, child. so very sorry for what i am about to do.”

his body crowds yours, crushing the air from your lungs with the sheer force of his need. his mouth descends, claiming yours in a bruising kiss that sets your very soul ablaze. the world narrows to the taste of him — smoke, spice, and something uniquely his own.

it's overwhelming, consuming, and yet, somehow, it's the most natural thing in the world.

and when you end up pushed up against his office desk, the wood cold and unforgiving against your back, you know things have gone irrevocably awry. his hands, so recently devoted to guiding prayer, now roam the curves of your body with a reverence bordering on the religious.

your lips part on a gasp, allowing him greater access, and he seizes the invitation with a fervor that leaves you breathless. large hands roam your body, mapping the contours of your frame with a desperation that belies his years of discipline. he breaks the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, the rapid beating of your pulse point a siren's call he's powerless to resist.

he's shaking, the tremors starting deep within, spreading outward through his muscles like ripples on a pond's surface.

"forgive me, lord," he whispers to himself, as if seeking divine absolution from the sin that he’s about to commit. but even as the plea leaves his lips, he doesn't let go. instead, he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your knuckles.

then he's on his knees in front of you, hands grasping at the hem of your dress. the fabric rustles as he pushes it upward, baring your thighs to his hungry gaze. his breath is heavy, face mere inches from your center.

"tell me to stop," he pleads, his voice a ragged whisper. "command me to sin no more, and i will obey.”

for a moment, he teeters on the brink, the line between devotion and lust blurring until it's nearly indistinguishable. "please," leon's eyes lock onto yours, searching for the strength to resist, to obey his vows. but what he finds there is surrender, a silent plea that sends his resolve crumbling like the weakest brick.

"father," you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips.

he closes his eyes, a silent, anguished prayer issuing forth from his lips. his hands tremble as they part your legs wider, stealing a breath from your chest. slowly, reverently, he leans in, finally dragging you underwear down, exposing you to his gaze.

"you are so beautiful,"

his voice cracks on the words, a mixture of awe, reverence, and raw, animal desire. he can't tear his eyes away from your unveiled flesh, drinking in the sight like a man dying of thirst.

"pray with me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your slick folds. "ask for forgiveness, for the sins we are about to commit." even as he speaks, he's dragging his tongue along your inner thigh, the sensation making you gasp and shudder.

"our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,”

his hands roam your hips, gripping the soft flesh as if to steady himself against the waves of his own depravity.

“thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,"

each curve of your body yields to his touch as his fingertips traced a path of fire across your skin. desperation and control tangled within his gestures, gripping onto the softness beneath his hands as he strives to anchor himself against the tumultuous waves of desire and decadence that threaten to crash over him.

“glory be to the father, and to the son, and to the holy spirit…”

the words are a broken whisper, a plea for mercy that's drowned out by the urgent throb of his own need.

“amen.”

he brings his mouth to you at last, and with a groan of surrender, he begins to eat you out with a hunger that knows no bounds.

he laves at your clit with a fervor that leaves you panting and weak-kneed. you're a mess of whimpers and moans, your hands fisting in his hair as he works you over. leon's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh as he eats you out with a single-minded determination.

"yes, yes, just like that," you babble, your voice a desperate chant, even as your vision starts to blur at the edges.

one of his hands drifts lower, his fingers seeking out the entrance to your womb. he teases the delicate skin, tracing the outline of your slit before slipping a finger inside. a low groan rumbles in his chest at the slick heat that envelops him, urging him on.he works two fingers in and out of you in a steady rhythm, the lewd squelch of your juices only further fueling his own desire.

"please, father, i need—" the words die on your lips as a particularly intense thrust of his fingers sends you plummeting over the brink.

his eyes blaze with an unholy light as he takes in your ravished expression, his own need reaching a fever pitch. he surges to his feet, shedding his robe and shoving his pants down with a desperate haste. he reaches for you, pulling you forward effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all.

he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself in time with the frantic beat of his heart. "i'm sorry," he whispers, his voice raw with anguish and guilt. "so very sorry."

he hovers over you, his thick length prodding, seeking entrance to the very core of your being. you help guide him in, a hand slowly pushing back on the back if his neck as the thick head of his cock breaching your entrance with a slight burning sensation. he groans, his hips bucking forward as he sheathes himself fully within you.

for a moment, you're both still, letting the intensity of it all wash over you.

and he starts to move forward, inch by inch, the wooden desk creaks in protest beneath you. his eyes squeeze shut as he buries himself to the hilt, your slick walls clenching around him like a vice.

"oh, my lord, forgive me," he breathes, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he struggles to still the tremors that rack his frame. "i am a man undone.”

he starts to move, slowly at first, each thrust a testament to the effort it takes him to resist the primal urge to rut into you like an animal in heat. his hips rise and fall in a deliberate rhythm, each stroke drawing a gasp from your lips.

"you feel so good," he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. he pulls nearly all the way out before plunging back in, the slick glide of his thick length a pleasure unlike anything you've ever known.

sweat drips from his brow as he pounds into you with a fervor that borders on religious ecstasy. each thrust is a prayer, a confession, a plea for absolution. his eyes never leave yours, searching for some glimmer of forgiveness in their depths.

"i'm— i’m close," he warns, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

your head rolls back, a silent moan escaping your lips as the pleasure mounts. his hands fly to your face, cradling your cheeks as he forces your gaze to meet his.

"please, please, don't look away." he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a chaste kiss. "i need to see you," he murmurs, his hips stuttering in their relentless rhythm as he fights for control.

he can feel the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter within him until he's teetering on the precipice. his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing as if trying to imprint every curve and valley onto his very being.

he's a hairsbreadth from the edge, the tension coiled so tightly within him that he's not sure he can contain it much longer. but for you, he'll try.

he'll endure the sweet agony of restraint. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he whispers a final plea.

"dear god, i'm so very sorry." the words are a prayer, a plea for forgiveness not just from the divine, but from you. he knows that what he's doing is wrong, that he's violating the sacred trust that he's been entrusted with as a man of the cloth. but in this moment, caught up in the maelstrom of his own desire, he can't bring himself to care.

he hooks an arm beneath your knees, pulling you higher up on the desk. the new angle allows him to drive even deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your body responds, arching up to meet him as a keening wail tears from your throat. he watches, entranced, as ecstasy washes over you in waves, your face a mask of rapturous bliss.

you finally feel his heat as it floods your innermost depths just moments later.

he collapses onto you, his weight crushing in its intimacy as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his heart pounds against your ribcage, a frantic with regret and release.

he stays there, draped over you, his breathing ragged and uneven as he tries to regain some semblance of control. his body is slick with sweat, his muscles trembling with the aftershocks. slowly, he pulls back, his hands still cradling your face as he looks deep into your eyes.

his breath comes in ragged gasps as he struggles to regain some semblance of control, to quiet the chaos that rages within him.

"forgive me," he whispers, the plea hanging heavy in the air between you.

he knows it's not enough. he's broken the trust, violated the sacred vows he's taken. there's no going back from this, no easy path to redemption. the knowledge that he's failed, that he's fallen so very far from the path of righteousness, fills him with a deep, abiding shame. but for now, in this moment, he can only cling to the thin thread of your forgiveness and hope that it's enough.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

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