#he is ✨ blooming ✨ i tell you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starrynights-sunnyskies · 5 months

Text

as the flowers bloom, my heart does too ⋆*·ﾟmisa x putellas!femreader, social media au, (1/-)

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

when your relationship ends and all you want to do is hide and cry, flowers suddenly start to appear on your doorstep.

or; misa hating to see a pretty girl cry and suffer and going out of her way to cheer her up while staying anonymous

fic: see my masterlist 🤍

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: life lately! from coffee dates to dinner dates. won't complain! Liked by marisabel_rguez, albapts9, janafernandez3 and 1,294 others

○○○○○○○

marialeonn16 all i see is good🍝 ↳ yourusername how can you tell it's good? ↳ marialeonn16 i have a sixth sense for such things

albapts9 thank you for making me feel single ↳ yourusername omg you're so welcome!

alexiaputellas 😍 liked by yourusername

bff2 love seeing you so happy 💕 ↳ yourusername 😊

janafernandez3 the most adorable couple! liked by yourusername

ingridengen so cute! 💖 liked by yourusername

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: no trouble in paradise for me! ✨ unexpected, last-minute solo trip, but it was one of the best trips ever ☀️ Liked by jennihermoso, claudiaapina, begovargas and 1,439 others

○○○○○○○

albapts9 wdym solo?? weren't you going together?? ↳ yourusername i'm still alive, aren't i? ↳ alexiaputellas 🤨 ↳ abapts9 text me.

begovargas let's meet up again soooon! ↳ yourusername time and place ✍️

claudiaapina 😍☀️

bff1 oh hey look, it's lara croft 🌴

bff2 bestie, we've got you 🤝😔 liked by yourusername

jennihermoso the most beautiful 👼 liked by yourusername

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: be with those that matter 🖤 tagged: ingridengen, albapts9, alexiaputellas, ona.battle, salmaparalluelo and 3 others Liked by: marisabel_rguez, marialeonn16, keirawalsh and 1,938 others

○○○○○○○

albapts9 why's ale on here twice and i'm not liked by alexiaputellas ↳ yourusername she's older than you 😁 ↳ albapts9 that makes zero sense?? ↳ albapts9 but i love you and i'm so proud of you. liked by yourusername

username1 Nala too aw 🥹

ingridengen ily girlie! liked by yourusername

salmaparalluelo Never forget, you always have us😌 liked by yourusername ↳ ona.battle Things will be alright, you're a tough 🍪 liked by yourusername

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername just added to their story

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: what's the name of this clu-hub? i've got the best girlfriends 🖤 Liked by alexiaputellas, marialeonn16, marisabel_rguez and 1,879 others

○○○○○○○

alexiaputellas Have fun but be responsible 😁 ↳ jennihermoso Then how is she supposed to have fun? 🤐 ↳ alexiaputellas Incorrigible... ↳ jennihermoso She's only young once ☝️

bff2 💃🍸 liked by yourusername

bff1 clique! 💍 ↳ yourusername more like clicquot 🥂 ↳ bff2 remind me to never drink so much again 😂 ↳ yourusername oh hush, the uber driver LOVED your rendition of enrique iglesias ↳ bff3 yeah, so much so that he dropped us off five streets earlier 🤣 ↳ yourusername thank you for being the best and helping me forget 😘

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: i'm a simple girl. i love flowers. Liked by albapts9, alexiaputellas, marisabel_rguez and 1,483 more

○○○○○○○

albapts9 yet no one to buy them for you. pity, pity. ↳ alexiaputellas Too soon. 😐 ↳ yourusername @/albapts9 shut it, alabama. Liked by alexiaputellas ↳ albapts9 the betrayal😮

bff1 😍

username2 I VOLUNTEER 🫡

marialeonn16 favourite putellas 😉

ingrid_engen pretty flower girl 🌼

janafernandez3 guapa, mi amiga!

username3 NO ONE buying this gem flowers??? jail time. for all of you.

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

albapts9: thank you to whoever made my baby sister smile. also, fuck you for not getting me any! tagged: yourusername Liked by alexiaputellas, marisabel_rguez, claudiaapina and 1,012 others

○○○○○○○

alexiaputellas 😍 liked by yourusername

marialeonn16 happy tiny p, happy team 🤘🏽 ↳ ingridengen babe, this sounds a little questionable in english ↳ keirawalsh 🤣😭

yourusername shouldn't have made fun of me for being single then 😛 ↳ albapts9 go do someting about it then!! ↳ yourusername but i'm shy and not ready 😔

jennihermoso the cutest!

claudiaapina So deserved for always looking out for the rest of us! 😊 ↳ albapts9 was it you?? ↳ claudiaapina No, but definitely regretting we all didn't think of this sooner 😅

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: found the best surprise on my doorstep. could get used to this. Liked by marisabel_rguez, salmaparalluelo, patriguijarro and 988 others

○○○○○○○

albapts9 😤 ↳ yourusername go cry about it, albaricoque ↳ albapts9 she's bullying me @/alexiaputellas ↳ alexiaputellas you made her this way 🙂 liked by yourusername

username1 Getting a little sus, no? ↳ username2 either it's someone she knows irl or it's starting to get reaaally creepy reaaaally fast ↳ username3 Time to investigate? 🤓 ↳ username5 shut up, it's so cute, let her have this

salmaparalluelo jealous!! ☺️

username4 be careful 😅

marialeonn16 take two; happy putty, happy team ↳ ingridengen getting there! almost! 😙 ↳ yourusername as long as you don't call me Baby P anymore, it's fine! liked by keirawalsh

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

albapts9: SERIOUSLY? tagged: yourusername Liked by marisabel_rguez, yourusername, alexiaputellas and 763 others

○○○○○○○

marialeonn16 bambi has gotten herself an admirer!! ↳ username1 or a stalker 😟 ↳ bff2 Omg!!! Stop it 😣 ↳ alexiaputellas 🤨

albapts9 WE WANT TO KNOW WHO YOU ARE ↳ yourusername you're scaring them away ↳ albapts9 well, i'm still not sure if i should be thankful they're making you smile or worried they know how to even reach you??? ↳ yourusername it's fine, probably someone from the team having a good time with this 😇 ↳ albapts9 this is how people get killed, y/n

*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: she can only bark to confirm, but take it from me that i'm her favourite auntie 🐶 tagged: lanalalamala Liked by marisabel_rguez, alexiaputellas, ingridengen and 1,394 others

○○○○○○○

alexiaputellas 😍 Give her a kiss from me! liked by yourusername

marisabel_rguez Muy preciosa, the both of you 😁

albapts9 biased source... but okay, you do look cute together ☺️ liked by yourusername

ingridengen 🐶 liked by yourusername

janafernandez3 best duo! liked by yourusername

bff1 the sweetest!

username2 lol not misa getting ignored ↳ username3 😂😭

*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: kisses to my exes who don't give a shit about me 😘 Liked by pedri, ferrantorres, leahwilliamsonn and 6,509 others

○○○○○○○

albapts9 you tell 'em. alexiaputellas Proud of you 😘 ingridengen the most gorgeous! username1 🔥 pedri 😊 sakinakarchaoui 👼 begovargas !!! bff2 ohhh 💖 marisabel_rguez So so beautiful! 😊 liekemartens Knaaaaap! _emilyfox 😍 keira walsh 👌 username1 also remember, you deserve the world. ↳ liked by marisabel_rguez ferrantorres yes!!! 😍 ↳ alexiaputellas No. liked by albapts9 jennihermoso GUAPA marialeonn16 👏😘 username3 a little too vain, no? ashley.sanchez serving! 💅🏽 alejandrobalde Check ur dms ↳ yourusername how about no? liked by albapts9 username4 attention seeking behaviour 😬 bff5 ma'am, your number, pls? 😫 victoriapelova 😮 ↳ leahwilliamsonn 😮 ↳ victoriapelova what are you doing here? ↳ leahwilliamsonn what are YOU doing here? leilaouahabi yessss 😌 sara_doorsoun ✨ username6 lol she's gathered all the woso girlies with just one post

Comments on this post are limited

*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

yourusername: miles away and yet the flowers still find me. it's as if they knew i was having the most terrible week. thank you, stranger. Liked by marisabel_rguez, janafernandez3, liekemartens and 1,001 others

○○○○○○○

claudiaapena The mystery commences 😮 liked by yourusername

bff4 well, they probably did then! 👀

username1 Getting creepier!! username2 yeah, i don't like this. at all. 🚩 username3 not unless it's someone on the team/she knows. y/n's in the same place as them right now, she travelled with alexia to the away game, remember? username4 let's start digging? for real now! 🧐

jennihermoso Are you sure you're not keeping us hooked by buying them yourself? 🤪 liked by yourusername

albapts9 AGAIN? ↳ yourusername 😇 ↳ albapts9 also, call me. i want to be there for you. i miss smiley you.

marisabel_rguez pretty flowers for a pretty girl 🌼

janafernandez3 Everything will be okay 💕 liked by yourusername

ingridengen me next please! ↳ marialeonn16 ✍️👍

begovargas 😭💕 liked by yourusername

username5 oh no, misa... not again 🤣 ↳ username6 was just thinking the same 😅

salmaparalluelo Still no note? ↳ yourusername still no note!!! un dia 🤞

*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

15secs ago: marisabel_rguez just added to their story ↳ This story is no longer available

*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

#misa rodriguez x reader #misa rodriguez social media au #woso social media au #misa rodriguez x putellas!reader #woso imagine #woso x reader

526 notes · View notes

nburkhardt · 6 months

Text

Clingy Honeyboy

Quick information I don’t want to fully explain: it’s an au of season 4. Steve and Eddie got together while Steve was working at Scoops. The UD isn’t around anymore either.

cw: omegaverse, mpreg (omega Steve & alpha Eddie)

Onto the fic ✨

There’s something up with Steve.

Eddie loves him, like, wants to mate with him kind of love. Is sorta obsessed with him actually. Already half way living together and has family weekly meals with Wayne kinda love. Clings to each other, spends as much time as possible together type of love. Ya know?

And that’s how he knows there’s something up because Steve’s been extra, extra clingy.

So clingy that his best friends officially found out about their relationship, because Steve was glued to his back during band practice one day. (He had to answer many questions that day- with a purring very content Steve leaned against him not even bothering to help, the jerk!)

Look, he’s not complaining. Eddie loves his clingy omega very much, thank you. He’s worried, this is a new level of clingy for his sweet baby.

It’s just…leaning into a concerning amount of clinginess. To the point that he’s skipped days of school and spent it in their nest or in the backroom of Family Video. Steve heavily scents him on the days they do manage to be apart. He’s almost out of clothes because they keep getting stolen!

“Alright, okay. Stevie, Sunshine, Light of my life. What is going on?” Eddie sits up in their nest, watching as Steve stops his hands from continuing fixing the edge of the nest, “Honey?”

Steve shifts to sit back down, confusion all over his beautiful face. “What do you mean, Eds?”

“You’ve been extra clingy, stealing a lot of my shirts. You’re fixing the nest for the tenth time this week and it’s only Tuesday. I’m starting to get concerned, are you feeling okay?”

Eddie reaches over and grabs his hands, squeezing lightly before tugging him closer. Steve goes along and rests his forehead against his shoulder, “I just, I have this need to be with you and- and the nest feels wrong, okay?”

“Wrong? But it’s our nest, has been for a while now?”

Steve lets out a huff, “I know! But it’s, there’s- maybe. It needs more, I don’t know.” there’s tears coming up and Eddie is quick to pull him into a hug, “Doctors appointment?”

“Doctors appointment.”

The day he found the courage to just talk to Eddie, Steve was a little sleep deprived. (Give him a break, it was just after the whole- mall fire, okay?!) It felt out of body, but so amazing, because the alpha said yes to a date.

Right now, right here, he feels that same- giddiness. Feels on cloud nine, his heart is beating so fast and his scent is blooming his joy.

“Congratulations, is the right word, then?” The doctor smiles at them, then while the doctor talks a bit more, Steve blanks it out.

In a few blinks, he’s settled on their couch at home and Eddie is strumming his acoustic guitar. Their combined joyful scents are filling his nose and making him feel warm and happy. They stay like that until Wayne gets home, telling him the news immediately.

Because one, they live together and two, it’s Wayne. Of course he gets to know immediately.

Steve is so happy the days following that everyone gets to smell his cinnamon and the new subtle vanilla scent from his pregnancy. His joy is contagious, everyone they run into ends up feeling just as happy as Steve.

It was only a matter of time for Steve’s found family pack to notice and question the sudden mood change.

(It took Robin a day of working together to piece it together, she knew of their relationship of course, she’s Robin. She freaked, rambled and cried happy tears for him. The front room of Family Video was full of cinnamon and apples from their combined scents.)

Eddie’s busy reworking notes and rereading all his papers, leaning over the table and ignoring the others around him. He’s too wrapped in it that he doesn’t hear or see the door open, until a very familiar scent pops up next to him that immediately gets his attention.

Standing there with a pout already on his face, his arms crossed in the jacket Eddie was wearing last night, is his Stevie. His scent doesn’t give off actual distress or discomfort, so Eddie isn’t panicking yet. Instead he flips his papers over and turns completely to face his Sweetheart.

Around them Eddie can hear how silent it gets as Steve climbs into his lap and immediately scenting him. Eddie’s arms automatically wrap around him and breathes in his favorite scent.

As he opens his eyes, there’s the newest sheep, Steve’s adopted pups, looking at them with wide eyes and mouths wide open. Dustin front and center, an arm up pointing at them looking like a cartoon character.

It’s as Steve’s pur starts up and he fully sinking into Eddie getting comfortable, that the room explodes with questions. At least from the pups- his best friends already know how clingy Steve’s been for weeks now.

“What the hell is this?”

Eddie shifts against the chair and looks over at them, “Honeyboy is clingy.”

It absolutely does not answer the question and if anything, it looks to have annoyed Wheeler- and confuses Henderson even more.

“Honeyboy? How do you two even know each other?! Is he asleep right now?” Dustin’s eyes can’t get any bigger as Eddie watches the wheels turn in his head.

“yes, Honeyboy. Or Sunshine, Baby, Sweetheart, Babydoll, annnnd Stevie.” Eddie smiles as he lists each name, knowing he has even more. “We live in a small town, of course I know him. And yes, he is asleep right now so why don’t you be quiet and not wake my Honey?”

Henderson looks about ready to explode and it would be funny to keep him and the others from getting any more information, but luckily, Eddie’s willing to ignore the little devil on his shoulder today.

“Stevie and I are together, he’s extra clingy right now. Ya happy?”

The boys all look at each other with wide eyes before deciding to whisper to each other and Dustin turns back around and as he starts to speak, Steve shifts against him and Eddie can feel his smile as he moves.

“Teddy forgot one important detail, I’m also pregnant.”

I think if I continue writing, it’d just be more of Steve being clingy and a little shit towards Dustin. So we’re ending it there :)

I was at work the other day and all I could think about was a clingy Steve and how funny if that’s how people find out about their relationship haha. Then i decided I needed this to be just a straight up season 4 au, where the upside down doesn’t effect them anymore bc I didn’t want the hurt/comfort, I just wanted happy and sappy.

@puppy-steve (I saw that comment on the WIP I posted a few days ago ❤️)

Permanent Taglist: please let me know if you don’t want to be included when I post with mpreg.

@mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @bookworm0690

#steddie #omegaverse #mpreg #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #stranger things #steddie omegaverse #nburkhardt works #I need everyone to know that Dustin absolutely freaks out about his two favorite guys being together #and that eventually they have a little boy who’s just as clingy as Steve :)#cw mpreg #tw mpreg #cw omegaverse

576 notes · View notes

honey-milk-depresso · 8 months

Note

Hi, there! :D

First time ordering here so if it's not too much trouble I would like to request:

How the Diasomnia gang handles jealousy when they see that their crush (the prefect) is starting to gain suitors from other students? And what do they do about it?

Thank you, I really like your TWST Headcanons, bye👍✨🌼

Doing requests until 1 Feb! Please see my pinned post and read the request rules on the navi! Thank you!🩷

Diasomnia getting jealous of their crush getting suitors

Malleus Draconia

He doesn’t wanna be jealous, but he’s so sulky. His pointed ears visibly droop when you share with him about receiving a letter from a mysterious suitor about being “in love with you” when he’s right there-

Of course, he knows it’s silly to even get jealous, but he can’t help it. So he kinda just… don’t say it out loud, but there’s this intimidating aura around him when he sees the letter but he’s actually just grumpy and being a sulky baby it’s almost funny.

You might need to kiss his cheek or ruffle his hair to see his ears point up again and see his face return back to its soft, normal look he gives you.

Kind of like a lightbulb,

or a puppy- <3

Lilia Vanrouge

It’s really hard to tell if he’s jealous, and it’s hard for him to get jealous anyways.

If he’s actually really jealous, he would show very subtle, lighthearted signs of him being jealous of your suitor. So maybe he’s just envious.

He’ll float to you, playfully pouting while resting his chin on the top of your head and wrap his arms around you.

“S/o, hmmm… you like me more though, right?~” he muses, smiling playfully afterwards when he sees you blushing.

He actually trusts you a lot and knows that you like him this way than the suitors who give you the letters and is just messing around. <3

Silver

Silver blinks once. Twice. Then lets it deep in. Oh. Oh…

At first, he feels a little sulky, but he’s not overly expressive of his jealousy and just lets it happen. He thinks you probably like your suitor and then he gets a bit insecure about it. Love can bloom anywhere, Lilia told him, so maybe you’ll find love with that suitor.

God, no Silver, your crush loves yOU TOO DONT BE SAD PLEASEEENKAJDNF-

You have to tell him you really don’t like the suitor that way. When he looks back at you with a glimmer of hope he wants to quickly push down, kiss him back softly to rekindle that hope again. <3

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is… sceptical to say the least. He keeps asking so many questions about the suitor and the letter they sent to you.

“Where did you get it?” “Why is there no name on it??” “HUMAN, YOU MIGHT BE IN DANGER, THIS LETTER IS SUSPICIOUS-”

In actuality, he just wants to see every reason to NOT find the suitor because he got jealous and was kinda scared if you actually find him and fall in love. He truly believes Lilia’s “you can find love anywhere” and he genuinely hopes you don’t like the suitors because, well, helikesyoualotandhereallylikesyoumorthanheshould-

Please just kiss him- <3

Reblogs help! ^^

890 notes · View notes

thegleamingmoon · 2 months

Text

Beloved.

Chapter 1 - Meeting you.

🪷✨ ❛ In every world, my heart would bloom for you. In every moment, in every lifetime, amidst the stars and the endless ocean, in every heartbeat and whispered breeze, I would choose you always and forever. ❜ ✨🪷

*********

The golden rays of the early morning sun filtered through the intricate carvings of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, casting a divine glow upon its magnificent structure. And there she was, draped in a simple yet elegant saree as she walked through the temple's corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone floors and like every other day, the air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, as the devotees murmured their prayers, lost in their own worlds of devotion as the girl walked into the inner sanctum, where the majestic form of Lord Padmanabhan lay in eternal slumber.

"Dear lord, please look after the world like you always do. I pray for the good health of my family and dear ones. May you always be with them and keep them happy." This was what she usually prayed for. Nothing more, nothing less. But today was different, she had come here to seek solace in the divine presence of her beloved deity but she still felt restless for reasons unknown.

The strange sensation grew as she moved out from the sanctum to the temple premises, she felt as if someone was watching her. Turning around, her eyes met those of a man standing a few feet away. He was tall and handsome, with an aura of mystery surrounding him. His complexion, very much like the clouds filled with rain and eyes, deep and penetrating that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Namaskaram", he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming.

"Namaskaram," she replied, curiosity piqued by this stranger. "Are you new to the this place? I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes, I am new to this city." he said, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "I’m Aravind. May I know your name?"

"Bhadra. It's nice to meet you, sir", she replied and saw his smile grow wider, making his eyes twinkle with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bhadra. And we can drop the formalness." He said as she shyly giggled. It was sweet to hear her name in his beautiful voice. She thought, mentally facepalming to bring herself out of her mind. Something was really wrong with her today.

As they walked through the temple grounds, Bhadra found herself more intrigued, drawn into a conversation with Aravind. They talked about the temple, the city of Thiruvananthapuram, its history, and the legends that surrounded it. He spoke with a depth of understanding that left Bhadra in awe. Hours passed like minutes, and soon the sun began to set, casting an orange hue hue over the temple.

"What brings you here? And how do you know so much about this place?", Bhadra asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Aravind smiled mysteriously. "Well, I have always been connected to this temple."

"Tell me about it." She looked deeper into his eyes, only to find a glimpse of her own secrets that were kept away from the world.

Bhadra lived a simple life, tending to the temple and helping those in need. She didn't remember a time when she was not insanely drawn to the deity. She had always looked up to the blue-hued god who slept on a thousand hooded serpent. She saw him in the vast sky, in her delusional thoughts, in the poetries she wrote, in the songs she sang and in almost everything she did.

She would dream of peacock feathers, moonlit nights and beautiful dense forests where gleamingly blurry visions of her beloved flute player would greet her with bliss and confusion. She would hold on to them to this day and maybe forever, without any expectations but just pure, boundless love that she had.

"Maybe those visions are trying to tell you something? You still get them don't you?"

That deep voice of Aravind broke her chain of thoughts as she looked up at him perplexed and maybe a little annoyed.

"Did you just read my mind?"

He just replied with a cheeky smile as he brought himself dangerously close to her, "Perhaps I just understand you better than anyone else, Bhadra. I have always done so." he gently whispered, only making her confusion grow.

"And I have always wanted to tell you that I love to hear you sing, even though you don't sing often. Your voice melts like honey into my ears. I can listen to it everyday." He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"How do you say that when you have never heard me sing? Who are you, Aravind?", she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to know me in ways that no one else does."

He chuckled even as his eyes were moist, "Oh I have heard you countless times. You, my dearest, are much more than you think of yourself to be."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I want to explain, I can't. He sighed wistfully. "It's sad, but I have to leave now. I will return soon, Bhadra. Until then, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Why?" She clearly didn't understand a thing. It didn't seem fair, or so she thought. This man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, mysterious but familiar, only to say he’d disappear again, leaving her with countless questions. Yet, somehow, it all felt right. Despite not wanting him to leave, she could only hope that he would come back.

Adoring the curls that framed her soft features one last time, Aravind stepped back. "Until next time," he voiced, extending his hand. Bhadra grasped it firmly, losing herself in his eyes as she tearfully bid him goodbye.

"Moley," she heard her father's call and turned around. "I'm here, Appa," she yelled back, hearing his hasty steps as he reached her.

"I knew you'd be here," he said with a warm smile lighting up his kind eyes. "It will be dark soon. I want you to come home with me." He gently caressed her head, and she nodded in agreement.

"Are you okay, kanne? Were you talking to someone here?" He asked, concerned.

Bhadra turned to her side, only to find nobody there and smiled in despair and surprise. It all felt too real to be one of her delusions and too elusive to be reality. She wanted to tell her father about the mysterious person she met but she knew that it would be difficult for him or anyone to believe. So she chose to remain silent about everything that happened today.

"No, Appa. Let's go home" She replied as she followed her father on their way back home.

Today was different indeed.

**********

Moley/Kanne - a way to address a daughter or a little girl in Malayalam.

A/N - Wanted to write something like this for the longest time. This may have some cliche moments but this work by far, is the closest to my heart. And I may turn this into a series if y'all wish. So let's see. I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Tags- @krsnaradhika @houseofbreadpakoda @harinishivaa @achyutapriya @kaal-naagin @sambaridli @sambhavami @yehsahihai @ramayantika @khushireadsandrambles

#desiblr #gopiblr #modern au #love #trivandrum #vishnu #goddess lakshmi #ashtabharya #krishnabhakti #krishnablr #krishna #radha #gopi #aesthetic #writers on tumblr

179 notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 10 months

Text

Menarche

Summary: Gabi gets her period ~ Comfort ensues.

A/N: Based on a couple of asks in my inbox ❤️✨. (Haven't forgot about them c: Comments or reblogs are highly appreciated ☺️)

The arising time was always at six thirty, school days at seven yet Gabriella had ignored Miguel's wake up calls.

And now it was twenty minutes past seven.

"Is Gabi awake yet?"

You mumbled half asleep, Miguel however grumbled underneath his breath as he took his towel to get himself ready to start the day.

"Let me."

With a sigh he went to Gabi's room and knocked the door. Voice firm yet gentle.

"Gabriella, you'll be late for school."

"I don't wanna go to school!."

That was a new tone he didn't know, a tone that made his bushy brows to instantly furrow.

"Gabriella O'Hara."

His voice didn't mean to sound harsh, but the sniffle behind the door made his sudden parenting anger to melt instantly, morphing into an alert.

"I... I want Mama."

"Solecito, are you ok?"

"God, just get mom!"

Her voice also didn't mean to sound disrespectful, but her emotions were into a raging fit that she didn't know what to feel, and Miguel's urgency only made it worse.

She knew her beloved Papa meant well, but she didn't want him to handle whatever this thing in her hands was. This was something beyond her control, but she had seen you go through it so many times, it was dumb to not call you.

Miguel however just stood there on the door, perplexed. Both at her angry words and the sudden urge she had for you. Not that he bragged about being her favorite parent, but most of the time Gabi seeked him either for advice or random talks, not that she didn't talk or bonded with you.

Hell sometimes you'd stay past sleeping hours talking about little things, she just felt more inclined to Miguel cause he was a bit more lenient on her and let her get away with little things. But this was different.

She needed you and needed you now.

He didn't need to wake you up, since you were already next to him, a concerned look etched on your face.

"Gabi, bebé are you ok?"

Upon hearing your voice, her door creaked open, and closed on Miguel's face. And before you could reprimand her for her attitude, she pulled you in closer and fiddled nervously with her fingers.

"... Mami."

"Wanna tell me what's going on you slammed the door on your dad's face?"

"I'm... Im sorry. I panicked and..."

Her eyes turned glossy, and you sighed while taking her shoulders.

"You know you can talk to us, mi amor. But disrespecting your dad like that isn't right."

"I know" She sniffed and hiccuped, worry blooming in your heart, "I'm scared."

"Why are you scared?"

"I'm... I don't know. I just..." She hiccuped, a soft frown came into your grimace, but instantly widened in surprise upon seeing the back of her pants, stained. Little spots that made the clear colored fabric to focus the attention in the dark red stains nearby her inner thighs.

"Ay, mi niña. Come here."

"I'm all covered in blood, Mama"

Her crying voice only made your heart wrench as you hugged her and wiped her tears.

"It's something completely normal, ok?"

"Is it? It hurts and I just... feel so moody and I didn't mean to yell at Papa."

"I know, mi niña. I know. Let's get you help ok? You'll be fine."

"Does this means I am a woman now?"

"What? No, corazón. You're still a child, ok? Your body is going through natural changes. Now, go shower, take warm bath. It'll help you ease the discomfort in your abdomen."

She nodded but looked nervously at the bed.

"I stained the bedsheets"

"It's totally fine, mi amor. I have stained the sheets too."

"Have you?"

"Yes. Dad always spoils me around those days. And now we get to spoil you too."

There was a nervous smile while she grabbed her towel.

"Can I tell your dad about this? Or-"

"It's ok. You said it's a normal thing, and he's a scientist so... yeah."

"Alright. I'll tell him to prepare you something nice and warm for you, ok?"

She nodded and headed for the shower. You removed the bedsheets, leaving the mattress bare. Thankfully the stains had only reached for the fabrics you now held, and not into the mattress.

When you came out, Miguel's eyes settled on you and the bundle of linens in your hands. The little spots of blood made realization hit harder than a train wreck.

"Oh... She's..."

"Yup. Can you prepare her something nice and warm? I'll get her the pads."

"Is she ok? I mean, feeling ok? I've got some painkillers if she needs them."

"Yeah, bring them over. I noticed she was a little bloated."

Miguel could just nod a bit shocked but his thoughts would be assessed later during pillow talk with you. Right now, he needed to make his little girl feel better and comfortable. He headed to the kitchen as you rummaged into your monthly drawer. Full of pads and tampons, ugly yet comfy underwear, and snacks.

While Gabi was on the shower, you changed her bedsheets for something more plush and warm. Just like Miguel had done for you plenty of times in the past. And when she came out, you explained how to wear the pad, then left her to change.

Miguel came with a tray with a freshly made raspberry tea, a banana and a pair of ibuprofens.

You tucked in Gabi in the sheets and Miguel knocked on the door.

"May I come in?"

She nodded while you sat on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Solecito?"

"Weird and pained. Like a dull ache in my lower belly."

"Its completely normal, Mija. I've got you some tea, a banana and painkillers."

"I didn't mean to yell at you or being disrespectful."

"I know. I'm sorry too for coming out like that."

Miguel placed the tray next to her bed and urged her first to eat the banana.

"It'll help you to ease the cramps a bit. In these times, you loose blood and that will make you tired, moody and even crying."

"Yeah," Gabi gave him an awkward smile, "Noted."

"Bananas have potassium, and it helps to keep the cramps at bay. You gotta drink alot of water, ok?"

"Oh... OK."

"And if it hurts too much, you gotta tell your Mama or me, ok? This is a completely normal thing in girls your age."

"But... Raquel said that her parents told her she was already a woman."

With a shake of your head your squeezed her hand

"Mi niña, a period does not make a girl to suddenly become a grown woman. Again, you are still a little girl that is going through puberty."

"So... am I allowed to play and stuff?"

"Of course you are, princesa! The only thing period changes in you is your hormones. Some days you'll be really tired, other days you'll have mood swings and the like."

"I see."

Gabi took the mug from Miguel as she sipped the tea.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, Thanks you. I'm sorry about school."

"Don't worry baby, Mama's got you. Is your abdomen cramping too much?"

"I... don't know?"

"In a scale of one to ten how bad you'd describe the pain?"

"I think it's a six."

"I see. After you finish your tea, take one pill and sleep, ok?"

"Ok."

Miguel kissed Gabriella's forehead and got ready to work. He was already late, so he took his time, knowing that you'd take care and pamper Gabi.

---

When he returned, the first thing he did after kissing you hello, was to go to her room and give her a little snack bag, with the condition for it to last the upcoming days, along some pads.

Once the night had settled in and everyone was on bed, you could see Miguel on the bed, staring at the ceiling, with a hand behind his back. Eyes too focused on a spot above, thinking.

Until you snuggled next to him, breaking his focus to set his attention on you.

"I'm scared too you know?"

"She's... growing so fast."

"Yeah, I know."

"In a few years she'll be dating and then she'll move out to college."

"Miguel, mi amor, look at me."

Soft and half lidded eyes stared at you.

"I know this means so many things for us, but we still have her. She still needs us. And we will be there until she decides otherwise."

You kissed him and his shoulders slumped.

"I know. Just wished I could stop time."

You gave him another kiss and he curled into your chest, hoarding you in his arms.

"Even though we can't, we can create the best memories together. We still have a lot of time, amor."

"How was she today?"

"Hungry, sleepy and her usual self."

It was his time to kiss your chest and close his eyes.

"I'm scared too you know? I know teenagers are a handful, but we've raised her well."

"Don't remind me."

A little chuckle escaped your lips.

"She's a good daughter."

"One of the best."

"Hm-hm."

Your hands caressing his hair made him sleepy.

"Still, couldn't help to feel I could've done more."

"Miguel, you did your best today. And that's all your daughter needed. She's happy, loved and pampered."

"You think?"

"Yeah. She was literally panicking because she yelled. Don't rack your brain on it. We did good. I'm proud of us. And guess what?"

A sleepy grunt came from him.

"She trusts you. Which is good. Other teenagers don't even speak up, but she did."

That did the trick enough for him to let a deep relieved sigh.

"She adores you. So rest assured that she's not going anywhere any time soon."

"Te amo. No se qué sería mi vida sin ti." (I don't know what my life would be without you.)

He mumbled between sleepy and slurred words. You kissed his forehead with a giggle.

" A mess, probably. But también te amo."

Gabi slept soundly, like Benjamin and Rosie. And so like you both.

In Miguel's office however, there was this little calendar, where all the milestones his family were tracked A new entry was added. He had marked the day as a special one. Gabi's first period .

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #mama o'hara #wife reader

519 notes · View notes

shogunish · 1 year

Text

𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗲.

pairing. gojo satoru x f! reader

genre. smut, pwp, friends to lovers

warnings. explicit sexual content, hair-pulling, raw sex, female masturbation, handjob, fingering, mating press, lots of cum, squirting, loss of virginity, uneditet

words. 5k

summary. Gojo Satoru has absolutely no business knowing that you're still a virgin. It will only result in your demise: never-ending comments about your lack of experience until you have no choice to smack him over the head upside-down.

note. special thanks to @cinnamonmon for indulging my fantasies and pouring gasoline into the fire ✨

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Discussing Shoko's and Gojo's sex life is most certainly not how you expected your day to go.

Gathered at a table on a terrace, surrounded by lovely flowers blooming and the serenity of the Jujutsu Campus, you unhurriedly sip your soda. Depending on who is talking, wide, curious eyes jump from Shoko to Gojo and vice versa.

While you are happy to be spending time with your friends, you can't contribute anything to the conversation.

Apparently Gojo's awkward sex moment was when he was drunk and rubbed a girl's thigh for 10 minutes straight, firmly believing he had found her clit. Laughter bursts from Shoko's lips and you swear her coffee almost came out of her nose.

"No way! That sounds like something you'd do sober, too," she teases once her giggles die down.

Satoru pouts as though he is seriously wounded by his friend's words that stung like needles. "So that's how you think of me? I assure you this was a one-time fuzz up!" He smacks one hand to his chest where his heart is and raises his other hand much like he's vowing to never fuck up so majorly again.

Admittedly, this is one of those stories that have even you grinning into your glass. But the conversation quickly moves on; Shoko talking about the guy who took her virginity, Gojo confessing his favorite position (a string of words you had never heard of) and the several reasons why he liked said position so much.

It is a stretch of time ㅡ or maybe only 5 minutes ㅡ until Satoru puts the spotlight on you.

"You've been awfully quiet, [Name]. Cat got your tongue?" His voice has a teasing lilt to it and a smart comment lies on the tip of your tongue, but Shoko decides to answer in your stead.

She twirls a strand of hair between her delicate fingers. "[Name] can't add to the conversation because she's still a virgin," Shoko deadpan with not even a hint of a teasing tone laced in her voice.

"Shoko!" You look at her, betrayal and embarrassment written all over your face. A jumble of words, or rather letters, spill from your mouth like water from an overflowing sink, trying to save the situation. You flail your hands through the air, making all sorts of wild gestures and attracting quite a few curious looks from sorcerers and students alike.

Gojo Satoru has absolutely no business knowing that you're still a virgin. It will only result in your demise: never-ending comments about your lack of experience until you have no choice to smack him over the head upside-down. If annoying people was a sport, Satoru would definitely win the Olympics with flying colors.

"Are you for real?" Despite the blindfold hiding his eyes, you can tell that he's genuinely surprised. "And here I thought you'd have several men at your feet by now." Ah, there it is. His trademark grin which you can recognize from miles away.

Satoru would never say it out loud, but he thinks you're really pretty. You're blessed with humor, intelligence, strength in battle that even he recognizes and a smile that melts hearts on the spot. All these attributes that he silently adored about you are obvious as day to him. To think that no other man sees it proves that he sees more through his blindfold than some other folks do with a pair of lame glasses.

Yet, Gojo thinks that it's better this way. At least, he doesn't have to worry about someone else sweeping you off your feet.

Shoko rests her cheek on her fist, a warm breeze blows through her chocolate hair. "Right? [Name] most certainly is pretty, but she prefers to stay at home on her days off and play video games. The only thing she pulls is the blanket over her head. It's a shame," she muses.

Has Shoko just..roasted you? You're flabbergasted.

"I'm still here and can hear you, you know!" Heat sits high on your cheeks, threatening to melt you from within, but you have to get a point across. Embarrassed, you gaze to the side; the sliding door to your right is suddenly much more interesting than your oh-so-beloved friends. "There's no shame in not having had an..well..you know..yet," you grumble.

Satoru snaps his fingers. "You mean an orgasm."

Oh, you've just dug your own grave, haven't you? You wish for the ground to swallow you whole and never spit you back to the surface again if it means escaping this ridiculous situation for good. If you could, you would just drop your forehead onto the table and groan in agony.

You will never hear the end of it.

"So not even an orgasm by yourself?" Satoru digs and stuffs a chip or two into his mouth; they're your favorite flavor and usually you would steal 70% of the bag's content, but you have a reputation to defend right now.

A reputation that's crumbling, because lying to Gojo is impossible.

Defeated, you meet his gaze and sigh. "No. But it's no big deal, anyways. I don't have time for any of these things."

"No time, huh..," Satoru echoes your words quietly and slouches back into his seat. It's almost suspicious how easily the 1,90m tall bother on legs drops the subject, but maybe it's because he knows you're lying through your teeth.

The clock strikes 10 in the evening when you're in bed, the lights in your bedroom dimmed and dipping the room in sweet orange hues. Your shirt is pulled over your chest, tits exposed to the air and nipples hardening at the change in temperature. Nimble fingers slide from the valley of your breasts down to your stomach and linger just above your panties.

How stupid, you think. Who couldn't make themselves cum?

Perhaps, the earlier conversation you had with Shoko and Satoru still weighs heavily on your mind and perhaps you have a point to prove that you aren't as clueless as everyone (including yourself) believes.

"Hmph, this is ridiculous," you huff, push your panties to the side and slide your finger through your folds. They're already wet and sensitive, probably glistening in the dim lights. A content sigh escapes your lips.

But when you slide a finger into your pussy and can't reach that oh-so-sweet spot everyone keeps talking about, you groan in frustration. Thrusting your finger into your cunt does nothing but spread the slick and no matter how much you rub at your pussy, it doesn't feel quite right.

Frustrated moans and groans grow in volume. At some points, colorful curses leave your mouth and you give up on pleasuring yourself.

"Fucking hell, this is stupid!," you yell and continue your little rant until a knock on your door interrupts you, ripping you out of your headspace. Once your clothes are back in place and you look acceptable enough to be seen by people, you trot to the door with bare feet. "Coming!"

When you open the door, you certainly don't expect Gojo to be on the other side, a concerned look on his face which isn't obstructed by a blindfold or sunglasses for once. "Are you alright? It sounded like you got injured."

"Injured..? I'm not.." Confused, you look up at the taller man until it clicks and heat explodes on your face. Oh dear lord, no. He must've heard you trying to touch yourself and mistook your pathetic attempt at pleasing yourself for having hurt yourself on accident. "Oh..Oh fuck.."

You drop your forehead against the wooden door frame, not daring to meet Gojo's eyes. The fact that they're not covered makes the entire situation even worse, somehow. "It's not that, I was..just busy."

Gojo cups his chin in thought, mulling over your words and you can visibly see the gears in his head turning. Unfortunately for you, Satoru is smarter than he acts. A smirk graces his lips as he laughs. "So that's it? Oh man. You really suck at touching yourself, you know?"

"What the hell do you know about my body?!" You cross your arms over your chest and turn your head to the side, not sparing your dearest friend another glance. Having this conversation with him in the hallway is embarrassing enough already. "It's not as easy as it sounds! And keep your voice down!"

"You're the one making a fuss right now," Satoru states and pops into your personal bubble, scrutinizing your face from your eyes swimming in embarrassment down to your trembling bottom lip. "Seeing you all pent-up like this almost makes me want to teach you."

The idea popping into your head is the dumbest thing you have ever thought of, but what other choice do you have? At least once, you want to taste the ecstasy everyone keeps talking about and there's no one you trust as much as Satoru, even though he could be annoying.

"Could you?"

"Could I what?"

"Teach me how to touch myself."

To your surprise, Satoru agrees and you invite him into your place. It's exactly this dumb request that lands you in your bedroom with Gojo Satoru sitting on your bed and asking you to strip down first. To his surprise, you're oddly compliant and do as you're told.

"Get comfortable and relax, [Name]. It's just us." Satoru's voice is calming as you lie nearly naked in front of him. Your entire face feels hot as you catch him eying your boobs, the curve of your waist and the cute panties that separate his gaze from your bare pussy.

"Touch your tits. Take your time and don't rush," Gojo says with a slight tilt of his head. "You're supposed to enjoy it."

You gulp down the lump in your throat, muttering a "fine" as your hands slide from your collarbone down to your breasts. Insecurity fills your veins, you hesitate and your eyes flicker up to Gojo who's comfortably watching you and assuring you with a nod of his head. You cup your tits, fondling and squeezing them lightly at first.

For a reason you couldn't quite place your finger on, your tummy is already feeling funny. Is it because Satoru's watching you or..?

"Good. Now go ahead and play with your nipples. No need to go all out just yet, be gentle at first." Eyes blue like the skies intently watch your fingers flick your nipples before rubbing them in slow circles. Gojo would be lying if he said that he isn't feeling himself getting hard merely because you're touching yourself in front of him. "That's it.."

After some time, you pinch and tug at your nipples until a whimper slips your lips and goosebumps are scattered all over your skin. It feels good, you notice. The previous hesitation goes up in smoke as you get comfortable with yourself, with Satoru watching you closely.

"Feels good, doesn't it?," he questions to which you nod your head yes. "It does," you whine.

Oh, you have absolutely no idea how sweet you sound, do you? Gojo has to adjust his sitting position or else you'd sooner or later see the boner in his sweatpants, asking for your attention and sweet release. He doubts his right hand will get the job done tonight.

"You know, it's not fair," you suddenly speak up, voice shaky and uncharacteristically insecure. "I'm nearly naked and you're fully clothed..," you trail off, cheeks burning.

Gojo chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Are you saying you want me to undress like you did?"

In the past, you've seen Gojo shirtless quite a few times and it never fazed you. But now that you are half naked in front of him, pussy wet and aching for some friction, you are painfully aware of the way he's built as he strips down to his underwear.

He's broad and buff in all the right places, the muscles in his arms bulging whenever he flexes his biceps. Not to mention his slim waist and the white happy trail disappearing into his boxers, leading to the erection between his legs.

"Go ahead and touch your pussy, rub on it. Get to know what feels good for you."

Following his words, you shimmy out of your panties and dip your hand between your legs where your folds glisten with your arousal. It's wetter than it was before, allowing you to slide right through the slit and making you sigh in pleasure. You spread your folds, circle your entrance with the tip of your finger and moan at the sensitivity.

Gojo watches your pussy flutter around nothing at the feather light touch and has to ignore the throbbing and twitching of his cock. If he could, he would jerk off while guiding you, but he can't do that. At least not yet.

"Now you rub your clit. Slowly," Satoru instructs. His icy blue eyes are glued to your nimble finger sliding through your slick folds, searching for the bud and glistening in the dim light of your room.

A frustrated huff slips your lips. "I can't find it.."

"Are you serious? It's right there."

"Where..?"

Gojo takes pity on your pathetic attempts of pleasing yourself. Grabbing your knees, he spreads your thighs apart, scoots closer to your heated body and presses his thumb right to your clit. "There."

Immediately, your back arches off the mattress as Gojo draws a high-pitched, pleased moan from your glossy lips. Thighs twitching, you buck your hips into his hand and whine. "Again," you demand through a haze of longing and desire.

Gojo has to take a breath through his nose to compose himself. How often had he dreamed of you asking for his touch underneath him, soaking his fingers and thighs spread apart so prettily? His right hand can't compare to the real thing.

"Are you sure?" He strokes the pad of his thumb over your clit and watches you tremble with mesmerized eyes. White strands of hair frame his face as he tilts his head to the side.

Frantically, you nod your head, but Gojo tuts at this. "Use your words, sweets," he commands and you give in to his every word.

"I-I'm sure," you stumble over your words and catch his gaze, holding it with heat on your face and a softened look resting upon your features. "Please, touch me, Toru.."

"That's a good girl," Satoru smiles to himself as he drags his finger down to your fluttering hole and circles the slick flesh. Slowly, he inserts two of his fingers into your cunt, curves them upwards and rubs that sweet spot within you. "This is the spot that you'd wanna rub when you finger yourself, but now that I look at your hands.." Gojo trails off and takes one of your hands into his own, smirking when you squeeze it. "You probably won't reach it on your own."

Moan after moan spills from you, hips buck into his hand for more, more, more. You throw your head back into your pillow and dig your nails into the sheets until your knuckles go white. Heat pools in your lower abdomen and slides up your spine until it spreads to the very tips of your fingers. "A-ah, Toru! Right there," you whine. "Don't stop.. Feels s'good."

Satoru chuckles. "You're so sensitive, it's cute. I'm so lucky to be the first to see you all wet and needy, ain't I?"

Each squelch of his fingers is followed by a moan or whine, sounds that Gojo could listen to all day if you'd let him. Your slick trickles down to his wrist, stains your inner thighs and leaves a damp spot on your once clean sheets. The heel of Gojo's palm rubs your clit with each precise movement of his hand, leaving you no choice but to squeeze your thighs shut.

"Aw, is it too much for you?," Satoru coos in faux sympathy and uses his free hand to grab your face, making you look up at him through half-lidded eyes with your lips all puckered. "Fuck, aren't you a pretty little thing for me," he groans.

You want to answer, but all that comes out is a string of letters that sound an awful lot like his name, all fucked out and gone.

Gojo forces your thighs open again, watching his fingers disappear into your cunt over and over again until he's pounding them into you, juices dripping down to your ass. Your gummy walls tighten around his digits until Satoru is sure you're about to suck him in.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of your fluttering hole.

"Why'd you stop?," you whine in pathetic tones as the sweet tension leaves your muscles and the knot of warmth disappears from in-between your legs.

Satoru caresses your thighs; from your knee up to your inner thigh and across your stomach until his hands caress the underside of your tits, his thumbs flicking your hardened nipples. Just like that, he draws a whimper from you. "If you're gonna cum, it's gotta be on my cock."

It takes a moment for your brain to process his words, but when they do, your gaze travels from Gojo's stupidly handsome face down his abs and stops at the twitching bulge between his legs. A damp spot of pre-cum rests on the top of his erection, making you lick your lips.

"Your cock, huh..," you echo his words like you're drunk on him, his touch, like you're drunk on love. Absent-mindedly, you sit up and place your hands on Gojo's broad shoulders. You had never realized just how well-built and firm he really is and it makes you gulp.

Slowly tracing your hands down his body, you slide his boxers down his legs and toss them into some corner of your room. Gojo's cock springs free, smacks against his abdomen once and stands at attention. Pre-cum pools from the tip and a delicious vein travels from the base all the way to the red, swollen head.

"Teach me how to touch you," you whisper.

Gojo has a hard time controlling himself when you say these things in that voice of yours and give him those doe eyes. But he also has a hard time saying no to you. "Wrap your hand around the length like this.." Grabbing your hand, he makes you wrap your palm around his cock; a shiver goes down his spine as your fingers nearly don't fit around the girth. He's hot and heavy in your hand.

"Then you wanna rub it and twist your hand a little," Gojo instructs and guides your hand up and down his cock just like he said. His head falls back into the nape of his neck and a groan vibrates deep in his chest. "Rub the tip with your thumb. The slit is fine, too."

And you do just as you're told. Carefully, you rub the swollen tip with your thumb all while gliding your palm along his cock. Sticky pre-cum pools from the slit and when your thumb catches some of it, making the slide so much warmer and wetter, a loud groan escapes Gojo's lips. He wants to thrust into your palm so badly, but just before he could..

You're apologizing and pulling your hand away, shock and guilt written all over your face. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn't mean toㅡ"

"Hell no." Satoru is quick to wrap your palm around his cock once more and tighten your grip to thrust into your fist. "You feel fucking good. Keep going, sweets."

When his hand releases yours, you nod at him and drag your fist down to the base of his cock and slide it right back up where your palm squeezes the tip. His pre-cum now sticks to your palm, each rub sounding wetter than the one before.

Groans and moans spill from Gojo's mouth. He no longer feels the need to thrust into your hand; not when he rests his forehead on yours, his hot breath fanning your cheeks and basking in the feeling of your hand wrapped around him. Large, calloused hands glide from your shoulders to your arms and cup your tits. Satoru fondles them, squeezing and groping you to his heart's content.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters. His curious hands are now cupping your cheeks, skilled fingers move away some stray strands of your hair before his thumb catches your bottom lip. "Can I ㅡ ah, shit ㅡ kiss you?"

Your grip around his cock tightens, making him hiss. You smile at him like you're in love. "Yes, please. Kiss me, Satoru."

Gojo crashes his lips into yours, one hand keeping you in place by the back of your neck while the other one grabs your ass, pulling you closer to him. You moan at his touch, at the way he bites your bottom lip and sneaks his tongue into your mouth to dance with your own.

Satoru groans into your mouth when your fingers graze his balls, squeezing and fondling the flesh lovingly. He wraps his tongue around yours, sucking on the slippery muscle until a combination of his saliva mixed with yours trickles from the corner of your mouth. Delicate fingers get caught in Satoru's hair, pulling and tugging at the roots and always asking for more.

Gojo pulls you impossibly closer until you're on his lap, your pussy kissing the length of his cock and slicking it up. He can't take it anymore.

Breaking the kiss, a string of saliva connects his lips to yours and you find yourself pushed into the mattress.

"I need to be inside you. Now." Gojo towers over you, easily covering your frame with his buffer one. His eyes, once as bright as the clear skies, are now as dark as the depths of the ocean. Drops of pre-cum land underneath your belly button, pooling there and warming the skin. "Will you let me fuck this pretty pussy? I promise I'll be gentle."

Briefly, your eyes flicker down to his cock and you wonder how he's supposed to fit inside you when you had been clenching around his fingers already. But your need to feel Gojo inside you is greater than the questions floating throughout your mind. "Please. Fuck me, Toru."

Something akin to boyish delight lights up the blue of Satoru's eyes. Grabbing his cock, he makes sure to slide through your glossy folds and groans at the warmth you gift him. When the head catches your clit and Satoru smacks it with the tip, he smirks at the way you arch off the mattress.

"Ugh, stop teasing and fuck me already!"

"Who knew you were so bossy in bed?," Gojo teases and the next smart comment lies on the tip of your tongue, but it's wiped clean when Gojo presses his cock into your sloppy hole.

You dig your nails into his bicep, whimpering at the burning stretch but it feels too good to complain about it. Your pussy sucks him right in until he's nestled within your gummy walls, tip pressing into all the right spots and twitching within you.

"Fuck, you're so tight and wet..," Satoru groans, wraps one of your legs around his waist and drapes the other one over his shoulder. He sinks a bit deeper into you until his balls are pressed to your ass. "It's so much better than I imagined."

Drawing his hips back, Gojo thrusts into your pussy with a groan and sets a pace that makes you wrap your arms around him, digging your nails into his back. His weight pushes you into the mattress, each stroke of his cock making you moan louder than before.

"You're feeling good, huh?" Satoru smirks above you and grabs your hips to hold you in place, picking up the pace. Skin smacks against skin, your pussy squelches and leaves a white ring of cream around his cock. "Gonna turn you into a pretty mess once I'm done with you."

All you can do is take whatever Gojo gives you. The leg draped over his shoulder dangles in the air, your tits bounce in tune with his thrusts. "Fuck, gimme more, 'toru.. Need all of you..," you babble.

"More? You're a greedy thing, aren't you?" But Satoru fulfills your wish regardless. Sneaking a hand between your bodies, his fingers are quick to find your puffy clit, rubbing figure eights into the nub. Tears spring to your eyes, brimming your waterline and blurring your sight.

"Toru! Ah, fuck! Hah..shit, yes!" You chant his name like a prayer, throw your head back into the soft pillows and drag your nails down his back. You'd certainly leave some scratches, but Gojo doesn't mind. Not when it makes his cock twitch within your sloppy walls, leaking of pre-cum.

"There, yes, there! Just like that." Hot tears roll down your cheeks and into the clavicle of your collarbone as Gojo hits that sweet spot which makes you see stars over and over again.

"Right there, huh?" Sweat trickles down Satoru's temple, a few strands of snow white hair sticking to his forehead as he pounds you into the mattress. He grips the back of your thighs, folding your legs up to your chest and putting his full weight on top of you.

You cry his name, grasping at anything that was Gojo; his back, his flexing bicep, his tousled hair. Anything that you could reach as he abuses your poor cunt. "That's it. Take my cock just like this and I'll make sure to fill you up," he praises all while digging his blunt fingernails into the flesh of your thighs. He'd definitely leave his mark on you.

Mewling at Satoru's promise, your hole flutters around his cock and sucks him right in before it clenches down on him.

"T-Toru," you stutter as he drills his cock into you, a sob rocking your shoulders. "H-How do I know I'm about to ㅡ fuck ㅡ cum..?"

And when Gojo pinches your clit, his cock pressing into your sweet spot and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull, your orgasm comes crashing down on you in waves.

A loud scream of Satoru's name is ripped from your throat and your back beautifully arches off the mattress. Clawing at his back, several sobs spill from your chest and it's so fucking wet. Your pussy is gushing all over his cock, wetting not only his lap but your stomach and sheets as well.

Satoru rubs your clit in hard circles, letting you ride out the waves of your high. "That's fucking nasty, baby. When I said I wanted you to wet my cock, I didn't think you'd squirt," he laughs and pounds into your spent cunt until you're moaning again, begging him to stop.

"Too much..Toru, 's too much!" Your squirm underneath Gojo but all he does is hold you still as he presses his hips flush to your own. He buries his face in your neck, holding you so close that your tits get pushed up against his chest.

"Shh, let me fill your pussy, pretty girl," he shushes you and with one final thrust, thick ropes of cum fill up your insides until it leaks out from where his cock plugs you. Gojo groans right into your ear, grinding his sticky cum deep into your cunt before he slowly pulls out.

His tongue sticks out to sweep over his bottom lip as he admires the creamy mess he's made of you; covered in not only his but your cum alike, lips swollen from his kisses and the several prints of his fingers on your skin. Satoru smiles at his handiwork.

"I don't think you've ever looked prettier," Gojo swoons, a soft look in his eyes.

"Ugh..," you groan, feeling full of his cum that seeps out of your cunt. "Shut up, Satoru.."

Contrary to popular belief, Gojo Satoru has the decency to take care of you after he has folded you in half and drained every last bit of energy from your body. He is gentle when he cleans you up with a warm washing cloth, but still an asshat about it when he says "Whoops, there's more coming out. You should really focus on keeping my cum in, love."

You want to slap the grin off his face, but lack the strength to do so.

So instead, you let him dress you into a fresh pair of panties and a hoodie that was several sizes too large. Gojo is dressed in casual sweatpants and a loose shirt. The bed is made and a couple of snacks are now in front of you and Satoru, the heat of the moment gone just like the Earth-shattering high he gifted you.

"Satoru..What does this make us?," you cautiously ask with a mouth full of a couple of gummy bears. There is nothing else that you cherish as much as his friendship and trust in you, but sex destroys every friendship, right? Fuck, you shouldn't have gotten carried away.

"Hmm..," Gojo hums an leans back, supporting his weight with his hands behind him on the soft mattress. A pair of pitch black shades now rests on the bridge of his nose, yet you can clearly see the playful glint in his annoying, beautiful eyes. "I guess I gotta think of a way to introduce you as my girlfriend now."

Your head whips towards Satoru, owlishly staring at him. "Eh? Are you serious?"

"I, Gojo Satoru, would never lie about this!" He raises his hands like he's surrendering, like he's about to whip out a white flag and it makes you chuckle. "So, what do you say?"

With your knees tucked underneath your hoodie and pulled to your chest, you let a pout grace your lips. "I guess I would love that.."

"It's official then!," Gojo exclaims, tosses his arm around your shoulder and pulls you flush to his side. Playfulness quickly turns into tenderness as he presses a soft kiss to your hairline.

"You're mine now."

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut

1K notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 9 months

Text

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him.

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it.

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself.

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine.

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good.

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you.

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other.

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway.

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him.

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention.

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here.

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be.

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it.

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him.

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it.

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu.

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please.

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge?

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely.

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point.

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.”

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you.

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one.

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore.

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore.

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there.

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence.

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up.

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long.

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of.

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return.

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger.

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side.

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing.

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt.

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough.

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom.

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.”

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about.

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his.

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that.

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm.

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him.

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this.

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him.

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others.

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here.

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth.

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart.

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him.

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can.

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had.

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary.

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins.

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake.

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him.

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice.

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside.

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence.

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time.

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain.

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart.

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing.

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless.

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#vic fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin AU #din djarin modern AU #the mandalorian AU #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal characters #din djarin angst

394 notes · View notes

jolapeno · 1 year

Text

ix. you’re the bright and golden sun

javier peña x f!reader | chapter nine of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: angst, sadness. goodbyes. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3.2k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Compared to the official first morning the two of you shared a bed, the reason why neither of you have risen today is different—even if, on appearances, it is similar.

Your legs are tangled with his. Your body is curled, pressed as close as it can be to his side. The two of you are awake, both silent—something Javi is aware is rare for the two of you.

Unlike the morning when he tried to learn every inch of you, today, he’s all about savouring every other part of you instead.

The way you smile, the way your laugh blooms across your face before it meets his ears. Plus, how you feel against him—from the warmth of your skin to the steady rise of your chest.

He doesn’t rise from the sheets to even wash his face, out of fear of signalling the imminent countdown to begin. The one which has been ticking the entire time, but now clangs louder as it gets nearer to the time he needs to drop you at the airport.

Javi especially doesn't want to move while the air is tinged with sadness—all heavy, pressing down on the two of you under the sheets. His thumbs had already made quick work of some strays tears when you'd first awoken, them sliding around your smile as you battled mixed feelings.

Because he was here now, but tomorrow he wouldn't be. Your words, not his.

You had said other things, like morning baby, and several seconds later, asking if he slept okay. But, once the tears had been wiped, the two of you just lay curled together.

Now he’s just tracing his fingers up and down your soft skin, doing so in the hope he’ll be able to remember the feel of it later when he’s without you.

Words aren’t usually his problem. He’s normally able to fill heavy silences and always knows what to say. It’s the one skill he’s proud to have sharpened in Colombia—when most people had seen him as the enemy. But, he has no words for this.

You do, though.

“I… I don’t want to go,” you whisper.

It wounds him, nips at his skin and plummets something to his feet. He hides it. Turning his head, pressing an intentional kiss to your forehead, lingering there, chin hovering over your head.

Because he doesn’t want you to either, and he’s unsure if he should say that—could say that.

Closing his eyes, he chooses not to open them. Just for a minute. Allowing himself the luxury of living in the fantasy playing on the back of his lids. The one where this is just a weekend away, that you’ll be going back with him and that your case will be packed with both his and your things.

Instead, when he opens his eyes to reality, he just finds the room basked in muffled light. The curtains blocking out the outside world, as he wishes he could take your hands in one of his, cup your cheek and tell you to come back with him.

(Because now I've had you, how am I meant to let you go?)

Swallowing, he smooths out his feelings—disguises them behind nothingness. For your sake.

“I know,” Javi replies. Allowing a thousand other things to die on his tongue.

He knows you have things you need to return to, a job. A life you’ve crafted for yourself and the one you’ve allowed him into. How you have dreams, the same as he once had—that you have responsibilities and an apartment, all things that aren’t easy to get up and leave.

But you’re looking at him, head-turning, tilting up, and he’s bathed in beauty, affection and sorrow, all at once.

Briefly, Javi thinks of the women he’s met before you. The ones in Colombia who were either in the same place they were before they met him, or worse. The ones who he made promises to, but barely could keep.

Going tense, he's aware his jaw has tightened—replaying how his actions had put them in harm's way—feeling your hand slide up his chest to his chin. Finger and thumb just circling, confusing swirling in the pools of jumbled feelings.

"You okay?"

And he can't explain, can he? While he knows his selfishness won’t bring a fury of shit to your door, it won’t be kind. Being with him will add weight to your shoulders, when they are already carrying so much. Javi only wants to remove some of it, then add to it.

So he swallows his wishes, and lets the words fall to his stomach. Allows them to swirl in last night's alcohol and pizza.

"Yeah, baby. Just gonna miss you."

You seem to swallow, eyes filling with water for the second time in the last hour. Something unlodging, churning—

“I want to seeyourranch.”

It comes out scratchy, like your voice needs clearing as you re-look at him. Now all wide-eyed—as though surprised how you had even sounded.

“Let me try that again,” you say, clearing your throat and offering a half-smile. “I would love to see your ranch.”

And, fuck he wants that too.

He sees it, imagines it. Immediately thinks of you wandering the fields as he points out the animals that cause him the most havoc. You’ll twirl in the tall grass, staring at him—looking every bit a dream come true—and then you’ll whisper to the animals, helping them further undermine him with a smirk. Javi could show you where he hung out as a kid and the places he appreciates now that he’s older, where he talks to you from and where he sat when you first texted—his usual spot for the crossword.

There would be so much for your eyes to take in, he could drag it out for a week. Another whole week of you, of him—a small amount in the grand scheme of forever, but he’d take it. He’d take whatever he could be allowed.

Leaning his head on yours, he blinks back the water, trying to build in his own. “You just tell me when, cariño. I’ll roll out the red carpet.”

Sighing, full of contention, he feels your palm Slide Over his chest, fingers drawing something. “Could meet your dad.”

“He’ll love you.”

He watches as you lift up, smile flowering—earlier sadness sunsetting as you begin to grow. Face all illuminating, eyes twinkling like stars.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, he runs his fingers over your cheek, loosely holding your chin. “Pretty sure he already does.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“Neither did I, and I’m pretty sure I was already head over heels for you before I got here.”

Scrunching your nose, eyes glancing down, he feels your fingers lightly stroke his chest. “You don’t have to keep flattering me. You already got me.”

He waits a beat.

Lets it thicken—your statement—the confession.

Because while he knows what was said last night, how the two of you cemented it, he’s not sure he’ll tire of hearing it.

You want to be his, even miles away.

Lifting your chin ever so slightly, Javi stares into your eyes and hopes that he can burn the words in as much as he does as he begins to speak them.

“Never gonna stop telling you how great you are, cariño.”

“One day, you might.”

Shaking his head, he lowers his face, nose brushing yours. “Might. Probably won’t.”

He spots it, the clouded shadow trying to stop your rays from shining—all full of question, and doubt. Caused by scars from previous lovers who didn’t know what a diamond they had.

“How…” your eyes drop, swallowing. “How can you be so sure, Javi?”

The answer comes to him immediately: because you’re like no one else I’ve ever met.

A second appearing barely a second later: you’re like nothing I’ve ever come across.

The last explodes over the two of them like fireworks: I’ve never felt how I feel for you, for anything else.

He opts for something in the middle, lifting your eyes back to him. “Because I’ve not stopped thinking about you since that first text. And fuck, baby. Outside my ma and pops, outside of a lead or my old job, I’ve never fuckin’ had that. Not about anything, or anyone, before.”

For the second time this trip, he’s watching you fight with your case. The seams all threatening to split and spill, your jacket removed, thrown to the side of you as you continue your wrestling.

He doesn't admit that he finds it cute that you're trying to do it alone.

Especially when he knows you've added to the suitcase's load since you've been here. The empty retail bags they were once in, shoved haphazardly in the bin as grey clouds cast shadows across the room.

Lifting your face, he spots that your forehead is peppered with beads of sweat, his arms folding, leaning against the wall—waiting to be invited to help. Again.

“Don’t even fucking say it, Peña.”

Biting back a smirk, he arches his brow. “No, he dicho nada.”

Your eyes shoot him a glare as he smirks, watching you blow out a puff of air before leaning back on your heels, defeatism sketched into your features.

“Okay. Please help me.”

Just like some days ago, he kicks off from the wall. Watching you move to push down as he settles on his knees to help, the zip being more forthcoming—oddly—as it slides around. It catches in part, your fingers only occasionally needing to prod things in, and soon enough, it’s shut, closed—all final.

“There we go.”

You smile, all infectious, corrosive in how it melts earlier sadness. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably a lot. I mean, except zip up your case.”

It’s instant, the way your smile shifts into a smirk. “For someone called charmer, you’ve not been as articulate the last few days.”

“Think it’s due to the company I’m keeping.”

Your eyes roll, teeth showing as the edges of your mouth cut into your cheeks—not a smile, nor a smirk, something else entirely. “There he is, the flirt.”

“Only for you, baby.”

Standing, you offer him a hand. Both knowing he doesn’t need it, very much capable himself—even if his knees groan, but he slides his palm in any way. Feeling your fingers tighten, gripping him as he stands too.

“How are you so handsome, Javier Peña?”

Warmth runs up his spine, liking how you’re looking at him—how you say handsome and his name all in one sentence.

Licking your lips, you don’t let go of his hand, but you step over the suitcase. “Still can’t believe you want to give this a go.”

Fingers find your cheek, head leaning forward, closing the gap marginally to you. Taking in the way your eyes remain fixed on him, the scent of your perfume—all of it, as he whispers:

“I’d be an idiot to let you go, baby.”

Biting your lip, you seem to sigh. Silence thickening, his thumb slowly beginning to stroke, as you reply, “Yeah. I suppose you would.”

“Now, who’s being a flirt?”

Slowly, you wrap your arms around his neck, his own hands coming around your waist—letting his palms spread out across your back. It feels like home, a place he doesn’t want to ever be from.

All of it is stamped with a smile that is more bright and golden than the sun, and fuck does he not suddenly feel like he's illuminating when he kisses it.

Javi drowning in it, not wanting to come up for air as you pull him close. Just so he can try and keep a piece of it. Just until the next time he gets to bask in it, never mind kiss you.

You don't slide your hand from his the entire drive. Your other hand trying to find a station you approve of, nose scrunching at some of the choices you come across.

Periodically, the corner of his eyes catches how your teeth are making messy work of your bottom lip, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. He wishes, more than anything, he was good with words.

Ones that would reassure, you remind you that it'll be okay, that he’s yours—that they won’t wait long, they’ll make it work.

Convince you that he means it—because he does.

More than he's wanted something in a long time. Even if in his chest, there’s a little flutter of doubt. Sensibility trying to ruin things, reminding him that there won’t always be hands to help the ranch at the drop of a hat—that his pop needs him. That you have work, a life in a place he doesn’t know the foggiest about.

Instead, he banishes it. Forces it into the corner of him that welcomes intrusion, and he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss so full of longing and affection, he hopes it runs down your wrist and slams directly into your heart.

"Departures is that way," you announce, voice soft, brittle.

His mouth presses another kiss to your palm as he signals, hating that the drive has been so short. Despising it even more that he finds a parking spot with ease—that your hand slides from his and your legs jump out of the truck before he’s said a word.

You barely look at him, staring around the airport until you fall into a step beside him to the doors. Each one he takes, Javi hopes he’ll feel your hand in his—palm to his, fingers looping between his.

So when you do (your grip tight, intention clear), he loops his arm around you with your hand in his—forcing you close, keeping you there.

Each step in front of the other forces the building to loom closer, the walk short—too short—another thing added to the tally of what he hates. But he tries not to focus on it, linger, instead letting his feet come to a stop close to the doors with yours. One so you don’t have to walk far, but not enough for a larger audience.

Giving you the handle of your case, your chest seems to lurch as it rises and falls. Your teeth return to bite down on your lip, rocking forward and back on the skin as you begin to nibble all over again—a forced smile trying to show.

But, it barely reaches your cheek. Never mind your eyes.

His mouth opens, but you wrap your fingers around his forearm. Silencing him. A look in your eyes that could sound like a well-versed chorus of assurances, a speech of how it won't be long and revelations of how you feel, but they don't fall.

Instead, you whisper, “I know. I do.”

He swallows, nodding as you step closer, body almost flush with his.

“So, just kiss me—like you’re gonna see me again, yet in a way that’ll last me until I can hear your voice tomorrow.”

There was no asking him twice. His mouth latching to yours, lips capturing unsaid words as he embraces the way your body curls into him. All comfortable and right. His palm cupping your cheek, deepening it all, stealing important air from your lungs and using it to help him breathe.

His mind full of you. An array of memories shoots off like fireworks as you cling to him, and him to you.

And he never wants it to end.

Even less so when you whimper against him, vibrating it down his throat to his chest, where it mushrooms and grows. Filling a space otherwise empty, but now covered in feelings you've brought out in him: warmth, affection and care.

Then, the two of you part, mouth first—lips ghosting over the air as your eyes open with his, able to see the reflection of his growing smile in your pupils.

“Hi..."

Grinning, he presses a kiss to your nose. "Have a safe flight, and text me—“

“I know. I know. As soon as I land,” you say as his forehead presses against yours. “Please, have a safe drive. Don’t flip off anyone just because you miss me so much.”

Smirking, he laughs—all low and soft. “I’ll try.”

“Okay.”

Sighing, you unweave your fingers from his neck and hair, placing a shaky one on the handle. Body pausing, waiting—and he doesn’t move, can’t.

“I… I don’t think I can be the one to walk away.”

Widening his eyes, his hands find his hips. “You really gonna make me turn my back to you?”

Scrunching your nose, in that adorable way that you do, you slowly nod.

Taking a step back, he brushes his hair from his forehead. “Fuck me. Good job I like you, cariño.”

You smile, biting your lip again as he takes another backwards step, and another, before he slowly—full of pain and knotting in his stomach—he turns.

His footsteps heavy, wanting to turn back to you, run to you and pull you close one last time. Barely ten steps, maybe not even five. He could do it, turn, face you—

Javi doesn’t get the chance.

You do it instead.

Slamming into his back, arms around his waist, and he’s sure he hears the faintest sob. One he sees for himself when he’s able to turn, mouth finding yours, feeling wet on your cheeks as your lips messily meet his, a thousand things being said, but none discernable as he meets you with the same intensity.

It’s more than a see you soon. It’s a bunch of other things. A thank you, a goodbye, and…

“Just needed one more,” you whisper, fingers brushing his side and cheek simultaneously.

Nodding, he finds himself unable to speak. Instead, feeling you slowly let your fingers leave his cheek.

“See you soon, baby.”

Gulping back a lump, “Real soon. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Your hand raises, offering a little wave as you take steps backwards, before turning. His eyes are unable to leave you, watching with despair as you walk away from him—seeing now why you felt compelled to run.

Just watching, staring, as you grab your case—the one he just realised you abandoned—and he stuffs down the different words which had threatened to spill.

you left your jacket hermosa

I know baby. Means I have to see you soon to get it back, it’s my favourite.

You’re my favourite, too.

gonna make my head double and I won’t be able to fit in the ranch

Surprised it does already.

fuck I miss you

Fuck I miss you too, baby. So much.

one day though

One day. Until then, check my pocket.

Javi wipes his face, placing the phone on the dash as he moves your jacket from the seat next to him. The place it’s been the entire ride home, the soft scent of you blowing around the cabin—allowing him the feeble attempt at pretending you’re there.

He feels one pocket, finding nothing.

Moving to the next, his fingers brush paper, hearing it rustle and crinkle. He slowly pulls it out and finds it folded a thousand times over as he smirks and lies your jacket back on the seat.

He should know—before he begins unfolding it.

But it doesn’t dawn on him, not even as he does, until he sees it—a lump forming in his throat, a greater sadness landing on him.

Because there in his hands is the sign you made for the airport, his name scratched out in biro on paper.

And at the bottom, scribbled in a different pen:

His mouth opens, tongue sliding into his cheek as he struggles to swallow, and breathe, as a tear falls to his cheek. His head goes back against the headrest, mouth pinching the sides of his cheek as he closes his eyes—the other holding the paper open, thumb stroking it, your words.

Missing you. Desperately.

Completely.

Realising as the heavens open, the rain hammering down against his vehicle, blurring the ranch worse than his own water-filled eyes, that he’s in love with you.

And one day can't come soon enough.

dedicated to @guyfieriii who loves this as much as i. the title is from one of our joint songs, and while it isn't 00s, as soon as i heard it, i told her it gave me airport vibes, and this seemed the perfect one title. plus, she's my little angst queen, and if i can give her anything, i like to give her happy-sadness. rooftops and sharpies x

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

587 notes · View notes

bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

Text

Always have but never hold

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n and I welcome you to a part five. Five? I genuinely wasn't expecting this to turn into a series but look at us. Love this story to bits. But it wouldn't be here without all of you so thank you and enjoy!✨🤍

warning: shouting, swearing, fighting, mental health issues, panic attacks, past trauma.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

That day, Carmen had waited for you to show up, and the restaurant was decked out. Well, deked out in that shit hold meant a clean tablecloth, a couple of candles that he had found in the basement, and a nice warm meal he had made—the one you loved the most, the one that always, without fail, brought a smile to your face. Because right next to the fear of failing Mikey was the fear of failing you. He knew that he hadn't been himself. There was so much in his head that, at times, Carmy felt that there was someone there talking back at him. But then you would show up—or not even that. When the images from the past were crushing him, all Carmy needed was to see you. That was all, and suddenly he could breathe again. No one was screaming around him or at him.

"You're jittering like a little bitch", Richie had stepped out for a smoke when he found Carmen nearly bouncing like an atom from side to side in the back alley, as if he was trying to create friction for an explanation. The kid was a mess. Always a mess. But then he would go home or you would show up, and it's like a reset button would be pressed. "Fuck off", Carmen hissed at him, pulling out his phone for what felt like a million times and quickly glancing down the street. "What's going on, Carm?" Richie's voice was almost soothing. As if he had given up on the shit he usually did. As if he felt that this might be lethal. Might change something. Might lead to some absolute chaos.

Carmy let out a frustrated sigh, "She's not here... Should have been here thirty minutes ago... She... she should", running his hand through his hair in hopes of pushing the messy curls away from his face, Carmen pressed the call ID once more. "Your girl?", Richie asked, and Carmen just nodded. Cursing once the line went dead. His hand ran over his chest. You'd always tell him to take a deep breath and then exhale in three. A shiver ran down his back as he could almost just make out your voice telling him that.

Richie's video pierced the silence, "Has she been okay?", had Carmen always wanted to punch Richie, or was this a sensation that only bloomed now? Was he trying to tell Carmy that he had missed something? That he missed something, but Richie didn't. "No, she has not fucked been okay, okay?", Carmen spat, moving to walk again, shaking his hands as the light needles started to pinch the very tips. "She's been upset; she wakes up screaming; she pukes most nights; she...", he blurred you. And now all he could see was you. You all pale by the toilet. You holding back tears. You pushing him away only to hold onto him so tight that Carmy could barely breathe. The spark that Carmen loved so much within you was fading. You weren't you, and he just let that be. Let you self-sabotage.

"One day", you had told him the first time you had woken up screaming, drenched in sweat, "I'll tell you, just not now". And what ripped at Carmy the most was that those dreams had stopped. Not immediately, but they did, and you slept through the night perfectly. And you had told him that it was because he was there holding you. Because you felt safe. Carmy made someone feel safe, and now... you didn't? You were screaming again.

"Fuck", Carmen barked, kicking the trash can, clenching his first up so that he wouldn't yank it over. "I called her", and Carmy almost missed that because Richie's voice was barely a whisper. "What?", Carmen turned to him, stepping closer. Richie throws his cigarette to the ground. "That night after the... when she cut her hand... I just", the man admitted, and for the first time, Carmy was seeing emotions that he hadn't seen before in his face. "Richie, what the fuck are you talking about?", Carmy said, still confused, "I called her because I..", Richie stopped, running his hand over his mouth, "I called her a burden from New York and told some pretty shit...", "You fucking what?", now Carmy was all up in Richie's face, and the sheer anger in his blue eyes...

"I called to apologize, cousin", "Have you been giving her shit this whole time?", Carmen was a step away from ripping at Richie's shirt. Because fuck, does it all make sense now? "Carmy", Richie pleaded, "Have you been giving her shit, you son of a bitch?", now his fingers were gripping the material of the beef shirt, wanking at it and ripping the fabric apart. Shouting shit. Carmen didn't even understand himself until his knuckles came in contact with the cold wall, and he realized he had missed Richie's face.

Carmen was calling your phone over and over again as he made his way back. He ignored the street signs and the red stop lights. They could all fuck themselves. You were going to be there. You were. You didn't make it to the restaurant because you got lost in unpacking. Yeah, that's what it was. And you... And he was going to apologize. Crowl to you if he had to. How did he manage to miss Richie giving you shit and eating at you? Carmy left his car half on the street as he ran towards the door. Skipping every other step as he rushed to your floor. Heart beat faster and faster with every step as the number of doors changed.

Carmen wasn't sure what he was truly expecting, but it sure wasn't to see Claire sitting in the living room, flipping through some of your art books. Carmen had to blink a couple of times because this couldn't be true, right? She smiled at him the moment her eyes landed on Carmen, but he only looked at her as if she was a dead body walking. "What... why are you here?", Carmen stuttered, shaking his head as Claire stepped closer to him. "I wanted to surprise you. You didn't answer any of my calls and..."

But he doesn't even let her finish as he turns away from her shouting, "Y/N, Y/N!" Carmen yanked the bedroom door open, nearly tripping over one of his shoes that was thrown across the room. It was a mess. The drawer that held your day-to-day clothes was empty. The hoodie—his hoodie—that you had worn when Carmy left a couple of hours ago was thrown to the floor carelessly. "Fuck no, Y/N!", Carmen rushed to the bathroom, but there was nothing there. A messy sink opened up cabinets.

"What did you say? What did you say?", he turned back around because he could feel Claire following him all of this time. "Carmen, she moved out. Didn't you know?", she said in such a soft voice that made Carmen want to vomit. "Moved... What? What? No...", his brain felt like it was overheating. You can't be moving out. No, you wouldn't. You...

"Your roommate", Claire said, and Carmy had lost the last piece of coolness he had. "What fucking roommate, Claire?", he barked out, making the woman step back slightly. "What roommate? That was my fucking girlfriend", he spat out. Claire looked at him with big eyes. Eyes that were almost glistening with tears but that didn't pull a single string in Carmy's heart. His world was crumbling there and then. Right at this moment. It was slipping through his fingers.

"I'll love you forever", Carmy had whispered one night. You were pressed against his naked chest, running your fingers over his tattoos. You hadn't been talking for some time. The comforting silence was more than enough. Your naked frame was so close to his that it felt like you were seeping into his skin, and Carmy never wanted that feeling to fade. "You don't believe in forevers", you muttered, pressing a light kiss to his chest before your eyes met his, and Carmen needed to do a double inhale because the share beauty of you was so raw, so real, so here, so his, and so unimaginably gorgeous, right here in his arms. He had managed to find you. Someone who understood. Someone who was okay with his shit. Someone who saw him whole and didn't turn away. Someone willing to embrace him even with all the trauma and scars that were still hurting. "I believe in a forever with you", Carmy had whispered, and the way your eyes had sparked. Carmy had never seen eyes shine so brightly before, and he had ignited them. He only hoped that you saw the way you were healing him too.

"Fuck", Carmen said, nearly collapsing to the floor when the ringing sound faded, and he could hear something on the other end. "Thank you, thank you; Where are you?", he muttered, starting to pace once again. But there was no answer. Carmy pulled the phone away from his ear, watching the seconds running on his screen. You had answered; he wasn't imagining it. "Y/N, baby, where are you?", Carmy begged. He had no right to; he knew that, but he still did.

"The other girlfriend didn't pick up her phone this time?", you asked so bitterly that the blood in Carmy's body had frozen as he fell silent. "There's no other...", Carmy barely whispered, and you let out a bitter laugh while still sniffing. "She walked into our home, Carmen, OUR home! Shinning like a fucking Christmas tree", the words felt like venom. Stinging. Poisonous. Raw. Your breathing was uneven.

"I'm not...", he rasped out once more, not sure how or what to say when someone honked in the background of your call, "Are you fucking driving? Get out of the car! Stop the car", he raised his voice instantly. You were going to die. Crash the car. Drive into someone. Not stop in time. Like Mikey, you were going to rip the last good thing out of him and leave him alone in this shity world. But it's like you weren't even listening to him. "I saw the messages", a cry left your lips, "You fucking shit". Carmen fell numb at that. His eyes raised to meet a lost-looking Claire, who was still there, standing a handful of steps away from him.

"How long, huh? Was I not good enough?", your voice pierced Carmy's mind. Now. Only now did he realize how this looked. What he's been doing What he's been putting you through because he was selfish. A selfie piece of shit because he was holding onto something. Like a kid too scared to give up a pacifier. "Speak, you fucking ass, own up to it", you said in a loud voice. He could feel your pain now. Almos heard every single tear that was slipping down your cheeks. "She's the only good fucking thing from my past, okay? My family—all of them loved her; she—everyone wanted her. She made me feel stable like it's... but... but I'm not", Carmen didn't get to finish his words as the most painful sob rang out. Somehow even more painful than the night he held you in the bathroom. Just that night, he didn't know what had caused it; now it was him. All of this was on him.

"Fuck you, Camen, fuck you", you crocked out. "No, listen, let me..." he pleaded, but you were having none of it. "Be happy with her then. Fucking thrive!", you spat with an angry rasp, yelling at someone for cutting in front of you, leaving Carmy to cringe at the thought of you crashing the car once more. "No, listen, you're not listening", he tried much softer now. He wasn't sure what to do. How was he going to find you? Should he go to his car? Drive around? Make a false call to the police? What the fuck was he supposed to do?

"No, you fucking listen! I gave you everything. I gave up everything for you fucking...", another sob slipped past your lisp, and Carmen could hear the car speeding up with every word you said, "I did everything for you, and you do this after everything? You have no heart, you asshole!". Carmen felt tears slipping down his cheeks; his throat was tight, and his chest heavy. But he was fighting every single thought that was telling him this was it. He couldn't. He didn't know how to function without you. You were the thing holding him together. He couldn't...

"I love you; come back, yeah? We will figure this out", he pleaded again, gripping the phone so tightly in his hand and ripping at the roots of his hair with the other. The silence fell for a moment. For a moment, a flicker of hope ignited. You heard him, yeah. You will be back soon. Carmen will explain it all. He will make it better. He will save this. He will get you back. You will be there, and his heart won't explode. "Fuck you! Now you can get rid of your New York burden forever", the words washed over him like a wave. Like a wave, you weren't expecting to crash over you. Like something had wrapped itself around your leg and yanked you under. "No, Y/N, no, hey", Carmen said, but the line went dead. The beeping filled his ears. And for a second, Carmen thought that was the monitor telling him, well, pal, your heart just stopped. You've died. In approximately less than a minute, your body won't have enough oxygen. Your brain will die, and you will be gone.

With shaky hands, Carmy dialed your number again and again and again and again, and it went straight to your voicemail. "No, fuck", he tried once more, hoping and praying to whatever god he believed in. You couldn't walk away. He needed you. He couldn't do this without you. "Pick up, pick the fucking...Fuck", Carmen yelled, throwing the phone at the wall. Screaming at the top of his lungs as he watches the light pieces scattered across the floor.

"Carmy", his name, made him want to vomit as he turned his head to the side. "Get the fuck out", he roared, pointing his finger to the door. "Carmen, baby", Claire pleaded, daring to step closer but regretting that decision straight away when Carmy's hands gripped her upper arm painfully tight. "Im not your fucking baby!", he roared, making her shiver. He wasn't seen clearly. He wasn't seeing at all. Solid colors only. The drumming in his ears was so painful that he wanted to rip his head open and make it stop. "Carm", Claire pleaded, trying to touch his cheek, but he stopped her palm midway before shoving her close to the door. "Get the fuck out, or I throw you out the window".

Carmen doesn't remember when or how she left. The static in the room was driving him insane. He walked aimlessly around the apartment. He choked for air. He shouted your name. He shouted for help. Clawing with his fingers at his throat because he couldn't... there was no air. Nothing. He hit his head a couple of times with his hands, aimlessly turning around and searching. Searching for you. But you weren't here. You will not be here. Never will be here. He wasn't sure how long he trashed the place, throwing things around.

Carmy only remembered popping two pills in his mouth. He remembered digging through the drawers. Looking for any piece of clothing that belonged to you. He remembered crawling into bed still fully clothed, shoes on, jacket on. Pressing your shirt closer to his chest, breathing in the scent of you. Shutting his eyes as tightly as possible, trying to imagine you here. You're just in the bathroom. You will come back soon. You will lie beside him. You will go back to bed. He could sleep now. He would not be alone. He was alone.

"Look at me", he gripped your chin firmly, "Say it again and fucking mean it". You were trembling. Jittering to get away. To push back, but that only earned you a firmer grip. "I'm no one. Will never be enough", you whispered, trying to hold onto his wrist so he wouldn't shatter your neck. "And?", he shook your whole body with the yank of his hand. There were going to be bruises tomorrow. "And I should be thankful that you are here with me and that you spare me your time", you muttered, a sickly smirk spreading across his face. "Exactly, you worthless piece of shit."

Your body jerked up only to be met by the firm press of someone's palm pushing into your chest, making you let out a scream in return. A scream that was met with touche down your back and a feeling of a warm embrace. A calm heartbeat. Steady. Familiar. You felt stuffy and warm. Sticky from the sweat your shirt was soaked in. Clinging to your body. Feeling like the hands that gripped you in your sleep. You quickly moved to pull at it, trying to free yourself from that dirty feeling. To let your body be free. Scratch that uncomfortable, sick feeling. You dropped the damp material away, clenching your fingers at the still-lingering sweat there that you wanted off.

Then you remembered the feeling of someone's hands that still lingered, jerking away and nearly falling from the bed. Only to be met with the same arms holding onto you. And you let them guide you into that same warmth. Your damp skin presses against the soft skin. "You're in Copenhagen, not London", the voice said. That deep, calm, soothing voice rang in your ear, and your fingers instantly curled around the biceps. Before moving to graze his side, holding, savoring, and grounding, "I've got you, bunny".

The air was much crisper here. Mornings so much calmer. No one cursed in the streets. No one shouted. Everyone, even the people you didn't know, greeted you with a quick hello as they passed you with their bikes. Your mind was as scrambled, if not more so, as the day you came here. How you managed to find, sit, and navigate your way here was beyond you. Because you weren't here. Mentally, you felt dead. Drained to the point where you cried for the first 48 hours here. Then sleep for approximately the same time. Nothing made sense anymore. The gaping, black, bleeding hole in your chest ached without any signs of stopping anytime soon.

"Hi", you muttered, stepping into the much warmer building and enveloping in the smells that made your stomach growl. The guy in front of you smiled, "At the back, you know it", he pointed towards the back room. "Thank you, Chris", you smiled at him softly, tugging at your scarf as you walked past the front desk. The kitchen was silent. Someone was humming, and you could hear a light tune of music coming from someone's headphones.

The blue eyes caught your gaze almost immediately. Dropping a piece of dough onto the table before whipping his hand on his apron. "Finish up in here, chefs. I'll be back in a few", his voice was firm. But so much calmer. Straight. Strong but calm. Maybe it was his self-esteem that made every sound that came out of his mouth undeniably soothing.

"Hey, bunny", Luca said, his hands wrapped around you, with you two still standing in the middle of the kitchen. You buried your face in his chest. Breathing in his cologne. "Hi, do you have a minute?", you tilted your head up at him. Sometimes you forgot the height difference between the two of you. The way he towed over you. If you wanted to reach his shoulders, you would have to stand on your tippy toes. It's hard to imagine that, at some point, you used to be higher than him. Until puberty hit and the roles were reversed. "For you always", he said with a light kiss on your forehead as he guided you out the back.

That's what it was. Luca was the polar opposite of Carmen. Where Carmen's anxiety only edged you, Luca was a wall of steel, calm, and inner peace. Making a perfect shelter for your anxiety and fears. "Did you manage to sleep at all after I left?", Luca asked, handing you a freshly baked rabarberhorn that you didn't even notice him picking up as you walked out. Tears welled in your eyes as you held on to the still-warm baked good.

"Hey, what's this all about, huh?", Luca tilted your head up softly at the sight of the tears, pulling the little outdoor chair you had sat on closer to him. "You're too fucking good to me", you muttered, watching his strong gaze. Luca let out a sigh, leaning closer to you, "I promised to always be there, didn't I?", "You could just walk away and trick me and...", his palm cupped your cheek. "We went over this many times. I'm not them, and you're worth it," he said as you leaned in and pressed your forehead against his. Letting the fog in your brain ease up slowly. Luca ordered you to eat up shortly, muttering something about how he added extra rhubarb and marzipan just for you and that you shouldn't tell anyone about that because he might get a line of unhappy customers.

Luca lit up a cigarette, offering it to you after a couple of drags. "Did he call?", the question stiffened your bones, but you knew that, in a way, you still owed him a full story of what happened. I mean, you just showed up at his house, snot running down your nose, eyes as red as if you were smoking weed for the past week." Called, texted, left voicemails, sent an email, even", you let a warm inhaler ripple through your system. Welcoming the sensation before puffing out a cloud of smoke. "I didn't reply to any of it", you chuckled lightly, "yet I tell myself that I don't care, but I... I stop and shiver constantly at the thought of something happening to him. I would be the one to blame if he..."

Luka shook his head, taking the cigarette from your fingers. "A, it's good that you haven't, and B, you wouldn't be". You wanted to argue back, but the look in Luca's eyes was clear enough. He wouldn't back away until you agreed, so you dropped it. "Well, if not that, then I feel guilty for leaving Sydney and Marcus there; I care about them", you picked at the side of the pastry, not lifting your gaze up. "Don't write me off as a dick, bunny but..,", Luca muttered, "You care about them, Carmy included, but who cares about you?"

You wanted to argue about that, but you stopped mid-sentence. There was truth in his voice. Those people were mostly strangers. You weren't meeting up with them. You didn't even have their number, now that you thought about it. Chicago was a ghost town for you. Unfamiliar and cold. They all probably haven't even noticed that you were gone. Was Carmy with Claire now? Maybe she moved in... but in a week?

You stood up quickly, dropping the rabarberhorn on your chair as you motioned for Luca to push his chair further away before you set on his lap, hiding your tears in the crook of his neck. You felt him shaking his head, but he held back on the words that were lingering at the tip of his tongue. Luca's fingers quickly brushed through your hair as he held you close. Just like he had been for the past week.

"Did you tell him about Ezra?", now this question tore through your body as if someone had come up and started skinning you there and then. You knew that Luca was smart. You know that from what you told him, he was putting the dots together. You shook your head just as another wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, and you clenched Luca's blue shirt between your fingers. "Why, bun? That's some serious shit you...", but you cut him off midway, "Because Carmen was staring to remind me of him".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @nishinoyahhh @thewulf @shewasthelimit @chatitajens @azxulaa @hidingfromtex @randomhoex @hopplessdreamer @lostinheavensworld @jackierose902109 @gallaghrh @gabbycoady13 @harrysmatcha @lady-bellyn @lovejoyenjoyer @infinitelycharmed23 @royalestrellas @hanula18 @thoughtfulmoonchild911 @buckys-winter-child there's so many of you here now, my little heart is so happy 🥺🥺🥺

#carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #luca the bear #chef luca #the bear imagine #the bear x reader #chef luca x reader

805 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 7 months

Note

Hi Star! Huge congratulations on your 2k milestone - it is so well deserved!!

Could I possibly get "Let's Hear it for the Boy" with our beloved ginger general?

Thank you so much and congrats again!!

Drunk / In Love

Track 3: Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams - Give me a character and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would want you to show them that you love them.

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry it took me so long!

The idiots from these two stories are back again. Sorry I'm obsessed with them (I'm not sorry at all). Warnings for some minor sexual content and weird consent issues!

Phasma said you were drunk.

What she failed to mention was how—how drunk you were, or how you ended up that way. It was only supposed to be a friendly dinner when Hux first suggested it (and didn't stop suggesting it until Phasma finally gave in).

He thought if you made connections here—even just one—that it might make you more comfortable being with him on this ship, and so far from anything familiar.

Although this might be too familiar.

He reaches the door to Phasma's quarters and they glide open automatically, programmed to recognize his approach. He sees Phasma seated at the table, out of uniform, a smirk playing on her wine-stained mouth.

Armitage is not prepared for the dark flash in his peripherals, or the arms around his neck.

Your embrace frightens him, and that alone is enough to leave him feeling hot, stomach swimming, even when he recognizes your touch on instinct. It has him weak at the knees, just this, has his heart in his throat as all the alarm and panic well up inside him, threatening to spill out.

Then your lips meet his.

There's been a handful of almost-affectionate moments shared between you. The brush of your hand as you wished him goodbye one morning. A kiss on the cheek that missed its target, landing at the edge of his lips.

But nothing like this.

Hux can feel your mouth shift against his, lips turning up at the corners, and the little laugh that passes through them—maybe at the way his hands hang limply at his sides, or the crop of perspiration blooming at his collar from the warmth of your skin, the smell of you. He can't make himself kiss you back, although he wants to.

He really, really wants to.

There's no malice in your eyes when you pull away—Armitage doesn't think you're capable of malice. You smile at him sweetly, taking his hands in both of yours.

"I missed you," you tell him, each word bleeding into the next, eyes half-lidded and hazy from whatever you'd been drinking, "did you miss me?"

"I- uh, yes," he answers—unavoidably honest—his eyes flitting towards Phasma, who's so pleased with herself it practically drips from her, hanging heavier on her shoulders than the armour she usually wears.

A hot anger floods through his stomach, spiked with acrid shame. He doesn’t need any witnesses to his inept attempts at marriage.

Your smile widens, every facet of you bursting with delight knowing that he’s missed you in the hours since you last spoke his name, and then he’s back in your embrace, the sound of sweet laughter in his ear.

He reaches out for something to brace himself on, and finds nothing. It takes everything in him to keep standing.

Armitage peels your arms from around his neck, putting a desperate inch of distance between himself and the press of your body.

"Why don't we let the captain get some rest?" he asks.

Your enthusiasm at the suggestion turns his stomach into knots.

He's able to usher you through the empty halls at a speed just short of a jog, one hand at your waist to keep you from stumbling, and the other wrapped firmly around your wrist to stop any further attempts at touching him.

And, though he can’t puzzle it out just yet—with the warmth of you still against him—he knows something is wrong with you. Something that wine alone could not bring on.

Armitage knows you don’t want him. Not like this.

Yet you practically drag him through the doors of your quarters, mouth planted against his before the mechanical lock whirs into place.

All the desire in him makes him sick—feverish and weak. His body shudders against yours, nerves trying to break through skin at the gentleness of your touch.

“Armitage,” you whine, pouty in a way he’s never heard before—always so polite and obliging when you’re sober, “kiss me back.”

He couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to, even though he knows it would be better for both of you—knows the way this memory will torture him endlessly, until the moment he dies. Maybe long after that.

But still, he cups your face in shaking hands, and presses his uncertain lips to yours.

And it’s nothing like all the times he’s thought about this—about taking you, feeling the warmth of your breath mingling with his own, pulling you tight against him with his arm at your waist and kissing, kissing, kissing you, until he tires of the feeling, until he rids himself of all his hideous need to be loved and to be wanted.

It’s nothing like he imagined because he’s terrified. Because he can’t manage to move the ways he wants to, tripping over his feet when you stumble deeper into his chambers. Because his stomach roils at the feel of your tongue against his stubbornly closed mouth, and his arms shake with the need to move, but his hands stay where he placed them, holding hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer with enough force that part of him wonders if he’s hurting you.

And still, your mouth on his, your wandering, eager hands.

The room spins; Armitage’s reason leaves him when his feet lift from the floor, your body underneath him, and below that the cushion of his bed molding you together.

Still kissing. Still you. Your hand, guiding his down the thrumming pulse of your neck, lower. Lower.

Armitage is on the other side of the bed before the thought of how wrong what he has done truly registers, his feet planted and one hand pushing back the fallen strands of his hair.

“Armitage?”

He curses the day you learned his name, curses the ill, vile part of him that wants to go back.

He clears his throat and finds it doesn’t steady him at all.

“You- you should get some rest, I think.”

Your movements are clumsy as you crawl to him on your knees, fighting against the thick bedspread and the fabric of your skirt. There’s a little huff on your lips when you reach him, eyes big and wide and brimming with glistening tears.

“Why don’t you want me?” you whisper, and tears well up to their breaking point, slipping down your cheeks.

Fuck. He wants to touch you, and knows it’s a terrible idea, palms aching beneath the leather he wears and hates—now more than ever when it keeps him from you. His hand reaches out against his will, hovering just out of reach of your skin and the tears he can’t manage to wipe away because, once again, he is the cause of all your suffering.

“You’re- you’re drunk, darling. You’ll feel better if you just-”

“No,” you tell him, pushing his hand away with your own, “why don’t you want me ever?”

Oh, gods. Armitage recoils like you’ve slapped him, the sting of those words and what they mean destroying everything—every moment he’s agonized over since he first saw you and knew you had to be his.

“You . . . you can’t possibly believe that.”

You nod your head, fists curled at your sides petulantly, and your stubbornness would make him laugh, if it weren’t so sad.

“I do,” he whispers, then swallows, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. It gives him something to look at, watching your elegant fingers intertwine with his. “I do, but I—”

How much of this will you remember? Even now, the idea of revealing this soft, vulnerable part of him strikes fear into his very core, has him wishing he could run, wishing he could escape the way your eyes flay him wide open.

Your hand against his chest, he can feel his own heartbeat meet the shapes of your fingertips, molding to you. Armitage meets your gaze, and as frightening as it is, there’s no part of him that could deny how deeply he craves it.

“Please forgive me,” he stutters, and there aren't words for him to explain everything he needs to, just the truth. “I am—oh, gods—I am a ruinous man.”

He watches you, the muscles working in your jaw, the way your brows pull together, examining him, weighing the assessment of himself that he’s offered to you.

“No,” you tell him, “no you’re not.”

He thinks you might kiss him again, as close as you are. Close enough for him to count each of your lashes, map the constellations you’ve hidden in your eyes.

You drop to the mattress instead, and the look you give him has him holding back a laugh, the mix of stubbornness and grudging deference that has Armitage wondering how hard it’s been for you to play at obedience in your union.

“You should change,” he tells you, just resting on the edge of the bed, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

It’s easier to talk to you when you’re like this. It has Armitage feeling like he’s the one intoxicated, and he is, in a way. Because what if this is your most honest self?

He didn’t think you could make him love you any deeper, but you’ve managed.

“Don’t care,” you mumble into the pillows, trying to brush him away with a waving hand. He takes it in his own.

“You’ll ruin your dress.”

There’s a look of intense focus on your face, and he wonders if you’ll refuse again. Maybe you don’t care about the dress either, although Armitage would be disappointed. It’s one of his favorites from your incredibly extensive wardrobe—a beautiful black and cream confection that always catches his eye.

But you shift instead, turning to look up at him. “Kiss me.”

Stars, not again. Not now, when the weakest parts of him are so palpable. “I- I don’t-”

You flop into a sitting position, hold a single finger up between your faces.

“One kiss,” you concede, “okay?”

He nods, despite himself. You wait patiently for his approach, still and hardly breathing through your parted lips as he slides closer. Armitage keeps his eyes open, and so do you, heavy as they are, watching the distance between your faces fade into nothing.

It’s not like the other times he’s kissed you, although all but one had happened only a few moments ago. You let him set the pace, his lips just barely brushing your own, a sigh bubbling up from deep inside his lungs. He can only offer a little more pressure before he’s lightheaded again, little bursts of light dancing across his vision.

He pulls back from what could hardly be called a kiss, and waits for your disappointment, for your insistence that he try again, that there must be something more, or better, that he’s kept from you.

Armitage doesn’t want you to know that there’s nothing else to hope for.

You don’t say a word about it though. Just flop your arms out in front of you, waiting, satisfied in your demands.

“Help me.”

And it passes like that, with more bribes in the form of barely-there presses of his lips to yours—a kiss for you to raise your arms as he slips something soft and oversized over your head, a kiss for you to clumsily remove the dress from underneath. A kiss to get you to leave him for a moment while he changed into his own night clothes after you’d begged and begged for him to spend the night beside you, and a kiss upon his return.

It feels like a lifetime of kisses to Armitage. He doesn’t know what that number would be for anyone else, but you’ve certainly exceeded it for him. He could die in his sleep tonight and have more than he ever deserved.

And now you’re curled up beside him a hand at his waist, your head on his chest. Armitage breathes, but only barely, hoping he won’t wake you.

The tension drains from him, his body the closest it’s been to relaxed in ages. He wonders if he should ask Phasma to invite you to dinner again.

He hopes the next time he kisses you, you'll be sober enough to remember it.

#armitage hux #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux x you #my writing #starlightsearches mixtape milestone 📼

226 notes · View notes

moonhoures · 1 year

Text

[ 6:47 — i. changkyun ]

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, unprotected sex, riding / cowgirl position, pet name “baby” used for reader

a/n: this is dedicated to my beautiful, wonderful, lovely ✨ anon & 💐 anon & all my fellow kyun stans. ily!!! 😚🫂💓

“Kyun.”

“Hm?”

“I said dinner’s ready, like, five minutes ago.”

Your boyfriend sighed, but only because he had heard you. He just completely forgot you were waiting on him. He had been working diligently on some songs since he had came home from the gym earlier in the afternoon. Lately he had been using the couch and coffee table as his makeshift office space while his recording studio was being refurbished. You enjoyed having him work from home, but it was bittersweet in the sense that you felt guilty for disturbing him at any time. Still, you were determined to have him eat dinner since you knew he hadn’t eaten a solid meal since very early that morning.

You approached the back of the couch, placing your hands on his shoulders. Instantly, his tense muscles seemed to relax under your touch; he hadn’t even realized his muscles were stiff in the first place. He took a deep breath as he leaned into the cushions, his head falling back as his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, baby. I heard you. I just got wrapped up and forgot.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been working hard,” you said, a soft smile on your lips when his hand reached up to hold one of yours against the top of his chest, “That’s why I made shrimp for dinner. Just for you.”

He opened eyes and grinned, tilting his head to look at you a little better, “Have I told you I loved you today?”

“Only a couple times.”

“Remind me to tell you a hundred more times before we go to bed.”

You laughed softly, leaning down to place a sweet kiss against his forehead, then another on his cheek. You were going to return to the kitchen then, but his hand held firmly on your wrist, keeping you where you were. When you saw the pout on his lips, you instantly knew what the reasoning was. You rolled your eyes playfully before leaning down again to kiss his lips, a small hum of appreciation emitting from his throat. He could be so dramatic sometimes, but you loved him nonetheless.

“Come here,” he spoke so warmly despite the assertiveness of his words. You didn’t hesitate to listen, walking the few steps to the front of the couch. His hand took yours, drawing you closer until you were right in front of him. He looked up at you, hands resting on your hips, “You look so beautiful today. I know I haven’t said that yet, but you do.”

“Thank you, Kyun,” you felt your cheeks bloom with heat at the compliment. Mostly because you knew these small, intimate, flattery-filled moments led to much more intimate, passionate moments. And once his mind was in motion, it was difficult to get it elsewhere.

“I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t been able to take care of you,” the word choice he used seemed so deceivingly innocent, but the look he gave you was clear with his intentions. And if it wasn’t his eyes, then his fingers rubbing sensually into your hips definitely gave him away.

“You can make it up to me later,” you teased, your hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. They had lost the baby fat you fell in love with when you first started dating him years ago, but you loved him no less. If anything it just made him look more mature, sexier.

“How about now?”

His hands lowered to the spot on your thighs where your lounge shorts stopped, inches above your knees. As you were pondering the idea of having sex now, with your dinner growing cold in the kitchen, you got lost in his eyes. Those eyes that could convince you to commit a crime if he wanted you to. Those eyes that begged you to let him fuck you until you saw stars behind your eyelids. The eyes that distracted you until you heard the click of his laptop closing, and you realized he had reached behind you to shut it.

“Work is done for the day,” he added, pulling you closer until your knees were brushed up against the couch between his legs.

“The food will get cold,” you muttered an excuse, but your hands were already touching his jaw, aching to pull his lips to yours.

“I can reheat it when we’re done.”

Changkyun’s words meant nothing at that point because you two were already meeting each other for a kiss as hot as the stove had been before you turned it off to come get him. A low, rumbling noise sounded from deep in his chest as his grip on you tightened. He wanted nothing more than to push you down onto the cushions next to him and devour you. You deserved it.

“Can I take these off?” his deep voice tickled your ear as he spoke between kisses on your neck. His fingers were already tugging your shorts slowly, just waiting for your confirmation to pull them completely off. When you nodded with a mumbled ‘yes’, the cotton garment fell to the floor at your feet.

In the next moment you were pulled onto his lap, straddling him. His lips and teeth continued to entangle with your own, attempting to claim you even though he knew you were already his. He knew because you were saved in his phone under ‘my baby 💜’. He knew because you had stuck by him for the past several years, and he never doubted your loyalty for even a second. He knew because every morning when he woke beside you, he thought to himself, I want to wake up next to you every day, for the rest of my life. He knew because when he didn’t wake up next to you he felt like a piece of him was missing. He had never felt like someone completed him before you.

Several minutes passed and Changkyun had managed to slip off his sweatpants and shift your underwear to the side. He was relishing the feeling of you enveloping him, his dick throbbing inside of you. It had only been two days since he last had sex with you, but it felt like two decades—you know, because he’s dramatic. His toned arms were wrapping around you, holding you as close to him as he could, your chests pressed against each other. Well, your chest was closer to his face in this position, which made it perfect for him to cover your neck in kisses (and marks). He loved to nip at your sensitive spots with his teeth. He loved the way you let out a small squeak, moan, or whine in protest from the sensation. He loved every sound you made, but those were some of his favorites.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Uh huh,” you merely nodded and breathed out an answer as you focused on rocking your hips over his. His hands guided you, helping you reach the orgasm you were aiming for. He tried his best to thrust up into you, but he could only move so much. He was enjoying the view though, watching you work yourself on him with each of your hands clutching the couch on either side of his head. As your head leaned back in pleasure, he tilted his head to kiss your arm on the space between your elbow and wrist.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he assured you, “I’ll be right behind you.”

He always had a way of being so comforting in these moments. Intimacy was something he cherished with you, and he somehow always knew how to make it special every single time. If it wasn’t with the way he touched you, loved you. Then it was with the way he spoke to you, coached you through any and every sensation he gave you.

“Gonna-“ you panted as you felt your climax approaching. You rutted against him a little faster, using all the energy you could collect in your body. He continued to press kisses along your arm where he could reach. His fingers slid up and down the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the flesh that he touched. “I’m gonna . . .”

He tried to resist the urge to chuckle at your lost train of thought and the way your eyes squeezed shut in preparation for your orgasm, “C’mon, baby.”

His voice only brought you closer, and soon enough you were groaning his name in his ear. Your arms circled his shoulders, hugging him tight while you bucked against him, the aftershocks of your climax taking over you. He rubbed your thighs, telling you how good you felt. You clenched and unclenched around him, causing him to cum with a few deep grunts. His breath came out in labored, heavy puffs while you two recovered from the releases you gave each other. He told you he loved you, just as he always did. No matter how many times he said it, it never lost its weight, and it never got tiring to hear.

“We can go for another round later, if you want,” he said as you pulled away, but not before you left a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“That sounds good, but we need to eat,” you reminded him, “I didn’t make that food for it to go to waste.”

“I’ll go reheat it while you clean up,” he laughed softly through his words, lightly patting your ass before you got up from his lap. He watched you pick up your shorts from the floor and go to your bedroom, a grin on his face the entire time.