#i was going to put this on ao3 but i think its too short

[court-jobi]

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink.  So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?  

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking. 

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded. 

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this–  black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group. 

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair. 

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word. 

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?" 

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa  flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin.  Now more than ever,  he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once. 

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’  brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong . 

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way. 

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace. 

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye–  when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch. 

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio. 

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’,  you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape. 

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing. 

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either. 

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before…  this cements each and every one as valid. 

He likes you. He really likes you. 

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again, 

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there,"  your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now. 

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain." 

You bristled in good humor, 

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same. 

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked. 

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well. 

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…" 

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

 “–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully  interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals. 

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right? 

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know. 

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space. 

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..." 

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required. 

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~" 

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely." 

He kept your  sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural. 

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it.  Well then. 

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed. 

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,”  Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough." 

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed," 

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it. 

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor- 

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous.  That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch. 

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.” 

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa. 

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you. 

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months. 

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you.  He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy.  Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.” 

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah. 

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking–  you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it. 

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway. 

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.” 

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name. 

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside?  It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a  glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave. 

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do.  Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’. 

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it. 

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows,  stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places. 

One constant he has found helps, has been you. 

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same. 

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever. 

You lean on a hip, closer to him. 

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them. 

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark, 

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?” 

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye. 

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.  

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration. 

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore. 

[arsenicflame]

sorry for not shutting up all day, anyway if anyones got some mid-long length izzy fic reccs, im prepping for mondayyyyy

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

can i request cregan stark modern au, with jaces younger or twin sister and maybe they like hide the relationship and its like fluffy and maybe smutty

Request: five times cregan and jace’s sister almost get caught and one time jace does find out about their relationship. I don’t think he would be too mad. He knows cregan is a good guy and would treat you well. 

I usually dislike body hair (personal preference) and beards, but Cregan has a short beard in this one (as he does in all of my fics for him) because I said so, and because he’s a Stark. I think it is mandatory and missing for his character — manifesting for a beard in season 3.  Also, this is 6.6k words...idk how that happened

p.s. You can find this fic on AO3 under the title Who are we to fight the alchemy

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), mention of a fight and blood, short appearance of Larys Strong (he needs his own warning),

—

When you started college and moved in with Jace, he had warned his teammates that his sister was off limits and that if he caught any of them looking at you, he would not be afraid to throw hands. He may be smaller than a lot of his teammates, but Jace was very protective of you. 

They were good guys, brothers to Jace, but he also knew their history with girls. He knew the dirty secrets; the dramas, who they had sex with, where, and details that he wished he could forget about. They were not boyfriend material — at all. 

You were not going to lie, Jace’s teammates were hot hockey players. It was tempting to turn your life into a cliché book trope and hook up with one of them, but you refrained from doing so. They were not worth being another name on their list. 

Until one of them changed your mind. 

It was a Tuesday night. You were in your room, reading on your bed while Jace had friends over playing video games. You could hear them shout at the TV and each other. After a few chapters, you wandered to the kitchen to get a cookie from the cookie jar, but found its content empty. 

‘’Jace,’’ you said under your breath. 

Living with your brother had a certain strange familiarity to it, a comforting echo of home despite the newness of being on your own. But some things hadn’t changed. Like how Jace never mentioned when he emptied something. Like that one time you wanted to make spaghetti, only to discover he had left an empty pasta box in the cupboard. Or when he used your shower towel because his was in the laundry. These moments made you miss your mom's presence — she’d always been there to keep the peace and enforce some order.

As you stared at the empty jar with frustration, one of Jace’s friends walked in behind you, his eyes immediately landing on the same spot. You could not see who it was, but his tall shadow was towering over you and you could smell a faint woodsy cologne. 

‘’If you’re looking for a cookie, Jace ate them all,’’ you said, throwing your brother under the bus.

‘’That was me, actually,’’ admitted a deep voice with a northern accent from behind you. You turned to see Cregan standing there, his expression sheepish. ‘’Jace said to get anything I wanted. Sorry.’’

You forced a smile, the irritation fading as your eyes met his gray ones. ‘’It’s fine. I’ll get something else.’’ 

Cregan watched as you moved to the freezer above the fridge to get the ice cream out. You opened the lid and saw that it was almost empty, so there was no need to put it in a bowl. 

‘’Did you make them?’’ he asked as you reached for a spoon in the cutlery drawer.

‘’I did,’’ you answered with a smile. 

‘’They were really good.’’ 

‘’Thank you. If Jace baked them himself, they would have turned out like hockey pucks: black and hard,’’ you joked.

Cregan offered a light chuckle as he stepped towards the counter, his gray eyes studying the details of your face. He hadn’t really looked at you until now, respecting Jace’s warning, but now he was struggling to look away and go back to the living room. 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

Two months later, you found yourself making out with the Wolves’ captain in his big jeep. His hair was damp and he smelled strongly of soap and deodorant, having showered twenty minutes ago after practice. 

The windows were beginning to fog as you were kissing, your hands all over Cregan's shoulders and chest. His tongue slipped into your mouth, causing you to grip his shirt when it grazed yours. You could drown in his kisses. 

Getting frustrated by the gear shift separating you, you attempt to climb over it and fumbled your way to the driver seat onto Cregan’s lap without breaking contact with his lips. You bumped your head and legs along the way, and let out a little curse. Cregan laughed, pulling back his seat as far as it would go so the steering wheel would not press in your back. 

From his new angle, you could feel the warmth of Cregan’s body against yours. It wasn’t as effective as cuddling in bed, but Jace would get home soon and Cregan’s small dorm bed was not made for two. He barely fitted himself. 

He slipped his large hands under your shirt, his thumbs inching up and up your sides, feeling your soft and warm skin while his mouth locked itself to your jaw. ‘’Your brother would kill me if he knew about us,'' he said as his mouth trailed down your neck, leaving wet kisses up to your collarbone.

You rolled your hips to meet his, the friction causing Cregan’s breath to stutter. His hands were still in your shirt, large and warm, leaving trails of fire over your back. He felt like he was sixteen and in high school all again, not twenty-one and in college. 

‘’Gods, you’re going to kill me if your hand keeps going rubbing against me like that.’’ 

You smirked and tipped your head back to give him more room. ‘’Jace is not the boss of my relationships. I can see whoever I please,’’ you replied, raking your hand through his hair and grazing the side of his short beard.

Cregan scoffed against your neck. ‘’Then what are we doing in my car instead of your bed?’’ 

He was only teasing, but it still made you sigh. You didn’t think living with Jace would put a wrench in your dating life. He meant well, but gods was it frustrating. 

Not waiting for your response, Cregan continued to shower your neck with kisses, his teeth nipping at the skin before his lips soothed it. You didn’t think kisses would make you feel like this, but this man had an effect on your body that you could not explain. You pulled at his hair when he bit at the sensitive flesh there, leaving a small mark you will have to conceal later. 

You wished you didn’t have to hide your relationship. You wished you could kiss him whenever you desired, go to his games and wear his jersey and cheer for him loudly when he scored a goal, cuddle with him on the couch without looking at the door every five minutes to check if Jace was coming home. 

Cregan pulled back suddenly, looking up at you with his gray eyes. ‘’I should go, Jace is gonna come home soon. Walking from campus to here takes less than thirty minutes,’’ he said in a hushed tone, his breath coming in short puffs. 

‘’Just a few minutes more,’’ you bargained, stealing a few kisses from his lips, not yet ready to part. ‘’I have a class at 8pm tomorrow and you leave for your away game Saturday morning. I won’t be seeing you until Sunday or Monday.’’ 

He let out a sigh, also dreading the moment he’ll leave you, and held you for a moment, his hands gently running up and down your back. You drinked in his scent and warmth, winding your arms around his neck and pressing your head in his neck. 

The moment was ruined as you shifted and accidentally hit the horn with your ass, the loud sound echoing  in the parking lot. 

Startled, you jumped and then burst into laughter, but Cregan didn’t join in. His expression was stone serious as he stared intently at something in the distance. Confused, you followed his gaze and spotted Jace standing by the doors of your apartment building, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He was scanning the parking lot, clearly trying to figure out which car had honked, but with the lights off and the evening darkness, there was no way for him to tell which one it was.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

The second time you almost got caught together was before a hockey game. The team the Wolves were playing against was strong and Cregan texted you to come outside the locker room and give him a good luck kiss.  

You smiled at the text and sent a quick ‘coming’ to your boyfriend. ‘’I’m gonna get something to drink,’’ you told your friends. 

You snaked your way through the students and families waiting in the entrance to get to their seats and quickly made your way down to the locker room. You knew where it was from bringing over Jace’s skates last Saturday at practice. They were essential for getting on the ice, how could he forget them? 

Family, friends — and girlfriends — were not allowed in that area of the arena, so you kept an eye out for anyone from staff. You could always play the ‘I was looking for the bathroom’ card, but it would add another lie on top of the others you and Cregan were piling up since the beginning of your relationship. 

You found him leaning against the wall, waiting. He was in his compression pants and an old Wolves tee shirt, looking like a complete snack. You could see everything in those tight pants. And the way his hair was tied at the back made him look sexier. 

He looked up when he heard someone approach and a soft smile curled on his lips. ‘’There you are,’’ Cregan said, his voice low and gravelly as he stepped to you and pulled you to his chest. You fit against him perfectly, like a missing piece snapping into place. 

He leaned down and pulled you into a kiss, his hand cupping your face gently. It was supposed to just be a quick kiss — a quick ‘good luck’ smooch, not anything too serious. But the moment your mouth met his, you both got carried away. 

Cregan grabbed you with ease by your thigh, lifting you up, and you winded yours around his neck, almost forgetting that he had a game to play in twenty minutes.  

‘’Okay, that’s enough,’’ you decided, breaking the kiss. ‘’You’re gonna be late for pre-game talk.’’

Cregan sighed but gently lowered you back down. Your boots hit the floor, but he didn’t let you go without stealing one last kiss. You smiled into it, then stepped back just as Jace came barreling down the hallway, clearly in a rush.

He came to a stop, frowning when seeing you. ‘’What are you doing here?’’ His gaze shifted to Cregan, suspicion creeping into his voice. ‘’And why are you talking to my sister?’’

Cregan didn’t miss a beat. ‘’She was looking for you, actually,’’ he lied smoothly. ‘’Baela asked her to tell you she wouldn’t make it to the game tonight. She and Rhaena drove home for the weekend for their dad’s birthday.’’

You made a mental note to thank him later for the quick thinking. Baela had mentioned her trip, and Jace had been sulking and pouting ever since, upset that his girlfriend would miss a big game. 

Jace nodded, still catching his breath. ‘’Yeah, I know. She already told me.’’ 

‘’Oh?’’ you played along effortlessly. ‘’She must have forgotten that she already told you. She has a lot on her mind right now, you know.’’ 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°  

Your breathy 'ah's and whimpers were bouncing off the walls as Cregan's strong hands gripped your thighs and held you in place while he lapped at your pussy like a starved man. The intensity of pleasure forced you to grip the headboard. The scruff of his beard was rubbing against your sensitive skin, chafing, but you kind of like it. 

It was your first time having the apartment to yourself for more than two hours, and you were going to make the most out of it. Jace was at a bar in the city with some guys from the team. He won't be back until at least 1am...or even later. 

When you heard about the night out at the bar, you texted your man and let him know so he could come over after Jace leaves. His teammates were disappointed that he was not joining, but Cregan told them to have fun for him. 

He’ll have his own fun with you in the sheets.

The moment he crossed the door, your mouth was on his and you were unbuttoning your shirt, eager to feel his hands on your tits. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mewling at the way he was suckling on your clit. No one ever made you feel this good before. Not that you had a lot of experience to compare with.

His sweet assault on your pussy continued, the sounds you were making making him rock hard. He loved it — pleasing his girl. 

''I'm gonna— I'm gonna come soon,'' you whined, feeling your core tighten and rocking you body forward in the same rhythm, fucking yourself on Cregan's tongue.  

The hockey player let out a low grunt below you, encouraging you to use him how you wished. He let go of one of your thighs to run the back of his hand up your stomach and grab your breast the way you liked, his calloused thumb and finger capturing your peaked nipple, rubbing it as he flicked your clit again. 

Your orgasm hit and you made circular jerks of her hips, pushing down on Cregan’s tongue and chin, drenching both. His name fell from your lips and you continued on like this for a moment, toes curling and legs tensing. Until you had nothing else to give.

He pressed a last kiss to your sensitive clit, then helped you clamber off him. ‘’You remember when I said the cookies you made were really good?’’

You hummed, although confused where he was going with this. 

‘’This is better.’’ 

Your face flamed up at his words, not expecting such a vulgar thing to come out. ‘’Shut up.’’ You smacked his chest, his laugh rumbling under your palm. 

The sheepishness he sported in the kitchen that day had disappeared, revealing a dirty sense of humor you never expected from him.

You thought you would get a breather, a moment to catch your breath between your last orgasm and the next, but Cregan — insatiable — had other plans. He rolled onto his side, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and began kissing your body with a slow, deliberate intensity. His lips trailed all over your chest, down to your breasts, and then to your stomach, each touch igniting your desires all over again. You arched into his touch, the warmth of his mouth and the gentleness of his caresses melting away any resistance.

Under his tall and broad stature, Cregan Stark was a teddy bear. A Costco sized teddy bear. On the ice, he was known for his strength and leadership, but off it, he was all heart. He was kind, caring, and protective. His caresses were gentle, and his kisses tender and loving. It was impossible to not feel his love.

Speaking of feeling his love, you felt his hardness twitching and poking at your thigh through his tight boxers. You reached down to slip your hand inside, jerking him slowly. In response, Cregan squeezed your hip and let out a low groan.

‘’I need you,’’ you gasped, feeling him suck at the skin under your left breast. 

It was one of your rules: no leaving visible marks that could raise suspicions. 

He gave one last swipe of his tongue over your nipple and peeled off his boxers, his delicious cock springing up immediately. Your pussy was weeping at the sight. 

You spread your legs to accommodate him, offering yourself to him. He teased at your entrance, his movements deliberate as he bumped against your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you that made you whine. His amused chuckle filled the room, clearly tempted to draw out your anticipation even more, but as you shot him a warning glare, silently urging him to stop teasing. 

Cregan shushed you, rubbing your thigh, and just as he was about to breach your walls, you heard the door of the apartment open and Jace’s voice echoing. 

You froze, eyes widening in panic, and Cregan cursed under his breath, realizing that Jace was back much earlier than expected. ‘’Shit. That’s Jace.’’ 

He called your name again and you quickly slipped on a shirt and got out of bed, answering your brother's calls of your name. You couldn't risk him coming into your bedroom and catching his best friend in your bed in his birthday suit…with with a raging hard-on and your juices all over his beard.  

‘’You’re home early,’’ you pointed out, coming down the hallway. 

You studied him as he grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry, trying to guess his state of inebriety. He seemed barely tipsy. 

‘’Drama at the bar. Ben got into a fight with some guy over a girl — which he did not know was someone's girlfriend — and we all got kicked out,’’ Jace explained, rummaging through the bag of chips and taking a handful to pop into his mouth before leaning against the counter. 

You shook your head with a sigh. ‘’Typical Ben. He really needs to stop going after girls that are taken. Has he not learned his lesson?''

Your brother laughed, taking more chips. “Whose shirt is that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced down at the large shirt you were wearing, then back up at you.

You followed his gaze and saw that you had grabbed Cregan’s tee shirt instead of your sleep shirt…

‘’Dad’s,’’ you blurted out quickly.

Jace frowned, not remembering your dad ever wearing that shirt, but let it go. ‘’What were you up to? I thought you would invite the girls over.''

‘’Eh, no. I...I was having fun by myself,'' you stammered, clenching your thighs and hoping your face was not too flushed. 

It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn’t true either. You were having fun, just not by yourself. 

His face twisted in disgust. ‘’Ew, that’s gross! I did not need to know about that.''

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°  

Unlike Ben, Cregan wasn’t the type to get into fights — especially on the ice. He thought it was stupid and pointless, a quick way to end up injured or benched for a few games. As the father figure of the team, he was usually the one stepping in to break up the scuffles, keeping cooler heads prevailing. But sometimes, no matter how careful you are, you get caught in the crossfire and take a punch that wasn’t meant for you.

You shot up from your seat immediately, your heart sinking to your stomach as Jason Lannister’s gloveless fist accidently connected to Cregan’s face. It was aimed at Ben — unsurprisingly —, who had played a foul, unnoticed by the referee, and got his brother Tyland in the penalty box.

Chaos erupted on the ice. The referees were shouting and blowing their whistle, trying to break up the fight. Seeing Ben implicated, Cregan had rushed over, taking it on himself to pull him back, but that's when Jason punched him. 

More players skated over, helping the referees. One grabbed Jason, and another went for Ben. He was lean but feisty, a scrappy fighter who never backed down. He shot a taunting grin at his opponent and spat blood on the ice, right at his feet. Jason tried to free himself, but the closest referee put his hand on his chest, shaking his head. Enough.

Cregan turned to Ben and wiped the blood off his nose, glaring at darkly.  

You didn’t see him until Sunday afternoon. You were coming back from the laundry room, arms full with a basket of freshly cleaned clothes, and forgot how to breathe when you saw Cregan sitting on the couch across from Jace. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a hoodie, and his pretty face was decorated with a bruise close to his nose. 

Your feet froze, unable to take another step. You wanted to fucking punch Jason Lannister.

‘’Hey, you’re back,’’ Jace noticed, turning his head towards you.

You nodded, trying to regain your composure. ‘’Yeah. I was doing laundry,’’ you explained, lifting the basket slightly as if to prove your point.

‘’Can you do mine next time? I’ll pay you ten dollars,’’ Jace offered with a grin.

You scoffed, shaking your head. What did he take you for, a housemaid? ‘’Ten dollars to wash your dirty underwear and smelly socks? Never.’’ 

‘’Fifteen,’’ he countered, still hopeful. ‘’My clothes smell better when you do it. It’s like when Mom used to do it.’’

‘’That’s because I use fabric softener,’’ you replied, rolling your eyes.

Jace frowned, clearly puzzled. ‘’What’s that?’’ 

Before you could explain it to him, his phone beeped with a notification. He paused the game and checked his screen. ‘’Food is here. I’ll go get it,’’ he said to Cregan.

The taller one nodded, waiting for Jace to be out the door to glance at you. Without saying anything, you set the basket of clothes down on the beanbag chair that had seen better days and went straight to Cregan, cupping his face gently. His eyes softened at your touch, seeing your look of concern. He reached up with one hand to lightly hold onto your wrist as you examined the bruise on his face.

Cregan gave you a soft smile. He could see that you were worried about him. ‘’I’m fine,’’ he said, yet you couldn’t help but notice a hint of stiffness in his expression. ‘’I’m fine. I promise.’’ He kissed the inside of your hand. 

‘’I’ll fetch you some ice.’’ 

He tried to protest, saying that it wasn’t necessary, but you were resolute. You hadn't been able to take care of him after the game, so you’ll do it now. 

You put some ice cubes that you used for your iced coffees in a plastic bag and brought it to the living room, gently pressing it to the bruise. ‘’Here.’’ 

Cregan winced at the cold, his face sensitive. ‘’Thanks, love.’’ He reached out and put a hand on your hip, tugging you closer, but retracted it as the door opened and Jace returned with the food. 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

During the course of your relationship, you found yourself in a lot of risky situations, but letting Cregan sleep over was playing with fire. 

You didn't mean to. It was an accident. 

The two of you were watching a movie in your bed while Jace was on a date with Baela, and he fell asleep forty minutes in. You should have woken him when your phone showed close to 11pm, but you didn't have the heart to. You locked your door, turned off your laptop and cuddled against him. 

When you woke up to pee at 1am, you saw that your brother was back and was asleep on the couch with his phone in his hand, the TV playing some older kids cartoons and his leg off the couch. Jace was a light sleeper, it would be too risky to sneak Cregan out.

Morning came and you woke up alone. A sad pout graced your lips. It was your first time spending the night together and you didn’t even get to have morning cuddles or hear his sleepy voice. 

You grabbed your phone, checking if he left any messages, but there was nothing. Just a text from your mom asking if you were coming home for your dad’s birthday this coming weekend. You rolled over, breathing in the sheets where Cregan slept in last night, and left her on read and got up. 

Your morning coffee was calling your name.

Running a hand through your hair, you walked down the hallway, looking forward to that first sip of coffee, and grinned when you found Cregan in the small kitchen, standing in his tight boxers and a tee shirt and drinking black coffee from a Disney mug. It looked Polly Pocket sized in his hands. 

You wrapped your arms around him from the back, your body flush against his. You pressed your face into his back, and the warmth of your body against his made his shoulders relax. 

He smiled to himself, covering your hands with his free one. ‘’Good morning,’’ he said in a groggy voice.

‘’I thought you had left. What of Jace? If my brother sees you in your underwear in his kitchen he’s gonna flip.’’ 

Cregan set his coffee down and turned, his gaze soft as his eyes met yours. The bruise on his face had significantly faded, barely there. ‘’He’s not here. I heard him leave.’’ 

His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you close, and you let yourself relax against him. The warmth of his body seeped through his tee shirt, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. Cregan's hand slowly traced down your back, his fingers rubbing gentle circles at the base of your spine.  

‘’Don’t you have classes?’’ you asked, glancing up at him with a small smile.

He hummed softly. ‘’Not until later. My 10am class got canceled. I thought I’d hit the gym instead...but there’s no rush.’’

‘’I’ve gotta leave in one hour,’’ you sighed, wishing you could linger in this moment longer.

Cregan’s grip tightened slightly, as if to keep you close for as long as he could. ‘’I can drop you off,’’ he offered. ‘’That way we’ll have more time together.’’

You nodded, pressing a kiss over Cregan’s sternum in thanks. ‘’I’ll make us breakfast...in five minutes.’’ 

To ruin the moment, you heard the loud buzz and a voice coming from the intercom. 

‘’Are you up? Please be awake. I tried texting you and calling but you didn’t respond so I’m taking a chance here.’’ Jace called your name again, louder. 

You groaned in annoyance and went to the door to press the intercom button. ‘’What do you want?’’ 

‘’Yes! You’re awake! Eh, I left my laptop on the counter, and I also forgot my keys...’’

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

When Jace left for college, your parents didn’t see the use of getting a car when everything was close to campus and within walking distance. What they didn’t think through would be the possibility of the bus riding home being full and not being able to make it for your dad’s birthday. 

Jace: Pack your bag. We’re leaving at 4pm. I already told Mom

You: You found us bus tickets? 

Jace: No. I found a ✨chauffeur✨

You: Please tell me it’s not some random person you found on a co-driving forum. I don’t want to spend two hours in some creep’s car 💀

Jace: He’s not

You should have known it would be him. 

Jace called shotgun, forcing you to take the backseat. You didn’t mind. In fact, you preferred it. If you had sat at the front, you were scared your hand would have slipped and revealed your relationship. Or that Jace would have noticed the familiarity between you. You were supposed to be his best friend’s little sister, not someone he knew like the palm of his hand.

Although it was only two hours, the drive felt never-ending. Your back ached from sitting in class all day and your stomach was impatient to be filled with your mother’s cooking. Every now and then, Cregan would sneak glances at you through the rearview mirror, and each time you couldn’t hide your smile. Your brother didn’t see, too busy on his phone or switching the music. 

This weekend was looking to be long and difficult. 

Your mom was more than happy to have another guest over. Cregan was as polite and charming, easily winning her heart when he complimented her infamous lasagna and asked for a second serving. 

''Of course! Help yourself,'' Rhaenyra said, smiling warmly. She glanced between Cregan and Jace, who both emptied their plates quickly. ''It's like they don't feed you at college.'' 

''I live in a dorm,'' Cregan explained in defense. ''It's hard to cook when the only appliances allowed are a mini fridge and a coffee pot.''

Your mother turned to Jace with raised eyebrows, clearly waiting for his excuse. ''And you? What do you have to say for yourself?'' 

Jace grinned sheepishly, swallowing his last bite. ''Can I take the leftover back to college?'' 

At the head of the table, your father let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head.  

When you were seven, you used to sneak out of your bedroom at night to eat a bowl of cereal. It took your parents several months to figure it out. At eighteen, you were sneaking to join your boyfriend in the guest room. 

You waited for everyone to be fast asleep, and avoided the creaking floorboards in the hallway. It was dark inside as you closed and locked the door behind, but you made it to the bed without stubbing your toe on any furniture. 

Cregan stirred when you pulled the covers and slipped in, feeling your cold feet on his calves. ''What are you doing?'' he asked, half-asleep and eyes still closed. He didn't need to see you to know it was you. He simply knew. 

You said nothing and cuddled against him, sighing happily when he reciprocated. 

Morning came faster, the early rays of sun peeking through the curtains. You cursed at yourself, having once again slept longer than planned. You checked both sides of the hallway, and once you deemed it safe, you exited. What you didn’t see was Luke leaving the bathroom, his hair unruly and barely awake. 

‘’I…’’ you stammered, not knowing what to say. 

He was fifteen, you could not trick him like Joffrey. He knew what you were doing in the guest bedroom. 

So you bolted to your own, praying he would keep his tongue.

‘’Luke knows,’’ you blurted out as you descended the stairs for breakfast, the weight of the confession lingering in the air.

Downstairs, your mother had gone all out, setting up a massive brunch spread — eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and even pancakes. Grandfather Lyonel would be coming over...along with your uncle Larys. The thought of him made your stomach twist; you had never been at ease in his presence, but he was your father’s half-brother, and that meant you had to force a smile and be nice. 

Cregan furrowed his brows, concern creeping across his face. ''How?''

You quickly recounted the incident, watching as Cregan ran a hand through his dark hair, his expression growing tense. ‘’You think he’s gonna tell Jace?'' he asked, his voice dropping. ''Or worse...your dad? We got along well last night, but when he’ll find out—’’

‘’My dad is not the one we need to worry about,'' you interrupted softly, trying to ease his anxiety. ''Sure, he’s protective of us, and he might look like the kind of guy who could knock someone out with one punch, but he’d never do that to someone I care about. Not unless he had a damn good reason.''

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, Joffrey got down from his chair and dashed over to you, his small face lighting up with excitement. ‘’Mommy made pancakes!’’ he announced, his big brown eyes practically glowing. ‘’There’s blueberry ones, your favorites.’’ He grabbed both your hand and Cregan's, tugging insistently, messing up your plan to arrive separately.

At the table, Luke was talking — bragging — to grandfather Lyonel about school while Jace was helping your mom bring all the food to the table. And of course, Uncle Larys was just sitting there, observing everything with his usual quiet, unsettling presence.

At Joffrey’s urging, Cregan took a seat next to him. The little one had taken a strong liking to the hockey player, and you couldn’t help but hope that this budding friendship might work in your favor when it would all blow up. 

‘’Careful, it's hot!'' Rhaenyra called out, entering with a plate full of bacon. ''Jace, can you bring the orange juice? Oh, and a small fork for Joffrey?'' 

You interrupted Luke and made your way to Grandfather Lyonel, wrapping him in a warm hug like you always did. ‘’Where’s Dad?’’ you asked, noticing his absence.

The burly man looked around for his son, not knowing either. 

‘’I'm here, I'm here,'' Harwin’s familiar voice rang out from the sliding door as he entered, carrying a bowl of freshly picked strawberries. On top of his head was a handmade birthday crown, obviously crafted by Joffrey. ‘’Your mother forgot the strawberries. I had to fetch some from the garden.'' 

You grinned, stepping up to greet him. ‘’Happy birthday, Dad,’’ you said, kissing his cheek as you wrapped him in a hug. 

Everyone sat around the table, and began filling their plates with food. 

You mostly took blueberry pancakes, and some fruits from the garden. You had a sweet tooth this morning. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Joffrey talking a mile a minute between bites of pancakes and bacon. Cregan was trying his best to listen to your little brother — what he could make out of his words, anyway — but his attention was completely focused on you.

Two seats down from you, Luke was watching. You could feel his gaze on Cregan, and there was an unsettling tension beneath the surface. He knew something. He could let it slip at any moment and throw the whole breakfast into chaos. But, for now, he stayed silent.

‘’So,’’ Grandfather Lyonel began casually as he sipped his coffee, ‘’how's your first year of college treating you? Found yourself a boyfriend yet?''

The word 'boyfriend' had your bite of pancakes catching in your throat. Grabbing your coffee, you took a long gulp to wash it down, buying yourself a moment.

You shook your head, managing a calm smile. ‘’Not really. I’m keeping my focus on my academics,’’ you replied, briefly raising your eyes at Cregan, who was focussing on eating the content in his plate. The last time he had a home-made breakfast was with you. 

You thought you were being discreet, but your grandfather noticed the short glance, as did your father who was right next to you. 

Joffrey, oblivious to the tension, piped up, ‘’Jace has a girlfriend. Her name is Bella.’’

‘’Baela,’’ Jace corrected with a fond smile, shaking his head at the enthusiastic six-year-old.

Grandfather Lyonel smiled, happy for his grandson. ‘’That’s a lovely name.’’ He then turned to Cregan. ‘’And you, Cregan? Got a girlfriend? A handsome, well-mannered lad like you cannot be single.’’ 

Before he could answer, Joffrey piped up with the bluntness only a child could muster. ‘’I think you should date my sister,’’ he declared.  

Jace’s head shot up, eyes wide. 

Before him, Cregan chuckled uncomfortably, clutching his fork. ‘’Why is that, little one?’’

‘’Because you look at her like papa looks at mommy.’’ He said it so pure and innocently, yet it was true. 

The silence that followed was so loud it didn’t take long for Jace to connect the dots. The truth hung in the air, undeniable and clear. Cregan shifted awkwardly in his seat, and you felt your heart pound in your chest.

Jace glanced between you and the one he called his best friend. His nostrils were flared, shock and outrage painted across his face.  ‘’How long has this been going on?’’ His brown eyes glared daggers at Cregan, waiting for an answer. ‘’How long have you been keeping this from me?’’

‘’Jace,’’ your father’s voice cut through the tension, firm but gentle, an attempt to stop the situation from spiraling any further.

But Jace wasn’t listening, angry at his friend’s betrayal. ‘’How can you betray me like that? I would have expected it from Robb or Theon, not from you. You pride yourself to be loyal and honorable, but where is your loyalty in this? Where is the honor in disregarding my one and only rule?’’  

He was allowed to be upset that you and Cregan spent the last two months seeing each other behind his back. It’s a reaction that was expected. But you hated that he was painting his best friend as the villain. Cregan never used you, it was never his intention. He knew what he was risking when he kissed you back that rainy afternoon in his car. Yet, he couldn’t ignore his feelings — and neither could you. 

‘’How can you make this all about you?’’ you asked, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘’Can’t you see past your own selfish feelings that maybe Cregan does love me for me and not just to piss you off? This is exactly why we didn’t tell you anything.’’ You gestured around the room.

Cregan, who had remained silent until now, took a deep breath before speaking, his voice calm but firm. ‘’You know I don’t play around with girls. I would never use your sister the way you think I am. Come on, Jace. You know me.’’ There was a pause, allowing Jace to absorb his words, then he continued. ‘’I’m truly sorry for keeping this from you, but can you blame me? Put yourself in our shoes. You think I wanted to sneak around and lie to everyone about the girl I love? It might look cool in movies, but it’s not in real life. It’s just stress and pain.’’  

The room was so quiet you could almost hear a pin drop. No one dared speaking around the table. It was only silent glances. 

What a way to ruin your father’s birthday…

A few hours later, you found yourself sitting outside, your heart heavy. The house had grown quiet after the earlier commotion, the celebratory mood from the family gathering long gone. Grandfather Lyonel and uncle Larys had left. The former had apologized for starting the conflict, but you told him it was not his fault. It was bound to happen anyway. 

You apologized to your father — and mother — for ruining his birthday. It was his turn to shake his head and pull you in his arms. 

The air had gotten colder as it neared sundown, but you didn’t want to go inside. You liked the soft stillness of the open air. It was a calming contrast to the fight from this morning.

The drive back to college was going to be tense tomorrow. You already dreaded it. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jace was watching you through the glass of the sliding doors. He stood there for a moment, observing you and Cregan sitting quietly together on the patio furniture. Your head was leaned on his shoulder, curled up at his side, and his left arm wrapped around you. He recognized the Wolves hoodie on your back, Cregan’s number and name on it. 

It wasn't until he saw Cregan kiss the top of your head and the soft smile that instantly bloomed on your face that Jace realized that maybe Cregan was good for you.

—

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[milla-frenchy]

Hold my hand

4k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: a stranger saves your life. Or your and Javi’s love story Warnings: 18+ mdni. soft!Javi, alternating pov, fingering, Javi can lift reader, size kink, oral (f/m), piv, creampie. No age specified.

a/n: this is written for PPCU Body Worship writing challenge, hosted by @joelmillerisapunk 😘🫶 I got Javi and hands 😍

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

You were walking towards the beach, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your bare legs and arms. Once arrived, you laid your beach towel on the sand, took off your shorts and a tank top, and put on some sunscreen. Then you dipped your feet in the water. Its temperature was perfect. You walked along the shore for a few minutes and looked at the few surfers and swimmers. 

You couldn’t resist the idea of swimming and you moved towards the open sea. You let it slightly cool your thighs, then your stomach. You dove under a wave, enjoying the coolness of the water. You swam a few breaststrokes, and let yourself be carried on your back between each wave for a few minutes.

When you looked back towards the shore, you noticed that the current had carried you much further than you thought. You were a good swimmer and didn't worry, starting to crawl towards the beach. 

But a wave you didn't see coming washed over you. You swallowed a mouthful of water, just before another one broke on you. You realized that you were in deep water, even farther away than before, and a third wave took you by surprise, leaving you breathless. 

The current was still pulling you further away and you started to worry.

Each of your other attempts to reach the shore was a failure, and the worry turned into panic. It overwhelmed you. You knew that you had to stay calm, but you couldn't think straight anymore.

Another wave swept you away and a full panic, nagging, tightening your stomach, was overtaking your brain. 

You looked around. A few surfers were on their boards, unaware of what was happening a few feet away from them. When another wave swept you back with it, you felt helpless. Seeing the shore even further away.

“You ok?”

You turned towards the voice just before another wave hit you. A hand grabbed yours and pulled you back up to the surface. The man was facing you, worried. 

“I… I can't go back,” you answered, trying to blink back the tears that were gathering in your eyes.

“I'm gonna help you. Don’t worry, everything's gonna be ok.”

You nodded, holding onto his hand.

“A wave is coming, we’ll use it to get closer to the shore. When I tell you, kick your feet, okay?”

“Okay,” you stammered.

“Now!”

You did as he told you, and when you looked up at the shore, it was a little closer.

“Another wave, it's gonna crash on us. It's just foam, okay? I’ll hold your hand. Take a deep breath, now!”

You took a quick breath before the wave hit you. Clinging to his firm hand.

“Please don't let go of me. Don't let go of me,” you pleaded after his firm grip pulled you back to the surface.

“I won't, trust me. We'll get to the shore in a few minutes.”

“But the last wave pushed us away!” You didn't mean to yell but your panic was too strong.

The man, on the other hand, remained calm. There was no fear in him, as if he was used to handling potentially complicated situations.

“I know, but another wave is coming - a good one - and we’re gonna use it to move forward. Swim!” 

You followed his instructions with each wave, good or bad, holding his hand tightly. His hand never shook, never let go of you, and that silenced your apprehension. 

And you finally reached the shore.

“We made it, see? You did great and you're ok. I'm Javi, what's your name?”

He was looking at you, slightly worried as he was waiting for your reaction. You knew he was talking to you to bring you back to the reality: you were safe.

You gave him your name, still choking, exhausted from the effort.

“I’m glad to meet you. Everything's ok. Where are your things?”

You showed him and he accompanied you there, without letting go of your shaking hand.

“Here. How are you?”

“I'm… I'm…”

You were holding back your tears, realizing that without him you would still be struggling in the sea, or worse.

“Thank you, Javi. I’m… I think you saved my life.”

“I just helped you a little, you needed reassurance. It’s easy to panic in these situations.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Do you need me to stay with you for a few minutes, or are you ok?”

You assured him that you were fine. He smiled at you and waved, before walking away. You lay down on your towel, catching your breath, and watched him walk over to his towel and drink some water before going back into the sea. You turned to the other side and the tears that you’d been holding back finally fell.

Once you calmed down, you sat up and looked at the man’s things. You grabbed a paper and a pen from your bag.

“I didn’t get to thank you properly. Here’s my number. I’d be happy to take you out to dinner, if that’s okay with you.”

You put the paper under his sunscreen and left.

Several days passed when he finally called you. You already thought he wouldn’t reach out to you. He thanked you but told you that the invitation was unnecessary, that the help he had given you was completely normal. You insisted kindly, and a meeting at a restaurant was arranged for the next evening.

When you arrived, he was already there, waiting for you in front of the restaurant, dark glasses on and a cigarette between his lips. You realized that you hadn't even looked at him well, given the events.  He was breathtakingly handsome- brown hair, clean-shaven face except for his mustache. He was dressed in black and his clothes fitted him perfectly. He was gorgeous.

You got out of your car and joined him.

The dinner went by without any awkward silence or discomfort. You told him about your job, and he told you that he used to work for the government in Colombia, but had now moved back to Texas. He seemed like a confident man, not too emotional but caring. You tried not to stare at him too much not to seem creepy but his beautiful face hypnotized you. Your gaze sometimes rested for a few moments on his large, veiny hands. So masculine. Those hands that had supported you in the sea.

“Have you gone swimming since that day?”

You looked down before admitting that you were slightly scared.

“You should go back. To not let that worry set in.” Sensing your uncertainty, he added, “I can go with you if you want. So that you could regain your confidence.”

You agreed to meet at the beach the next morning, before each leaving in your own car.

You met up the next day as planned, and at first you didn't even think about the sea. You got chills seeing him in his swimsuit. He had a slim waist, broad shoulders, and a body of a Greek statue.

“You ready?” he asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“Will you go with me? Just in case”, you murmured. Your fear of swimming again was slowly taking over you.

“Of course. I won’t let you handle this alone, Hermosa.”

Your mind was telling you that maybe the nickname wasn't special. But the butterflies in your stomach didn't hear it that way.

Damn, you were down bad for him, and you barely knew anything about him.

“You coming?” he asked, already in the water, looking at you as you stood frozen on the sand.

“Yeah! Yeah, sure”, you replied, following him to the shore.

Javi hesitated for several days to call you, after seeing your note. When he saw you struggling in the sea, it awakened his protective instincts. He couldn’t help himself with them.

During dinner at the restaurant, of course he saw the way you looked at him, even if you tried to hide it. He was trained to sense emotions, feelings. And he didn’t want to let yours settle. You weren’t some hooker he would fuck in exchange for information, or to release pressure. He had never wanted to break hearts, even if he was used to it happening. He knew the effect he had on women. As soon as you walked out of your car, he already knew what you felt.

The way your hand had latched onto his in the sea, the way your beautiful eyes were staring at him in the restaurant, brought out emotions he had been pushing away for a long time. And he didn’t want to feel those emotions. Not that time, when he had only recently left Colombia, and when he was longing for a normal life. But a voice in his head kept telling him that that was a normal life. Spending time with someone, no matter what happened next. And right now, he was trying to resist that voice. Even though his flirtatious side couldn't help but come out when he called you that nickname. He felt the way your body reacted. It made his cock twitch in his swimsuit. Luckily, you were too focused on his lips to notice. So he walked towards the sea, counting on its coolness to refresh him. And his cock.

When you reached him, he was already waist-deep in the water. He was walking so fast from the beach that you wondered if he was even waiting for you.

“It’s a perfect day to go swimming again. There aren’t too many waves, it will allow you to get back to your usual sensations. Shall we?”

You nodded, and you swam for a few moments, moving a little away from the shore. You felt safe with Javi by your side. Until a wave bigger than the others formed.

“Javi!!” you called, voice worried.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Stay calm, you’re gonna do it.”

You took a deep breath and dove under the wave, as you had done hundreds of times before that cursed day. When you came out of the water, you met his worried gaze, waiting to see if you were okay. And you were. He smiled, and you spent a long time swimming in the sea. Your fear was gone, thanks to him.

You went to have a drink at a bar next to the beach. It was Javi who had suggested it, and you were delighted. You were still at the bar when he took your hand in his and complimented your nails. You were under his spell, and you felt yourself blush like a teenager.

You saw each other every day after that. Spending more and more time together. He smiled and laughed regularly now, opening up to you.

One evening, you went to the movies. You were scooping popcorn out of the same bucket, and sometimes your fingers would brush against each other. He needed to feel you more, and couldn't wait any longer—he brushed your arm with his hand, and you looked at each other. The intensity of his gaze was so strong that you could barely hold it.

“Do you wanna come to my place after the movie, Hermosa?” 

You nodded. But you two didn't wait any longer and left for his place in a minute.

He grabbed your hand as you were walking to his car, and his lips crashed against yours, his hands tightening around your waist. Your tongues brushed against each other as his hands were already roaming your body. Everything about him exuded sensuality. He was like a wild animal. A thirsty, hungry, agile feline, having captured his prey that just wanted to be devoured. You finally made it to the car, and luckily his apartment wasn’t far away. You kissed whenever the traffic allowed, and your fingers had already run through his hair more times than you could count on two hands. You were glued to each other until you walked through the door of his apartment. You wondered if Javi would be the love of your life or the one who would break your heart into a thousand pieces. But right now you didn’t care, only that moment mattered. Those feelings that he made you feel. You wanted his hands all over your body, and you probably had wished for it since the first time he grabbed yours, in the sea.

When you entered the dining room and he pressed your ass against the table, you were both breathless. The clothes you had gradually taken off littered the floor of his apartment. You were only wearing your panties, and Javi still had his jeans on. One of his arms was around your waist, keeping you tight against him, and he squeezed a breast with his other hand, before taking it in his mouth, sucking and licking your nipple. Your fingers ran through his hair until you took his hands in yours, eager to touch them in different circumstances, and you kissed the tips of his fingers. He looked at you, eyes fixed on your lips that were placing small kisses on his skin. Keeping his hands in yours, you lowered one of them to your crotch. Sliding his fingers along your folds still covered by your panties.

“You’re so hot, baby”, he murmured. He smelled of tobacco and mint, and you were intoxicated by his scent.

You kept brushing your folds and your swollen clit with his fingers. He let you do it, as if he liked not being in charge. You could hear his breathing quicken, his jerky heartbeat against yours. You grabbed the hem of your panties and pulled them down to mid-thigh.

“I think I fell in love with your hands that day. Wanna feel them in me”, you whispered into his ear. With your underwear still around your thighs, you took his hand in yours again, slid it down to your pussy, and stroked yourself with his fingers. Running them over your soaked parts. You moaned against his chest before pushing them further into you. You used his digits to finger yourself, and it was perhaps the most sensual thing you had ever done.

Your fingers pressed to his, he kept fucking you slowly and you rubbed your clit with your thumb.

“I’m… I’m gonna come, Javi.”

He placed his other hand against the back of your neck, holding you tight, and you came on his fingers. Panting, you let your forehead rest against his shoulder, catching your breath while his hand was caressing your hair.

“Came so hard for me, baby…” 

He brushed and breathed in your hair, holding you close. You didn’t expect him to be so gentle, so patient. You knew nothing about his past, his love life, but when you had seen him in front of that restaurant, so sure of himself, so handsome, you had imagined someone else. A womanizer, maybe. 

You hastily removed your panties, just in time for him to lift you up, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. He grabbed your ass with his hands to hold you up and kissed you. You couldn’t get enough of running your fingers through his hair while you were kissing his luscious, warm lips. His mustache was soft against your skin.

He carried you to his bedroom, as unknown sensations were running through his mind. 

Javi wasn’t the one to fall in love. His life was always dedicated to his job. It was dangerous in Colombia and he didn't want to involve someone in it. 

So he fucked women he met in bars. Women that fell for him, the second their eyes were laid on him. He would bring them home, he wouldn’t have gone to the movies with them. There would have been no seduction game.

He fucked hookers regularly, too. His informants. He cared about them and offered them protection as much as possible. But he didn’t love them.

But since he had met you (saved you) on that beach, since he had seen your eyes filled with tears, since he had gotten to know you, his heart was beating in a way it had never done before. Even for his ex fiancee. He had not yet thrust into you and he already dreamed of waking up against you. He didn’t know what was happening but this bliss intoxicated him. He felt himself melting at your touch and he yearned for more. For the first time, he could offer his protection to someone who was not related to his job. Someone who wasn’t in danger of being hurt or murdered by sicarios. Someone for whom he wasn’t a client. Now that life was behind him, and his heart was craving something else. Proximity. Sharing everything he had to offer with someone. 

With you.

He lowered you, next to his bed. Your eyes met and your sweetness made him melt again. He brushed your cheek tenderly.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve seen the worst in my job. The darkest possible things. One day I’ll try to tell you about it. And the way you’re looking at me right now… it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The sweetest, and I feel like I’m seeing something bright for the first time, finally. And I needed it.”

His confession took your breath away. You felt deep down that he was sincere. He wasn’t playing a perverted game to lure you into his bed. It was stronger than that, and it was overwhelming.

“I need…”

“What do you need, Hermosa?”

“Need to feel you… need you inside me.”

“Not yet, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Why would you hurt me?”

He unzipped his jeans, and your eyes didn't know where to look. His face, his shoulders, his chest. His body was beautiful. He pulled down his jeans, he wasn't wearing anything underneath. Your eyes landed on his cock, and your mouth turned into an O. You were unable to make a sound.

“Do you trust me, baby?” he asked, taking off his pants completely.

“I… Yeah, of course.”

“Let me get you ready, okay? Lie down on the bed. I’ll go slow.”

You did what he said and bent your knees. He settled between your thighs, and his face just above your pussy was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life. 

His thumb ran over your wet, soaked folds.

“I wanna taste you. Wanna feel you shake.”

He licked your cunt up and down, in one long stripe, and growled. Your taste, your scent was driving him crazy. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You taste so good.”

He wanted to make you come on his fingers and his tongue, and never stop eating you. He wanted to feel you around his cock. He wanted it all, and he felt like his heart was going to explode.

He kissed your clit, then placed his lips around it. Sucking it lightly before swirling it under his tongue, and you curled your toes instantly.

He pushed one finger, then two, into your dripping pussy. Your fingers gripped his temples then his hair, and he was crazy about the feeling, about you expressing need and eagerness. He was listening to your moans, which were getting louder and louder. Feeding on them. He felt that you were going to come again soon, that you would be ready to take him. His cock kept throbbing, the precum flowing down his cock. He was used to preparing pussies before fucking them. He sometimes did it mechanically. But not today, not with you. His 5 senses were alert and fully focused on you, until your hands clenched his hair and you pulsed on his tongue. Your walls squeezed his fingers while you sang his name, and it was the most beautiful music he had ever heard.

He placed one last kiss on your clit, softly, watching you come down from your high. His eyes just above your heaving stomach, and his fingers still buried inside you.

You sat up, and said “lemme taste you, Javi. I want to feel you on my tongue, please, baby.”

Your voice was a melody to his ears. The way you said “baby” could have been enough to make him come in the sheets.

“Fuck… ok baby, ok.”

He lay down and you knelt down next to him, marveling at his gorgeous, tan cock. The tip was oozing. You licked his slit softly, impregnating your throat with his taste, before taking his tip in your mouth and sucking it gently. Your fist clenched on his shaft, your head bobbing, your lips completely spread around his cock. Eager to give him as much pleasure as he had given you. Your thumb brushed his balls before you licked them. Sucking his soft and fine skin.

“Damn, Hermosa… Fuck, that’s good, baby. So good.”

His praise made your pussy drip while you kept sucking, lapping at his balls, his shaft, his tip. You couldn't help but crawl up to his lips to kiss them before taking him back in your mouth, until he begged you to stop.

“Wait, baby please. I wanna feel you around me. Wanna see how beautiful you are, all spread out for me.”

You kissed his stomach, licked his nipples, and spread kisses on his collarbone, then his lips. He gently manhandled you to lie down under him. His hands cupped your cheeks and you kissed, the taste of him and you mixing between your lips. His body weighed down perfectly on yours. He grabbed his cock and nestled it at your entrance, making you moan. You bucked your hips forward, eager to finally feel him inside you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight… So tight for me,” he said as he pushed in slightly. Your walls parted for him as he buried his head into the pillow, his breath hitching in the crook of your neck.

“Wanna feel you, Javi. All of you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you… I need to go slow.”

“It’s ok, I swear. Thrust in, please. I need to feel you, all of you in me.”

He pushed in, just like you wanted him to. The effect made you bite your lip, your pleasure overflowing throughout your being.

“Oh my god, Javi… you're so big, you feel so good…” He kissed your forehead, then rubbed his aquiline nose against yours before placing his lips on yours. It was the most intimate sex you had ever experienced. More intimate than any you had experienced with previous boyfriends. He was thrusting softly, slow and deep strokes without taking his eyes off you.

“You look so good beneath me,” he murmured.

His hand slid between you and he brushed your clit, amplifying your moans.

“Javi… so thick…”

“I know baby, I know. It's a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah… too… too much.”

“Too much? You want me to stop?” he asked, looking at you, a little worried.

“No! No, too much sensation but I love it. Don't stop, please, I wanna feel them all.”

“Damn, baby, I… I wanna feel you come on my cock. Can you do that for me? Squeeze my cock with your tight, little pussy?”

“Fuck… yeah… yeah keep going. I’m gonna come… oh fuck!!”

Your walls squeezed his shaft so tightly when you came for the third time, that he whimpered.

“Where?” he asked, almost out of breath.

“Inside, inside…” you replied, still shaking.

Your face in his hands, he didn’t stop watching you, thrusting in as slowly until he spilled his cum in your pussy, rope after rope. He lay against you and turned you towards him, his soothed cock resting against his thigh, his cum leaking out of your pussy.

He always thought that you got better with time when you have sex with someone. He wondered how it could get better with you.

He held you close, your face against his chest, his hand on the back of your neck and the other on your lower back. He knew that you needed him to protect you, and he had a lot of protection to offer. 

“Keep your hands on me, Javi, please,” you whispered before falling asleep.

No, Javi hadn’t fallen in love. Ever. 

Until the day his hand caught yours in the sea and you taught him another way to take care of someone. 

And he had never felt so free in his life, so peaceful. After years of daily angst and darkness, his heart finally felt lighter in his chest.

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[daizymax]

wondrous | lmh (m)

summary: pregnancy is strange and uncomfortable and even kind of gross, but your loving husband is always willing to show you just how desirable and wonderful you are.

pairing: lee know x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 5.3k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; pregnancy; some body insecurities; binary gender talk; graphic sexual content; pregnant sex; dirty talk; lactation kink; creampie

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

Slamming the car door with more force than necessary is childish, and if your husband were here, he would probably tell you so. Well, maybe not in such blatant terms. First, he would probably ask you to explain what led you to such pissy behavior, and your answer would be that you’re frustrated and out of patience.

You hate that your patience is in such short supply these days. You know you are going to need all of it and then some when the baby comes.

You rest one of your hands on the crest of your bulging stomach and sigh softly. “I’m sorry,” you say to the ever-growing baby within. “I guess you might need to be patient with me, too, if it’s not too much to ask.”

The tears well up unbidden. That happens often lately with your hormones on the fritz. Evidently something as mundane as a shopping trip to the mall is enough to upset you nowadays. Then your mind dwells on how you should be grateful to be in a position to buy the things you want and need whenever you want, and that only makes you sob harder.

You allow the silly little breakdown to run its course, knowing it will be better to sit and let it out now before you drive home.

After a few minutes, you sniffle and wipe your wet cheeks in shame. After a couple more minutes of deep breaths, when you are certain you are stable enough to drive, you start the engine.

The commute home gives you some time to decompress, and the sight of Minho’s car in the driveway lifts your spirits. He told you this morning that he might have to work late this evening — which was fine by you since it translated to having more money for the pending expenses of birthing and raising a child — but having him home is even better.

A loud clang and a muttered curse greet you as you enter the front door. It may not be a polite reaction, but you can’t help but smile at whatever your husband is struggling with in the kitchen. You sling your shopping bags onto the couch and go to rescue him.

Minho is bent over at the waist, rummaging through a bottom cabinet with his backside to you. You take a moment to ogle the fit of his jeans appreciatively before making your presence known.

“Hi honey, need some help?”

He flinches and whirls around. “Heyyy, doll! I didn’t hear you come in.” He hastily combs his fingers through his smooth brown hair as if to compose himself for you.

“That’s because you were busy tearing down the kitchen, from the sound of it,” you laugh.

He does not even dispute your joke. He just groans in frustration and kicks his foot out behind him to close the cabinet. “Where do we keep the rice cooker? I swear I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Did you look here?” You pull open the correct cabinet near your calves and squat down to retrieve it. He rushes to stop you.

“Hey, hey, let me get it.” He comes over and crouches with you only to put his hands on your hips and guide you back up with him. “You shouldn’t exert yourself. I have a bun in that oven, lady.”

You snort loudly. “Don’t I know it. My whole day was an over-exertion, though. I think I can handle stooping over to grab the rice cooker.”

“Oh?” His face becomes concerned, eyebrows wrinkling and pink lips pouting adorably. His hands begin sliding up and down along your sides. “What was wrong with your day?”

“Oh, I’ve just decided I hate shopping for maternity clothes now,” you say, sighing heavily. The statement is so frivolous it makes you cringe, but the rest of your unimportant complaints come flooding out anyway. “They’re all so unflattering, not to mention it’s so uncomfortable trying them on. Getting undressed and redressed is such a pain in the ass. It’s like a whole fucking workout now, I swear to god.”

“Ah, I bet. Poor thing,” Minho says without a trace of condescension to his tone, and you envy his patience. He pulls you in for a hug in his strong arms, and your swollen stomach bumps against his flat one.

Inspired by his understanding, you continue unburdening your rather meaningless worries into his shoulder. “It was so crowded, too. I hate how everyone stares at me all the time just because I’m pregnant. And I especially hate when other parents come up to me and give me advice or tell me stories about their own pregnancies, like I fucking asked.”

Minho laughs and massages his fingertips into the back of your head. “I think they’re just trying to be kind and helpful. They only mean well.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also super annoying.”

“Sorry. What can I do to help?”

You shake your head and step back from him. “Right now I just want to shower and change my clothes. I’m not kidding about that ‘workout.’ I’ve been sweating for hours and I feel disgusting right now. The boob sweat is strong under this sweater right now.”

“Well, we’ve got a towel right here.” He whips the dish towel off the handle of the stove with a flourish and holds it up with a cheeky grin. “Let me help you.”

You laugh. “You want to dry my boobs off with that?”

“It’s clean!”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You’ll be glad for my silliness when our baby comes,” he says, dropping the towel to start tickling you mercilessly.

Your stomach muscles heave with your fit of giggles, and the baby starts kicking to join in on the commotion.

“Ah! No t-tickling, damnit! The b-baby doesn’t like it.”

“No?” Minho stops his playful torment and cups your stomach on either side. It only takes a second for him to feel what you mean. “I think maybe she does.”

“Or he. The baby could be a boy, you know.”

The two of you have decided to keep the gender a surprise until the birth, but that does not stop your husband from speculating.

“Could be,” he says a bit dismissively. He kneels down on the tiled floor so his face is level with your belly-button, which has recently begun to protrude outwards like the rest of you.

He runs his fingers along the surface of your stretched sweater and says quietly, “I just have a hunch that it’s a girl. She’s feisty, like you.” He places a sweet kiss on the top of your belly, then speaks directly to it. “Sorry about the tickling, sweet baby girl. Daddy was just making Mommy laugh to help make her feel better. I have something else that might make her feel better, though.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Minho interlocks his fingers with yours and leads you up the stairs — which have become quite the strain on your knees lately — and to the baby’s room.

The moment he pushes open the door, you see exactly what he means. The crib now resembles a crib and not a scattering of wooden pieces strewn around the floor the way they had been for weeks. The inside is lined with blankets and stuffed animals, and the mobile you chose is hanging above it. It could hardly be more picturesque.

With this, the nursery is complete. The painting had been finished a couple months ago, and the other pieces of necessary and decorative furniture have been set in their places for quite some time as well.

“Wow, you actually finished it?” you say. “How did you have time to do that after work today?”

“You were gone for longer than you realize,” he says, chuckling. “I took half the day off to come home and surprise you, but you weren’t here, so I decided to surprise you with this instead.”

“Consider me surprised,” you say with a smile. You squeeze his hand before letting go and walking over to the crib. You give the rail a little shake to test the sturdiness of your husband’s handiwork, and your eyebrows raise in satisfaction at the result.

“I only had to start all over again once,” Minho says proudly, sidling up beside you and gliding a hand along the small of your back to rest on your hip. His thumb traces little circles into it.

“You did a great job,” you say, turning in his hold to wrap your arms around his waist in return, albeit with a bit of difficulty due to your belly getting in the way.

“Glad you like it.” He leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then down to your chin, then back up to your mouth. You smile and chase after his lips when he pulls away, and he laughs as he kisses you again. “Come on, let’s sit for a bit and get you off your feet. Dinner and a shower can wait a little while longer.” He moves over to the rocking chair in the corner and takes a seat, then pats his lap invitingly.

“Min, I’ll crush you,” you say with a shake of your head.

He shakes his head right back. “Oh, stop it. No you won’t. You’re not that heavy, and I’m not that fragile.”

He starts beckoning you by stretching his arms out and repeatedly opening and closing his hands. The action is irresistibly cute, so you relent. You toe off your shoes and go to sit on his proposed seat. You try not to rest too much weight on him as you sit on his knee, but he ruins your position by taking your hips and dragging you further up his muscular thigh.

“Put your legs up on me,” he says. “If it’s not too uncomfortable for you, I mean.”

You do as he says and turn sideways to hoist your legs over his other thigh. Minho holds onto your knee with one hand and wraps his other arm behind your back to keep you in place.

“There we go. Is this okay?” he asks.

You shift and wiggle until your back is relatively comfortable. “I think so. Are you okay?”

He smiles and squeezes you reassuringly. “I’ve got my beautiful wife on my lap... we’re sitting right where we’ll be rocking our baby when she — or he — is born... I’d say I’m pretty perfect.”

You take his word for it and sigh in content, leaning into him and resting your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek against your head and pushes his feet off the floor to begin gently rocking the chair as it was intended.

For a few moments, the two of you sit and rock in silence until Minho begins humming softly. Something mellow and baritone. The melody is one you recognize, but the lyrics to that particular song elude you. You’ll ask him about it later. Right now, the vibrations from his throat and the steady thrum of his heartbeat are lulling you peacefully. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body seep comfortably into your skin.

You tilt your face up to kiss his throat appreciatively for the comfort he is providing. He hums out of tune at your gentle touch, and you kiss him there again. This time you take a bit of his flesh into your mouth with a delicate suck, and he hisses in a short breath. His reaction spurs you to do it again, and then again, until the honey skin is left pink from the teasing.

“Mm, that feels really good, babe,” Minho murmurs. The pet name makes your heart flutter a bit; it was used so frequently at the start of your relationship, but over the years it has become a bit more rare. It makes you feel a little sexy, even in your sweaty, bloated, and achy state.

“Yeah? Should I keep going?” you ask. Your lips ghost over his neck, and your fingers begin trailing down the center of his chest.

“Please.” There is a slight rasp to the syllable that makes you feel proud considering you have barely even done anything to him.

Your fingers find the hems of his sweater and white t-shirt and begin tugging at them. “Do you mind if I take these off?”

“Not at all.” He shrugs out of his cardigan then lifts his arms so you can have the honor of pulling up his shirt to toss it aside. The taut muscles in his chest and abdomen twitch as your fingertips graze them. Before you get to the waistband of his jeans, Minho takes your wandering fingers and stops you.

“Wait,” he says. You look at him curiously. “You said you had a rough day. I should take care of you.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I figured I could start by getting you out of your clothes, and then we can see where things lead.”

Sex with your husband has been infrequent over the course of your thirty-week pregnancy so far, but it has occurred. The doctor assured you there are no complication risks involved, even when this far along. Your pregnancy is perfectly healthy, and sex is not harmful to the baby, so you and Minho are free to continue your normal sex life.

The problem is you don’t always feel up for sex. Between your various aches and the increasing challenge of finding a comfortable position, you sometimes have to wonder if an orgasm is really worth the trouble. But it has been a while since your last release, and you trust Minho to be caring and attentive, so you nod in agreement.

He guides you to stand up from his lap, and you allow him to remove your shirt. The sheen of sweat that has been building for the greater part of the afternoon is made even more apparent when the open air meets it.

“Ugh, I still feel gross,” you mutter under your breath. The inkling of sexiness you felt just moments ago is already gone.

“You don’t look gross,” Minho says. He scans you from head to toe before settling his gaze on your chest. “Will you take your bra off for me, please?”

You hesitate a few seconds, then unhook the restrictive garment and shrug out of it to let it drop to the floor. The moment it is gone, Minho reaches out to grasp your hips and slide his hands up along the expanse of your stomach. His warm, tender touch sends a shiver through you, and the baby begins fidgeting again. Your husband must feel it, too, because he smiles up at you brightly.

“God, how did I get so lucky? You are so beautiful.” His tone carries real sincerity. “Especially with your body like this, carrying our child. You’re so fucking… wonderful.”

You automatically let out an unflattering snort of self-consciousness as you think of the new stretch marks striping your breasts, hips, and stomach. You can’t even bring yourself to look at them right now.

“I mean it. It’s true,” he insists. His eyes drop to your bare stomach to look at what you will not. “It’s amazing how you’re able to grow a baby inside of you, just because I came in you.”

There is laughter in your breathy exhale. “Gee, you make it sound so sexy, Min.”

“But it is sexy. You’re growing hands and feet and… eyes inside your womb right now, this very moment.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That doesn’t sound sexy at all. It sounds scientific.”

“Yeah, but it’s also kind of magical, isn’t it? And just think about it: you’ll be able to feed the baby with your body, too…” Minho folds his bottom lip between his teeth for a second as he studies your chest with great interest. “Just look at these perfect tits, getting all swollen with milk for our baby.”

He starts to squeeze, lift, and massage your breasts reverently, completely undeterred by the stickiness coated on the undersides of them from your sweat. A quiet moan rumbles up from your throat.

Even though he is being gentle, the stimulation is still enough to make your nipples begin discharging a thick fluid that is slightly yellow in color. The sight of it kind of embarrasses you, even though it is completely natural. Your doctor explained that it is the “pre milk” before your body begins producing normal breast milk after the birth.

“Min…” you fret with a nervous giggle. You peel his hands away and take a step back from him.

“It’s okay, babe,” he says. He stands up and rearranges your hands so that he is the one holding yours. “It’s just your body, don’t be ashamed. I told you, you’re beautiful. You’re wonderful. You’re amazing.”

He lifts the heavy mounds on your chest again and presses them together as if to get a better view of the wetness seeping from them. He swipes his thumbs over both of your wet nipples, then casually sticks one of his thumbs in his mouth as if he has done this many times before.

“Mm, tastes sweet,” he says.

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Can I… do you think I could...” He trails off in a puff that sounds like he is the one who’s embarrassed. Eventually, he blurts, “I want to try some more.”

“What, you want to actually… drink it?” you ask. The notion surprises you, and you want to make sure you are understanding him correctly.

“I’d like to try, if you’re comfortable with that. I just want to appreciate your body in every way.”

Minho rolls a sensitive pebble between his thumb and forefinger as he waits for your reply.

After another second, you nod your consent, and he flashes you a toothy smile before he latches his mouth directly onto your nipple. The touch of his soft lips coupled with the tip of his tongue makes you gasp in pleasure. Goosebumps break out over your skin as he suckles delicately. You have to admit the sensation of the fluid flowing from your nipple is oddly satisfying, and the wet suction sound Minho is creating is more than a little erotic. Heat starts to pool between your legs to dampen your panties.

“Is this okay?” he asks you again, peering up at your face as he switches to the other tit. When his tongue takes the nipple in between his lips, you notice it is coated with a milky sheen.

“Yeah, it… it actually feels really good,” you confess. Without consciously choosing to do it, your thighs press together to apply some pressure to your clit. Even with your stomach in the way, Minho’s smirk tells you he does not miss the action.

“Are you wet down there between your legs, too?”

“Yes.”

“Dripping?”

“Mm…”

“I want to feel.”

“Be my guest,” you invite. He goes to slip his hand past the waistband of your pants, but you quickly instruct, “Just take them off.”

He does not need to be told twice. He detaches from your breast and yanks your pants down to your ankles. You steady yourself on his shoulders as you pull your feet free.

“Panties, too,” you add, but his fingers are already hooking into them.

Once they are shed, Minho takes his time running his warm hands back up your calves to your inner thighs, spreading your legs just a little wider than hip-width apart. He wastes no more time in dipping the pads of three fingers along your slit. The slickness he finds there has both of you groaning lowly.

“You are wet. Is this all because I sucked a little milk from your tits?”

A slow smile grows across your face. “Maybe.”

“Should I suck some more?”

“I don’t think there’s much in there at a time yet, honestly,” you tell him rather seriously. “Not until after the baby is born.”

He hums in understanding. “That’s okay, babe. I’ll settle for eating your pussy, if that’s alright,” he says, sinking two knuckles inside you.

“J-Jesus, Min. Y-yeah. Please.”

He grins, drawing his fingers back a little just to shove them in forcefully. “Alright. Have a seat for me,” he says. He removes his fingers from you and slides them into his mouth for the taste of something else. He really does adore all parts of you.

The rocking chair tips backwards when you settle into it, which only improves the access Minho has to your pussy. He makes it even easier for himself, however, by kneeling down and hoisting your legs onto each of his shoulders.

“Is this good?” he asks. He brings his head between your thighs and dots soft kisses along one of them.

You scoot your butt to the very edge of the seat. “Yeah, for now. I’ll let you know if it starts to hurt.”

“Please do,” he agrees at once.

He leans forward and parts your sticky folds with two fingers before dragging his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top in one slow, firm motion. Your breath hitches in your chest when he buries the pink muscle into your wet hole. He licks in a circle from one pulsing wall to the other and back again, then pulls back and licks his lips.

“Do you want my tongue in you and fingers on your clit, or my tongue on your clit and fingers in you?” he asks. He does not normally require such direct instructions, but he has been so concerned with you in your pregnant state. He wants to make sure he is giving you as much pleasure as possible, and he does not want any room for misunderstanding or disappointment.

“Fingers inside, please,” you say.

Minho fits one finger back inside your pussy, soon followed by a second, and your walls squeeze tightly around the digits to welcome and secure them. Then he flattens his tongue to press it back and forth, up and down over your clit. He builds a steady pace that renders your eyes closed and mouth unhinged to let flow a stream of pleasurable sighs and moans. Your pitch heightens considerably when his fingers hit pay dirt on that spot inside you that always makes your toes curl. When you rock against his face to get all the friction you can, the chair moves with you.

“Shit, this is so hot, babe,” your husband groans from below. “Should’ve eaten you out in a rocking chair a long time ago.”

You start to respond but your words pinch into a squeal from a particularly strong tap against your g-spot with his fingertips, and that seems to be all the answer he could want.

Minho becomes greedy for your unfiltered noises and closes his lips around your clit to suck it the way he sucked your nipples just moments earlier. A shiver tumbles down each rung of your spine, all the way to your clenched toes. Your muscles tense to cope with the sheer intensity of the pleasure being administered to that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His fingers work tirelessly to undo you in tandem with his skillful tongue. The crest of your climax is drawing near so soon.

“Oh my god, Min,” you breathe with hardly any sound. “Fuck, you’ve got me so close already.”

He grunts his acknowledgement. “Is this how you want to come, doll? All over my fingers? All over my tongue?”

It is very tempting, but you still decline. “N-no. I want you inside me.”

“I’m already inside you.” He twists his fingers pointedly. “Can you be more specific?”

“You know what I mean,” you groan.

He has to get in a few more swipes of his tongue before he can say, “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it. You can have everything you want if you ask me.”

“I want your c-cock inside me. Now, please.”

Minho makes no move to cease his actions other than to briefly retract his tongue to speak again. “You sure you don’t want me to just keep going? You’re so close.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Please, fuck me already.”

The moan he lets out when he pulls away from you and gets to his feet is positively carnal. He rushes to undo his jeans, then shoves both them and his underwear to the floor in one swoop. You tilt your head to take in the view of his erect cock; the bulbous head is nearly purple from engorgement, and there is a glistening wetness at the slit from a buildup of precum.

“How do you want me?” he asks.

“Let’s try the chair.”

“Do you want to bend over it and I’ll fuck you from behind? Or do you want me to sit down and have you ride me?”

“Sit down and I’ll try riding you.”

You rock yourself up and out of the chair, and Minho takes a firm hold of each of your hands to help tug you to your feet. He kisses you quick and sloppy, giving you a quick taste of your arousal, before switching places with you and taking a seat. His cock points upwards as the perfect target for you to sit on.

You face away from him and straddle his legs to get yourself in position. One of his hands steadies your lowering hips as the other lines his dick up for entry. The tip squeezes into your warm wetness with ease. Minho spreads his legs wider and thrusts up to fit a few more inches of himself. With another shove from him and a bit of wriggling on your part, he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good,” he rumbles from behind you. Both of his hands are clenched tightly on your hips now.

You moan in agreement. “So do you.”

Bracing yourself on the arms of the chair, you raise yourself up a couple inches, then sink back down swiftly. Minho plants his feet firmly to keep the chair steady and meet you blow for blow as you start up a rhythm. The two of you grunt and pant with every stroke; the sounds are out of sync, but your movements are not.

The friction feels good, but your looming orgasm from earlier is not quite building again as you had hoped it would. Furthermore, your arms are already beginning to tremble from your efforts.

“Shit,” you swear in frustration. “Maybe this won’t work after all.”

He brings up his earlier suggestion and says, “Want to try bending over?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try that.”

His wet dick falls out of you to slap against his stomach when you stand up from his lap. Again, the two of you switch positions so you can lean down and prop your arms along the armrests of the chair. The seat tilts downward as you bend over and press your head against the back of it, and your breasts hang heavy below you. You vaguely notice they have begun to leak again.

Minho steps up behind you and returns his hands to your waist to lift your backside a little higher to expose yourself to him. The head of his cock briefly pokes over your asshole when he guides it into place at your pussy again. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pushes back inside and waits for an extended moment while you to readjust to the tight stretch of his girth.

When you tell him you’re ready, he recreates the rhythm you had started earlier, but at a slightly faster tempo now. Each smack of his tensed thighs against your buttocks makes your breasts bounce — another motion that does not go unnoticed by him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathes. One of his hands reaches over to cup one swinging breast and then the other. His fingers toy at your wet nipples once more. “You’re already such a MILF.”

The term makes you burst into surprised laughter. “Oh my god, please do not call me that,” you say.

“Why not?” Minho laughs back. “It’s true. You’re so. Damn. Sexy.” He emphasizes each word with concise, gasp-inducing thrusts. “And motherhood is only going to enhance that.”

“Ungh, right now I just want to come,” you groan, not interested in continuing a conversation at the moment, no matter how flattering. Your body feels heavy, but the coil in you is getting close to snapping again. “Please, Min... please…”

“Oh, you will, doll. I want you to come just as badly.” He pinches your drippy nipple with one hand, maneuvers the other hand around your waist, under your stomach, between your legs to trap your throbbing clit between two fingers. “Want you to come all over this cock.”

“Keep going and I will,” you promise him.

He speeds his hips up until he is hitting your g-spot with every push. He rubs and plays with your clit just the way you like. The steady whapping sound of skin on skin fills the nursery, along with your breathless encouragements for your husband to keep groping, keep pounding, keep going.

“You’re dripping everywhere for me, aren’t you, baby?” he grunts, his breath hot and ragged. “Got your sticky little clit in one hand, and your tit is leaking in my other.”

He is not wrong. Everything is so wet, so hot, so sticky. You whimper and repeatedly push back against him to further increase the friction.

“So fucking filthy,” he goes on, nearly growling. “Makes me want to bust and fill you up with cum. There’s gonna be so fucking much of it.”

His words, combined with a few more sweeps of his fingers over your clit and stabs of his cockhead against the sweetest part of you, burst you straight through the roof of your climax. With a whiny, broken moan, your pussy clamps him tightly, and it is not more than four of five more strokes before he joins you in sheer bliss. He seizes and grunts deeply as his cum shoots out of his twitching cock to meet the resistance of your already-occupied womb. He was right — there is a lot of it. The viscous white fluid oozes out of you and down along your thighs before the spurts have even finished trickling out of him.

Both pairs of legs between the two of you are shaky as Minho pulls out of your swollen pussy with a slick squelch. He helps straighten your body and pulls you into an adoring hug as you both regain your lost breath. His sweaty chest is nearly as damp as yours as it heaves against your back. You can feel his heart racing.

“You alright, doll?” he checks while dotting sweet kisses along your shoulder. “Was that good?”

“Very good,” you pant with a blissed smile. You turn your head to the side and pucker your mouth for a kiss. Your lower belly is cramping from the intensity of your orgasm, and you massage it absently as Minho’s lips envelop yours. His fingers bump yours as he, too, goes to cradle your stomach.

“How’s our little princess?” he asks next.

“Fine,” you answer. You kiss him deeply and whisper against his mouth: “We’re both just fine, thanks to the daddy.”

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2024 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[iluvpjo]

HII !!

HEAR ME OUT. Charlie is definitely a thigh guy,he loveeeees to just lay on ur thighs and kiss them and theyre js so squishy and UGH.

I think he'd be very sweet in general like if you had scars (Sh or just normal scars) he's definitely kiss them and tell you how beautiful they are

REMEMBER TO EAT ENOUGH AND STAY HYDRATED !! 🫂

-🌻

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓰𝓱 𝓖𝓾𝔂

Synopsis: Charlie being a thigh guy, basically headcanons but also not rlly ??? Idk what this is tbh

Warning(s): IT GETS NSFW! MDNI, thigh stuff, talks abt scars, talks abt sh (in its own seperate bit so ur able to avoid it, I’ll put a warning there)

Pairing: Charlie Bushnell x fem reader (could be seen as GN except for one part where he calls u a sweet girl but you can just imagine otherwise if u wish!)

Word count: 528 words

Notes: I tried to write this n tumblr closed on me n didn’t save my draft ARGH 😭 but I’m so sorry I been away for a moment.. on an unrelated note last night I dreamt abt cuddling w Charlie n omfg

ALSO I’m so sorry it’s a lil short ahhh

Come find me on AO3!

Send me a request! Here’s my req rules!

(NSFW-ish!) Charlie whenever he sits beside you will always have a hand on you wether it be on your shoulder or on your knee, or other times where he’ll be squishing you’re thigh under the table in public somewhere. He of course does this at home too, and occasionally if he feels like it sometimes his hand will wander upwards. He still likes to do it nonsexually though, squeezing softly whenever he wants your attention.

(NSFW!) He would love to kiss your thighs while laying between your legs, often using it to tease you and not touch you where you need it the most. He also gets a little distracted, the feeling of your warm cushy thighs near his face can easily make him lose time. Charlie will kiss softly at your thighs, but he will also nip them gently too between his teeth just to watch you yelp and whine.

He would definitely get super hard from eating you out, I mean just in general, but especially when you cum undone and you squeeze your thighs around his head. Fuckkk he’d be in heaven, and he’d let you know that too when he dives back in for round two and has you repeating the same actions over and over. He will do it until you tell him to calm down, but if you don’t then I’m sure he’d be going on forever and ever until something inevitably disrupts the two of you.

(Scar stuff, more specifically sh) If he noticed you had scars on your thighs he wouldn’t be quick to point them out, maybe he’d spend a little extra time kissing over the marks or trailing them gently with his finger tips if they were healed. If they weren’t healed fully though maybe he’d ask about them, cooing softly for you to talk to him about what happened to make you do it. He’d leave it if you didn’t wanna talk about it though, simply comforting you with gentle kisses and cuddles.

“Don’t look at them..” You’d say, perhaps being a little insecure about them when his eyes would linger a little too long on your thighs, and Charlie would smile up at you dumbly before placing soft pecks to them and saying “Why not? Your thighs are so beautiful.” And you’d grow a little flustered. “No, they’re not, my scars-“ he wouldn’t even let you finish the thought about them, because he’d butt in and say “Your scars are beautiful sweet girl, I ‘dunno what you’re talking about..” and then his voice would get muffled n a lil quieter as he gets lost in the feeling of ur soft plushy thighs and he keeps leaving kisses all over them, his hands gripping at them like they’re his favourite thing in the world (and they are, after you as a whole of course.)

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 7)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 6, Part 8

summary: You spend some time with Miguel.

warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all-consuming grief,

It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps. 

Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.

Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop. 

He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.

He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep. 

Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening. 

“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair. 

Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.

“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.

His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.

They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.

“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”

“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”

It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges.  “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.” 

“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.

“Discúlpame, tío.”

They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.

“I spoke to your mother.”

He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.

“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”

“She hasn’t called me either."

“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"

Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it. 

"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”

"You know it's all been hard on her." 

" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words. 

He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."

–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash. 

Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager. 

"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."

He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day. 

"It's today, isn't it?" 

All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back. 

“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.

Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick. 

Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.

His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.

“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.

“Hmm?” 

They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.

“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”

Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe. 

“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”

“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"

“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”

“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."

“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”

“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t– rot feels a little–”

“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”

They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.

“No promises, tío.”

“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”

He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.

“...best behaviour, I know.”

“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”

“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”

“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”

“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”

The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.

~~~

There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning. 

Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes. 

And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest. 

And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most. 

"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window. 

You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.

"I…I do."

You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered… 

Miguel is doing okay.

“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”

Really, actually; he’s doing fine.

“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”

Maybe even… good. Better than okay.

“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”

He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.

Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.

You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes. 

“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”

His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.

“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”

“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”

“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”

For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs. 

It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course. 

Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.

"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt. 

Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face. 

"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips. 

"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?" 

You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest. 

"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit. 

Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words. 

"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question. 

"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?" 

That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm. 

Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move. 

Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–

"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.

"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed. 

"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force. 

"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts. 

Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence. 

"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure. 

"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."

"...now?" 

Tomorrow. Miguel mouths. 

"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt. 

"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."

You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out. 

"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things." 

Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation? 

What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you. 

You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.

He cradles your chin, angling you upwards. 

"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips. 

You shake your head, writhing against the sheets. 

"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."

His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“Eyes on me, baby.” 

He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big. 

"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”

~~~

When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up. 

He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes.  You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all. 

"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first. 

"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."

"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?" 

Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes. 

He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter. 

You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum. 

"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course. 

"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–

He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead. 

"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?" 

He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways. 

"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."

He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad. 

But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck . 

You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.  

You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own. 

"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?" 

It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate. 

He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?" 

His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?

"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.

"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above. 

Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–" 

Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."

Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin. 

"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."

You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next. 

He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.

“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug. 

“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”

You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.

“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”

Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him. 

After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole. 

"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen. 

It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths. 

"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?" 

He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine. 

With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure. 

"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement. 

"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there. 

He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck. 

You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea. 

"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."

"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before. 

"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–" 

You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter. 

"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits. 

Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it. 

He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made. 

He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa. 

You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers. 

He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good. 

You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time. 

"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?" 

"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful. 

You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers. 

You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer. 

Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine. 

_

_

-

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[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

How about if Bucky was a police detective or a firefighter and ps!reader was like a baker or a nurse and she either Mets in the ER or her bakery and Bucky has like a girlfriend or someone he’s “talking” to and the someone notices that he goes in to the reader’s job more than usual and the girlfriend then goes to her job and says all this stuff but in the end Bucky and ps!reader end up together. Sorry for the rambling!!! 😅

༉‧₊˚. 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

― pairing: firefighter!bucky barnes x plus size baker!reader

― summary: falling for your avid customer bucky was never in the cards, but when a woman comes storming into your store calling you names, you began to think that he's not who he says he is.

― warnings: bullying, fat shaming, jealousy, hurt/comfort, stalking, mentions of stalking situations, angst, fluff, suggestiveness at the end, flirty bucky, angst with a happy ending.

― wc: 1482

⋆ a/n: thank you so much for this request! it was nice to work on an alternative universe fic, especially firefighter bucky!

masterlist | AO3

"Good morning sweetness!" Bucky greeted over the sound of your bell hitting the door. You flushed, rolling your eyes as you smiled shyly from behind the counter, brushing some flour off of your hands and onto your apron as you exited the kitchen.

"Morning Buck. Same as usual?" He leaned on the glass casings of cupcakes, cakes, cake pops, and other assorted baked treats. Usually, you'd scold customers for dirtying up the glass, but when it came to Bucky, you didn't care.

Bucky was a firefighter with a particular sweet tooth, practically showing up to your establishment almost every day. He was very flirtatious, and heavy on the nicknames as he watched you carefully. At first, the nicknames irritated you, because you thought it was just another man abusing the power of his occupation to catcall a woman, but you saw how kind he was, sometimes even bringing his coworkers Steve & Sam with him. You began to appreciate his arrival, even anticipating his visits whenever you heard the bell sing its similar song.

"So, Doll. I was thinking that maybe you and me could go out to dinner tomorrow night." Butterflies fluttered inside of your stomach at his words, raising an eyebrow as you tried to play your shock off. "Are you asking me out on a date, James?" His grin grew wider as you referred to him as his actual name.

"Would that be a problem if I was?" You reached into the casing, pulling out his three chocolate chip cookies he always gets. You knew they for himself, Sam, and Steve. Your heart grew at the selfless act.

"I suppose it wouldn't," You said with faux non-chalance, "Just name the time and place." As you handed him the little baggie full of goodies, you couldn't stop staring at each other with lovesick smiles, even as he left, you burning holes into his muscular back. It was always nice to be able to finish off the day with a smile.

The next day at work seemed to go by too slow for your liking, constantly checking the clock on the wall as you rung customers up.

"Looks like you have somewhere you're eager to be." Your best friend Wanda teased. You rolled your eyes, a tiny grin on your face as you shrugged. "Who knows?" You said playfully. Wanda nudged you with her shoulder, giggling as you feigned annoyance.

Your giggling was cut short by your door hitting the wall, a furious looking woman storming in.

"Which one of you is _______?!" She all but screeched. Your eyes were wide as Wanda rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a look of concern.

"It's okay Wands," You whispered to her, "I got this." Putting on a kind smile, you walked from behind the counter to greet her. This wasn't the first time you had angry customers, but you were always able to calm them down, even coming to an agreement of a refund.

"That's me!" You said with fake enthusiasm. "What can I do for you?" You asked. She just rolled her eyes; her body close to yours as she eyed you up and down. "Stay away from James you fat freak." You could hear gasps come from your customers as your heart fell into your stomach. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean." You said nervously, bile feeling like it was about to rise in the back of your throat.

"What I mean is that he's mine. So, I don't know what you think you're doing flirting with him, but it's got to stop. Now. I'm his girlfriend, and if I ever see you snooping around him ever again, there's going to be some problems." As she stepped closer, you stepped back.

"And it's not like he'd ever go for someone as big as you are anyways. Even though he's a firefighter doesn't mean he deals with zoo animals too." She then plastered on a condescending smile. "So, he won't be coming back here anymore. Toodles." With that, she exited out of the store, leaving you standing there utterly humiliated as you tried to wrap your head around what just happened.

Why didn't you say anything? What was she talking about? Bucky had a girlfriend? There were all of these questions swirling in your minds as you felt Wanda's gently hand on your body once more, what she was saying falling on completely deaf ears as you stared at the glass door with your company name on it blankly. All you could do was turn your head to face her with a watery smile.

"It's okay, Wands. I'm fine." Despite your words, you disappeared back into the kitchen where you allowed your tears to fall.

You stopped looking at the time, tending to the people that chose to sit in the booths, the college kids that always had study groups there. You knew Bucky was probably waiting for you, but you couldn't find it within your broken heart to care. You had no idea that he was a cheater, the cute — and what you thought was harmless — firefighter turned out to be a total prick.

Maybe you got too hopeful.

You fell into dark thoughts, ones that you hadn't dwelled on since you were in high school.

You closed up by yourself, bidding Wanda a fruitless goodbye as she held you in her embrace, whispering words of affirmation and encouragement into your ear.

Wanda was a good person, the only one that could probably help pull you back from wherever you were falling from.

You were bent over wiping a table when you heard that familiar jingle.

"Sorry, but we're closed," You said, "Come back tomorrow! We open early in the morning." But the door never closed, the bracing breezes brushing up against the naked skin of your arms that your work shirt didn't cover. "I think I already know that." Bucky sounded from behind you. Your whole body froze, your grip on the wet rag tensing as you didn't even bother to look behind you.

"Go away, James." You said coldly. "No." You scoffed and finally turned around. He looked nice, clean shaven, his hair even styled when it was usually always out of place. He dressed up for you.

"I don't go dates with cheaters." You said simply. That made his eyebrows furrow. "Cheater? Doll, I'm single." That made anger bubble deep inside of you. "Oh trust me, I know you're not, because your psycho girlfriend came in my store and humiliated me in front of everyone!" Then, a look of understanding overtook his face, along with one of frustration.

"Goddamn it," Bucky groaned, "Fuckin' Dot." He walked up to you, taking one of your hands in his. You wanted to pull away from him, but the way his callused and worked fingers gripped yours was enchanting.

"Baby, that woman... she's—" He gulped. He looked almost anxious. "She's an ex of mine. I broke it off with her and she went psycho. At first, I thought she could just leave me alone, but then... but then she started to stalk me, so I had to get a restraining order against her. It had recently just expired. I figured she had started stalking me again, but I hadn't expected her to be this... to be this bold." He ended with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, _____. I really am. I'm sorry she did that to you, you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve to be dragged into my shit." You shook your head softly, raising a hand so that it could rest on his now stubble free cheek. "Yes, I didn't deserve it, but you didn't either, Buck. I wish you would have told me about this, yeah, but I understand why you didn't. You wouldn't have scared me away because... because I wanna be with you, and I was really fucking excited when you asked me to go on a date with you." Your thumb caressed his cheek.

He looked at you through his eyelashes, large palms hesitantly landing on your waist, giving you an out to pull away if the gesture made you too uncomfortable. It didn't, instead, it heated up your body, a pleasant warmth settling in your gut at the feeling.

"I would still be willing to go on that date, if you want." You asked. You were scared that he would say no, you did stand him up after all. "Well, the restaurant is closed, but I'm pretty sure that Chinese place is still open. We could order in and watch tv at my place?" You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. "You're not trying to get me alone so you can get in my pants, are ya, Buck?" You asked playfully. He only chuckled, leaning his head down and brushing his lips against yours.

"It all depends on how you want this night to go."

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood

[perksofbeingpoet]

a small thing that is promised to calm todd down when everything gets too overwhelming is playing with or brushing his hair.

which, unfortunately, is way too intimate a thing to ask his friends for- they help as good as they can already, trying to be quieter when todd gets that very intense look, passing him food that isn't too spicy or salty, talking loudly when a teacher is looking for people to get up front to the board, so that they'll gleefully pick the loudmouth.

but this is different; involves a kind of gentleness, of vulnerability that todd can't ask for. it means baring the parts of him that are most sensitive, revealing he's a baby bird in thunderstorms, asking for whispers and warmth in a place that doesn't offer these things.

neil still finds out.

which shouldn't come as a surprise to todd - neil has a way of catching him where he's most vulnerable, closing his palms around him as if he was a ladybug in a child's hand. careful now, don't hurt it. i'll keep it safe. i'll carry it off the pavement, put it where the grass sprouts in may-coloured strands.

so neil finds out, when they're laying on todd's bed (better sun in the evening), neil reading the script of his newest play, todd just breathing, trying to match the tides of neil's heartbeat below him, trying to slow down his own. and neil isn't sure what happens, because to his mind, nothing's changed, but suddenly todd's eyes have that frozen panic in them.

neil thinks he can feel the way todd's drowning in his own thoughts, and todd's thoughts tend to be quicksand in these moments. it's desparation, in the end, that gets neil to bury his left hand in todd's hair, carefully weaving his fingers through the sandy strands. he knows it's silly, but the urge to physically wipe the thoughts off todd's head is what makes him lightly trace his nails across the other's scalp, gentle, always so gentle.

and todd melts.

his breathing slows, and suddenly he's back, and neil's heart flutters like a dragonfly drying off its wings. he can help. not much, not always, but he can try.

he soon discovers that it helps after showers, too - todd is embarrassed enough to snap at him the first time, the first time neil's heard him rashly angry, but it only takes todd a week to come back and apologise, to say neil was right, but could he not make a big deal out of it. (and neil perry, king of theatrics, doesn't)

because showers can be overwhelming in these times, when todd's mind is a bridge wobbling on brittle foundations- standing there all wet, knowing he'll need to get out the stall, and dry off, and get his clothes and put them on and they'll still stick to him a bit and his toes will stay wet because the floor is cold, and- it's too much.

but neil can brush his hair, still wet and darker than usual, and the scratch of it along his scalp grounds him, puts his thoughts on a leash. neil will hum a song, and todd will ache with the sweet cruelty of love, the stinging tenderness of vulnerability.

and when todd gets into bed in exam season, and the sheets are fluffy and full of fresh air, smelling of spring and melancholy, he breathes in deeply through his nose. and neil walks over to him for a second before going to his own bed, three extra steps that make todd close his eyes and bury his face in the pillow.

and he runs a hand through todd's hair, and it feels like warm notes on a cello. like autumn sun falling through tall tree trunks, like a mug of cocoa, like a childhood kitchen table. his fingers trace lines across todd's scalp, reminiscent of the contrails of the plane that divides the sky three years later, like neil is already dreaming of it.

todd breathes and smiles.

good night, little poet <3

(i put this on ao3 even though it's ridiculously short, so you guys know what that means- the time of poet writing dps fanfiction has started, and the next ones are gonna be way longer)

[ziggyzolch]

Queen Bee-atch III (Regina George x reader)

These chapters have been up on ao3 and wattpad but I figured i'd put them here as well.

Warnings: Cursing, use of F-slur but its kind of stupid so dont worry

✮✮✮

“You look like hell.” It was Thursday and Janis had invited you over. “Thanks,” you mumble out while pushing past her into her house. You could navigate her house blind, it's basically your second home now. You go into her room and flop straight into her bed. “You still having trouble sleeping?” Janis asks while plopping down onto the floor. She was surrounded by music sheets and crumpled up paper, her guitar on the ground next to her. You sluggishly sit up and look at her, “Yeah, I just can’t stop thinking.” “About what?” “Nothing, I don’t know,” You push the palms of your hands against your eyes.

You and Janis have weekly jam sessions. Chilling with your best friend and learning new songs to play together was your favorite pastime. Damien joins occasionally and sings along since you and Janis can’t sing for shit. At least you think so.

“Let’s just find a song then you can nap on my bed or something.” Janis proposes. Getting up, you pick up the acoustic guitar at the corner of the room and make your way to where she was seated. This week was your turn to pick a song.

“You’ll love this song. I discovered it recently and-”

“It’s Alex G again, isn't it? The chords he uses are so weird!”

“Yeah but-”

“Please tell me you have another song.”

You sigh, “I really thought you’d agree to that one. Let’s just play ‘Where is Your Mind’ or something.”

Janis is tuning her guitar when you get a text from your mother.

-We’re going shopping. I expect you to be at the mall in 20 minutes.-

You groan and lay your whole body onto the ground. “I know I’m already here but can I get a raincheck on the session? My mom is dragging me to go shopping” You sigh while getting up. “Yeah, no worries.” Janis replies, unbothered. God you really needed to sleep.

✮✮✮

“Seriously, mother?” Your mom was holding up a pink shirt with ‘baby gurlz’ plastered on the front. She had dragged you to the mall to upgrade your wardrobe. You needed new clothes because, according to your mother, you looked like an ‘emo beggar’. Your mother rolls her eyes “You dress like a hobo that lives at Hot Topic, baby. No offense.” It’s been 3 hours since you came in and you hadn’t found anything you liked. You take the shirt out of her hands and place it back on the rack.

“Can we just go home? I have an English test tomorrow and I haven’t started studying.” The lie comes out easily. In reality, you just wanted to nap. It’s been 3 days and you’ve gotten a total of 2 hours of sleep. A sigh comes out of your mothers mouth, “You know what, go sit in the car, you’re wearing whatever I buy you. Your outfit is going to be on your desk tomorrow morning.” She could buy you a dinosaur onesie and you wouldn’t care, you just wanted to nap.

✮✮✮

Unsurprisingly, the nap plan didn’t work out. You passed out eventually though, an hour before school, but at least it was something. You were now at your locker, clad in a white crop-top and baby blue skirt that was way too short. You hadn’t actually realized what your mother had picked out until a wide-eyed Damien grabbed your shoulder and dragged you to the bathroom. “Girl, what are you wearing? Also, did you lose weight?” You look at Damien confused, until you turn to the mirror. “Oh what the f-”

“Damien? What poor girl did you drag- the fuck?” Janis looks at you in shock, Cady standing behind her, while you stare back equally mortified. “You look like a pastel emo, dude.” Janis says while walking up to you and spinning you around. You stomp your foot. “Stop! I already feel bad enough.” You whine while pushing Janis off you and turning back to the mirror. Damien walks up behind you and stops your hands that were pulling at your shirt. “Girl you got bod, and those clothes lowkey look good on you.” Your eye roll is interrupted by the bell ringing. Shit.

Your thoughts start going crazy as you’re walking to English class. God they can see my legs! They probably know you don’t usually wear skirts. They’re probably all like: ‘look at her. You know she usually doesn’t wear skirts?’

Before you know it, you're sitting at your desk in English class, looking at your notebook. When did you get here? Huh, time flies when you’re having fun. You’re giggling at your own joke when you hear someone clearing their throat next to you. Regina?

“Did you hear anything I just said? Are you even actually physically present? It’s like I’m talking to a wall.” Regina raises an eyebrow waiting for a response. “Oh uh, hi.” You mumble out pathetically. She lets out a mocking ‘hi’ before continuing, “Anyways, I’ll pick you up after school for our project.” Project? What? You look up at the board and finally notice the list of instructions written down for a book report you had to do, with details of the partners the teacher had assigned. How much of the class had passed? Your question is answered when the bell signaling the end of the period rings.

You stand up too fast and start swaying before Regina gets up and holds you by your waist to steady you. “Woah there, slow down babe,” She pauses and looks you up and down. She bends down slightly to stare directly into your eyes and taps your cheek, “Cute outfit. See you after school.”

She packs her things and walks past you into the hallway.

You really need to sleep.

✮✮✮

It's like the bottom of your skirt was a mountain climber the way it kept hiking up with every step you took. At least it's almost the end of the day. One more period and you'd be on your way home. You were dragging your feet across the hall when you felt a slap on your ass. You turn around to see one of the jocks ,that you couldn't for the life of you remember the name of, smirking down at you.

Curse him out! Why are you just standing there? Your mouth flops open and closed like a fish, trying to come up with a devastating insult.

"F-Faggot."

...What the fuck? Your eyes widened. Before you could properly process what you said, you were pushed up against a locker with the jock impossibly close to you. "Say that again, slut." He grits his teeth, pushing you further into the locker. You're suddenly released and a very angry Regina was holding him by his shirt collar. "Apologize to her." You'd hate to be on the receiving end of the glare she's giving him. He scoffs, "You've gotten soft, Regina. Anyways, I was just giving her a compliment!" Regina's eyes somehow harden even more. "If the next words that come out of your mouth aren't an apology, Shane. I swear to god." His confidence falters and he eventually mumbles out an apology. "Walk away, and take your micro-penis with you."

Regina hears a giggle from below her and her eyes soften as she sees you on the floor. She helps you up and adjusts your clothes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's whatever."

She stares at you for a second.

"Take out your phone."

"What? Why-"

She pulls your phone out of your hand.

"I'm putting in my number, idiot."

What?

"For the project? I'm picking you up after school, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Pfft. Totally."

Giving your phone back and rolling her eyes, she turns away and leaves. From the corner of your eye you catch Janis and Damien stomping over. "Dude, why were you talking to Regina? Also our plan is working, Caddy's growing on them." You look at Janis, confused before she continues, "You need to sleep dude. Whatever we have health together let's find Caddy and get to class." Damien puts his arm around you and you all start walking. "What were you talking about with Regina, by the way?" He questions while adjusting his arm around you, "We got paired up for a project. A book report or something." You avoid bringing up the fact that you got harassed.

You love Janis and Damien, truly, but they tend to be a little overprotective. "Hah! What a nightmare!" Janis laughs. You look down at the floor, your face turning slightly red, mumbling, "She isn't that bad." The conversation dies out as you approach the classroom, Cady greeting you at the door. "Hey! So, Aaron invited me to this Halloween party..." Cady's voice fades as you sit down and put your head down onto your desk.

✮✮✮

"Nice room, Blondie." You say, going further into Regina's room. She had been waiting for you outside the school in her convertible, making it impossible for you to get out of spending time with her. Despite her recent tolerability, you couldn't forget how she used to treat you.

Regina smiles, "Thanks, Y/N. It was my mom's but I made her trade it."

"Woah. 'Y/N'? Are you going soft on me, Blondie?"

"Shut up."

You walk around her room and spot a couple of vinyls. Green day? My Chemical Romance? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? The Strokes! What!

"Blondie, you have taste?"

Regina flips around and stomps towards you, taking the 'Stereophonics' vinyl out of your hands. "Stop going through my shit, Gerard." Back to square one.

She watches you adjust your skirt and pull at your shirt uncomfortably. Walking into her closet, she finds a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt she hadn't worn in years. You were awkwardly standing in the middle of her room before you felt a bunch of clothes hit your face.

The shock passes and you smile at her gratefully while she rolls her eyes and takes a seat at her desk. Should you go to her bathroom? Whatever, she's already seen you shirtless. Her face turns red while she pretends not to notice you changing in front of her. You finish up and take out your laptop, taking a seat on the floor. She swivels her chair to face you, "So, what book were you thinking?" You look up at her, slightly shocked. You didn't think she'd give you a choice.

"Oh. Uh. The Bell Jar?"

"Too bleak."

"It ends nicely though!"

"No! Pick something else."

"Okay, uh, My Year of Rest and Relaxation?" You propose with an eyebrow raised.

She glares at you.

"Are all the books you read just about mentally ill women?"

You sigh, "Pretty much. Oh! What about Matilda!"

She opens her mouth to argue, then pauses for a moment.

"Actually that doesn't sound too bad. Matilda it is."

✮✮✮

An hour passed before Regina looked up from her report and found you curled up on her floor, your laptop discarded to the side. After putting away your laptop, she approaches you and stares down at you. Hands on her hips, she looks around before letting out a breath and picking you up. "Gina?" You mumble out.

She shushes you and places you on her bed. "No. No, it's fine. I have to finish the report." Attempting to sit up, you whine when she pushes you back onto her bed. "We have a week till it's due. Rest." She leaves no room to argue as she tucks you in. "No! Oh wow. Your bed is so comfortable." Your eyes start drifting close and the last thing you see is Regina placing a kiss on your head.

✮✮✮

"I mean I've been dressing up as a mouse since freshman year, why would I change now?" Karen's voice takes you out of your blissful slumber. How long have you been asleep? "You're barely even a mouse, Karen." You could hear Gretchen reply. The sun had started setting, from what you could tell. You sit up, rubbing your eyes and looking around the room. Gretchen and Karen were sitting on the floor while Cady was laying above the sheets next to you. "Hey sleepyhead!" Cady pinches your cheek and tackles you when you try to push her away. She straddles your waist and starts tickling you. "Dude!...Stop!" You say in between giggles.

"What's going on here?" Regina must've been in the bathroom, "Finally up? I was getting ready to call the funeral house, Gerard." She was wearing sweatpants and a tank top. You accidentally glance down at her chest and turn away quickly, blushing, unaware of Regina's knowing smirk. She must've changed when you wear asleep.

Cady finally stops her assault on you. "Ha. Ha" You roll your eyes, moving to get up when Cady grabs your arm and pulls you back down, "Did you wrestle a bear or something?" Looking down to see what she was talking about, you notice a huge hand shaped bruise on your shoulder. You can feel everybody's eyes on you. "Oh, I fell during PE. It's nothing" You shrug her hand away and rub your shoulder, walking towards the walk-in closet, ignoring Regina's eyes burning a hole in your back. Bending down to pick up your clothes, a bright pink book catches your attention.

"Hey. Why didn't you tell Cady about Shane- No!" Regina's eyes widen as rushes towards you and pulls the book out of your hand. It's too late, your page had been the first one you found when you opened the book. Standing up, your voice wavers, "Thank you for being so accommodating, I'll get out of your hair now." You bump your shoulder into her getting out of the closet, hurting yourself more than her.

The silence that followed after you slammed the door on your way out was loud. Regina plops down next to Karen and Gretchen, Cady following after her. Running her hands through her hair, Regina sighs and stares at her bedroom door.

"Fuck."

✮✮✮

[obsessivestar]

'What If It's All A RomCom?' - a Ted Nivison x Reader.

{{-Story Description: You're a youtuber with a fairly decent following deciding to help your good friend Tanner with a minor film project, with you set as the leading lady. When the actor for the male lead is a no show, Ted takes up the role himself. One problem: This short film's a Rom Com, and you just met the guy.-}}

//18+, Def gonna be some smut. Reader is implied to be afab, under 5'5 and has specifically named friends, all who have no real connection to Ted.

This story will be in multiple chapters. Also gonna post this on Wattpad and Ao3 (when I figure them out LMAO) under the same username: ObsessiveStarla. Hope you enjoy :^)

Also idk how to do all the fancy Tumblr border stuff so sorry if it's all messy :^(((//

Word count: 2.3k

Chapter 1: No Show, No Movie.

I'm keeping my eye on the road, occasionally glancing at the GPS to make sure I can guide my buddy Tanner as he drives. We had quite an early morning to get to L.A., having been on the road for the last 2 hours to get to this airbnb we'll be staying at. Tanner's nearing the end of film school, so he's getting all his classmates and anyone else that's available and interested to help him with his big final project: A legit short film, filmed, written and directed by him. Having some experience with being on camera myself, he elected to make me part of the main cast. I don't mind at all, if it'll help him out. Even if it's a romantic comedy. I'll kiss some dude, get him that 100%. I'm excited for this.

"Has Conner messaged me at all?" Tanner asks, breaking the last 20 minutes of silence. I quit out of my daydream to check Tanner's messages. Other members of the crew have updated them on their location, including a name I don't recognize, but Conner hasn't responded at all.

"Nope. Mostly everyone else is nearly there though." I responded, lightly shrugging my shoulders. A humorous but knowing smirk creeps along the edges of my lips. "Think he slept in?" "I fucking hope not." Tanner huffs, his tone suggesting he's half-joking. "He is literally /the/ male lead. He's like one of the people I need there the most today."

I put the GPS back up on the screen and lay back against the passenger seat, slightly raising a brow to myself. What would happen if he's late, or doesn't show up at all? Could we even get a replacement in time? We only booked this place for the next couple weeks.

As we get off the highway and get even closer to our destination, I see a notification pop up on Tanner's phone, it's the name I don't recognize. Ted. He's not in our friend group and I don't recall Tanner mentioning him from class.

"Is Ted a new guy?" I ask, turning my head to Tanner. "Oh, no, he's like...a friend of a friend." Tanner pauses before reiterating "He's going to be the editor. He's a youtuber, like you; he went to film school as well."

"Oh. He's like the only name I didn't recognize."

"Yeah, he's a cool guy, no worries, he'll probably be there with me to help with the, yknow, directing too."

There's room for a response, but I don't continue the conversation. We don't have a lot of money to put into this, so that airBnb is also where we'll be filming everything. Most of the film crew and extra actors got their own accommodations elsewhere, but some of us will be staying /at that/ location itself. Wonder if that includes the editor? It'd be weird to share a house with a dude I didn't know, but if Tanner trusts him, I will as well. "I know where to go from here, let everyone know we'll be there soon."

I take Tanner's phone and let everyone know we're close by, including Ted, before setting the phone aside. Tanner pulls into what I thought was a street at first, only to notice its the driveway of the airbnb. Wild how we can't afford multiple sets and hotels, but can afford this villa-like estate for nearly a month. Hey, whatever works, right?

Tanner parks by the many other vehicles and grabs his phone before we both hop out. I can't help but look up at how tall the building is. It looks like one of those frat houses an influencer would own, like if you told me this was owned by fuckin' 'disney channel flow' Team 10, I would 100% believe you.

Tanner and I are greeted by most of the cast and crew as we approach the front door of the house, giving the appropriate hugs and handshakes as we head inside. That's when I spotted a tall man in a dark green sweater fixing up some professional looking cameras, dark hair slicked up to add to his already impressive height, with circular glasses to match the relaxed vibe I'm getting from him. To be fair, he only stands out so much to me because I don't recognize him. This must be Ted.

He looks up from his camera when he spots Tanner and I greeting the other crew members. I casually glance away to one of the pictures on the wall to avoid giving the impression I was staring. I have a habit of fixing my eyes onto people without realizing it.

"Traffic?" Is the first word I hear out of Ted's mouth, directed at Tanner. I don't really know what I was expecting to hear come out of this man, but it certainly wasn't a voice like that. It's strong, deep, almost fake sounding, like he's already playing a character, but no, that's just him.

"Dude, we passed by, like, 3 accidents" Tanner shakes his head slightly, putting his hands on his hips. "And Conner hasn't even gotten back to me, It's been an interesting morning."

As they have their conversation, my thoughts turn to a more curious nature as I contemplate what this guy actually does as a youtuber. If he went to film school as well, does he make long video essays? Commentary, like me?

"This is (Y/N), mine and Joe's friend." My thoughts are cut by the sound of my name, realizing Tanner was introducing me to Ted. Makes sense. We don't know each other. "She's gonna be the female lead."

"Ahhh okay, nice to finally meet you. I'm Ted." Ted personally greets me with a gentle handshake and a winning complexion. I return the handshake with a shy smile. "'Finally'?" I repeat to him, raising a slight brow.

"Yeah! Joe's told me about you, 'said you'd be shorter"

A sudden chuckle escapes me. Joe's my best friend and is part of the wardrobe team, of course he'd say something like that. "He's a dick.." I kid, shaking my head to myself. "You, on the other hand, are a fuckin' giant."

"Oh I know. I have to fuckin' duck down to get into any room upstairs. Tallhood ain't what its cut out to be" We both get a laugh out before Ted returns to setting up the cameras. I notice Tanner checking his phone again, visibly both anxious and frustrated.

"Man." Tanner speaks, seemingly thinking aloud. "Still nothing." "Isn't he the other lead?" Ted speaks as he moves to adjust the stand of one of the lights, glancing up through his round glasses. "I figured he'd be here first."

"He should've been here first." Tanner huffs, masking his clear frustration with a chuckle. "I-I don't know what I'm gonna do if he just doesn't show." "What would we have to do?" I tilt my head at Tanner, feeling a little anxious myself.

"I have no idea, honestly" Tanner responds, shaking his head. "At best, we'd have to find someone to take his place within the next, like, couple days. At worst, I'd have to cancel this whole thing."

I frown, trying to think of some helpful alternative in my head, but nothing comes up. I'd hate for everyone to have to go home, and getting the money back for the airbnb would be a hassle. We all pitched in for this place. As much as I've joked about it, it's pretty nice. 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, half the place is a giant living room and there's even more outside. I'd hate to leave without getting to sleep in one of those giant beds. All I can do is hope for the best, I guess.

About an hour passes. At this point, everyone except Conner has shown up on set and most of us that will be on camera are fitted and ready. We had already read through the entire script together over Discord prior to getting here, so all we need to do is just start filming.

I'm refreshing my memory with the script when I hear a notification ping from Tanner's phone. It takes him less than a second to pick it up and look at the message, pausing to read it. I see his expression go from relief to uneasy, his thumbs tapping on his phone's keyboard louder than usual as he responds before setting his phone down and taking a deep breath.

"Conner can't make it."

Silence fills the room for a moment as everyone looks up from their tasks. I approach Tanner, script still on hand.

"What? What does he mean he can't make it?" I asked, honestly shocked with what I was hearing. "So, yknow how he's just...not been responding since we left?" Tanner asks, looking understandably annoyed.

"Yeah?"

"Apparently he ate some bad food last night and has been throwing up since 4am. We left at 5."

The only thing I can do is run my fingers through my hair in frustration. Dude probably ordered bad chicken or something. Of course. "So our main dude, THE male leading role or whatever, has food poisoning." I say that as a statement, but I'm honestly just so confused, I don't want to believe it. "What do we do now? Could we hire someone else in time?" "Even if we could, we wouldn't have time to get the chemistry built up between you two." Tanner shrugs. "There'd be no way of knowing if it'll work out."

"I'll do it."

Tanner and I turn our heads to Ted, who's joined in on the conversation shortly after assembling the last light. My first instinct is to let out a sigh of relief, but I steel myself, trying to really process what he's offering.

"You? You wanna be the male lead?" Tanner points at Ted, rather surprised he'd offer. Ted seemed to laugh at the expression on Tanner's face "What's that fuckin' look for? You think I can't be romantic, Tanner?" "No--" Tanner cackles, putting his palms up defensively as he laughed. "That's not it! I just-- you haven't read the script, and, yknow..." Tanner pauses, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head in my direction. "You two just met, you'll have to, yknow--"

"'Yknow? Yknow?' I KNOW, Tanner. I. know." Ted begins to mock Tanner in a friendly manner while pointing at himself, his strong voice easily overpowering Tanner's timid tone. "I've been doin' this since you were in little baby diapers, alright? I can read the script, I can kiss the pretty lady, I got this!"

I suddenly feel a whole lot warmer, resisting the urge to put a hand to my cheek. I mean, I have blush on already, but now I'm definitely blushing. I'll have to kiss this guy?

I mean.

That ain't a bad thing.

That's a nice lookin' dude. I'd be blind not to see it.

But I did just meet him.

"I mean...." Tanner seems to be at a loss for words, glancing in my direction once more. I realize I've been one of the main talking pieces of this conversation, yet I haven't spoken a word. "Ah--I.." I stammer out what was meant to be a coherent response, realizing I'm a bit more sheepish about this than I thought I'd be. He called me pretty. I...don't know what to do with that. I can handle a compliment, sure, but this was...

"Hey, sorry, I don't wanna step over any lines..." Ted's smile faded after my lack of a response, resting his hands behind his back. "Oh no! I-I wouldn't mind it at all." I finally managed to speak up. I swear, I felt like a bashful damsel in those old transatlantic-accent films. "I mean, like, better this than sending everyone packing early, right?"

"Real flattering." Ted responded with a renewed smile and a chuckle, getting another sheepish blush from me. "Whatever works for everyone, I'm down for it."

Based on Tanner's knowing expression, I can tell he gathered something of use from whatever that exchange was. "I mean..." Tanner repeats again, as if to remind us he's also there with filler words before taking in a sharp breath of realization, or maybe it was one of acceptance, I couldn't tell. Either way, he had an idea. "OK, how about this: most of the crew didn't get breakfast on the way up here and we're all gettin' pretty hungry, we could use some caffeine. How about you two head back out and get everyone something from Dunkin' or wherever? Get talkin', see if it works."

"You setting us up on a breakfast run, or a date?" I collect myself fast enough to make a joke, actually getting a decent chuckle out of Ted. Part of me couldn't believe I had even made that joke aloud, I was also kind of genuinely asking. "I am testing the chemistry." Tanner clarified slowly with a half smile. "And I...don't want to do it myself."

Ted and I look at each other, giving me a brief moment to realize Ted's eyes are brown. Don't know why I've chosen to collect that information now. Just another observation I've made for the day.

...Man, I'm hungry.

"Alright, but I'm not driving your car." I agree with a shrug. "No need, I got my Tacoma." Ted responds, making a clicking noise with his mouth and gesturing me to follow him outside.

"You...have your city in Washington?" I ask genuinely, getting another laugh out of him, not intentionally this time. "Toyota Tacoma. My truck." He corrects me, guiding me to an old dark green pick-up truck. "I've had this baby since high school. Graduated with it."

"Ahh, your high school sweetheart. Lovely. Happy to meet her."

"Fuck off" Ted jokingly scoffs, hopping into the drivers seat. I have this big grin on my face as I get into the passenger side. He's giving me this...oddly comforting vibe. I can talk and joke with this guy so naturally, like I've known him for longer than an hour.

Somehow, I get the feeling we'll get along just fine, even if I'll end up having to kiss him once or twice this month....

....That's got me thinking, how many times am I kissing this guy again?

__________________________________

|| Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 (smut) || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 (smut) || Chapter 11 ||

[sytoran]

fascinating consultancies | teom part iv

Wanda seeks help in Agatha to find a remedy to her situation.

─── pairing: sub!milf!wanda x athlete!player!reader

─── note: this chapter turned out to be a lot more cute and fluffy than i anticipated... anyways

─── word count: 1.5k

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“So… the smokin’ hot neighbour basically fucked a woman in front of you, on purpose, and you watched it, on purpose? I got no clue about you, Wands, but this kinda sounds like a kinky porno.”

“That’s not the point!” Wanda exclaims in exasperation, burying her face in her hands. She’s seated on Agatha’s surprisingly comfortable vintage armchair, rattling the tale of what you had done nearly a week ago. 

Agatha’s a good confidant, with a bawdy sense of humour but incredibly wise if need be. Beyond her years were those life-changing pieces of advice. Despite the snobbish aura she might seem to give off, Agatha’s front door was always open for Wanda.

Wanda was kind of creeped out by her Siamese cat, though. 

“How is that not the point— ugh, forget it. Was she at least good, though?” Agatha winked, eyebrows raising smugly. “All that muscle’s gotta be put to good use, right?”

Wanda choked on air, flashbacks of that night coming in sinful stretches.

She had just been about to go to bed, really. After washing up the dinner plates and tucking the boys in the bed, Wanda trudged up the stairs, prepared to meet sweet slumber without her husband once again. 

Wanda forced herself not to think about her new neighbour, and how nice they had seemed, and definitely not focusing on how fucking attractive they were, too. 

Wanda forced herself to think of the darker aura you exuded, and how she should avoid tying herself up into any kind of mess like that. She barely knew anything about you.

Another step up those stairs. Round the corner. In the bedroom. About to tug the curtains close — wait.

That’s when Wanda saw it. In her direct line of vision, beyond the short distance that separated her and the neighbour’s house. In her direct line of vision, the person she had been thinking of for no less than a full week. 

In her direct line of vision, you, fucking a redheaded woman right up against the glass of your bedroom window.

Not for the first time, Wanda nearly passes out.

You were nothing like the person she had seen just yesterday, not the gentlemanly woman with a heart-throbbing smile. No, nothing like that.

This version of you, instead, was the glimpse she had saw for only a moment before. The venomously darkened eyes, almost sadistic, contemplative yet careless and devouring and oh so easy to get lost in.

Wanda watched, jaw slackening as your hands, ran over the woman’s breasts and thighs and stomach, squeezing and rubbing and massaging and caressing. Handling her deliciously roughly, pulling at her hips and tugging at her hair, as the woman writhed beneath your touch. Despite the separating distance, Wanda swore she could hear each moan and cry fall from the redheaded’s cherry lips. 

When Wanda sees you dip your head down to feast on the woman’s breasts, Wanda trembles at the sensation of a gush of arousal making its way onto her panties. She’s still stood at the bedroom window, clad in a silk bathrobe, unable to peel her eyes from the devastatingly entrancing scene before her. 

The angle that Wanda’s been granted doesn’t exactly give her the best view of your face, but from what she can see, the redheaded woman's having the absolute time of her life.

She's shaking against the glass of the window, hips undulating across what Wanda assumes to be your thigh. Wanda can feel that drop of arousal now, escaping the threshold of her soaked undergarment, running down her thigh, and then-

You’re looking, right into her eyes, dark and unyielding.

“Babe, you’re not helping your case.” 

Agatha’s voice is a piercing vice, hauling Wanda out of her detailed reverie. “I don’t know what kind of fantastical erotica you’re dreaming of right now, but you’re about to drool so let’s try not to do that on my armchair. You can masturbate later, not like your husband’s ever home, eh?”

“Agatha!” Wanda shrieks, going to hit at her arm. Her head is still spinning from the vivid imagery now placed in her head, her thoughts swirling around one sole object – you.

“What?” The dark-haired woman protests, rolling her eyes. Agatha lets out a huff as her cat jumps into her lap. The grumpy siamese curls up on Agatha’s lap in protest.

Wanda watches, physically present but her headspace in a different galaxy. That fated day had felt like an out-of-body experience, one Wanda was still recovering from. The aftershocks were settled into her bloodstream, tingling whenever she caught fleeting sights of you.

“In short, you need more sex in your life, Wanda.”

Agatha merely smiles, as if she knew everything in the world. Wanda let her shoulders sink, soft grumbles leaving her lips.

“It’s not like that,” the brunette pouts. “Vision is…… okay, well, he isn’t giving me sex, but I’m fine without it! You can keep your nose out of my sex life!”

That familiar twinkle in Agatha’s eye is a telltale sign of trouble. “I think, that Y/N L/N might give your husband a run for his money. And also, they’re not who you think they are.”

Wanda’s face scrunches into one of confusion. Agatha, and her cryptic sentences can sometimes make Wanda’s brain hurt. 

Ah, forget it. Agatha’s just spewing nonsense again.

The blaring sound of Wanda’s cell phone going off is an abrupt startle in the middle of tense silence. Almost relieved, Wanda goes to pick up the phone. 

That relief didn’t last long.

“Baby, why are you not home yet? Someone needs to take care of the boys! I have to go for a work meeting in half an hour!”

Wanda feels her heart sink at the outburst. Her voice is heavy when she responds, not like the fiery rage that is her husband’s temper, but more like a weariness of days grown old. 

“Vis, it was just two hours. I was talking to Agatha, you know that. And I was taking care of the boys for the whole week already, can’t you play your part for just two hours?”

“I’m the working parent. You’re their mother,” Vision spits almost venomously into the phone, and Wanda feels a stab in her gut. “So you can stay at home and take care of them. I, on the other hand, need to make some fuckin’ money for us, alright?”

Wanda’s lips purse into a straight line, refusing to answer. Her chin is jutted up defiantly. Almost as if he could see her defiance, Vision sighs heavily, the sound crackling over the static of the call. He hangs up abruptly.

“Husband being bitchy?” Agatha asks after a pause, sympathy painting her face. The cat is settled in her lap, perfectly content with Agatha’s absent-minded hand stroking its fur.

“Oh, you can bet on it,” comes Wanda’s grumble, picking up her things in forceful motions.

Could this day get any worse?

===

Yes, this day could indeed get a lot worse.

“Boys, will you please eat your food,” Wanda says stately, setting down her fork. She looks at her seven-year-old sons with as much patience as she possibly can. They’re her light, really, but sometimes they can just be so incredibly rowdy.

“No! I want pizza!” Billy yells, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. The result of this, however, is that he flips over his plate of green beans and mashed potatoes, causing the food to spill out onto the tablecloth. Tommy shrieks as one the green bean flies into his own plate. Billy cackles. 

Wanda’s face falls.

Sooner than later, the minor accident escalates into a full-on catastrophe, with a food fight currently ongoing. Demonic cries of ‘pizza!’ could be heard over the cacophony, and somehow Sparky has entered the scene and is running between the table legs, loud barks invading Wanda’s every sense.

And all too soon, the kettle begins whistling. Fuck, I forgot about that, Wanda thinks exhaustedly, making a beeline for the kitchen.

Almost as if on cue, the house phone begins ringing, piercing the brunette’s ears with each brutal ring. Someone save me.

To add insult to injury, the doorbell rings right at that very moment.

Wanda flings open the door on the verge of tears. She swears, she swears, if she has settle another fucking problem, she’ll actually go mad. She’ll–

Oh.

Standing in her front porch is you. You, with messy hair and sweatpants, a goofy smile and boxes of pizza tucked under your arm. You, whom Wanda had been avoiding for nearly a week straight, because you were perhaps not so straight. Your eyebrows are raised in a hopeful promise, not expectant at all.

Wanda almost cries from relief.

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[lurking-latinist]

How to Suck Less at Summaries

Probably almost anyone who's ever posted a fic to ao3 or a platform with a similar interface has been hit by that moment of panic, breaking in on the euphoria of having finished and polished a fic--"what do I put for the summary?!"

So much so, that "I suck at summaries" in the summary box has become something of a cliche. It's very understandable! You've already put all that work into writing the fic itself, and now you have to write ANOTHER thing with its own set of conventions and expectations? No way!

And I want to start by saying that that's absolutely fine. Fic writing is your hobby, your creative endeavor; you're not obligated to do anything in it that you don't want to. You can leave the summary box completely blank--ao3 will let you--and there's no reason you shouldn't, if that's what you want to do! If you're happy with your summaries, please don't change them. There's no wrong way to do summaries. This is your invitation to ignore the entire rest of this post!

However. My impression is that an awful lot of people aren't happy with their summaries. They would like to have summaries that catch a reader's attention, that fit common patterns, or that give a good representation of the fic; they're just not sure how to accomplish that, or what readers might be expecting. And the good news is that writing various styles of summaries, like other kinds of writing, is a skill you can improve--and that there are some tips and tricks that can help you write the kinds of summaries you may want to write more quickly.

How do I know? Well, on top of having read I don't know how many fics, I've published 200 of my own, with all different kinds of summaries. (In fact, writing this post is my treat to myself to celebrate publishing 200 fics!) So I have a lot of trial and error experience to draw on. I'll be using my own summaries as examples (plus some hypothetical examples), because I don't want to be nitpicking anyone else's!

I'm going to throw in a cut now because this is gonna get long.

What do you want to accomplish with your summary?

That's the first question you might want to ask yourself. And the answer really is up to you! The name "summary" suggests it's supposed to be a sort of short version of your story. That's one option. But summaries are often used to accomplish various other things, too: some of my favorite summaries don't really tell you anything about the plot of the fic, but instead give you a glimpse of the writer's style or lure you in with a question. It can also fill organizational purposes like commemorating the reason the fic was written (although author notes can also be effective for things like this).

Most fundamentally, I tend to think of the summary box as a place to manage your readers' expectations. I want them to have some sense of what the fic they're about to read might be like, and I want to present that in a way that highlights why it might be appealing to them. Of course, what I write won't be appealing to every reader--and an effective summary, plus accurate tags and ratings of course, allows a reader who won't enjoy what I have to offer to quickly keep scrolling and find something that fits their tastes better. But the way I think of them, summaries are really mainly for readers who will enjoy my fic if they decide to open it. A summary for a fic is like a pretty package for a gift: the gift is great in itself, and the nice gift-wrap makes it more eye-catching and more fun to open!

Sidebar: This "managing expectations" thing is, I think, the reason why authors sometimes add notes in the summary like "I'm sorry if this sucks" or "this is my first fic, it's probably terrible." I completely understand where this comes from--you don't want to make your readers expect some kind of genius literature and then only have something to give them that you yourself are still insecure about! But I really do think they're generally counterproductive. On the one hand, that kind of negative self-talk will tend to undermine your own confidence and make you more insecure about your writing, not less; on the other hand, they can subconsciously prime your readers to notice weaknesses and issues that they might otherwise not even have paid attention to! That doesn't mean you have to pretend you think your writing is perfect; very few of us do think what we post on fic archives is perfect. There's nothing wrong, even, with a note like "this is my first fic" or "this one is a bit experimental, I'm not sure how I feel about it" or "this wasn't written in my first language" or even "this is an old fic and I don't think it represents my best work anymore", although I tend to put that kind of commentary on craft in the author's notes rather than the summary, but that's just me; there's no rule. As an example, when I recently published my first fic in the Hornblower fandom, which has a historical setting I wasn't previously very familiar with, I thanked my beta for helping me avoid "historical howlers" and added "any remaining are my own responsibility." That made me feel better about potential mistakes in research by showing that I was aware I might have made some. I put this in an author's note at the end of the story. But, for the sake of you as a writer as well as me as a reader, I'm asking you--please don't start out our reader/writer relationship by telling me it's terrible! Give yourself a chance to shine. Even if there's a lot you're insecure about in your fic, there's something you love--maybe it's the premise, the ship, even one particular line--that makes you want to share it with the world. Use the summary to highlight that. As your reader, that's what I want to know about!

Anyway, now that you've decided what you want your summary to accomplish, there are a couple of very easy ways to fill the summary box that you might want to consider--if they make sense for your fic.

Just quote the prompt

When I write prompt-fic, often very short, I frequently just quote the prompt itself as the summary. An example would be my 3 Sentence Ficathon fic archived on ao3. Since the challenge in this event is to write a complete fic in only three sentences, a summary wouldn't be much shorter than the fic itself! So I just do summaries like

For reeby10's prompt: "Doctor Who, Clara/Twelve, unforgettable."

(Gaps)

This can work outside of prompt memes, too. If you're doing a monthly challenge, for instance, something like

Flufftember day 21, 'breakfast in bed'

might tell your readers all they need to know to be interested in your story and know what to expect.

Set the context

For some fic, the most important thing you want your readers to know going in is something about the fic's context. For instance, with drabbles I sometimes use the summary as a place to sneak in information about setting/what's supposed to be happening that I didn't have room for in the drabble itself. For Susan's Twist, a 100-word drabble, I set the scene in the summary:

Susan is grooving to the latest chart-topper of 1963. But for some reason, the song makes her grandfather uncomfortable.

which meant I didn't have to use any of my 100 words explaining "Susan was listening to the radio, when..." Since Susan's Twist was inspired by someone else's Tumblr post, I could also just have referenced that post in the summary. But in this case, I chose to phrase the premise in my own words in the summary, and cite the Tumblr post in the author's notes (I also tagged the OP when I shared the fic on Tumblr).

Flower Children is an example of a drabble with a not particularly effective summary where I could have used this strategy quite effectively. The summary is just

Neither of them wants to fight.

which is all right, but which doesn't do much to set up the (admittedly cracky) Eighth Doctor/Dalek Oswin pairing that motivates the fic. But then, I've always felt like I didn't have quite as much of an idea as I'd like about what the context for this fic is supposed to be. Maybe I'll write more about them sometime.

Setting the context can also be useful for summaries of AUs. Very often, what draws people into AUs is the AU concept itself.

For instance, the premise of my story te quaerens, Ariadna is that the events of the audio Zagreus go differently and the Doctor remains possessed by/transformed into Zagreus. So that's what I said in the summary:

The Doctor is still Zagreus, but he and Charley find ways to keep going.

In this case, the summary is accomplishing more than one thing; it explains the concept, but it also indicates a bit of the story's tone--it's fairly optimistic given its premise, and it's more about how their relationship evolves than any particular plotty event.

With setting change AUs--especially in familiar AU settings, like a coffeeshop, high school, or fantasy monarchy--often what readers will most want to know is what roles the characters are filling; in other words, how the translation from canon to AU has been made. For instance, my story Warmth is already tagged as a coffeeshop AU with the Fifth Doctor, Nyssa, Tegan, and Adric, so the summary indicates that it's told from the perspective of Tegan as a new employee:

Unexpectedly stranded in London and looking for work, Tegan finds a place where she just might fit in.

If she had been a longtime employee or a customer, that would have changed the story's dynamics, and I would have wanted the summary to reflect that instead. I could have also added that the Doctor is the shop's manager and Nyssa and Adric are the existing employees, but I decided to let the story itself reveal that in this case.

With someone's planted a bath bomb in the matrix, which is a retail AU inspired by an incorrect quotes tumblr post, I just stuck the whole tumblr post in the summary box:

Romana: When you work at lush and a customer comes in and bites the soap because they think it’s cheese… this happens way more frequently than you think. Leela: If you stopped literally presenting soap as deli food this wouldn't happen. Narvin: Who goes into a bath store and thinks something covered in glitter is cheese? Brax: Who goes to the store and just takes a bite from the cheese? ~incorrectgallifreyquotes.tumblr.com

I might do that a bit differently now--maybe more the way I handled Susan's Twist--maybe something like this in the summary:

An uptight employee and a too-suave customer are making Romana's job managing a bath store way too stressful. Thank goodness--probably--that her best friend works for mall security.

And then I'd have put the tumblr post that inspired it in author's notes.

Thing is, though, that reflects my taste and what I think is effective now, but it doesn't mean I did it wrong the first time. People read and enjoyed the story, and it was fine!

Also I just showed this post to Moki and she said she thinks the first one's more intriguing. So that just goes to show, it's really a matter of taste.

This strategy is also useful for missing scenes and things like that. Something as simple as

While waiting for Z to return from the rendezvous, X and Y have a conversation.

can draw in readers very effectively, especially if X and Y's conversation was kind of obviously a gap in the story that they might already be curious about.

Use a quote

A surprisingly effective and straightforward way to create a summary is just to use a quote from the fic. I've seen tons of great summaries like this that hook me in immediately. I struggle with using it myself, because I want the line I quote to be powerful/impactful/intriguing and give some sense of what the plot is like and make sense out of context, and I don't often seem to be able to find lines like that in my own work. But I did for The Moon by Night:

It could not have been more than a day that we clung to the hull of that station full of troopers.

Since this is a space AU for a historical fiction novel, this line gives some sense of how the events of the story have been translated into space, and also shows the voice I'm writing in (I tried to follow the style of the original, which is first-person, which is unusual for me). If you can find a line like that in your work, it can be a great summary. You can even just put the first couple of lines of the fic, especially if you've already worked to make them an effective hook!

You can also use a quote from another source. Was there a line or moment from canon that inspired the fic? A poem or song that fits its mood? You can use the summary as a sort of epigraph. (I often use author's notes for this as well.) If your readers vibe with the quote that inspired the story, they're likely to vibe with the story as well.

I did something like this with Absent thee from felicity awhile. The title is a quote from Shakespeare's Hamlet, and all I put in the summary box was another quote from a couple of lines later:

…to tell my story.

This is so short and contextless, though, that I'm not sure how effective it was. It maybe only works if you recognize the specific Hamlet scene that it's taken from and have thought about that scene in the context of a specific episode of Hornblower. (I promise that, if you do, it's heartbreakingly ironic!) This could have been a good opportunity for me to do a double summary (see below), especially since the story is epistolary and I could've established its context. Although I did kind of like revealing who was reading the letter and when slowly over the course of the story.

Okay, but I do want to explain the plot

Right, so we've established that effective summaries don't have to be in that "back of the book blurb" format. But sometimes you want them to be. Sometimes the thing you're most excited about is the story's plot or events, and you want to communicate that to the reader. But you already wrote the story in order to communicate the plot to the reader; how do you condense it into a sentence or two? Here are some tips that may help.

Are you using familiar tropes? If so, just mentioning them will likely tell your reader not only what the plot is, but that (if they like that trope) they're likely to enjoy it. For instance:

A and B are trapped in a snow cave/ice planet/walk-in freezer and must huddle for warmth.

That particular one will also explain a bit about the setting, if you want.

Relationship status/development is also something that many readers want to know, whether it's a romantic or a gen relationship (e.g. characters becoming friends or realizing they see each other as family). For instance, if A and B admit their romantic feelings for the first time in that huddling for warmth story, you might add:

They get a lot closer than either of them expects...

I rather like ellipses at the end of a summary; I think they imply, sort of, "read the fic to find out the rest." I sometimes use them to soften a summary that feels a bit abrupt. I feel like this might be just me, though? So if you don't like ellipses, nothing wrong with ending that same summary with a period.

If you have a fic where the entire content is some emotional development between characters, the entire summary can easily be that too!

I don't really write smut so I don't have good advice for summarizing it, but I get the feeling this might be a relevant strategy for it?

What changes in the story? This could be a change in characters' attitudes towards each other, in the information they have, in their physical situation, or anything else. A story doesn't have to be about one single major change, but there's almost always at least one. (Or a change fails to happen, but in an interesting way: "five times Lois Lane didn't realize Clark was Superman" would be a perfectly intriguing summary!)

What demands are made of the characters? Many stories involve a character overcoming some kind of challenge or meeting some kind of test. A summary can indicate what that challenge is--and you don't have to indicate whether or how the characters meet it! This can contribute to a feeling of suspense, so that the reader feels they need to read the story to find out how the characters react. For instance, I summarized my story Journey as:

The Doctor and Ace need to stop a dimensional leakage to put a life-sucking entity back where it belongs. But to do so, they'll each need to protect the other in their own way.

What are their own ways? Do they succeed? The reader can probably guess that they do--but how? Their attention is caught, and they'll have to read to find out!

Some notes on format and style

Summary style is as personal as the rest of your writing style, so this is only intended as a mention of a couple of trends I've noticed.

Sometimes summaries are 'in-universe'--i.e. they describe the characters and what they do, without reference to the existence of the fic itself as a textual entity--and sometimes, like the "five times" example I gave above, they refer to the fic's format, characteristics, relationship to canon, etc. in direct terms. (For instance, the example I gave for a missing scene was 'in-universe,' but I could just as well have said "While waiting for Z to return during Episode 3..."). Either of these approaches are fine, although I personally tend to incline more towards the in-universe style unless I have a particular reason to use the other, such as in Differences of Opinion, which took a lot of metatextual explaining:

When I read enough easily-crossed-over stories, such as for instance the Age of Sail books that I have been reading lately and also spaceship stories inspired thereby, what inevitably happens is I end up with a nebulous meta crossover setting where they can all hang out outside of their respective canons. Here's one conversation from that setting.

I keep wondering if something more terse might have been more effective, and I could have put all that in the author's notes. But I really think that for anyone who would enjoy this fic, the metatextual complication is a big part of the appeal. So I put it in the summary.

It's pretty standard to write in-universe-style summaries in the present tense, even if the fic is in the past tense. "The characters do this and that," not "the characters did this and that." You don't have to, but it's what your reader is most likely to be expecting.

It seems to be quite common to have a double summary: one that maybe reflects the style and tone of the fic, and another, more matter-of-fact one that explains the plot. They're frequently joined by "or." I don't typically use it--maybe because I rarely have the problem of having too much summary--but if you do, this could be a great solution.

Spellcheck and proofread your summary extra. Whatever strategies you normally use to make sure the words in your story are the words you actually meant to write, it's a good idea to turn those strategies on the summary with special intensity. After all, this is your first impression on your reader, so you probably want to look as polished as possible!

These are just a few things I've noticed that I tend to think about when staring at that blinking cursor in the summary box. I hope they may help you, too, to feel like you have something to say in that moment!

[lilacxquartz]

BETRAYAL • kenjaku x gn!reader

masterlist • ao3 link 🖤 mdni

summary: a breakup loomed and you were almost free, but your boyfriend had other plans for you.

themes/tags: drabble, short one shot, reader insert, prison realm mention, (maybe?) slight yandere, 600+ words

a/n: had a little idea in mind ever since a comment i received on ao3 genuinely got me thinking just how petty he could be if he got his ego bruised (you didn’t put up with him anymore).

Life has been tiring for you lately.

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another and your days were spent entirely entangled within a string of hopeless arguments, all the while your boyfriend mocked you back. Kenjaku enjoyed seeing you frustrated though; your rage falling like bittersweet poetry onto his selectively deaf ears.

Hearing only what he wanted to hear.

It was all a game to him. A cruel plan of sorts. To bend your will until he broke you down—to sculpt you—into being the perfect pet for him, but, it just wasn’t working out. Maybe your will was too strong, too stubborn.

He both loved and hated it.

Heated evenings would dissolve into fiery nights of blooming passion when the faults reached their maddening crescendo, reaching their boiling point in the bedroom only to simmer again through the day once more. It was constant and it was it was exhausting.

This was simply what it meant to be with someone like him tough; someone insane, unforgiving and unapologetically egoistic. Kenjaku drove you crazy, even if he did fascinate you at first.

Yet, just as you had enough and tried to leave, that’s when something changed in the air. It was brief, but it caught your attention. His voice sounded softer, offering you a sampling shred of gentleness that you knew couldn’t possibly exist.

“I’m sorry,” he told you—that’s what you heard, a flash of something intimate, something sinister disguised in a kind tone.

Within just a fleeting minute, you became perfectly ensnared in the one thing he promised that he would keep away from you. It took a moment for you to register the severity of it; a slowly rising panic that crept up on you gradually, a wave of unease that flooded you.

The hopelessness that never washed away.

(He used it, didn’t he? That damned cube. The prison realm he promised was reserved for someone else, hell, anyone else, but never for you. You were many things to him, but certainly not a prisoner.)

Finally registering it, you blinked up to see his face at last. He wore a mask to masquerade his words, dropping it the instant you realised your exact predicament.

Those two little words played over and over in your mind like a broken record, tuning you into the most nightmarish song. A symphony of betrayal that had you for a split second believe that validation could be possible within this relationship.

(How could he do this to you…?)

How cruel it was that the last thing you’d see would be those cold eyes, sealing you off into a realm unknown.

“I’m sorry,” he lied, despite the words holding more weight that before, “but I just can’t let you go. Not yet.”

This time his tone carried something more, as if he was refining his apology. This time, it was a threat. A warning.

Continuing, he took a step closer, “Maybe you’ll change up your attitude the next time I release you, if I release you… maybe… you’d be good for me then.”

About to reply, you were interrupted as he commanded for the gate to close. It was just as sudden as it all started; the confines pulling yet pushing you at the same time. Kneading you into submitting to a pocket prison, encasing you in a living tomb. As the unease reached its peak, you could only pray that your release would come quickly, resigning already to the idea that you’d likely be a desperate, needy mess by the end of it.

If it was obedience he wanted—if he simply just wanted for you to behave, then that much could happen, especially after what would surely feel like an eternity in the darkness surrounded by who knows what.

But when?

He said he would release you at some point, right? Or did he only say if? He wouldn’t put you in there permanently, right?

…Right?

[presidentbungus]

Distractions - engie/medic, ~1k

ao3

finally returning to the time-honored art of feverishly scribbling down a short little science party fic in the middle of the night. my brain disease is back. please enjoy

“I have to say, laborer, I expected better from you.”

His back hits the wall, bare head thunks against it. He lost his hard hat in the first scuffle. And his shotgun. And his pistol. The metal of the gun barrel pressed against his forehead ain’t cold anymore.

Part of him wishes the son of a bitch would get on with it already. The other part of him, though, is the one that’s making him sweat like a stuck pig, and is the one locking his mouth shut.

Good ol’ instinct for ya. Won’t even let you bite yourself in the ass.

Spy just sits there for a second, that smug-poodle look on his face, and he tilts his head. Keeps making a show of fidgeting with the trigger, like he doesn’t even know how stupid it looks. “Not going to say anything? Any last words, laborer?”

“What, you want an autograph?”

He laughs at that, but not in the nice way. “I don't think you are in a position to speak to me that way."

"I think you're in a great position to take a hike and go stick that goddamn muzzle—“

Spy makes a big old ruckus of adjusting his grip on the gun, so he shuts up.

“You are pathetic,” Spy says, sweet ‘n simple. “Hm?”

What a hypocrite. Engineer might hear something—Spy’s being too full of himself to pay any attention. Tap-tap-tap. Footsteps, perfectly even.

“Are you not going to reply to me?”

Engineer just smiles, politely. “Ain’t you supposed to be a good spy?”

Spy hears it too, by now, and he should know better than to relax his grip on the gun when the calculation runs through his pea brain.

Flash of white. Stomp-stomp-stomp. A glower that’s mad enough to probably kill on its own. Engineer grips the barrel of the revolver in his fist while he's distracted, points it at the ceiling as a gunshot rings out and a lotta emotions run through Spy’s face at once—fear-related, mostly.

And, well, he should’ve known better than to put his back to a doorway.

He doesn’t even get to turn around before Medic grips the back of his suit and thrusts the übersaw straight through his head. Engineer whistles at the bit of brain coating the edge as Medic twists once, laughs, and dislodges it, leaving Spy to fall to the ground like a bag of rice.

“Shameful,” he tuts.

Engie stands up, dusts himself off, goes to grab his hard hat but he’s stopped by an arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him in close.

He half-complains till Medic pulls him into a very sudden kiss and, well, that shuts him right up. Whenever they pull away (which takes a while) Medic frowns and says: “What, not even a thank-you?”

“Well.” He’s a little breathless, to be honest. “Gimme a second.”

Medic hums and releases him. “I marched across the entire field. Soldier is going to try to murder me when I get back. Nevertheless he will not succeed, but it will be annoying. You should be grateful.”

“The whole field, huh? And you knew I was in trouble?”

“I have a sixth sense for these things, Engineer. And you are very predictable, you know.”

Engineer finds his hat in the corner of the room, dusts it off, and puts it back on, going back over to Medic to pat his admittedly finely sculpted chest. “Well, either you’re psychic or you put a chip in my spine you’re refusin’ to tell me about. Which one do ya think’s more likely?”

“It’s very important to me to keep tabs on your health,” he says, simply.

“I’m sure it is.”

“Besides, don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me to come rescue you.”

"Well, it’s your fault for making me dependent,” he muses, yanking on that nice straight tie of his just for the little wheeze that pulls out of him. “I could handle it myself if I really wanted to.”

“Oh, I'm sorry." Medic puts a hand on his back, grins, and then lifts him up in a bridal carry, cackling as he yelps, gently knocking their foreheads together. Then: "I suppose I'll just have to stop saving you, Schatz. Keep you on your toes, yes?”

“Hey now. Never said that.”

“I just feel so unappreciated, Engineer… never get any thanks for the things I do…”

Well.

Engineer grips him real tight by the tie (again) and brings him in and they almost fall over on top of each other, but Medic catches himself on a wall which Engineer bangs his head against and somehow they manage to find their way to each other in the meantime. The kiss is short, sweet, and vicious, and Engineer pulls away to wait for Medic to go in himself and he does not hesitate one second, which was really the whole endgame anyway. Eventually Medic sets him down and pins him instead and that’s great and all but right against the wall where he is, a lot of what he’s getting is just a nice round view of Spy’s mangled corpse spilled across the ground.

Which is definitely something. It’s hard to find space with how Doc’s basically mauling him but eventually he manages to push him back, and he takes a second to catch his breath and says: “I’m sorry but the corpse is kinda ruining the mood for me.”

Medic looks back… then forward, to Engineer, with a huge sigh. “That makes sense.”

Engineer smiles, finally releasing his death-grip on Medic’s tie and placing a hand on his chest that in concept is supposed to push him away, though he stays right in place and doesn’t seem to get the message. “And look, I’m sorry to be the one who has to say this, but we should probably get back to work soonish, anyway.”

He pouts. “Oh, nonsense.”

“How long’ve you been away? Soldier’s gonna rip you apart.”

“I will simply rip Soldier apart before he rips me apart.”

“… I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You don’t know that.”

Engineer can’t keep down a scoff. “We are the two people on the whole team who shouldn’t go missing under any circumstances.”

Medic finally pushes away, grumbling. “You always do this.”

“I like my job. You like your job, I think. Right?"

"... Well..."

"Oh, c'mon, darlin'."

He leans down until their foreheads are touching. “I’m afraid I don’t like my job as much as I like you.”

Engineer can’t resist the urge to peck him on the nose after that, but he swiftly sidesteps the revenge kiss and starts heading out of the room. Whatever indignant thing Medic shouts is covered over by him shouting back: “We’ll reconvene!”

And all he gets back from that is a very protracted groan, and at least the mental image of two hideous kitten-eyes, and that's good enough for him for now.

[oftenwantedafton]

ransom | steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 4/4

words | 5k

cw | sexual content

ao3 link

Steve steps out into the pouring rain, car keys in hand and at the ready. This is going to be a quick errand, just a short drive to a location with better cellular reception for check in. Then he’s going straight back to the cabin, where the receipt for his payout is sequestered. That’s how he should be thinking about you; in dispassionate terms, not fondly lingering over how nice it is to have your hands on him now that they’re unbound, free to roam, your body pressed beneath his and then…

He slams the car door shut with more force than necessary and it creaks in protest. The thing really was on its last legs—or wheels, rather—and he should make an exchange his first priority once he gets paid. He hastily swipes at his face to clear the rainwater dripping down it, then slots the key in the ignition and turns it. The engine rumbles to life and the kidnapper finds a decent signal ten minutes away. He doesn’t even bother turning the car off, knowing no one else will be using this road, reaching for the open flip phone on the passenger seat beside him.

One of his associates answers on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“It’s me. We’re secure. What’s the situation?”

“Good news. He’s finally caved. Meeting set up in forty eight hours at noon. That good?”

The place where he’s pulled the car over is largely sheltered by the spreading branches of a nearby tree, but the rain still spills from those leaves and lands on the windshield. The wipers thump back and forth, slow and even. He’s trying to keep his breathing like that, as well as his pulse, but he doesn’t quite manage it.

“Boss? Did you hear me? I know you said the signal was poor there.”

“Yeah. I heard you. Good work.”

“Hey, thanks. So we’re set then?”

“Yeah. We’ll be there.”

“Drinks after, right? First round on me. Then I’m gonna go out and buy—”

The bearded man snaps the cell phone shut before the other man can finish outlining his plans and drops it back onto the passenger seat. “Fuck.” His palm slams down against the steering wheel. Two more days. Two more and then he finally gets paid. He should be celebrating right now. He should feel triumphant, victorious.

Instead he’s nauseous. He’d skipped breakfast and now he thinks he’s going to avoid lunch, too. His fingers close over the gear shift but remain frozen, the vehicle still parked.

What, are you getting sentimental in your old age? This is why there are rules. You don’t get attached. Don’t get involved. She’s just a time card, waiting for you to clock out and turn in for your pay. That’s all. So you hooked up. No big deal. Doesn’t need to happen again. Keep your distance. Two more days. That’s all. No more chaperoning. You’ll be free. Take some time off after this. That’s probably what you need the most right now.

The return trip seems to take twice as long, the walk back to the cabin even more so. He’s drenched by the time he thumbs the code for the door, ignoring his condition while he automatically begins making you something for lunch. He knows, even before he enters the next code to enter the basement, that he’s not going to do what he should. He won’t just leave the tray. You’re going to want to talk, spend time together. And he won’t be able to deny you.

How did I lose control this quickly?

***

In some ways, being in the cabin is better, and in other ways, worse.

You love having freedom of movement of course; that’s an obvious advantage. And the room was certainly nicer than that cheap, rundown motel.

But there’s a lot of quiet time, and you kind of miss Steve when he’s not around. You’re very firmly trying not to get attached, something that shouldn’t be difficult given your circumstances. But you honestly like him. And you know he likes you, too.

Your head snaps immediately to the stairs when you realize your captor has returned, your attention from the movie you’d put on already wavering. You don’t quite recognize the grim look on his features, only certain that something has once again happened without your knowledge, and you’re willing to bet the equivalent of your ransom he’s not going to be forthcoming with the reason for it, either.

He sets the tray he’s carrying down on the table, making no move to sit. Only food for one person, you notice.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he greets quietly.

“You’ve been outside. You’re soaked. Hang on.” You disappear into the bathroom to retrieve a towel, then hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

“Pouring out?”

“Yeah.”

“I love the rain.” You hesitate, watching him rub the towel over his hair. “How come you left? Check in?”

“Yeah. No reception here.” He finishes drying his hair and hangs the towel over the back of the chair nearby.

“So? News?”

“No.” His eyes slide to meet yours. You don’t buy it, even for a minute. Something’s happened. He has that guilty look again, the pale eyes wounded.

“Is my dad okay?”

“Yes. He’s fine.” He frowns over this question until he realizes what you’re implying. “He’s unharmed,” he emphasizes, and you relax a little. “Asked for more time.”

“And you said okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you still look like a drowned rat.” You reach out to straighten his tousled hair and something very like a flinch makes you pause. “Steve. Come on. Talk to me. You know I’m going to find out whatever it is anyway.”

“It’s nothing. Business stuff. Wouldn’t interest you. You should go eat your lunch.”

“You’re not gonna eat with me?”

“No. I already did.”

“Will you stay with me for a bit? It gets lonely, you know.”

“If you want me to,” his voice rasps.

“Yeah, I want you to.”

“Alright.” He turns away, dragging one of the chairs out from under the table while you do the same on the opposite side, surveying the contents he’s brought you. Sandwich, looks like turkey, scoop of hummus, some baby carrots, a handful of grapes, a little bag of pretzels, a bottle of water and a can of orange soda. You crack the top of the soft drink and take a sip, then lift one half of the sandwich to sample a bite. Swiss cheese. Tomato, mayo, and oh, how had you missed the bacon? You hum appreciatively and something almost like a smile ghosts over Steve’s lips.

“Good?”

“Mmm-hmm.” You drag the end of a carrot into the hummus and crunch thoughtfully. “So what do you do upstairs while I’m languishing down here in the basement?”

“Languishing,” he repeats dryly.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“Not much. A lot of waiting.”

“See? So you should be spending more time with me anyway.” You nudge his shin with your foot. “Better question: what do you do when you’re not loaning money and kidnapping?” You munch on a grape and pretzel in rapid succession, enjoying the combined taste of sweet and salty. “What do you do for fun?”

He hesitates. “Nothing, really. I was thinking of taking a vacation after this.”

“Aww, jealous. Where you gonna go?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Go someplace warm. Get a tan. Go score some bikini clad chick.”

“Maybe.”

“I knew you were a perv. Already looking for someone new,” you tease, nudging his leg again, this time dragging your toes up and down.

“I’m not.” The wounded expression is back.

“I’m just teasing. I know you’re not.” The contents of your tray steadily dwindle and the silence between you lengthens until you decide to interrupt it. “Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to stay and watch a movie with me? And yes, before you ask, I want you to. My question is do you want to?”

“Okay.”

You take a swallow of water then lean back in your chair. “I’m full. But that was good. Only thing that would make it better is some chocolate for dessert. I’ve been craving it. Just a candy bar would do wonders.”

“What’s your favorite kind?”

“Oh, I’m a Reese’s peanut butter cup kind of girl.”

“Noted.”

“What about you?”

“Hmmm…I’ve always been partial to Kit Kats.”

“Also a solid choice.” You stand and stretch, then make your way to the couch. He does sit directly next to you, so at least there’s that. You can still feel the nervous disquiet, the distinctly tense feeling emanating from the other man, though. You lift the hand resting in his lap and bring it overhead, letting it settle around your shoulders. “Better,” you murmur, hitting a few buttons on the remote until the movie begins again. You really hadn’t absorbed much of the plot, so you figure you’ll just start over. Besides, this wasn’t really about watching a movie together, and you both know it.

“You’re so wet,” you mumble as you nuzzle against his shoulder.

“That’s my line.”

You gasp in surprise, giving him a little shove and craning your face up to regard him. “Are you cracking sex jokes now?”

“You kind of walked into that.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” There’s a definite smile trying to break free and you reach up to assist, your thumb tugging at one corner of his bearded mouth until he surrenders, revealing a flash of teeth. “You have a nice smile.”

Perhaps the wrong thing to say. Maybe he just wasn’t good at taking a compliment. His features are solemn once again.

“You should do it more often.” You gently underline his bottom lip with your thumb.

“You want me to?”

“Yes. And I want you to kiss me.”

His traps your hand, letting his lips brush against your fingers before he leans and briefly captures your mouth. A whimper escapes you when the contact ends. The remote slips from your thighs as you shift, climbing over into Steve’s lap, your legs straddling his. His hands cup your buttocks as you frame his face with yours, bending down to kiss him again. It lasts longer this time, and you feel the beginning red marks left behind from the scrape of his facial hair.

“Scratchy,” you observe, rubbing back and forth over one cheek.

“It needs a proper trim.”

You hum thoughtfully, dragging your fingers through the layers of his damp hair.

“Does that meet with your satisfaction?”

There’s a smirk on his face and you’re glad to see it. It seems as if his mood is gradually improving in your presence.

“It’s adequate,” you tease.

“Adequate? Is that how you describe it?” Keeping his hands locked on your hips, he shifts until his roll up against your crotch.

A nervous titter escapes you, even as you feel his arousal pressing against the junction of your thighs. “Okay, more than adequate. A lot more,” you add, sucking air through your teeth when he repeats the gesture more forcefully.

“Thought so,” he replies a little smugly, his hands kneading the curves of your buttocks. “Come here.” His hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling your face back down. The kisses are rougher this time. Hungrier. Now you’re both grinding against each other. “Hold on tight,” he whispers beside your ear, your wrists crossing behind his neck and your knees digging into his hips as he stands, bringing you with him. It’s a short distance to the bed. You cling to him even after he’s set you down, moving over your body, planting kisses on your neck.

“You’re going to mark me up some more?” You’ve got two love bites now, one staining your neck and the other your collarbone.

Steve’s face lifts to regard you. “You want that, sweetheart?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip.

“I think the next one should be a little better hidden, don’t you?”

You nod again, gasping when you feel his hands drag down your torso, jerking on the button of your jeans and tugging down the zipper. You think he might dip his fingers inside your panties right then, and God, do you want him to, but that smirk is back as he hooks them around the waistband of your pants instead and tugs, your entire body sliding with the force of that movement. You lift your hips to assist and he finishes peeling them down, fumbling a bit where they taper at the ankles before the clinging denim is finally removed.

You still have your panties on, watching as Steve hooks his thumbs in the leg bands, tugging upwards so the fabric tightens against your pussy. They’re just plain cotton, nothing fancy, a pale pink many shades lighter than that heated flesh they conceal, the material drawn taut between your folds, the seam pressing against your clit. He rubs one thumb in a circle over your nub through your underwear and you groan a little, squirming beneath his touch. The noise grows louder when his face lowers to that same spot, the flat of his tongue pressed firmly, his eyes still locked with yours, watching your reactions. You don’t even know what you want just then. It’s good even with that barrier in the way, but to be exposed, with that tongue…

The decision is made for you, calloused fingers now removing that last article of clothing. He hooks his arms around your spread thighs and kisses the inside of one, sucking hard, leaving his next brand on your body.

The feel of his beard is different here; something about that chafing heightens the sensation. Or maybe you’re just really horny. You’re certainly drenched. His tongue starts at your entrance, nudging into the leaking fluids, just lightly pressing for now, before slipping up through the petals. The tip curves and swipes at your bud and you moan loudly, your head rocking back and grinding against the pillows. The assault that follows is nothing short of perfection. Side to side, up and down, circles with the top and sides and underside of his tongue, that muscle occasionally giving your clit a break when he explores more of your pussy, peppering kisses along your thighs and groin, lower abdomen and mound. You don’t think it can get much better, but it does when he spits a wad of saliva down the center, completely unnecessary given how soaked you are but hot nonetheless, middle fingers gliding down through that added moisture and driving the slick right back inside of you, curving around the muscles, making your hips snap forward, driving him in deeper. He fucks you like that for awhile, still doling attention on your sensitive bud, then adds another finger, thrusting the pair in and out, alternating with firm licks and suckles.

“Steve, fuck…” You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him against you even tighter and he hums, sounding pleased, even that vibration sending more waves of pleasure through you. You grind against his face, your own craned forward, your neck burning but you don’t care, you want to see it all, feel it as much as you can, your legs aching at how flat and far they’re spread. He makes another noise like one savoring a meal, mouth working in a frenzy over your sex while that facial hair scrapes so deliciously. Past the phases of teasing, no longer drawing things out, you feel yourself succumbing to his assault, the raw sounds of pleasure tearing from your throat. You cum hard against his tongue, around his fingers, feeling it from the top of your scalp to the tips of your toes. It’s a wrung out, exhausting kind of orgasm, deep and hard and satisfying. And he absolutely knows it. That smirk is back; that smug look, too, when he finally relents, the fingers digging into your skin easing up, sliding free, mouth lifted, saliva and arousal smeared over it.

“Jesus,” you gasp, still struggling to remember how to breathe. You can feel your heart knocking frantically against your ribs, the aftershocks sending a throbbing pins and needles sensation throughout your limbs and down your spine.

“Steve, actually,” he quips, planting a final damp kiss on the inside of one quivering thigh before he climbs back up the bed.

“Steve,” you agree, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“You need a break?”

“I’m good.”

“I’ll take it easy on you. For now, anyway.” True to his word, your captor takes his time opening his pants, lining up and sliding his cock into your still tingling cunt. His thrusts are slow, languid, mouth tucked against the side of your neck. He slots his fingers through yours, pushing your joined hands down into the mattress. “You like it, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm…me too.”

His pumping steadily grows more purposeful, the thrusts no longer shallow. He fucks into you hard and deep and fast, dragging more sounds of pleasure from you, his own joining yours. You don’t think you can’t quite manage another climax so soon after the intense one you’d just experienced, but it feels amazing all the same. You feel the muscles in his shoulder tighten, tensing, and you recognize that he’s nearly there.

“Steve, yes, cum.” And he does. A wracked shudder, that steady rhythm he’d been maintaining stuttering, and the feel of hot liquid spilling inside you follows.

He’s quiet afterwards when he cradles you against his chest. His fingers are linked with yours again. You want him to say you’re his. That’s why he’d marked you, isn’t it? Not a farewell. A promise. You belong to him.

“You want to go outside for a bit?” His voice is so low. So soft.

“Yes,” you say, wondering if it’s still raining.

***

It is still raining when Steve leads you through the front door.

You rest your hands on the porch railing, staring out at the damp earth, the leaves and pine needles from previous seasons that wallow in shallow puddles. He moves behind you, arms forming a kind of barrier as he braces them adjacent to yours, lips nuzzling the side of your neck. You close your eyes and inhale deeply. You can smell the forest, the fresh scent heightened by the downpour. You reach out one hand to let the weeping sky douse you, droplets pattering first on the reverse side and then on your palm as you turn it. You’ve always enjoyed the rain, especially thunderstorms. You love the overcast skies and deep rumbles, finding it soothing rather than frightening. There is no thunder today but it is pleasant nonetheless, the scenery tranquil and almost otherworldly. You like this place Steve has chosen to seclude himself away in.

“There’s a deer to your left. Doe. Move slowly to look.” His breath ghosts across your ear. You obey, turning your neck, your eyes taking a moment to adjust. It’s well camouflaged, but you eventually spot it, dark eyes and snout, tawny brown coat. The animal watches you for a time, and then it takes a cautious step back, then another, finally turning and trotting away.

The older man’s hand joins yours in the gentle deluge, stroking over the damp crease of every joint. The sudden urge to experience more of that shower overpowers you, making you push back against the man behind you, startling him. You grab his hand as you go, tugging him down the pair of wide steps, tipping your face back to let the rain wash over it. It sinks into your hair and lightly pelts your skin. You twine your wrists behind Steve’s neck, his hands settling on your waist.

“What even are you, you wild thing…” he murmurs, bending his face to kiss you.

“I’m yours,” you reply, hoping he’ll agree, that this time he won’t deny you.

A flurry of emotions plays over his features, and for a moment, you think maybe you’ll get your wish after all. “We should go back inside. Don’t want you getting sick.”

It’s not what you wanted to hear. And you don’t think it’s what he truly wanted to say, either. You let yourself be led back inside, back downstairs, into the shower and then dry clothes and then he leaves you, climbing the stairs slowly like a condemned man heading reluctantly to the gallows, turning to look back once, eyes full of want, wounded once again before he locks the door behind him.

***

Steve hadn’t planned on heading back into town again.

But that request for chocolate kept nagging at the back of his mind, so he’d found himself making the trek back to civilization, topping off the fuel in the car while he was there just so the trip didn’t seem quite so foolish.

The guilt of lying to you gnaws at him.

He doesn’t know how to tell you; knows he has no choice but to do so. He’d allowed himself to enjoy his time with you yesterday, but today was once step closer to tomorrow, the day he has to return you to your father. He has to tell you. He resolves to do it as soon as he returns, the expression on your features when he descends the stairs making him curse himself again, because you look so happy.

“There you are. Was wondering when you’d come back. Check in again?”

He shakes his head. “Errands. Got you something.” He withdraws the orange package from his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. Your eyes light up, recognizing the candy, and you grin as you tear the edge of the wrapper open.

“You went out just to get this for me.” It’s a statement that he can’t argue with and he shrugs and nods, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. He watches you peel the wrapper and take a bite of the first peanut butter cup, sighing rapturously. “I can’t even remember the last time I had these. Too long. Want the other one?”

“No, it’s for you.”

You lick at a stray bit of melted chocolate on your index finger, about to retrieve the remaining treat when his voice halts you.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” you reply. “What’s up?”

He inhales deeply, bracing himself. “Your father came through with the money.”

Your jaw drops a little. “He…he did?” Steve nods. “When did he…”

“Yesterday.”

You set the half eaten package on the nearby counter, frowning. “What do you mean? You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Well…what….when…” you sputter helplessly.

“Tomorrow. We have to be at the meeting spot at noon.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.”

“I knew something was wrong. I knew you were lying. I can always tell…” Your voice shakes. “And then what happens? You just drop me off and go sailing off into the sunset? With your fucking money…”

Steve steps towards you and you strike out, slapping his cheek. He could easily have blocked it but he doesn’t, letting your hand make contact. There’s a burning sensation at the back of his throat, a rough, dry heat that’s pressing uncomfortably against his airway.

“You have to go back. Regain your freedom. You know that. It’s what you want.”

“You don’t even know what I want. Selfish, stupid…” Your hand lifts again and this time he stops the movement, fingers curling around your wrist. “Let me go. Let me go…” You tug against the prison he’s created and then abruptly stop, the extremity suddenly weak and wilting until he drags you tightly against his chest.

“That’s exactly what I have to do. Let you go,” he murmurs softly into your hair.

“No. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want that.”

“You do.”

“Stop telling me how to feel.” You knot a fist in his shirt. “You’re so lucky you don’t feel anything. You have no idea how bad this hurts.”

He gently pries your face free so he can see your features. “I know exactly how it feels. That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Don’t you get it? Oh, sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he whispers, one thumb dragging across the tear that spills across your cheek.

“Stay with me tonight,” you plea. “If it’s our last night together. If this really is the end of us…”

He draws you back against him.

***

In the morning, there is little talk.

You pack your things and follow Steve to the car. You keep staring at him, memorizing all of the little details you’ve grown so fond of in such a short amount of time. His eyes stray from the road, his fingers abandon the wheel, and he looks and touches you with a kind of reverence, as if he’s committing the same detailed image to memory.

Your surroundings are growing familiar again. Closer to home. One break at a gas station to use the restroom, and then you’re back on the road. Steve’s attention is more focused now. You don’t reach for his fingers again.

You’re surprised when he pulls the car over seemingly in the middle of nowhere. He kills the engine and turns to you. “I have to tie your wrists again. For appearances. Otherwise…”

You nod your understanding, presenting them to him. He takes one hand and raises it while his head drops down, lips grazing your wrist. Your pulse quickens and you gasp. His head lifts, the image of the wolf flashing in your mind again, wide eyes blinking slowly, focused on his prey.

“Oh,” he breathes, dragging a thumb over your bottom lip before he captures it. You feel something wrench in your chest. For just a moment, you think he will change his mind. He will steal you away again, bring you to the cabin or even further, to the very ends of the Earth. And you will go. His willing creature.

Instead he binds your wrists for the final time. Turns the key in the ignition. The balding tires dig into the gravel of this forgotten road. Then you’re on your way.

***

Steve sees his fellow associates in position when he arrives in the abandoned warehouse, some in plain sight and others concealed. He can see your father has brought an entourage as well, and likely has his own men hidden. The middle aged man’s features soften when he catches sight of you, then grow stern as he glowers at your captor. The kidnapper keeps a hand on your elbow, gently but firmly guiding you forward.

He halts when he’s still several feet away, his eyes flicking to the briefcase your father is carrying. A barely perceptible nod, then you’re given a little shove forward and you stumble before regaining your footing and making your way towards your father, a soft Dad issuing from your lips in greeting. He grabs your arm, checking to see how you appear, asking if you’ve been hurt, but you shake your head, and he finally nods, having one of his companions deliver the case to Steve.

He hands it to the man beside him, the one who’d been his check in contact, and asks him quietly to count it. Almost absently his hand reaches for the gun tucked in his waistband, there just in case things didn’t go according to plan, but everything seems to be accurate and he lets his empty hand drop back to his side.

He allows himself to meet your gaze one final time, willing you to know everything he couldn’t quite bring himself to say, and then he turns and walks away.

***

There’s a new coffee shop in the area that you’ve been wanting to try for months now.

Today seems like a good a day as any, so you venture out, somewhat overwhelmed by the extensive menu and opting for something basic, adding a chocolate chip cookie to your coffee order before you choose a seat by the window. It’s late morning, the breakfast rush gone and the lunch rush not yet on the way, so you enjoy the quieter atmosphere, flipping through a magazine you’d purchased from the kiosk nearby.

You feel you’re being watched, and your head lifts, eyes darting about the cafe’s interior, but each patron seems occupied. Perhaps you are still a bit paranoid, still wary of being snatched up again.

Perhaps hoping for it even more.

You return your attention to your magazine but the feeling lingers and you look up again, scanning the room, this time letting that gaze encompass the street. He’s there. Steve. Right on the other side of the glass.

Your eyes widen, a smile automatically blossoming on your features. He returns a more conservative one. You rest your palm against the window and he matches his to yours. Your eyes meet again and then you both move at the same time. You leave everything behind, rushing to the exit, pushing past a startled woman just entering the shop and flinging yourself into the bearded man’s arms. Your face burrows against his shoulder and your arms lock tightly around him.

“Hi, sweetheart. What an amazing coincidence.”

You chuckle softly, breathing his scent in deeply. “Hi. How have you been?” You draw back to study his face, those feelings from all those months ago rushing back.

“Alright.”

“Just alright? No vacation? You don’t look tan.” You frown, letting your hands slide down his shirtfront. There are other pedestrians on the sidewalk but they move smoothly around your reunited embrace.

“I decided not to go. Missed you,” he admits in a gruff voice. “Still miss you.”

“Yeah, well, you know where to find me.” You try to keep your voice light.

“I was thinking, if I did see you again. If I happened to run into you. Then it had to be fate, really. A second chance. For us,” he adds, sounding hopeful.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah. If you want that.”

A grin splits your mouth wide open. “I want it.”

Steve returns your grin. “Good. Maybe we could start off easy. You know, like go to a coffee shop.”

“I think I know a place.” Your hand slips into his and he holds it tightly, letting you lead him forward.