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rowarn · 2 years ago

Text

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed.

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off.

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself. Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of.

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in.

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting.

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you.

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously.

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator.

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that.

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now.

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it.

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone.

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation.

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out.

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed.

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that.

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders.

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom.

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent.

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape.

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed.

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14.

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine.

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered.

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you.

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well.

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual.

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver.

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called.

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious.

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that.

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away.

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around.

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them.

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving.

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned.

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet.

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar.

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together.

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky.

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself.

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better.

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching.

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication.

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit.

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself.

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall.

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate.

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore.

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready.

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life.

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not.

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar.

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar.

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread.

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with.

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you.

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work.

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted.

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly.

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be.

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell.

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell.

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name.

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them.

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray.

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes.

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation.

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads.

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong.

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face.

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face.

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state.

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them.

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply.

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious.

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker.

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone.

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open.

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again.

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out.

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one.

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it.

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon.

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table.

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door.

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath.

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time.

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back.

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling.

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you.

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips.

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap.

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table.

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street.

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots.

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep.

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated.

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad.

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands.

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off?

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.”

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself.

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known.

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave.

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response.

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained.

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom.

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements.

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly.

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance.

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young.

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother.

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked.

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that.

You never brought it up again.

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since.

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen.

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup.

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat.

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands.

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself.

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light.

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work.

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?”

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon.

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms.

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him.

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor.

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch.

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen.

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond.

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved.

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking.

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things.

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big.

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built.

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue.

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred.

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back.

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing.

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them.

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken.

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut.

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up.

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily �� maybe you were more tired than you thought.

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk.

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it.

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly.

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you.

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan.

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place.

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes.

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that.

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him.

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed.

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day.

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass.

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry.

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all.

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you.

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder.

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much.

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever.

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse.

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger.

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there.

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you.

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life.

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately.

You wish that he loved you.

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep.

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you.

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight.

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you.

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him.

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry.

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts.

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it.

Then you do it again. And again. And again.

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek.

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise.

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness.

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room.

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing.

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping.

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave.

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him.

God, you hate him.

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway.

He wanders further into the room before pausing.

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you.

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy.

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like.

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red.

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you.

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out.

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious.

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him.

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now.

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable.

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too.

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room.

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself.

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck.

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that.

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door.

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it.

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit.

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares.

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you.

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him.

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls.

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you.

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise.

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness.

You cry all the time. Day and night.

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him.

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid.

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on.

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome.

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again.

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore.

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month.

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear.

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to.

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope.

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar.

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is.

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back.

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it.

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.”

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking.

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself.

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in.

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel.

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day.

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold.

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time.

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left.

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet.

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself.

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope.

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep.

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do.

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake.

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever.

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it.

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open.

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else.

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway.

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat.

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room.

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him.

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was.

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go.

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed.

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go.

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds.

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach.

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap.

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed.

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it.

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat.

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged.

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done.

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen.

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well.

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls.

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone.

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread.

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over.

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even.

His words ring out through your head like a bell.

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash.

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts.

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again.

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time.

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away.

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now.

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on.

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.”

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it.

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer.

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is.

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees.

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly.

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes.

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you.

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself.

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place.

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more.

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response.

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again.

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air.

You love him, you really do.

But you’re still so angry at him.

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly.

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?”

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto.

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?”

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated, sad and utterly confused.

You wished he would stop leaving.

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait.

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has.

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep.

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague.

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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nothanksofficer · 2 months ago

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0.2 we are all sinners (cont'd imagine)

starring: you, remmick, and bo

pairing: bo chow/reader and remmick/reader/bo

warnings: nsfw, more smut, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation, vampire dreams. THIS IS A SEQUEL, PLEASE REFER TO LIST BELOW.

summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences. concept ver: 0.1 0.2 story ver: 1.0

Continues right after where 1.0 left off.

You're hyperventilating as Smoke and Sammie try to block the way so that the vampires outside don't see you anymore.

“Well, ain’t that just rude,” Remmick snarks. “You get away from her, you monster.” “What’s wrong? Can’t a man just talk to his wife?” Bo smirks.

Before you can collapse onto the floor, a familiar pair of hands grab you. Annie’s.

“Don’t let him get to you, Y/N. That ain’t Bo anymore.” “You can’t trust him, you hear me?”

But despite what the rest of the group might think, trust is the very last thing racing in your mind as Remmick and Bo stare you down like you’re their next meal.

“You’re the devil,” you hear Sammie say. “And you’re the one who called me,” Remmick replies eagerly. “I sensed you, you know. You and your music.” Remmick takes a step forward, quick to put his hands up when Smoke aims the gun at him. “I want to see my people again. Regain the community that was taken from me. I might be trapped here, but with your gifts, you can bring them back.” “Don’t listen to him, Sammie. He’s evil,” Annie warns. She’s still holding onto you, her grip the only thing keeping you grounded at this point. “Am I? I’m just trying to bring everyone together. To create the family this world never let you have. And look!” Remmick rests his hand on Bo’s shoulder. “I’m already halfway there.” Bo winks at you once more, and you can see a slight trail of drool on the corner of his mouth. You flinch, but you can’t tear your eyes away, even as Remmick licks his lips at you hungrily. “Isn't that right, darling?” “You can’t keep us apart forever,” Bo hums, staring at you like he already knows what you’re thinking. “Sammie belongs with us...Y/N belongs to us.” “No. You can’t have ‘em. Either of them.” “That’s a shame. Because we ain’t leaving until we do."

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation, ears ringing. You barely make out bits and pieces. Of the clan and their plans for all of you. Of Mary trying to convince Annie, too. It’s not until Stack joins in that Delta and Sammie move to close the door. But by then, there was no unhearing the tempting words of the devil.

“Because we’re not leaving without y’all. We family. Ain’t that right?” “This is the way. Together. Forever. And I ain’t doing this shit without you. There is no me without you.”

In another world, it would’ve been you who let the vampires in. You, who fell to your desperation to protect the only family you had left. But in this world, you don’t have any other family to protect. Not anymore.

But every part of you is desperately wishing otherwise. You want to pretend it’s still Bo waiting outside the window. That it’s your Bo out there sending you that slow flying kiss.

But that thought immediately disappears when you see Remmick take your husband’s side, staring after you, too.

“She’s scared of us now. Scared of me.” “She won’t be. Not for long.”

Everyone decides to gameplan and just try to survive until sunrise.

“At least one of us stays awake at all times. If anything happens, if anything so much as flinches, you alert everyone. Got it?”

You don’t know how it happens, but you end up dozing off by the bar. Annie hushes Sammie, telling him to let you rest. In the hopes that your dreams might offer you some comfort. What none of them know is that…you dream…weird.

“You still with me, baby?" You groan as you feel a familiar pair of shoulders between your legs, and your hands raised above your head. Bo chuckles, tells you to keep ‘em there unless you want him to stop. You can barely see him past your bunched up skirt as he digs into you like it's his last meal. "You taste divine." "I could just die between these thighs, if you'd let me." "Louder. Let the whole world hear how good I make you feel." You nearly break after he teases you for too long, hands climbing down to grip his hair. Only, the memory suddenly shifts and you suddenly feel hands forcing your wrists above your head. Your eyes open and leaning over you is…Bo? “Just like that, baby. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl for us.” You cry out in fear and pleasure when you finally feel the one eating you out rise from beneath your skirts. Chin slick, eyes red, and grinning at you like he just found heaven in your taste. Nothing scares you more than seeing those damn familiar teeth. “No one can escape me, darling. Not even you."

You’re suddenly woken up by Sammie’s shaking and someone’s screaming. It’s only when you fully get up you realize, the screaming is yours.

a/n: i tried my best and i wasnt sure how to feel abt this addition. ill see what people think before turning it into something more. anyway, notes or ideas on how to proceed would be much appreciated. that, and the gif of bo blowing a kiss...

#sinners 2025 #bo chow #bo chow x reader #sinners imagine #sinners fanfiction #dark romance #sinners fic #sinners x reader #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #sinners movie #remmick x you x bo chow #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #bo chow fic

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 3 months ago

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Task master, or: The leather runs smooth on the passenger seat

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary You and Dean make a bet: whoever wins at pool, gets to tell the other person what to do for the rest of the night. You win, but Dean has his own ideas about what you should be doing. CWs Dean being a goddamn flirt (that's its own warning), playing games, sex in the Impala. 18+. 6.2k words

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

“Oh, you are going down, sucker.”

You lean across the pool table, aiming for the black 8-ball. It’s all that stands between you and probably the juiciest prize in the world – to get to tell Dean Winchester what to do for a night.

This is your Olympics, your Super Bowl, your… another sports reference.

The evening started out with simple drinks in the local dive bar. Then Dean had gotten bored and started hustling a few guys playing pool. You’d watched for a while, at least until Sam had said he was turning in. The motel was only down the street so he opted to walk.

You continued watching Dean for a while, nursing your drink, appreciating the show. The way he leaned over the table, the way you were able to ogle him. He winked at you once, signaling that he was winning, and it made you feel a lot. Dean Winchester was a sight to behold.

Eventually, you’d gotten bored just looking. Two whiskeys had made you a little brazen. So you’d walked over, pretended you didn’t know him, pretended you were chatting him up. Yeah, pretending. You’d tucked down your top just a little before walking over, and you felt yourself blush a little when Dean shamelessly stared at your cleavage. You’d put it on thick, leaning against him, making eyes, licking your lips. Only to convince the other guys, of course, that you were just a tipsy girl in a bar, looking for a handsome stranger.

Dean hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d put his hand around your waist, which he definitely hadn’t needed to do, and pulled you a little closer. Soon he had offered to show you how to play, and you had acted all coy, like noo, this is a boy’s game, and you definitely couldn’t play for money. You had squealed when it turned out you had a lot of beginner’s luck.

“You’re a natural,” Dean had whispered into your ear. It made goosebumps break out all over you. You winked at him. “I’m working with a pro,” you’d replied, voice lowered. He grinned at that.

Eventually the guys had left, knowing they weren’t going to score in any way, and while you and Dean were giggling, you’d made the offer to play him for the next round of drinks. He had agreed, and that was how this had all started.

You’d stayed with paying for drinks at first, but soon you had raised the stakes: buy shots for the whole establishment (Dean had to do that one, but the place wasn’t very busy, so it wasn’t a big deal), going to the barkeeper and asking if there was a pharmacy close by, since you had an itchy problem (Dean again, and for extra points he’d kept tugging at the crotch of his jeans under the bar, where only you could see), take off your underwear in the bathroom and bring it out as proof. This last one you had lost.

You were feeling sexy and bold, and just so happened to we wearing a cute little shred of nothing, dark blue with lace. You walked out of the bathroom with it dangling from your finger, not super careful about who could see you. Dean had definitely been mesmerized when you walked up to him and pushed it into the front pocket of his shirt. “You can keep that for later,” you’d whispered to him, and then slapped his butt. Dean huffed, a dirty grin on his face.

It was just how you two did things. You flirted to the point where it was almost too much, where nothing could come of it. Which was a real shame, because you were sure what could come of it would be pretty spectacular. You’d heard the women Dean brought back to the motels, the sounds they made. He seemed to know what he was doing.

You weren’t jealous, per se, but you also weren’t not jealous. And you were pretty sure that Dean had similar thoughts, since he seemed to scare away every guy who tried to chat you up lately. Which was, you’d told him once, a pretty big double standard, seeing as he was getting laid more often than you changed your underwear. It could have been a coincidence, but his conquests had gone way down after that. Actually, now that you’re thinking about it, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d witnessed him taking someone back with him. Maybe he was just being more subtle about it.

So now here you are, and the stakes have been raised until they could not be raised anymore. It was Dean’s idea.

“How about,” he said, looking around for inspiration on what to bet, “how about the winner gets to decide what the other person does, for the reset of the night?” He raised his eyebrows in a clearly suggestive manner.

“Deal,” you said and shook his hand. Dean pulled you in, your face close to him all of a sudden. “I’m gonna win this,” he said, challenging you, “and you will have a night to remember, darlin’.” You grinned at him, then nodded at the clock on the wall. It was half past ten.

“Is that gonna be all night or until midnight, Cinderella?” you asked. “Cause you’re talking a big game, Winchester.”

He grinned, then looked down at your lips, which definitely would have made you ruin your panties, if you were still wearing any.

“All. Night,” he said. You nodded. “Can’t wait.”

And now you are facing off with the 8-ball. You take a slow breath. Dean has positioned himself at the end of the table, in a clear attempt to distract you. It doesn’t matter. You have this in the bag.

You make the shot, and for a second it actually looks like it might not go in. But then it does.

You throw your hands into the air. “I. Am. A. Pool. Goddess!” you cheer.

You look at Dean and he looks a little worried.

You start laughing. “Oh Dean, you are fucked.” You have no idea how right you are.

There are so many possibilities that you almost find it hard to choose. You quickly notice that you don’t want to be too mean, because you like Dean, like like him, and also because if ever the day for payback comes, you want to make sure you can remind him that you had been kind and generous.

So first is a shot off the menu called The Ribbreaker. You don’t bother asking why it’s called that. It looks disgusting, but Dean shoots it down like it’s nothing. He makes a face but then sucks on his teeth, going “aaah!” like it’s delicious. You smell the glass. It’s not delicious.

Next you make him walk up to a group of middle aged women. They’ve been checking him out all night, which, yeah, same. You think they’re due a little bit of appreciation. The task is to get one of their numbers. Dean comes back with three.

You look past him as he walks up to you, raise your glass at the group. They raise theirs back and you decide you’re in love with them.

Eventually and way too early, the bar closes. There’s nothing else around to do, and neither you nor Dean want to go back to the motel yet. Dean remembers the flask he has in the car, and that’s how you end up sitting on the front bench of the Impala, passing a drink back and forth, watching the empty streets outside.

“Why can’t every evening be like this?” Dean asks, passing the flask to you.

You take a sip, very aware that his lips have just been on it. “Cause we’d die,” you say.

He chuckles. “Yeah, probably. But at least it’d be fun for once.” You nod, passing the flask back to him. You stretch a little.

“No more tasks for me, task master?” he asks, turning to you.

You think for a second, pout. “I can’t think of anything. I’m all tasked out.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “You’re just lacking creativity, is all.”

You turn to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, not looking at you. “You could tell me to do anything,” he says, motioning at the world outside, which isn’t very helpful. “You could get me to do some really nasty shit.”

You grin, moving one arm over the back of the seat, leaning on it. “I don’t want you to do nasty shit, Dean. It’s supposed to be fun, not degradation torture.”

He scoffs. “Unless you’re into that.”

“No,” you say, and then add: “At least I don’t think I am.”

“You could tell me to take my clothes off and run around,” Dean continues, kind of out of the blue. “Or to go down on you,” he clears his throat. “You know, something crazy.”

Jesus, where did that come from?

You frown, still looking at him. He’s looking outside, not facing you. “I—” you say, unsure how to continue. Something clicks in your brain.

“Do you want me to tell you to go down on me?” you ask, a little careful.

Dean shrugs, finally looking at you. “I mean, if you tell me to, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

You raise your eyebrows, giving an unbelieving laugh. “Oh, wow, Dean, you really know how to make a girl feel special.” You turn to look out the front of the car. For a moment you thought—

“That’s, that’s not what I meant,” Dean says. “Not at all.”

He turns to you, trying to make up for the distance you’ve put between you two.

“How did you mean it?” you can’t help but ask, shooting him a look.

“I was trying to be funny,” Dean says and he leans forward, towards you a little, making eye contact. “I think you should tell me to go down on you.”

Your breathing gets a little heavier at that.

Dean’s still leaning in, looking at you intently. If this is a bluff, you don’t know how to call him out on it without challenging him. So you try it.

“Okay, Dean,” you say, raising one eyebrow. “With the power vested in me by the powerful game of pool, I’m telling you to go down on me.”

He grins like the cat that got the cream. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he responds.

Then he’s leaning in further and kisses you. You sink into it for a moment, and then pull back, your nerves getting the better of you for a second.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” you say, trying to cover how breathless you are, “but that’s not what going down means.”

Dean chuckles. “What am I, fifteen years old?” he asks, and you bite back a comment about emotional maturity.

“You get the whole package,” he continues.

“Package, huh?” you ask, and he smirks. “Only if you tell me to.”

Uff, this could be fun. A lot of fun.

You lean back in and let him kiss you again. This time you’re really noticing it. His lips are soft and plush and his hands sneak up to your face to hold it. He gets his tongue inside your mouth and you moan a little.

You lean up, get one of your legs under you, so you can move closer to him. He helps you, moving one hand to your waist, dragging you in. Your hands travel up his arms, to his shoulders and then to his neck. You feel heat flush your chest, your face and other parts of you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been kissed like that.

You break off a little, but you’re still so close to him so you lick across his lips, because they’re there and it feels like the thing to do. He grins at that.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he says. You grin back and then you’re moving over him, straddling him. Dean moved the bench back earlier when you got in the car, since you were just going to sit there, so luckily you can just barely avoid the steering wheel. You sit on top of him, and his hands are going all over you, your legs, your back, your ass. You’re kissing again and now that you’re on top it gives you a little more control. You suddenly have a fun idea.

“I’m telling you to stop touching me,” you say, barely separating your lips from his. Dean’s hands freeze, and he looks up at you. You realize that that might have sounded weird, like you wanted to stop everything. But that’s not it. You nudge him with your nose.

“As task master. You need to keep your hands to yourself for, uhm,” you turn around, just barely managing to press play on the radio. “For the length of the song,” you finish. Dean understands now, and he smirks.

“And what if I can’t?” he asks. “Oh, Dean,” you say, gently biting his bottom lip, pulling on it a little. “Then you’re gonna have a real problem.”

You pull his arms away from you and push them down on the seat next to you. “Let’s go,” you say, and then start kissing him again.

You’re allowed to touch him, so you do. You run your hands from his shoulders over his chest, and then a little further down until they meet his belt. He groans at that. You scoot a little closer to him, your fronts pressed against each other, your hands move back up going around his neck and you grind down on him a little bit with the purchase you have. He groans again, briefly closes his eyes. Then he looks at you again.

“You’re evil,” he says. You shrug and do it again and just then his hands go up to cup your ass.

“Uuuh,” you say, “looks like I win again.”

Dean makes a face, but he doesn’t seem too unhappy with losing, gently massaging you where he’s grabbed you.

“And what’s my punishment?” he asks, tilting his face up at you. You wiggle your eyebrows. “I’ll need to think of something.”

He grabs your ass harder, and before you know it, he’s moving you off him, himself along with it, and laying you down on the bench.

“Hey,” you complain. You liked what you were doing just a second ago.

“I got work to do here, missy,” Dean says, sounding extra sexy car mechanic-y. You remember the original task that got you here. Heat runs through your body. It seemed ridiculous a few minutes ago, but now the reality of it is turning you on beyond measure.

So Dean lays you on the bench. He keeps kissing your lips, then moves to your neck (he is extra good at that), then your chest. He pressed his open mouth against the fabric of your shirt, guesses pretty much perfectly where your nipple is. You part your lips. Holy shit.

Then, too soon, he’s moving away, only to push up your shirt and start nibbling at your stomach. Yeah, that works too.

You arch up at him a little, run your hands through his hair. Then he’s opening your pants and you have to open your mouth a little because otherwise you think not enough oxygen is traveling to your brain. He opens them, and starts tugging just a little. When he pulls them further he is reminded that you are not wearing underwear, that your underwear is in his pocket.

He grins, and oh yeah’s, the thought obviously exciting to him since he sinks his head lower, starts kissing you, his lips following the path of your jeans. Soon he has to sit up, because it’s a little more cramped in the front seat than maybe you’d been imagining all the times you, well, imagined doing this. He pulls your boots off quickly, throwing them towards the backseat.

Then he pulls your pants all the way to your feet, and you’re trying to help him kick them off. He struggles for a second, then pulls them off your feet and dramatically waves them around before he throws them away as well. It makes you laugh, because it’s over the top and silly and still so sexy and so Dean.

He grins at your laugh, and then he grabs your legs, brings himself between them, and starts kissing his way up one of them. Your laughter dies and you have to close your eyes for a second at the intense arousal going through you. He reaches the inside of your thighs and kisses you there, giving one of them a quick bite that makes you flinch but isn’t unpleasant.

You see how cramped it is for him, so you pull your lower body in, meaning you’re almost sitting up with your legs spread wide, your back against the car door. You realize for a second that you are out in the middle of a parking lot. You haven’t seen anyone walk by in the whole time you were sitting here, so it should be fine. Still, the thought that you might get caught sends a sharp thrill through you.

Dean makes his way up to you. He has to essentially lie down on the seat to reach you, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s probably done this a lot in here, so you trust his expertise. He reaches your pussy and looks up at you. He looks downright sinful. Your legs are wide open to allow him room to move, and his beautiful face is right there.

“Well,” you say, “what are you waiting for? Get going.” He grins, and then he does. He starts on your thighs again, and then slowly starts moving inward. When his lips first land on your most sensitive parts you shudder a little. Surely you’re about to wake up at any second. This has to be a dream.

Dean is kissing you gently until you start pushing yourself towards him, wanting to be touched more. He takes the signal and starts licking at your clit.

Oh wow. Oh wow.

He doesn’t do that weird flicky thing lots of guys do, which you find surprises you since you’re pretty sure they learn it from porn, and if there’s anyone who graduated from the School of Pornography, it’s Dean. But rather than that he flattens his tongue, using his head to press down on you in a slow rhythm and it’s doing wonders.

You lean your head back a little, close your eyes, one arm going over your head. You lean into the feeling, your breathing slowly picking up. You look down again after a minute, and you immediately regret closing your eyes in the first place. Dean looks fucking gorgeous, like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

You lower your arm and reach out to touch the back of his head, pressing him a little closer to you. He grinds his face against you, picking up his speed and pressure.

You have to bite your lip, but then, letting go of it, you say: “Dean,” and oops your voice is definitely shaking, “task master says finger me.” You can feel the deep vibrations of a chuckle going through him. He gives your clit a kiss, and looks up at you. “Aye aye, captain,” he says. He sees your face and it must tell him what this is all doing to you, because he kisses your inner thigh again a few times, gently and sweetly.

Then you see him move his shoulders and you feel two of his fingers at your entrance. He doesn’t enter you though, instead brings his mouth back to your clit and starts sucking on it. The suction makes you clench your thighs and when you grind yourself up towards him on an especially wonderful pull, he enters you.

His fingers are gentle, and once they’re all the way inside you he does a come hither motion with them. And yeah, that’s pretty much when you fall in love with him.

You throw your head back, a deep moan escaping you. In response, Dean intensifies the pressure inside of you, but doesn’t go faster. He’s carrying you to the edge, slowly but surely. You have a weird moment of realization, that Dean Winchester is about to make you come in his car, and then you can feel it build in you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant, your hands going into his hair, slightly tugging on it. He doesn’t, he does the opposite and then you throw your head back, definitely hitting the glass a little harder than intended, your back arches up and you are coming on his fingers and mouth. Your noises are high pitched and you’re not sure you’ve ever heard them from yourself before.

You try to close your thighs, but Dean is still between them, working away at you, and just when you think that’s it for the aftershocks he’s suddenly putting a third finger inside you. The feeling of euphoria doesn’t die down and the stimulation is uncomfortable for a second, and then it’s fucking fantastic.

He keeps going, sucking on you hard now and before you even know what is happening, a second orgasms hits you.

“Jesus, fuck, Dean,” you moan, your entire body clenching.

As the shaking dies down he slowly pulls his fingers from you, kisses your inner thigh again and pushes himself up on his arms, looks down at you. It takes you a moment to recover your breathing. Your eyelids feel heavy.

When you finally look at him, he’s watching your face intently, then wipes his own, licks his lips.

“What was that?” you ask, not unkindly.

“You told me not to stop,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It makes you laugh, the pure fucking cheek of it.

“Come here,” you say and your task master super powers make him crawl over you, still holding himself up. You pull his face down to yours and kiss him. You can taste yourself on him.

Suddenly you realize that you are just kissing him. It’s not foreplay, not strictly, it’s not to get you wet for him. It’s just post-coital making out. Well, maybe not post…

Your hand wanders down him, to his crotch. You can feel his bulge there, and you bite your lip.

“What was that about the whole package?” you ask mischievously. Dean looks a little surprised, but then he grins. “I thought you wanted to punish me? That’s not punishment, you know.”

You shrug, lean towards him a little and he kisses you again. “Maybe the task master is feeling generous,” you say against his lips. You can feel him grin. “Aren’t I a lucky boy?”

You start pushing him back then, back into the sitting position he was in earlier. You keep kissing him once he’s sitting, kneeling on your legs next to him on the bench. While still kissing him, you find the fly of his jeans with your hands, slowly pull it down. Then you reach inside his jeans and a second later you’re pulling him out.

You break the kiss and look down at him. Who knew. Dean Winchester has a pretty cock. You bite your lip, stroke him a little. You can see Dean’s breathing hitch at that. You give him a quick kiss again, and then you lower your head.

You can tell Dean wasn’t expecting that, but then he gets with it, makes himself a little more comfortable, his hands going into your hair, not holding or pushing you, but just for contact. You lick at his tip a few times and then at the sensitive spot below it. Dean hisses, his breathing becoming heavier. You grin to yourself. You collect a little bit of spit and then take his head into your mouth. Your lips close around it and you flick at it with your tongue.

“Shit,” you hear Dean mutter. Shit indeed.

One of his hands is kind of stroking your hair a little, and it’s a weirdly gentle and sweet gesture, considering what you’re doing. You start taking more of him in your mouth, very slowly running your lips up and down him. After a few times of this, you notice Dean starting to slightly rock himself in your direction, meeting you. He’s not doing a lot of it, not making you take more of him than you already are, but it means that what you’re doing is working.

You hear a small thud and you think it’s his head hitting the back of the bench. You hollow out your cheeks, start going a little faster.

Then suddenly Dean’s grip in your hair tightens a little, and you hear him say, “darlin’?”

Reluctantly you pull yourself off him, crane your neck to look up at him. He’s breathing hard, his lips parted and his eyebrows pulled together. He looks damn good.

He licks his lips and swallows before he can talk. “Just in case you were wanting to do anything else,” he says, and his voice is a little cracked, “I think you gotta stop or I’ll be out of commission.” You think about it for a second. You were really enjoying what you were doing, but he’s right. You do want to do other stuff.

You sit up, kiss him again. You wonder if he’ll pull away, seeing as you just had his dick in your mouth. He doesn’t, he does the opposite. He pulls you in and it’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever experienced. You lay one hand on his chest and look into his eyes.

“Do you want to?” you ask, thinking it’s pretty clear what you mean. You know in the humor of your game you could tell him to have sex with you, but you want to make sure you’re both on board.

He smiles a little. “Yeah, I thought that was pretty obvious. Do you?”

You grin, push your face against his and kiss him wherever your mouth lands. It’s just above his upper lip.

He chuckles, and then you say: “Task master says fuck me, Dean.” He huffs and then says: “Damn, why is that so sexy?”

You pull him against yourself, kiss him again. He winds his hands around you, holding you close, and then you’re just making out for a moment. You’re leaning back on your ass so Dean manages to get a hand between your legs, starts rubbing you again. You’re still sensitive so you gasp a little, and he goes slower.

You close your eyes because it immediately feels insanely good. You press your lips together and concentrate on the feeling, the plans you just made completely forgotten. You open your eyes again and see that Dean is just watching you, a slightly wondrous smile on his face.

“What?” you ask, breathing hard. His smile widens.

“You’re just making some damn good faces,” he says. You chortle, bring your hand to the back of his head. “Dean, you can’t say things like that.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because, ugh,” you have a hard time speaking for a moment, because his fingers are still working away at you. You breath in, a little stuttery. “Uhm, because with charm like yours and what you’re able to do with your fingers, uhm, oh yes, uhm, that can make a girl all weak willed.”

You need to stop talking then because what he’s doing just feels too good. He grins wide.

“Maybe that’s how I like 'em,” he whispers to you. You’re about to tell him that whispering is on the list of things not to do as well, when the pleasure starts roaring louder in you, picks up speed and you can just say, “oh God yes,” before you come again.

Dean rubs you through it and a distant part of you realizes that this is the third time he’s made you come, and he’s not even inside you yet. Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat.

“Condom,” you manage to say, once the waves have died down. “Now, Dean,” you add, since communication is important, you guess.

His hand leaves you, and he reaches past you to the glovebox. You can’t see what he’s doing but after a second he’s pulling out a foil packet. He leans back, starts pulling his jeans and boxers down. You wish he would get completely naked, but the logistics of doing that, and later getting dressed again, in the car are just too annoying. Plus this half dressed stuff is pretty hot too. Still, you hope that there is a repeat of this where you get to see all of him.

The thought of that makes your stomach drop a little, that you hope there is a repeat. You push the thought away. Right now, you just want to enjoy what you’re getting, even if it is the only time you ever get to enjoy it.

Dean puts the condom on himself and at the same time, as you turn yourself around, he asks: “So am I really not allowed to say stuff like that? Was that a task master no or just a, Dean is a charming son of a bitch no?” You chuckle as you position yourself on all fours.

“The latter,” you say. “Task master will allow this one.” He must look up from where he was putting on the condom just then because he huffs when he sees you kneeling there.

“That’s good, because I have a lot more to say,” he says. You look back at him, wiggle your ass. “Then come over here and say it.”

You turn your head back, still seeing Dean push himself up out of the corner of your eyes when there is a sudden and painful sounding bang. You look back and Dean is holding the top of his head, which he clearly just hit against the car’s roof. You can’t help but laugh. He rubs the spot, is now grinning as well.

“Jesus, Dean,” you tease him, “you’d think you’ve never done this before.” He shrugs, and then he’s leaning over you, kisses your shoulder through your shirt. “I have,” he says, his voice muffled by the fabric, “you just make me clumsy.” You look back at him but you can’t see him with how close he is.

“Shut up,” you say, to hide the blush creeping into your face. He gently bites your shoulder.

“Is that a task master order, or—" You push back against him then, your ass meeting his cock. It shuts him up, so there’s that.

“You can keep talking,” you say, your voice low, “but you’re gonna have to live with the consequences.” He leans one hand on the back of the bench, the other going around you to find your pussy, starts touching you again.

“Consequences it is,” he says, his voice low against your ear. He touches you for a second more and then you spread your legs a little. He moves his hand to your side and rubs it over your back once, squeezing you there and then he leans back a little, lines himself up.

His tip enters you and as he pushes further in, he leans over you again, his free hand cupping your breast. He pushes into you, and your eyes fall shut. He feels amazing.

He stops moving when he’s flush against you, giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him.

“Dean,” you sigh, and you’re not sure what you even want to say.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he says while he continues to gently rub your nipple through your shirt, making heat coil in your belly again. “I’m gonna take good care of you.” And that should definitely go on the list of things he’s not allowed to say, but then he starts moving, rocking, and it makes your entire body tense with how good it feels.

He starts pulling out a little and then pushes in again, and you find yourself moaning, because he feels pretty damn perfect. He seems to feel the same, because he leans his forehead between your shoulder blades.

“Shit,” he pants, “why haven’t we done this before?” You grin, your eyes shut tightly. You have no idea but now that you started you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop.

You moan his name again, and he moves his hand from your breast down between your legs again. Spurred on, you move one of the arms you’re holding yourself up with and hold yourself against the door in front of you so you can push yourself back against Dean. He’s picking up his pace, driving faster into you, harder, and you meet him on every thrust. His thighs are slapping against your ass and the small space you’re in amplifies the sound.

You clench down on him, just wanting more and more, and Dean uses the hand he has around you, the one that is rubbing your clit, to drive you harder against him. “Fuck”, he moans, “your pussy feels perfect, sweetheart.” His words make you lean your head back. On the list, immediately on the list. You want to say it but you can’t, with how hard he is driving into you and how fast he is rubbing you.

You feel your thighs clenching and then it’s like you’re carried away by a wave. “Dean, fuck, yes, yes, I’m c—“, you manage to get out, and then you are and you’re pretty sure the top of your head lifts off for a second with how amazing it is.

Dean is still fucking you, but whatever your body is doing in response to this fourth earth-shattering orgasm draws him to the edge.

“I can’t hold back, baby,” he’s panting, “you feel too good.” You push yourself harder against him in response, even though your sensitivity is through the roof. You want to feel him, just one more time.

“Come on, Dean,” you pant, “just let go, baby.” He groans and then, with a few more stuttering thrusts, he’s gone as well.

The hand that was on your clit wanders up to your chest, not fondling, just spread there as if he’s checking your heartbeat. It’s intimate and sweet and you’re not sure if it’s all the coming or something else that tugs at your heart. Could be his dick, you joke to yourself, but you’re pretty sure you can’t fool yourself.

Dean’s over you, his breathing heavy, his head back between your shoulder blades. You don’t want him to pull out, want to keep feeling him, but your legs are starting to give out.

You move a little, and it wakes Dean from his trance. He kisses your back, once, twice, which almost warrants an entirely new list, then puts one hand on your hip and he’s pulling out of you. You miss him immediately.

You turn yourself around with the grace of an eighty-year old geriatric, flop down on the seat. Usually you would be a little more cautious with where you’re rubbing your private parts, but you’ve seen how meticulously Dean washes his car, including the seats. So you allow yourself the indulgence.

Dean is pulling the condom off himself, ties it up and promptly throws it out the window. You make a face.

“The planet is dying, you know,” you say to him. He grins, shrugs. “I think sperm is biodegradable,” he smirks, a little apologetic. You huff at that.

You realize then that the radio is still playing. You haven’t heard it at all. To be fair, you were pretty distracted.

That one Smiths song is playing, and Morrissey sings all throaty, When in this charming car, this charming man.

“Look at that”, you say to Dean, “they wrote a song about you.”

He chuckles and before you know it, he’s putting his arm around you, pulling you in, and he kisses you, very, very gently. It makes your breath stutter a little, and since your genitals are all powered out, your heart jumps in and takes over the job of feeling it. Feeling it fully.

You have to pull back a little, look down. Dean squeezes your shoulder.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks. You nod, swallow, then look back up at him.

“This was fun,” you say, but it doesn’t encompass what you want to say. “I mean, it was, it was really… good.” Dean grins.

“Glad to hear I didn’t disappoint,” he says. You nod, and then because you can’t help yourself, you ask quietly: “Did you enjoy it?”

Dean scoffs. “Are you kidding me?” he asks. “That was amazing. Can’t wait to do it again.” He kisses your cheek then, and it’s too damn sweet. You giggle a little, and he smiles at you.

Then, feeling a little more bold, you cup his face, pull him in, kiss him again.

“Maybe next time you get to tell me what to do,” you say against his lips. Dean huffs, his eyes going wide and then he needs to close them for a second.

“Jesus, woman,” he groans, and you laugh, pushing yourself against him and he pulls you closer.

#supernatural #spn #fanfic #dean winchester #fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #sorry's fics

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kaciidubs · 10 months ago

Text

Are You Still Watching?

✧ Summary: It was meant to be a sweet gesture to treat you to a surprise at-home date - what a shame that the pajamas that were supposed to be covering your bodies were now on the floor. ✧ ✧ Word Count: 1.8k ✧ Warnings: Smut, fluff, light humor, slight Dom/Sub dynamics, daddy kink, spitroasting, slight choking ✧ ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧ ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Good Girl, Baby, Pup, Slut, Seungmin is referred to as Minnie, Chris is referred to as Daddy, Baby ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

You’d appreciated the effort they put in on the surprise date night; the living room decorated with small tea light candles as the coffee table held an array of your combined favorite snacks. They’d even treated you to your favorite restaurant for take out - and by they, you really meant Chris, seeing as he would rather be struck by lightning than have you or Seungmin pay for anything (though, recently, he has been getting better at letting you both exercise your independence).

However, your favorite detail of the whole night was the way they basically transformed the couch into a sea of blankets and pillows - Seungmin making sure to include your favorite fluffy blanket to be shared between the three of you - which only made it more shameful to note that it was currently crumpled on the floor with pajamas that should’ve been covering your bodies.

“C’mon, you can take more than that, can’t you?”

You made a sound of indigence, eyebrows pinching as the pressure on the back of your head increased just a bit.

“Minnie, don’t - ah, fuck - don’t force her, give her a second.”

As usual, Chris’s caring tone added a lighter caress to Seungmin’s bite, though those sweet words could only do so much as his hips twitched up, unintentionally pushing more of his length past your lips.

Seungmin scoffed, a humored, lighthearted sound as his eyes narrowed, “You do realize, she’s the one who told me I could do this, right? She likes it, you know she does - don’t act like you don’t like it either, hyung.”

Punctuating his point, he pressed further against the back of your head and you dropped your jaw to allow Chris’s cock to slide along your tongue and prod at the back of your throat, before letting his grip pull you back up for a little reprieve.

“Bub wants to be used like a little slut - are you going to deny her that?”

You keened at his words, flicking your tongue around the head of Chris’s cock for further coaxing - you were okay with it, more than okay, and seeing your enthusiasm served to whittle him down more.

“G-Gonna be a good girl f’me and take it?”

Your head shifted slightly, a nod, as much as you could give with Seungmin’s hold on you remaining firm and secure.

That was all he needed to see as he spread his legs just a bit more, planting his feet before thrusting his hips up; his dick easily finding its way down your throat from the way Seungmin kept your head at the perfect level.

The living room soon filled with the sounds of your choked moans, wet slurps, and breathless groans as Chris fucked your mouth with ease; one arm laid along the back of the couch while the other braced against the cushions to aid in the leverage he needed.

“God, fuck, look at you,” he hissed, cocking his head in order to catch the way your cheek puffed up and hollowed out with each stroke, the shine of saliva bubbling at the corner of your lips sending his mind into a frenzy. “Pretty little thing letting daddy use your mouth like this - wouldn’t have it any other way, hm?”

Replying in kind, you dipped your head lower, working past the resulting gag on the following thrust with nothing but pure determination and need.

“Fuck.” Both men spoke in unison, a sound filled with equal parts desperation and fascination.

The sloppy sounds of Chris’s cock leaving and entering your mouth bounced off the walls of the living room more frequently, his pace growing faster as he began to chase the hints of his impending orgasm.

“‘M gonna come soon,” he gasped out, lidded eyes trained on the way your head rocked and bobbed, but stayed relatively in the same position Seungmin held you in, “be good and swallow it all, okay, baby? J-Just a little longer- shit.”

You tightened your lips around his girth, determined to hold everything he gave you, and like clockwork his dick twitched against your tongue followed by the bitterness of his seed filling your mouth.

He came with staggered breaths, his stomach heaving with each wave that coursed through him until his body fell lax against the couch.

The grip on the back of your head vanished, though another presence made itself known underneath your chin, slowly pulling you away from the softening cock between your lips - Chris hissing from the determined suction you kept to take the remnants of his orgasm with you.

Turning your head towards him, your eyes met his lust fogged ones, pupils blown and a considerable glow emanating from his body.

“Show daddy.”

He watched as the muscles in your throat subtly shifted before you parted your lips, tongue lolling out to show the inside of your mouth void of his cum.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his thumb against your tongue.

Your lips eagerly wrapped around the digit, holding his strong gaze as you sucked on it daringly - priding yourself on the way his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing at your boldness.

However, your little show was cut short as you felt a pair of hands dragging you back by your hips, blindly following the lead as your legs were guided up and over the arm of the couch, planting your feet firmly on the hardwood while your hips rested against the cushioned arm.

“Alright, alright, I’m here too.” Seungmin mumbled, though his cadence expressed a playful annoyance than anything else as he ran his hands along the curve of your ass, “Channie hyung shouldn’t have all the fun - this was my idea.”

There wasn’t enough time to counteract with a statement of your own as you felt the blunt tip of his cock nudge against your pussy, sliding through your arousal with a gentle rock of his hips.

“Seungmin, please.”

He gave a light huff, but you could practically see the amused smirk undoubtedly on his lips, “So needy, pup.”

However, you could argue that he was needier as he gripped your hip tighter, his other hand supporting the base of his dick as he began to slowly push past your walls - a hiss of satisfaction falling from his lips in the process.

Your head fell forward, a low moan floating through your parted lips; though, it didn’t last long as a finger hooked underneath your chin and gently lifted your head back up.

“Feels good, doesn’t he, baby?”

Lust fogged eyes locked with darkened ones, a familiar hunger lingering in his irises that had your pussy clenching as a result.

You felt yourself getting lost in his hypnotizing stare, sinking deeper and deeper into the pool of desire until a thrust jolted you forward - breaking you from your reverie with a choked out moan.

Then came another, then another, then another, until you were steadily rocking against the arm of the couch as Seungmin fucked you as he pleased; hard and thorough with a hand gripping your hip while the other remained steady at the back of your neck.

“Jesus, she’s so wet,” he groaned, lidded eyes locked on the curve of your ass, “bet she’s been turned on since we started this whole ‘date’.”

“Yeah? You think so?” A low chuckle left Chris as he took in your lust fogged expression, “She’s probably been waiting for one of us to put our hands on her ever since we got to the couch, spoiled little thing.”

A slap rang through the air, your yelp of pain melting into a needy whine while Seungmin’s hand massaged the cheek of your ass.

“Needy little slut,” squeezing the flesh, he hummed, “it’s cute, though - probably means we’re doing something right.”

Your breath caught at their words, an addictive mix of embarrassment and arousal flowing through your veins like molten lava - stomach twisting and walls clenching that only served to intensify Seungmin’s precise thrusts.

“Oh, she liked that.” His hand slid around your hip and between your legs, a deft finger easily finding purchase on your neglected clit, “Did you like it enough to come for me, pup? I can feel you clenching, I know you’re close - come for me.”

A larger hand made its presence known around your neck with a firm grasp, not enough to cut off your airflow, yet still present enough to have your eyelids fluttering and lips parting in a small ‘o’.

“Go ahead,” Chris cooed in a velvety tone, gently squeezing his fingers against the column of your neck, “come for Minnie, baby - come so he can fill you up just how you like, yeah?”

The mere thought of his orgasm had yours slamming into you faster than you could comprehend - your legs nearly buckling as you gripped the couch cushion, while a staccato of moans floated past your lips.

“Seung- Baby- A-Ah- Fuck!”

Seungmin mirrored your curse with one of his own, forced through gritted teeth as his finger continued to slide against your clit, drawing out your orgasm as long as he could until his body tensed - grunting out a small “‘M c-coming-” before pressing his hips flush to yours.

Chris’s hand slowly left your neck, granting you the ability to let it fall forward and relieve some tension off your shoulders; the sound of heavy footsteps walking out of the living room keying you into what he set off to do next.

A pair of lips pressed to your shoulder blade, followed by another kiss to the junction near the base of your neck, leading you to let out a soft giggle.

“I’m okay, Minnie.”

“Even after what I said…?”

His voice was right next to your ear, soft and a tad meek - you couldn’t help but nudge the side of his head with your own, “Baby, you calling me a slut barely breaks the surface of what I can get Channie to call me if I push hard enough - I’m perfectly fine with being your ‘needy slut’ if that’s what you need in the moment.”

He made a sound that could only be described as bashful embarrassment, choosing to respond by leaning forward to peck your cheek before pulling away at the sound of footsteps once more.

After a quick - gentle and careful - wipe down with a washcloth provided by Chris, a few bathroom trips, and a refresh on snacks, the three of you settled back onto the couch like before - sans pajamas.

“So,” Chris hummed, rotating the remote in his hand, “are we still watching this, or…?”

You held back your laugh as best you could with Seungmin laid on top of you, eyes already closed and determined to stay that way. “Keep it on as background noise?”

Nodding, he selected ‘keep watching’ before tossing the remote to the coffee table and tugging you closer against his side.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet, @bethanysnow

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin smut

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sea-lanterns · 2 years ago

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RIDE ME!

synopsis: (cowgirl! au) what's better than riding a horse? a cowgirl.

featuring: navia, dehya, shinobu, clorinde, beidou, arlecchino

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, strap ons, riding, reader on top for the most part, teasing, strap ons refered to as c.o.ck and other synonyms, pet names, possessiveness, jealousy, potential poor translation of french from google translate (navia), slight cunnilingus (shinobu), size kink (beidou), handcuffs (clorinde), degradation (clorinde, arlecchino), usage of whore/slut (clorinde, arlecchino), captor x prisoner dynamic (arlecchino), belly bulge (beidou), may be ooc.

art credits: black lagoon

NAVIA

“Oh my, your cute little legs are shaking so much, ma cherie!*”

Navia giggles to herself when you find yourself panting and struggling to take all of Navia’s length inside of you. The thick toy causing your throat to tighten and whine, because Navia just had to pick something so damn big and long to shove up your pussy.

“N-Navia…” you grit through your teeth, some of the air knocking out of your lungs when the woman suddenly bucked her hips forward. “Yessss?” She replies nonchalantly, a smug look on her face when she sees the way you were struggling to properly ride her. “Did’ya…have to choose the biggest toy you could find?” You groan while glaring down at her sarcastically.

“Oh honey, stop complaining…” Navia giggles, grabbing your hips and ripping a moan out of you when she begins bouncing you on her own. “You’re a big girl, so you can take a big dick on your own, hm?”

With each riveting thrust, Navia had you bouncing on her hips like you were some excited little bunny, a look of pure satisfaction on the cowgirl’s face when she got an up close view of your pussy swallowing her cock each time you moved up and down. The sight was utterly breathtaking for the legendary cowgirl of your town, and you saw that she was in fact drooling a little bit from the way your cum was dripping down her shaft.

“Oh, baise-moi, tu es si belle*.” Navia mumbled under her breath, eyes glazing over in a mesmerized way. “I can’t believe you’re mine…”

She chuckles at the way your body twitches from the constant hammering of her hips, so she decides to cut the tension a bit by grabbing her cowgirl hat lying on top of the night stand and placing it over your eyes.

“There, now you look like a proper cowgirl.” Navia giggles, clutching your hips and smiling at the way her oversized hat tilts forward to cover your eyes. “Now ride me properly, you silly cowgirl. No horse is too big for you to tame…”

She lets out another cheery smile and continues to brutally thrust her hips at that.

English translations taken from Google Translate: *my love, *fuck me, you’re so beautiful

DEHYA

“(Chuckle), is the princess unable to tame this bull on her own?”

Dehya smirks cockily at the way you trembled like a leaf on top of her, the look of pure determination on your face as you attempted to get all seven inches of her strap deep inside you. You would’ve gotten all of it fitting snugly by now, but Dehya had been teasing you for the entirety of your session, smirking and gently patting your hips in a condescending manner, that really had you distracted to the point you struggled greatly with even fitting the first few inches.

“Oh, princess…” Dehya chuckles, eying the way your pussy was just drooling over her shaft like it was trying to lube itself as much as it could. Probably because it needed that much lube in the first place, and the sheer amount of precum you were excreting was enough to make your ears go hot in shame. “I’ve never seen you produce so much slick without orgasming, darlin’”

“Shut up…!” you whimpered, giving Dehya a snarky glare. “I’m not used to riding you on top!”

“It’s really not that hard, babe,” Dehya sighs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Trust me, riding a woman is a lot easier than riding a bull, and I know from both experiences.” She clicks her tongue and winks at you. “So why don’t you give it another shot, come on, I know you can do it.”

She gives you an encouraging pat on the ass and leans back, making sure to stretch her stomach a little bit so her abs could shine under the sunset’s rays. The sight of Dehya looking so relaxed and confident in you gave you the little boost you needed to ease up and slowly slide down to the hilt.

With a strangled gasp, you let out a pretty little whine that made Dehya practically groan with pleasure. “Such a pretty noise you made there, princess,” Dehya husks, trailing one of her thumbs to push at your clit. “Can you make more? You’re usually singing like a canary by now…”

She chuckles and helps you ease down the rest of her cock, noting the tiny twitch in your legs as you struggle to ground yourself to reality. “Ah, poor thing’s all tuckered out just from sitting down,” Dehya grins, sitting up slightly to whisper in your ear. “Would you like this bull to help ride for you?”

When you were unable to respond, feeling too unbearably full from her cock, Dehya smirks and shifts her hands to rest on your hips. “I guess that’s a yes from the pretty little lady.”

Holding you close to her muscled body, she begins to thrust upwards at a brutal place, tip hitting so deep inside you it had you bouncing till you weren’t even moving on your own…

SHINOBU

“Having difficulty, sweet thing?” Shinobu whispers in that raspy voice of hers, eyes glinting forwards at you like a cat, as she watches the way you involuntarily jerked at her thrusts from her strap on pounding inside you. Shinobu was by no means a gentle woman of any kind, yet when it came to you, the sweet darling bachlorette of small town Inazuma, the outlaw was considerably generous to you, given by the fact that she could wreck your delicate pussy at any time she wanted.

With that in mind however, Shinobu was being awfully patient with how long it took for you to adjust to her strap. The toy was not even breaking five inches, yet when you tried to stuff it inside you from the top —eager to ride Shinobu like a first time rodeo gal— you almost cried from the sheer stretch you felt of her shaft spearing you open.

“Oh, baby…” Shinobu hummed to herself out of pity, reaching a hand forward to ease your walls a little more by playing with your clit. “You gotta loosen up, babe. I’m about to slip right out again if you’re this tight right now…”

“S-Sorry…” you grimaced, trying desperately to get your body to relax. “I don’t know why it won’t go in…”

“You’re too tense, babe.” Shinobu chuckles, pulling her bandanna down to slip her long tongue out to lick at her teeth. “Do you want me to help you? I certainly can, all you need to do is ask…”

With the way she was licking her teeth seductively and showing off her impressively long tongue, you felt your cunt drip a bit more as just the sight of it had you drooling out of arousal. “Yes please,” you mumble softly, letting Shinobu lift you off her cock and place you back down on the bed. She eased herself lower so that she was now eye level with your cunt, and began licking slow, languid strokes with her tongue until she was able to see your folds loosen up a bit.

“Atta girl…” Shinobu mumbles breathlessly, gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming and pressing deep nail indents into your skin. “Tastier than any ambrosia they serve at that damned bar…”

She groans and pulls you down to kiss at your stomach, playfully nipping the skin right above your belly button before staring up at you hungrily.

“Do you still wanna ride me, doll?” She asks in a husky tone.

You shake your head no.

“Tch, spoiled girl…” she grins and raises your legs up on her shoulders so that she can angle her strap to fuck you. “You should be grateful I’m so lenient on a sweet thing like you…”

And with that, she has you clawing at the sheets as the outlaw prods her tip through your folds…

CLORINDE

“What a naughty girl, unable to keep your hands to yourself…”

Sheriff Clorinde smirks to herself as the jingle of your handcuffs move with every bounce you take on Clorinde’s strap. The sheriff having chosen a curved, purple dildo as a strap for you to ride on, as this was your punishment for provoking the sheriff while on duty for patrol.

How did you provoke her you may ask? Well, let’s just say parading around in a short skirt, casting flirtatious winks at the gunslinger and whispering how much you wanted her to destroy you was a one way ticket to pound town with Clorinde and your hands bound together with metal cuffs.

“But Sheriff, I was only vying for your attention…” you pouted, whining when you felt her hands grip your ass and keep you seated downward on the smooth, warm, toy.

“Vying for my attention, you say?” Clorinde raises a brow, tugging on the chain between your cuffs so that you’d suddenly lurch backwards with a yelp. “Nearly the entire town saw the way you were crooning for me. Don’t you have any shame?”

She gave a particularly hard thrust at the word shame, grinning to herself when she saw the way you began leaking all over the toy and crying. “What’s wrong you needy girl, have you sprung a leak?” She teases, trailing a finger down to scoop up some of your essence. “Weren’t you whining for my attention earlier? Come on, where’s that excited spark I saw earlier…”

She continues to roll her hips —albeit at a slower pace— before tilting her head up at you and sighing. “You know better than to make me jealous, sweet thing.” She sits up to whisper in your ear and holds your waist a little tighter. “Navia, Furina, and practically all the cowgirls in town had seen you parading yourself in such ludicrous ways. Only I have the pleasure of seeing you, alright?”

She grunts and begins to roll her hips a bit faster, practically grinding into you to the point all you could feel down there was Clorinde’s strap rearranging your insides.

“Clorinde…” you gasped when she suddenly pulled you forward to place a delicate little kiss on your mouth, completely contrasting the way she was currently pummeling you with her cock till all you could see were stars.

“That’s sheriff to you, slut.”

BEIDOU

“Well damn, I didn’t know a gal as sweet as you could take a cock this well…”

Beidou laughed as she rested back on the bed frame and placed her arms behind her head. She looked as relaxed as can be while she watched the prettiest girl in town —that’d be you— lazily bounce on her strap with determination. Usually the rugged cowgirl would be on top of you, molding your body to fit hers as she pounded her cock to the oblivion, but this time you wanted to try something different. Something you always wanted to do ever since watching Beidou wrangle some of those wild horses.

“I admit, when you first asked to ride me, I didn’t think you were serious,” Beidou sneers, “But after seeing how determined you are, it seems like you’d make quite the good cowgirl if you keep this up.”

She smiles and tilts your chin up to look at her, an endearing grin on the cowgirl’s face as she continues letting you “take the reins” so to speak.

“Like I’d ever want to ride a horse though,” you chuckle jokingly, barely hiding a moan as it slips past your lips. “I’d rather just tame a woman…”

“You already did, darlin’” Beidou smirks, pushing you down a little further till there was a slight bulge in your stomach from her cock. “You could tame any woman out here if you could, ya little rascal…”

Your body involuntarily shuddered when you felt her tip push so deep inside you, the ridged edges of her strap feeling so good against your walls, as they milked her for everything that she was worth. “Gentle now…” you groaned, feeling stuffed to the brim from the way she was handling you. “Is this how you treat all the ladies you bed with?”

“No, just this lady.” Beidou chuckles. “Am I too rough?”

“Not…exactly.” You whimpered, steadying yourself as Beidou bucks her hips a bit harder. “I just need to get used to it, that’s all…”

Beidou smiled softly at this, before murmuring a curse under her breath and pushing her bangs back in amusement. “Oh fuck me little lady…you’re absolutely precious…”

She can’t stop herself from grinning before grabbing your hips and helping you bounce up and down her shaft. At the extra pressure and boost in speed, you nearly creamed yourself and cried while Beidou kept you upright in her arms.

“Well if you’re so lenient on me being a bit rougher, then perhaps I shouldn’t be so gentle on you anymore, little lady…”

And she kept her word, having you eyes roll back in bliss as she leans forward to suck a nipple into her mouth.

ARLECCHINO

“Tch…I see why that small town of yours was so angry at me for taking you…” Arlecchino husks, the smoke from her cigar fogging up your senses while you sit upright on her lap with her cock buried inside you. “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes, aren’t you?”

She slips the cigar out of her mouth and puts it out on the ashtray beside her, blowing some smoke into your face and watching as you grimace and cough with a frown. “Sensitive too,” she remarks, smirking and caressing your face with the sharp nails you were oh so terrified of.

“A-Anyone would grimace if they had smoke blow back in their face…” you grunt, glaring down at your captor while you rode her strap with need. “It’s rude to do that anyhow, y’know.”

“I think you’re forgetting I’ve done much ruder things,” the bandit leader chuckles with amusement. “For example, kidnapped you and kept you for ransom. Isn’t that much worse than blowing smoke in your face, doll?”

Your face scowled down at her and she only grinned at the way you were pouting. “Oh, don’t make that face sweet thing. It’s not like I have you tied up and chained to a post in the desert. You willingly came in here to fuck me, so don’t act so innocent now…”

She flashes you a sneering look before moving her hips a bit rougher so that you could really feel how hard and perfect her cock felt inside you. The way your lips part and glisten with barely contained drool had Arlecchino stroking her ego faster than you could come undone. The sight of your town’s prized jewel now drooling and riding her cock with pathetic need was sending the bandit leader into another state of superiority.

“Oh how I wish that sheriff of yours could see you now,” Arlecchino chuckles, “Clorinde was it? My, she was seething at the way I had you gripped in my arms. She looked like she would shoot me dead right on the spot if I hadn’t been carrying you.”

She was on a power trip, a glistening of madness in those red, X-shaped pupils of hers, as she began bouncing you harder against her strap.

“You like that though, I know. A whore like you just loves being the center of attention amongst all those rugged cowgirls…”

She scoffs and sits up to bite a hickey onto your neck, enjoying the way you squirmed and clung onto her shoulders immediately once you felt her teeth on your skin.

“Tell you what, once that sheriff of yours comes up with the sum of money I want, you send her back a little message for me, m’kay?” She growls and practically grips your ass into her clawed hands. “I want you to show her every little bite, hickey, and scratch I leave on your body, so she knows you had fun with me in my tent. Got it?”

You nodded enthusiastically before whining at the way she was now speeding her thrusts.

“Good whore.”

#navia smut #navia x reader #dehya smut #dehya x reader #shinobu smut #kuki shinobu smut #shinobu x reader #kuki shinobu x reader #clorinde smut #clorinde x reader #beidou smut #beidou x reader #arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #cowgirl au #genshin women smut #genshin women x reader #genshin imagines

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strwberri-milk · 5 months ago

Note

Could you please give headcanons on how LAD men would react if MC is non-jealous? Like they got hit on but MC isn't bothered or phased just stand there n watch the whole thing unfold (you can say Mc is amused at the attempt or smug about it cuz it shows that she had good taste in men) sry if my english is bad

im assuming that this is what youre referring too so ive put them both into one request lol

Zayne doesn't really mind it. He likes that you aren't jealous because he wants to be with someone who's secure in his relationship considering how late his hours are and how he can't be around as often as he would like to be. Knowing that you're more than fine with him focusing on work those days where he really has to focus and can't see you.

He doesn't get hit on too often because of the slightly chilly demeanor he has. People tend to leave him alone, especially with how obvious he makes it that you're dating him by the way he holds you. However, whenever people do try it he's glad that you don't mind it. He doesn't want you to think that he has eyes for anybody but you, even if a very very small part of him his curious to see what your protective side might be like when it comes to him.

When someone starts to insult you is when he starts shutting things down. He's telling them to stop saying things like that because there's no way he'd fall for their weak attempts at manipulation and will honestly start trying to walk away. If you stop minding your own business and start paying attention to him he'll try to guide you away to prevent you from hearing something nasty being said about you.

You gently shush him, smiling to yourself as you listen to the person rant at you. You know that Zayne doesn't want you to draw attention to the two of you so you let them complain before asking them if they think behaving like a child is really how you find a man that's as accomplished and sophisticated as Zayne. You don't really need to say much anyway because they can see how Zayne looks at them with a mild irritation for how they've interrupted your day before simply bidding them a goodbye. They're stuck trying to figure out how to reply to your words, forced to confront their childish actions.

If they decide to continue, following you around and shouting obscenities at you then you simply tell them that they look pathetic begging for him like this and that everybody around you is laughing at them. Public shame is a strong deterrent and they're forced to leave you alone. Zayne doesn't say anything but he does press a soft kiss to your cheek, not wanting to be too affectionate in public with how many eyes are on you but he's also very proud of how you can easily stand your ground.

Xavier likes knowing that he's yours but he also doesn't care too much for giant overt displays. He likes the subtle ways you show your his and he can show others that he's yours. It shows in the subtle way the two of you speak of how intertwined your lives are, just how casual the two of you are with each other. There's this implicit understanding that's shared between the two of you that just makes it seem like you two have been married for thirty years.

He doesn't mind that you aren't jealous over him but he also sometimes wants to see you being possessive over him. He likes seeing how your eyes flash and how you slide yourself next to him. You'll kiss his cheek and smile at him before asking who his new friend is. He typically doesn't entertain conversations with people who aren't you but he's much more subtle about it. People don't notice that he's not checked into the conversation until they suddenly realise he's quiet not because he's listening, but because he's fully just on his phone or started to leave when they looked away from him.

He doesn't get hit on often but when he does it's because people see him as an easy target. They think that he's chill and would be receptive to getting their number when it's totally the opposite. He doesn't even look at people who try to flirt with him, immediately pulling out his phone to text you to come find him faster because people are trying to get his number.

You show up quickly as soon as you hear them telling him how clearly, you don't care about him if you've just abandoned him like that. They're claiming that if you really loved him as much as he says he does then you wouldn't have left him alone like that. They start going on and on as you approach, tapping their shoulder as you gently push them aside to perch yourself on Xavier's lap. He doesn't expect it but he welcomes in anyway, happily returning the soft kiss you give him.

You totally ignore the person flirting with him, rolling your eyes as you tell them that Xavier hates it when people just prattle on and on about nothing like the way they're doing right now. You don't even let them get another word in as you tell him that you're tired and wanna go home now - your day was ruined by them and you didn't feel like staying out anymore.

He likes how you basically just totally shut them down without a second though, standing up with him and taking his hand. The two of you just fully ignore them, heading home as Xavier tells you he likes it when you do things like that.

Rafayel loves being obvious about how much he loves you. He's constantly hit on at parties and generally when he's in an okay mood he won't be as openly hostile about rejecting advances if Thomas begs him not to. He feels bad for the guy sometimes, knowing how difficult he can be to work with but not bad enough to actually be fully nice to everyone at events.

He wishes you were more openly jealous around him, recounting some stories specifically in hopes of getting a rise out of you. He doesn't want to like, actually hurt your feelings but he does want to see you pout and get a little clingy if possible. You know that that's his goal whenever he tells you about another socialite hitting on him and you entertain him by being dramatic in response, Rafayel lightly pouting at how you aren't taking him seriously but he also knows you're doing that because you love him.

When someone is genuinely trying to flirt with him and tells him that you aren't even rich or famous enough to be around him your first response is to just let him deal with it. He's very good at rejecting people but you feel bad when he meets your gaze from across the room, a pleading look on his face as he tries to convince you to come and rescue him. You decide to take pity on him and head over, trying to tell the socialite to back off. They just start to get in your face, telling you that you have no business acting the way you do, going off on you.

You just sigh and tell them that it doesn't matter how much they beg Rafayel doesn't like them and has personally told you himself how much he can't stand these parties because of people like them. You make it quite pointed that Rafayel hates these events and that if it were up to him, he wouldn't be here especially with them. Rafayel doesn't even need to say anything as he just stands behind you, arms around your waist as he just nods in agreement with your words, giving you a kiss as the other person finally gives up and fully leaves the party, embarrassed as everybody started staring at the argument that the two of you were having. The confident demeanor you have while Rafayel drapes himself off of you has everyone chuckling to themselves at how shameless the other party is, unfortunately staining their reputation as someone desperate to climb the social ladder.

Rafayel basks in the attention you showered him in and how hot he thinks it is that you made it so obvious you're his. You never left his side for the rest of the evening and he had fun introducing you to literally everyone. He'll ask you to do it more often if you can, totally obsessed with how you handled the situation so easily.

Sylus is pretty okay about the fact that you don't show any jealousy when he's flirted with. People are usually too scared of him to flirt with him anyway. Internally though, he also does want to see how you'd react when jealous. He doesn't do anything to trigger it but clearly, he doesn't really have to. Sometimes, he might make light jokes about how you don't get jealous because you know he has nothing on his mind but you. You don't have the heart to admit the fact that you know he's obsessed with you, but you also love knowing that he is. He makes it so obvious but he isn't even aware of how obvious he is about loving you, constantly spoiling you in every way.

He doesn't often attend events but he had to this one time, leading to people falling all over themselves to try and get his attention. You know that he can take care of himself but you also can't help the possessive streak that you feel at someone trying to take away something that's yours. He was having the time of his life /s avoiding everyone or making snide remarks as people try to steal his attention from you. You were trying to socialise with some people on his behalf, wanting to be friendly when you saw just how crowded he was with people trying to flirt with him.

His eyes follow you as you come to him, beginning to tell people off for acting so desperate around him. You remind them that Sylus chooses only the best and unfortunately for them, that so happens to be you. He doesn't say anything to you as you continue to tell people off, watching you with amusement in his eyes. You don't even feel his gaze as people weakly try to retaliate against your points, leading to you proving how wrapped around your finger you have him. He barely registers what's happening until he's delivering a plate of food to you, gazing at you with a soft expression that nobody's ever seen on him before. It makes it pretty clear that he won't ever see anybody that isn't you and shuts them up - if their egos aren't already decimated by how crude you were in calling out the desperate behaviour.

He'll tell you later as the two of you are getting ready for bed how flattered he was to have all of your attention on reminding people how much you love him. That overt display of affection is one he wants, obsessed with being shown in definitive ways just how much you love him.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader

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elliesanqel · 4 months ago

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Loser Ellie talking back to reader and being bratty but all reader has to do is give her one stern look and she’s docile (and wet) and reader makes sure she has a sore ass for the stunt she pulled

(your writing is soooo yummy)

behave

sypnosis; after a heated argument with ellie, she got far too confident with her replies which she knew she shouldn’t do with you, however she pushes you too far and you decide to teach her a lesson. warnings; angst, spanking—e!receiving, vaginal sex, strap use (referred to as a cock)—e!receiving, mdni. a/n; thankyou smm for this req cutie! i’ve never written, like, spanking before—so i hope this is good! p.s, its so easy to write sub/loser ellie while candy by doja cat is playing in the backround, so i recommend playing it while u read! also, tysm! i always doubt my writing so those type of compliments mean the worldddd to me! have a virtual hug! :3

pissed. thats what you were. a whole argument was created over something small really, but it would never have got so big if ellie hadn’t started answering back with snarky comments. you threw your arms up in the air out of exaggeration, “dont give me your bullshit, ellie. you even know it yourself, you’re never fucking here, when do i actually get to see you?!” you snap, your eyes narrowing at her as hers roll. she’d normally let you have the bigger side in arguments, but for some reason she was acting like a brat, and you weren’t a fan. “i’m here all the time? are you hearing yourself?! you sound fucking stupid.” she scoffs, taking a step forward.

your eyes widen, the fuck was wrong with her tonight? sure, you were taken aback, but you never let your face falter, strong face, strong front. you always had that. ellie knew it too. she knew you weren’t exactly the easiest to argue with. which is why she hated when they started. your eyes rolled, what was she getting so defensive for? the anger bubbled inside both of you, letting it out on eachother.

“no you’re fucking not. you are never here. you’re always out, probably with some girls hooked around your waist. i don’t fucking trust you going out so much, you literally have a girlfriend at home who’s always waiting for you to come back—which might i add, at unreasonable hours.” you rant, listing all the concerns you had as your body language switched every two seconds. it was so hard to trust her when she was defensive like this, which she never is, so that only raised your concerns.

she scoffs, thinking you sound absolutely insane. “so you think i’m cheating?” she laughs diabolically, eyeing your movements. “do you actually hear how dumb you sound? why the fuck would i cheat on you, seriously?” she holds her arms out slightly at her sides in disbelief that you think she’d cheat.

you point your finger at her face, warning her to pipe down a bit. “listen to me, stop fucking acting like a brat and answering me back, you’re making me sound like im crazy. you’re only getting defensive as shit because you know you’ve done something wrong! stop getting smart with me, ellie.” you speak, your voice low and quite frankly, bored. but oh, here she goes, answering back…again.

“im not getting smart. you’re blamin’ me for some pathetic shit. which, isn’t even true.” she snaps back, pointing a finger at you now, eyes narrowing further. oh she had nerve tonight.

you scoff as she points. yeah, now it was ridiculous. you’d had enough. your face falls neutral, but one eyebrow stays raised and your lips thinned. that look. that look that showed ellie that she was fucked now, and she knew that. she knew that look all to well, and she knew she’d gone too far. ellie never liked to necessarily admit when she was wrong, but she knew when she was wrong in the first place.

there was something she couldnt help, however. everytime you gave her that look, fuck she couldnt help herself. the way your eyes thinned, eyebrow raised, lips pursed—yeah it straight up just turned her on. and knowing ellie, she had no shame in that at all. she clenched her thighs, her lips thinning as she tilted her head back. feeling the wetness beginning to pool in her boxers.

snapping back to reality, trying to push those thoughts away as she knew you were pissed with her right now. she lowered her finger instantly, starting move her feet about nervously. “baby, i—” her words were softer now, but you still cut her off, not with your words. you snap out of your trance, moving closer to ellie and grabbing her wrist forcefully.

she flinches slightly, but she knew protesting would only make you more angry. you move her over to the bed, you keep ahold of her wrist and you lean down towards the bedside table, opening the drawer and grabbing ellies strap. but not for her to use on you. oh no. for you to use on her.

her eyes widen, looking at you like she’d just seen a ghost. she looked completely lost. “what the hell are you doing?” she asked, her tone neutral but a bit worried. you look up at her, your eyes narrowing. “maybe this’ll teach you to stop answering back.” you snap, your tone still sharp and never faltering. you knew ellie was always the dominant one when it came to sex. she was always the one using that cock on you, and you were always the one with your face down and ass up, or whatever position ellie had you in. from ellies point of view, if it was her it was getting used on, and her in those positions, she’d find it embarrassing as fuck. but who was to say deep down she wouldnt secretly love it?

you knew she’d protest, so you decided to bend her over yourself. but fully on the bed? nah. over the bed. yeah, you wanted that brat half standing, half bent over.

you pushed, so her hands met with the sheets, her feet still on the floor. a sharp gasp left her lips, her head turning to look back at you behind her. “what the fuck? this is so embarrassing, what are you doing—” she worryingly protested, hoping it wouldnt make you more angry. but you abruptly cut her off with a slap to her ass. you’d never done that before. but you never showed the new worry on your face.

a louder gasp left her lips, a dumbfounded look on her face if only you could see it, but you couldnt because it made her head turn away from facing you and bow, her teeth biting down roughly into her bottom lip. a whore-like moan falling from her parted lips. “uuhh! oh, fuck babe…”

it suprised you. but the fact that she didnt stop you lowered your worries. and that slutty moan she let out showed you this loser actually liked it. you smirked a little, causing both hands to slip up her waist and unbutton her skinny jeans, slipping them down and letting them pool at her ankles. she bit further into her lip as she let you continue, not willing to protest. even though it was hard to shake her embarrassment.

you wasted no time in slipping off your shorts, freeing yourself as you slipped the cock on. you looked down at ellie, that pathetic, bratty loser who was bent the bed over infront of your eyes, half naked. her shirt? nah, its gonna stay on while you fuck her. you noticed two things. a red mark forming from where you slapped, and her pussy. ohhh her pussy, gleaming and soaked. it turned you on even more that she was already wet before you even entered her. you loved seeing her like this. and since you’d never had her like this before, hopefully it ought to teach her to keep that pretty mouth shut when she needed to.

you didnt want to wait any longer, you gripped those pretty hips, aligning them with your cock. you gripped the rubber, sliding it into her throbbing cunt, leaving no time and completely bottoming out inside of her. her hips moving forward at the contact, a low groan leaving her lips, her head arching. “oh fuck—oh my fucking goddd!” her voice sounded needy, desperate, every other synonym.

this only egged you on, gripping her hips tighter while you fucked her dripping pussy senseless, your pace getting quicker. needy whimpering left her with every thrust you gave, putting all your anger you had into it. “you gonna stop being such a brat? gonna stop answering me back? hm?” you mumble, your own whines being held back by your arrogance.

she left no waste in time responding. “n-no. i won’t—ohhh! answer back, ever again—nghhh!” her speech was abruptly interrupted by her desperate noises your cock was giving her.

her head smushing into the sheets as she bit down on them, her moans becoming muffled. your hand reached forward, holding her half up-half down bun in your hand as you pushed her head a little further into the sheets, your hips thrusting into her like no tomorrow. her hands gripped the sheets tigher, holding on for dear life. you use your free hand, giving her another smack, her hips jolting forward as that same whore-like moan fell from those pretty lips. she took it so well, god this was definitely imprinted into your head forever now.

you let go of her hair, bringing it back up but curling it around her waist, your middle finger finding her pulsing clit, only causing her to let out the sluttiest whimper ever into the sheets, her back arching further. you smirk at her, fuck what a good sight this was. “look at you, taking my cock so well, aren’t you? swallowing me up so good.” you tease, knowing it would fuel her embarrassment. her brows furrow in pleasure, but also, yeah, in embarrassment.

“s-shut up. that’s so—mmphh, fuck! embarrassing…” she chokes out, her voice dripping with need. but she felt that slipping away as your cock deep inside of her caused her stomach to clench tightly, the heat growing in her pussy. “ohh! i’m gonna cum—fuck! g’nna cum!” she cries out in pleasure.

oh fucking hell. how needy she was sounding, lord. before you had her bent over for you she’d never sound this needy. you decided you’d punished her enough, red marks forming on her ass and all. you thrusted quicker, middle finger working quicker for her.

her whole body began shaking, quickly jolting as she let go, squirting her cum all over your cock like the good girl she was. she raised her head a little from the bed, sighing into it as you pulled out. a small whine coming from her at the loss of contact. you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder as you stroked the same spot after. she slowly stood, her legs a bit shaky. she didnt dare mention anything else about how she was just in complete ecstasy. or even mention the fact her white, sticky cum was dripping from the strap. mostly because she didnt wanna think of herself like the submissive one. but you both knew she did secretly love it.

something looked like it was bugging her, though. a weird look on her face as she softly spoke. “listen, baby. im not cheating on you, i promise. i’d never do that to you because you’re all i need. from now on i won’t go out as much, yeah?” she said, her words sounding sincere. looking back at your accusation now, it did sound silly. you knew deep down ellie would never do that to you, she loved you more than anyone. she wasn’t the best with words, but she managed to find a way to make it work.

“i know, im sorry i accused you. you know i really love you. just stop getting bratty with me, mhm?” you grin, voice filled with a teasing manner.

she held both of your arms, stroking the skin softly with her thumbs. she scoffs, “i know, ‘m sorry baby. i love you too.”

she smiles softly, almost too innocent considering she was bent over the bed moments ago.

#ellie smut #tlou ellie #ellie fanfic #ellie the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #the last of us x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #tlou smut #ellie tlou #tlou2 #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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confused-wanderer · 2 years ago

Text

No because I can’t be the only one who thinks that the other batkids mess with Damian’s non-existent knowledge of jokes and references. Each of the batkids already has their own niche of bad jokes they love saying. And Damian is just adding fuel to the fire by being an unsuspecting victim:

Dick: Knock knock

Damian *who’s seen Superman and Jon do this all the time* : .. who’s there?

Dick: Nobody

Damian: …nobody.. who?

Dick:

Damian: ?

Dick *keeping a poker face*

Damian: Grayson.. nobody who?

Dick *shaking with silent laughter before walking out of the room*

Damian: .. Grayson has lost what little brain cells he had left. Shame, it was the most anyone had in the family.

Alfred: Master Damian.. it is you who didn’t understand.

Damian: .. what?

Alfred *raises an eyebrow*

Damian:

Damian *realisation dawns*

Damian *marching out of the room while unsheathing his katana*

Alfred: Keep away from the carpet Master Damian.

Jason: You know.. you always see flamingoes sleep with one leg lifted off the ground..why do you think that is?

Damian: .. you pose a good question for once Todd. I suppose it could be a form of protecting body heat.. what is the reason for this?

Jason *wheezing*: It’s ‘cause if they had both legs up they would’ve fallen over.

*doubles over laughing at his own joke*

Damian:

Jason *now fallen over, rolling on the ground*

Damian: This is why Father doesn’t love you.

It has also led to an unintended common ground between him and Tim, who are both just so done with the rest of the family. Stephanie is just waiting for the day Damian realises that Tim references vines almost everyday. She’s sure Tim’s going to lose a kidney when that happens.

Bonus points if Tim already does, but Damian just looks at him weird every time and just chalks it upto another “Tim thing” like:

Tim: .. it is Wednesday my dudes.. *screams*

Damian: … Drake it’s Friday. The only thing you succeed at is disappointing me.

Tim: Do it for the vine.

*jumps into blazing fire with a bomb hidden somewhere in the building about to collapse without informing anyone or taking proper equipment to find said bomb*

Damian: Father told me I must not hate you, but if you were on fire, and I had a glass of water.. I would drink it.

And

Tim *driving while in a high-speed chase with a villain about to summon the end of the world while the car is on fire*: Road work ahead? Uh yeah, I sure hope it does

Damian *over the comms* : Father I fear Drake has more brain damage than he usually does. I have genuine concern for my safety. If I kill him, you should know it’s in self-defence.

————-////

Edit: The first joke is a knock knock joke but when Dick says nobody it means nobody is at the door, so no matter how much you say “nobody who?” you won’t get a reply because there’s no one at the door. Hope this clears it up😅

#batman #dick grayson #jason todd #nightwing #red hood #tim drake #batfam #bruce wayne #damian wayne #headcanons #robin!damian wayne #Damian al-ghul #red robin #Stephanie brown #spoiler

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satanxklaus · 11 months ago

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♥︎ 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐭 𝐔𝐩 | lando norris x reader smau

✦ pairing : lando norris x fem!reader ✦ summary : in which fans are quick to throw hate towards lando's girlfriend that does not fit into the 'typical' wag lifestyle. ✦ content warning : profanity, illusion of sex, several ayesha erotica references, slut-shaming, use of yn ✦ faceclaim : girlies from pinterest

a/n: hey! so this is my first time doing this after many years of not writing shit. this is kinda short. pls let me know what u think,, feedback is always appreciated!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

yninstagram

liked by landonorris, mclaren, yourbestie and 21,987 more.

yninstagram tummy full of edible gummies, im feeling yummy

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user3 god shes a pr nightmare fr

user9 god there are kids on this app. gross.

landonorris ✓ ZOWEEE MAMA bark bark !!!!

⤷ yninstagram c'mere and get sum xx

landonorris ✓ damn baby give me a chance pls 😩

⤷ user16 nurse he is out again

⤷ mclaren ✓ lando pls we talked about this yesterday

ynfan1 god idk if i wanna be her or be with her shes so fckn hot dude

text messages

landonorris ✓

liked by oscarpiastri, f1wags, mclaren and 1,634,200 more.

landonorris ✓ i've been seeing a lot of hate and awful name calling towards my partner on the internet for the past days. truly if you were really a fan of mine, i ask you to please respect our relationship and stop sending hate towards my girlfriend. i love her, and i don't care how she acts or dress a certain way. its really none of your business, really. suck it up.

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⤷ yninstagram i love you 🤍🥺

⤷ yninstagram u have no business for posting that third pic, count your days norris

user7 now where are the bitches that keeps barking and hating. sit down ho

f1wags protect yn at all cost.

mclaren ✓ our paddock princess 🫶🏻

user19 they could never make me hate you yn yln.

fransisca.cgomes why yall hating on my wife for?

⤷ yninstagram omg girl i miss you so much!! u should leave pierre and be with me instead 🙏🏻

⤷ fransisca.cgomes im omw 🏃🏻‍♀️

⤷ pierregasly ✓ hello???? please dont take my girl 😭

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user12 u are disgusting

⤷ yninstagram your hairline is disgusting 🤢

landonorris ✓ god you're so damn sexy

landonorris ✓ wait for me till i get home

⤷ yninstagram 🤭 im still in bed where u left me this morning. come quick xx

yninstagram

liked by landonorris, fransisca.cgomes, pierregasly, ynfan and 89,634 more.

yninstagram yea i might be a slut, but im still a wag and you're not. stay pressed 😘💋

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#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris #fanfiction #formula one #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #lando x reader #formula one smau #formula one rpf #formula 1 imagine #f1 fic

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yuujispunches · 25 days ago

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Ink and permanence ~ C.K.

Pairing: tattoo artist! Choso Kamo x Reader

Summary: when you went to get your first tattooo you didn’t expect that the ink on your arm wouldn’t be the only permanent thing you would leave the studio with.

CW (content warning): modern! AU (no curses), tattoo artist!Choso, mentions of needles (tattoos), mentions of loss and tooth rotting fluff.

AN: English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this from my phone so I’m sorry if there’re any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The soft chime of the studio doorbell almost made you turn around.

Your hand froze on the handle, breath hitching as the cool air from inside brushed against your cheeks. You were really doing this. After months of scrolling through references, bookmarking ideas, saving up every tip and leftover paycheck, you were about to get your first tattoo.

You stepped in cautiously, eyes sweeping the space like it might bite.

It didn’t.

Instead, you were met with warm lighting, mellow alt-rock humming from overhead speakers, and the rich, distinct scent of ink, disinfectant, and something faintly floral, maybe incense. The walls were covered in art: some traditional, some neo-Japanese, some experimental chaos that somehow worked. The floors were polished concrete, and plants hung lazily from the ceiling in mismatched pots. A huge, oil-rubbed copper sign near the back read KAMO INK in bold strokes.

“Hey there.” A blonde woman at the front desk greeted, popping up from behind a sleek monitor. “You’ve got that look. First timer?”

Your eyes widened, caught like a deer in headlights. “Is it that obvious?”

She grinned, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. “You’re holding your phone like a rosary and your design like it’s a secret love letter. I’m Yuki. You here for Choso?”

You nodded and quietly offered the folded sketch you had guarded all morning.

Kana took it gently, glancing it over. “Jasmine vine?”

“My mom’s favorite.” You said softly. “I drew it a few months ago. Kind of… memorial, I guess.”

She smiled with a softness that reached her eyes. “Beautiful. He’s almost ready. Want some water while you wait?”

You nodded again, retreating to a black leather couch with a water bottle and your nerves bundled under your hoodie. The studio buzzed quietly with the familiar hum of tattoo machines like bees in the walls. A sound both terrifying and hypnotic.

Just as you’d calmed your racing heart to a dull gallop, a voice broke through.

“You’re my jasmine girl?”

You looked up and froze.

Standing a few feet away, framed by the hallway’s soft light like some kind of ink-stained saint, was a man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Long, dark hair pulled into two buns that oddly worked on him, a few strands falling around his face that was adorned with a thick black line across the bridge of his nose. He wore a black sleeveless shirt that clung in just the right places and showcased arms carved with layer upon layer of tattoos, some sharp and geometric, others painterly and soft. His nose was pierced, a dark hoop in his septum. His lip as well. Even his ears bore delicate silver chains.

His eyes were what undid you. Deep, charcoal brown, and… still. Intense, but not threatening. Like he saw everything and reacted to nothing.

“Uh… yeah. That’s me.” You stood awkwardly, clutching your sketch like a talisman.

He stepped forward and took the page, scanning it with slow reverence.

“You drew this?”

You nodded, heat rushing to your ears.

“It’s really elegant.” He murmured. “Delicate, but confident line work. You ever tattoo?”

You blinked. “Me? Oh- no. God, no.”

He smiled, not big, but real. “Shame. You’ve got a good hand.”

You were too stunned to reply, so you followed silently as he gestured toward a backroom station. The walk felt longer than it was. You kept your eyes on the back of his neck, where a string of sakura petals trailed down the column of his spine, vanishing into his shirt.

“This okay?” He asked, pulling a curtain closed behind you.

You nodded, stepping into the small but organized space. Sterile tools neatly arranged. Warm lamp lighting. Another plant, this one hanging beside his seat.

“Go ahead and roll up your sleeve.” He said, already printing the stencil from a nearby tablet. “You wanted this on your forearm?”

“Yeah.” You said. “So I can see it.”

“Good spot.” He murmured. “Visible. Personal. And it’ll heal easy.”

You sat down and laid your arm on the padded rest, trying not to flinch as he cleaned the skin with practiced hands.

“You okay?”

You nodded, eyes locked on the floor. “Just nervous.”

He glanced up, and his voice softened. “Hey. Look at me.”

You did. Slowly.

“You’re allowed to be nervous.” He said gently. “First tattoos are a big deal. But I’ll take care of you, alright?”

Something in you uncoiled. Maybe it was the steadiness in his voice. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were already safe.

“Okay.” You whispered.

He worked efficiently. The stencil felt cold against your skin, but his hands were warm, firm. He angled the mirror for you once he pressed it on.

“What do you think?”

You stared. The jasmine curved gracefully from your wrist to the bend of your elbow, just like you’d envisioned.

“It’s… perfect.” You murmured. “Better than perfect.”

He gave a small nod. “Give it a minute to set. Then we’ll start.”

You watched as he moved through his setup. Gloves, inks, needles, barriers. Everything methodical. Ritualistic. It was clear he cared. Not just about the art, but the process.

The buzzing started. Your heart jumped.

Choso looked up, eyes meeting yours again. “You ready?”

You took a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

He started at your wrist, wiping the skin one last time before the needle met flesh.

The sting was sharp. Immediate. But bearable. Like a thousand tiny paper cuts overlapping, but rhythmic.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively curled your fingers. His hand was there, grounding.

“You’re doing great.” He reassured. “Just breathe.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the hum of the machine and not the fire beneath your skin.

“Tell me about her.” He said.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Who?”

“Your mom.” He said. “Only if you want to of course.” His voice and eyes were so soft as he observed you that you found yourself nodding slowly.

You swallowed. “She… loved gardening. Jasmine especially. Said the smell reminded her of summers in Kyoto.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Kyoto?”

“Her family was from there.” You explained. “She used to tell me stories about temple gardens and rivers that sang.”

“That’s beautiful.”

You looked away, blinking. “I used to think tattoos were scary. Like… you had to be tough. But now I think it’s the soft things that deserve permanence the most.”

Choso paused. Not in the tattoo, his hand stayed steady, but in his breath.

“That… ”He said after a moment, almost still breathless “might be the best thing I’ve ever heard in this chair.”

You smiled. Just a little. But it stayed.

The hours passed in a blur of ink, warmth, and quiet conversations.

He told you about growing up with a dozen siblings, about painting graffiti before he found tattooing, about how he brewed his own herbal teas because the store-bought stuff tasted like sadness.

In turn, you told him about your art, your cat, the way you always started books and never finished them. He teased you gently for that, but his voice never lost its softness.

“Still with me?” He asked as he reached the final leaves.

“Mhm” you hummed in response, watching the curve of his wrist.

He finished with delicate shading, wiping the area gently.

“That’s it.” He said after a few more minutes. “You made it.”

You looked down, breath catching. It was stunning.

The jasmine vine looked alive, flowing, whispering, held in soft greys and gentle lines. A small detail he’d added: one lone flower near your wrist, full bloom.

“For her.” He said, tapping it gently. “That one’s the heart of the vine.”

You blinked, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Choso…” you whispered.

He looked up, and something tender flickered in his eyes as he smiles at you.

He cleaned and wrapped the area, talking you through aftercare like a practiced lullaby. You tried to focus, but your chest was tight in a way that wasn’t nerves anymore.

He handed you his card before you left. Not just the studio one but his.

“For touch-ups. Or if you wanna talk through another piece. Or, you know… coffee.”

You looked up. “Coffee?”

He shrugged. “Or tea. Or books you won’t finish. Or anything.”

You stared at the name on the card, fingers brushing the edge.

“You ask all your clients out?”

He smirked, just barely. “Only the ones who stare at me like I’m about to eat their soul and still call my work perfect.”

You laughed, really laughed, for the first time in days.

“Well…” You said, tucking the card in your sleeve. “I guess I’ll owe you coffee then.”

His smile was slow, but bright. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You walked out of the studio with a bandaged arm, a swelling heart, and something lighter in your chest than you’d felt in months.

Ink beneath your skin. His number in your hand.

Maybe softness wasn’t meant to be hidden. Maybe it was meant to be permanent.

——————————————————————————

The card sat on your nightstand for three days before you texted him.

Not because you didn’t want to. You did, so much it made your chest ache. But every time you picked up your phone, your fingers hovered over the screen like you needed permission. You kept wondering if the warmth he gave you was real, or just another fleeting moment you'd rewrite into something bigger.

Eventually, the ache to see him again outweighed the fear.

Hi. This is your jasmine girl. Still owe you coffee. :)

His reply came faster than you expected.

I was starting to think you ghosted me. You free Friday? There’s a place I like. Quiet. Good tea.

You stared at the screen, heart thumping loud in your ears.

Friday sounds perfect.

——————————————————————————

The café was tucked between a dusty old bookstore and a florist that smelled like lilies and clove.

Warm wood and brick lined the inside walls. The music was soft, barely there, an acoustic cover of a song you couldn’t place. Someone was knitting in the corner. The barista had silver ink up their neck. It was a space made for softness and staying.

Choso was already there.

He stood when he saw you, rising from a window seat with a half-finished mug in his hand. He wore a loose charcoal sweater, sleeves pushed past his elbows, revealing the inked patterns running down his arms fluid, bold, meticulous. His hair was down today, draped over his shoulders, framing his face in a way that made your breath stick for a second.

“You came.” He said, his voice quieter than you remembered. Almost cautious.

You smiled as you slid into the seat across from him. “I said I owed you coffee.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile bigger but wasn’t sure if he should.

“You still do.” He said, and gestured toward the counter. “Go ahead, I’ll keep the seat warm.”

You returned a few minutes later with a lavender chai, extra honey, and tucked yourself into the opposite cushion. He watched you for a beat.

“What?” You asked, already blushing.

“You suit this place.” He said.

You blinked. “How?”

He shrugged. “Gentle. But you notice everything.”

The heat in your cheeks didn’t fade. It bloomed.

Conversation flowed more easily than you expected. He asked about your job, your art, your favorite time of day. You told him you liked the hour just before dusk, when everything was soft and fading but not quite gone.

He told you his was just before dawn.

“I like the quiet.” He said. “The way the light crawls back in slow. Like the world’s deciding if it wants to wake up.”

You sipped your drink. “You’re more poetic than I expected.”

He gave you a look. “What did you expect?”

You grinned. “More brooding. Less… tea metaphors.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “You think I’m brooding?”

You tilted your head. “You have a ring in your lip and an entire graveyard tattooed on your forearm.”

“It’s a tribute to my brother.” He said quietly.

Immediately, your smile dropped. “Shit- I didn’t mean- ”

Choso raised a hand gently. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

You hesitated. “What happened?”

His eyes drifted to the window for a moment. “Car crash. Few years ago.”

You waited.

“He was loud. Way louder than me. Used to rap into his cereal spoon and try to convince me to join his imaginary band.”

A small laugh escaped you. “What was the band called?”

“Concrete Lotus.” Choso deadpanned.

You laughed. “That’s… actually not terrible.”

He cracked a faint smile. “He’d be thrilled to hear that.”

You held his gaze for a long moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thanks for asking.”

——————————————————————————

When the sky outside had darkened into navy and the lights in the café had grown dimmer, you lingered at the door with him.

“So…” You said.

“So…” He echoed, stepping closer.

You looked up at him, unsure if the pounding in your chest was nerves or the weight of wanting something.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked.

Your breath caught and stayed frozen for a moment. You nodded, too stunned and nervous to trust your voice now.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t tentative. His lips met yours like he’d been waiting, not just today, but longer. Like something inside him had been reaching out for someone else’s softness and found it.

Your hand curled into the front of his sweater without thinking. His fingers brushed your jaw, then the side of your neck, and for a second, the world stilled.

He pulled back slowly, forehead resting against yours.

“You taste like honey.” He murmured.

“You taste like trouble.” You whispered back.

His laugh rumbled in his chest. “Maybe. But the good kind.”

——————————————————————————

Things unfolded slowly after that.

You started texting every day. Then voice notes. Then late-night calls when neither of you could sleep. He sent you photos of work in progress, close-ups of inked skin and faded sketches and you sent him your latest pencil drawings and in-progress watercolors.

By the second week, you knew the names of all seven of his plants and most of his siblings. By the third, he knew the name of the perfume you wore and which tea you liked best depending on the weather.

He took you to ramen spots, bookstores, record shops. You took him to quiet parks, art galleries, street fairs. He never rushed you. Never crossed a line. But his touch always lingered, fingertips against your wrist, palm on the small of your back, a kiss pressed to your temple when he dropped you off.

And when you finally visited his apartment?

It surprised you.

Minimalist. Neat. Lots of art. A couch you could melt into. A cat named Peaches who didn’t like anyone but instantly curled into your lap. You stayed on that couch for hours. Talking, sketching, legs tangled together like it had always been that way.

——————————————————————————

“I want another tattoo.” You said one evening, curled under one of his throw blankets, your head on his shoulder.

Choso turned slightly. “Already?”

You looked up at him. “Too soon?”

“No.” He said. “Just… didn’t expect it.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small folded sketch. It was more abstract this time, your own design. Delicate curves, this time it was a shark, interwoven with stars and linework shaped like heartbeat waves.

He stared at it in silence.

“This one’s about healing.” You said quietly. “For what comes after.”

Choso’s hand brushed your thigh. “You want me to do it?”

You nodded.

He looked at you for a long moment. “I’d be honored.”

——————————————————————————

The second session was different.

You weren’t nervous. No hoodie wrapped around your body like armor. Just a simple cotton shirt, your hair pulled back, and a small smile on your face as you walked into the same studio room where you first met.

Choso prepped like always. Gloves, sterilization, careful precision. But now his touches lingered. His fingers brushed your shoulder before he applied the stencil, and when he asked if you were ready, he leaned down and kissed your temple first.

The tattoo was quiet. Not in sound, but in feeling.

You sat with your eyes closed as he worked, and for a long stretch, neither of you spoke. Just the hum of the machine and the warmth of his presence.

When he finished, he wrapped your arm, then bent to press a kiss to your bandage.

“What’s this one mean?” He asked.

You met his eyes.

“That I’m not afraid anymore.”

His hands settled on your waist, his lips on your jaw.

He held you for a long time that night.

——————————————————————————

Months passed.

You watched spring bloom, then shift into the wet heat of early summer. You fell asleep in his bed, woke up to his raspy voice saying your name like it was a prayer. You met his friends. Loud, chaotic, messy, beautiful people who all hugged like they hadn’t seen you in years.

You introduced him to your sketchbook. Let him see pages no one else had seen. Designs unfinished. Feelings unfiltered. He looked at them like they were a gallery.

He asked you one night, while you were sketching on his couch. “Ever thought about apprenticing?”

You looked up. “What?”

“With me.” He said. “Tattooing.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

You shook your head, heart fluttering. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

He didn’t push. Just smiled. “When you are, I’ll teach you.”

——————————————————————————

That summer, he gave you your third tattoo.

A tiny one. Hidden behind your ear. A single heart, no bigger than a grain of rice.

“Protection.” He said, pressing his lips there afterward. “For all the parts of you you’re still finding.”

You kissed him slow that night, hands in his hair, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his back like Braille. Like stories.

——————————————————————————You knew something was different when Choso cleaned his apartment three times in one morning.

It started with him vacuuming the entire place twice while you sipped your tea from his kitchen counter, watching the usually-unbothered tattoo artist mutter about “streaks on the glass” and “cat hair in the couch seams.” Peaches watched him with disdain from her perch by the window, tail twitching like even she thought he was being dramatic.

“Everything okay?” You asked finally, when he scrubbed the coffee table for the third time.

Choso didn’t look at you at first. Just wiped harder.

“Choso.”

He exhaled through his nose and straightened up, cloth in hand. “Yuji’s coming over.”

You blinked. “Yuji?”

“My little brother.”

Your heart skipped. “You never said I’d be meeting him today.”

“I didn’t know until last night.” He admitted. “He’s usually busy with school. And sports. And saving stray dogs. He’s basically a golden retriever in human form.”

You smiled. “Sounds adorable.”

“He is. He’s also…” Choso hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the cloth. “Important to me.”

You softened. “I know.”

“I just don’t- ” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not easy bringing people into that part of my life.”

You crossed the room, wrapped your arms around his waist, and leaned into his chest.

“I’m honored.” You said into the cotton of his T-shirt. “And nervous. But mostly honored.” That earned you a soft chuckle from your boyfriend.

His arms came around you slowly, like he needed to be sure this was real. “You don’t have to say anything special. Just be yourself.”

You tilted your head. “What if myself is awkward and says something like ‘sports are neat’?”

Choso smiled against your hair. “Then Yuji will probably ask you to come to his next game.”

You pulled back, searching his face. “Are you sure you want me to meet him?”

He nodded. And in that simple movement, you felt something deeper, something heavier, settle between you. He wasn’t just introducing you to his brother.

He was letting you into the last piece of his heart.

——————————————————————————

Yuji arrived an hour later, knocking twice before opening the door with a grin that could’ve powered a small city.

“Yo!” He called, stepping inside in a hoodie three sizes too big and a skateboard tucked under one arm. His hair was bubblegum pink today, wild and soft, and his sneakers squeaked against the floor as he kicked them off.

Then he saw you and his grin widened.

“Hi!” He greeted enthusiastically, walking straight over and offering a hand. “You must be the jasmine girl!”

Your eyes widened. “You know about that?”

“Choso didn’t shut up about you for two weeks.” Yuji said cheerfully. “It was kind of adorable.”

You glanced at Choso, who was now silently contemplating his life choices by the kitchen counter.

“I’m Yuji.” He said. “Obviously. And you are way cuter than the doodles Choso keeps in his sketchbook.”

“Yuji.” Choso growled.

You blushed. “He has doodles of me?”

Yuji looked proud. “Like, a hundred.”

You turned to Choso, who looked like he was about to evaporate.

“They’re just... studies.” he mumbled avoiding your gaze as a rosy dust started to form under the ink on his face.

You stepped closer, rising on your toes to kiss his cheek. “I want to see them later.”

Yuji let out a victorious whoop.

“Damn!” He said, flopping onto the couch. “No wonder he’s been in a good mood lately.”

——————————————————————————

The afternoon passed in laughter.

Yuji was everything Choso had said and more. Bright, open-hearted, funny without trying. He talked about his classes, his friends, his terrible cooking attempts. You found yourself easing into the conversation faster than you expected.

At one point, you and Yuji were talking about your favorite animated movies when you felt Choso’s arm slide around your waist, his fingers slipping into the space between your ribs and hip like they belonged there.

You glanced at him. He didn’t say anything, just watched you and Yuji with a look so soft, so full of quiet awe, that your heart twisted.

Later, while Yuji played with Peaches on the rug, you found yourself alone with Choso in the kitchen.

He was stirring a pot of soup, something simple and warm but his eyes kept drifting to the living room.

“You okay?” You asked, leaning beside him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You look like you’re thinking.”

He was quiet for a long beat. “I never thought I’d have this.”

You turned toward him. “Have what?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Something stable. Safe. Family that doesn’t feel… broken.”

Your heart clenched. You reached for his hand, fingers threading through his.

“You do.” You whispered. “You have it now.”

He looked down at your joined hands. “I know.”

Then he lifted them, kissed the back of your knuckles, and held them against his cheek.

“I’m glad it’s you.” He said. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to bring home.”

——————————————————————————

Yuji left just after sunset, giving you a long hug and promising to send you the “worst memes in existence” as a thank-you for being cool.

“Take care of him.” He said quietly, when Choso stepped away to grab his jacket.

You blinked. “I’m trying.”

Yuji smiled, softer this time. “He doesn’t let people in easy. But he’s all heart. All the way down.”

You nodded. “I know.” And you did.

——————————————————————————

That night, after the dishes were done and the city lights flickered outside the windows, you curled into Choso’s lap on the couch. You were quiet for a long time, your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm without really thinking.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked up. “For what?”

“For not running.” He said simply.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I know.” He kissed the top of your head. “Still. Thank you.”

You shifted slightly, enough to look up into his eyes. They were dark, soft, unguarded.

“I love you.” You whispered.

It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t a dramatic build-up. It just… came. Quiet and real, like everything between you always had.

Choso didn’t answer right away. Instead, he touched your face, his thumb brushing your cheek like it was the most important moment of his life.

“I love you too.” He said finally. “I think I’ve known since I saw the jasmine sketch.” You leaned into his palm. His voice was hoarse. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel that again.”

You kissed him like a promise. Like home.

You spent that night tangled together under the blankets, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, his breath warm against your forehead. Outside, the city moved, the wind whispered, the stars blinked quietly behind clouds.

But inside, everything was still. Safe.

Yours.

——————————————————————————

Weeks later, you were curled on the tattoo studio couch during Choso’s break, sketching flowers in a new notebook.

He looked up from the front desk and smiled. “What are you working on?”

“Designs.” You said, showing him the pages. “For practice.”

He crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed your forehead. “You’re going to be brilliant.” He said.

You smiled. “Only because I have the best teacher.”

He traced a jasmine bloom on your sketchpad. “And I have the best muse.”

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee @pickledsoda @suna-yoshihara

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

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