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midmourn · 5 months

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like the movies

♡ nct dream ﹒ gender neutral!reader genre fluff, slice of life, angst, suggestive warnings language, suggestive on jeno’s, brief death joke on haechan’s note if yall have any requests let me know 🫶 here’s the tropes if you can’t tell: mark: best friends to lovers. renjun: enemies to lovers. jeno: fwb. haechan: fake dating. jaemin: second chance. chenle: arranged marriage. jisung: brother’s best friend. i cant remember who inspired this but i do know it was for enhypen lol ( masterlist )

resting on his elbow on your bed, mark’s mouth is agape as he stares at you, blinking furiously. was he dreaming? you, who stood in front of the floor length mirror, smooth down your clothes for non-existent dust and smile to yourself, “okay, how about this outfit?” you wait a few seconds before frowning, “mark? hello— mark?” you wave a hand in front of him and he jolts, “wha—? oh, um, yeah, it’s great. you look really good— … dude.” he winces inwardly at the name, but you don’t bat an eye at it and frown at his seemingly insincere words. “you’re right, it’s bad. i’m going to change.” mark catches your hand with a laugh, “dude, no! seriously, you look really— …” he trails off, looking hesitant to say the next word, even though he’s said it so many times before so easily. what was different now? “— pretty. gorgeous,” he says it without even thinking, realizing it the moment you smile bashfully, ducking your head to your chest to try and hide it but failing miserably. he studies your face for a second, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. and— oh. he wants to kiss you so bad. you, his best friend. oh. oh shit.

renjun doesn’t know when the lines blurred from enemies to frenemies to … lovers? crushes? all he knows is that the burning rage that used to fill him every time your mouth opened was now replaced with warmth spreading over his chest and the urge to kick his feet while giggling. words neither of you would dare to speak around your mothers, intended to hurt, were replaced with teasing, playful words with no hint of malice. your head turns swiftly, knocking him out of his daydream as you raise an eyebrow at him, “take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer.” cheeks flushing a subtle red, his eyes narrow at you, “you might break my camera.” but his pinky creeping towards yours and lips curling up at the ends says how he really thinks. you smile, flipping your hand over and making the first move to intertwine your fingers. his heart stuttered in his chest, “i— you—” you laugh, squeezing his hand once before going back to your textbook. and, yeah, he was certain he’s never felt this before.

“if you squeeze any harder, i think you’ll break the glass,” mark attempts at a joke to diffuse the tension radiating off jeno. jeno’s lips barely twitched up as he glanced down at the glass in his hand before setting it to the side, done drinking for the night. he didn’t feel like it anymore when he saw how closely some guy holds you to his side, hand on your waist. he didn’t like the funny feeling it gave him and he could only imagine how it’d feel when alcohol was added into the equation. “jeno, dude, when are you gonna make a move? you guys have been—” he glances around, checking for eavesdroppers even though the music was far too loud for anyone to hear, “—messing around for months, basically a couple without the label. and you know there’s more people interested in y/n than just him.” the two look back to the opposite side of the room where the guy was whispering something in your ear, a smirk on his face. “you need to tell them you want something more than just fuck buddies. or else you’ll lose them forever.”

“you— WHAT?” haechan winces as your voice grows louder in his ear, casting a quick look around to see if anyone could hear you through the phone. “hyuck! what the fuck?” “don’t act like it wouldn’t be a privilege to date me,” haechan scoffs playfully, hiding his nervousness behind humor; as he always did with his emotions. “i’d rather die.” “okay, well, please! my mom’s already told everyone in my family that i’m bringing someone, including my sisters!” the mention of his sisters have you going quiet, and he hopes you’re thinking about it on the other end. “god, haechan— i—” you sigh in frustration, “how was my name the first name to pop up in that tiny brain of yours?” he ignores the jab, thinking back to that moment. truthfully, he already knew why you were the first name to pop up in his head when his mom mentioned bringing a date to his family reunion. but you didn’t need to know that. not right now, at least. “you weren’t, you were actually my last choice but all my other choices would’ve said no,” he teases, hearing you scoff in disbelief and he grins. “whatever. you’re lucky i love your sisters and hate letting them down.” “and me?” he raises an eyebrow, maybe a hint of hope in his voice. “you wish.” he does.

jaemin swears he’s dreaming when he looks up and sees you. never in a million years did he think you would come back home. not when you tried so hard to leave, anyway. you’re across the aisle, switching your gaze between two spices in your hands when you feel the back of your neck prickling. your head lifts, making eye contact with jaemin immediately. your breath catches, the world freezing around you as the two of you stared at one another. jaemin had only seen glimpses of you through social media the last four years, living your life in some prestigious university with your dream job and dream life in america. he watched your life through pictures like he used to watch you sleep. you break first, raising a hand to wave shyly at him, attempting a weak smile as you didn’t know how he’d react. jaemin abandoned his cart, walking closer to you as you set the spices into your cart. “hi,” you breathe out once he stands in front of you. for years, it seemed like you could never catch your breath, always missing just one thing. and now, it seemed like a breath of fresh air, standing in front of him. his lips turned up into a soft smile, eyes shining as he said softly, “hi.”

the hotel room is silent as chenle unlocks the door with the cardkey, letting you in first and doing a quick check of his surroundings before following in. he listens to the click of the lock, eyes following your movements as you grab a change of clothes and your skincare items from your suitcase. he loosens the tie around his neck, kicking his dress shoes off and turning his back towards you. he doesn’t intend on saying anything, knowing that this situation is definitely not your favorite thing in the world. while he wished it was on his own terms, he liked that it was you. it was only ever you for him. you just didn’t know that. “chenle?” he hums in reply, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it on the loveseat. “you don’t … hate me, do you?” his head snaps up, brows furrowing, “what?” the word comes out incredulous and you bite your lip, embarrassment sinking in as your cheeks begin to feel warm. “i … i know this isn’t ideal, but for me, i know it’s not the worst thing in the world.” he blinks at you. you smile slightly at his dumbfounded expression, “i was angry at first, and i was so … betrayed. but, i’m glad it’s you.” you don’t expect a response, heading into the bathroom quietly. he smiles to himself once he fully registers what you just said. i’m glad it’s you. he was, too.

from your spot on the armchair, you watch as jisung rises from his seat on the couch, next to your brother. “i’m getting a drink, anyone want anything?” the rest of your friends and your brother’s friends chime in with their answers, and you wait a second for anyone to get up and follow after him. but no one does. you smile to yourself before standing, “i’m going to help him, since you assholes won’t.” your brother waves you off, too far into the video game to give a better reply. you sneak up behind jisung, sliding your cold hands up under his t-shirt and he jumps, neck twisting to look at you. “ah!” he says a little too loudly, and you shush him. you stay silent before you hear shouts of excitement and disappointment from the living room, turning back to him. “what if—” he starts to say. “as far as they know, i’m helping you with the drinks and snacks,” you poke him in his ribs and he jumps, making you snicker. you stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the small moment you’ve rarely got since you all came home from college for the summer. at the thought, your face falls and jisung frowns, brushing a stray hair away from your eyes, “what’s wrong?” you shake your head, not wanting to ruin the moment but he insists. “i … i really want to tell him, ji.” you frown, watching his face carefully. “the longer we keep this a secret, the more he’ll be mad. i think we should just rip the bandaid off.” at his hesitation, you sigh and step away from him, making him take a step forward to close the distance again. “jisung, if we’re really serious about this, we have to tell him at some time.” you hesitate, “… are you serious about me?” his eyes widen, “what? yeah, i am. i’ve been serious about you since we were seventeen. i…” he looks shy, “you’re it for me. you’ve always been.” your cheeks heat up, eyes darting away shyly at his words as you allow him to close more distance between you two and press a meaningful kiss to your lips. “we’ll tell him … after everyone leaves, okay? i don’t want to hide anymore. i didn’t like it in the first place.”

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distantdarlings · 7 months

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THE SECONDS BEFORE // e. berkshire

RATING: R / 2.2K WORDS

Enzo Berkshire x Reader Insert (no gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - Just before the infamous Battle of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall makes the decision to keep all Slytherin students housed together in the dungeons. The night before the Battle begins, you can’t sleep. You wake a friend to keep your mind occupied. (Romance, Angst if you squint)

+ WARNINGS - Heavy kissing, language, heavy petting, implied sexual material

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

My Love - Sia

Your eyes found the ceiling as if waiting for something to happen. Perhaps if you stared long enough, it would burst into swirls of color and light—or maybe it would fold back and reveal the stars that you so desperately wanted to see. You felt like you all had been in the dungeons for years, wasting away. Every time you looked at one of your friends, you felt as if they looked older. Like they'd aged while down here. The odd exhaustion painted bruises beneath their eyes and tore their lips.

You sighed and tapped your fingers on your stomach, attempting to entertain yourself. All of the boys were asleep and there was no way in hell you were going to be joining them anytime soon. Something about this whole situation set your teeth on edge. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that half of the people the castle was currently at extreme odds with were some of your closest friend’s parents and family or that you all weren’t allowed in the dorms, so you hadn’t changed in a day or two, or something else. But you knew you were getting tired of being here. When Professor McGonnagal had suggested using the dungeons to house the Slytherin students until they were sure you all were safe, you thought it sounded smart and would be a good way to keep everyone together and alive for a little while. And it was, it just felt off for a lot of reasons. Nobody but the house elves had been down here in two days. You wanted to know what was going on out there.

You rolled over, tucking your arm beneath your head to remain comfortable. Your eyes found the older boy that slept peacefully beside you. You wondered silently what the boy might be dreaming about and how angry he'd get if you woke him up. There was a pretty large chance considering how the boy felt about sleep, so fifty-fifty?

"Enzo," you whispered gently so as not to startle him. "Enzo, wake up."

When the dark-haired boy did not budge, you resorted to shaking him a bit, hoping the heavy sleeper would wake. You were bored out of your mind and figured that someone should share that boredom with you. If there was one thing anyone knew about Enzo Berkshire, it was that his late-night talks were a world of comfort. His deep, raspy words hit you like a truck, bruising your body. It was an odd feeling with nothing but scratchy phrases and the moon for comfort, but you loved it.

"Enzo!" you hissed, giving him a light slap. At this, the sleeping boy jolted awake. His eyes found yours quickly, giving you a look of disdain. You knew he’d be mad for waking him, but it was too late to go back now.

"Hey, what is it? Are you okay?" Enzo asked under his breath, propping his elbows up behind himself.

You were taken by surprise. You’d honestly more expected Enzo to punch you in the arm rather than ask if you were alright. It wasn't like you were complaining, it was just strange. Something about the domesticated look in his eyes when he was worried about you made your cheeks flush a bit. You’d always had a bit of a thing for Enzo, this much was obvious. Coming to terms with it was the hard part.

"No, I’m fine, Enzo," you whispered, avoiding eye contact. You were a bit embarrassed now. "I just wanted to talk to someone."

"Oh," he exhaled, a tone of relief blowing against your hair. He let his head fall back in a small stretch, his hair tickling the spot between his shoulder blades. You watched the older boy's throat stretch against his flesh and shift as he swallowed a deep breath.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?" he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position and crossing his legs.

"Actually, quite the opposite," you replied, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "I can't sleep."

"Ah, I see," he spoke. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about—I mean, to turn your brain off? Maybe that's what’s keeping you up, your mind's running too much?"

"Maybe," you sighed. You could only bear to glance up at the older boy every once in a while. The way his brown eyes pierced into you and threatened to steal every secret from your brain . . . It was tantalizing. You let out a small huff of air, hoping that Enzo would make better conversation. The silence was deafening and you had nothing to say.

"So . . . do you think Draco and Pansy are fucking?" Enzo asked. You nearly choked.

"What?" you squeaked, your voice sounding prepubescent. Out of all the things he could have said, that was it? "Oh, um, I don't know?"

"Hmm, I didn't mean to spring that on you, I was just wondering what you thought."

"Well, I mean I suppose they could be," you shrugged. You really didn't want to talk about your friends having sex with each other.

"Yeah, I think they are—they're always hanging out with each other, you know?" he said, running a hand through his hair.

"What, friends can't hang out with each other without fucking?" you chuckled lightly.

"That’s not what I’m saying, you know what I mean," he said, pointing at you. "I know you've seen them, they're so touchy-feely with each other."

"So what if they're fucking? There’s nothing wrong with that—"

"I never said there was, I’m simply observing . . . I know what sexual tension looks like," he spoke a bit quieter. You wondered what made him add that little line onto the end. Maybe he was trying to hint at something? Or maybe you were looking too deeply into a casual conversation? It was likely the latter.

More silence ensued, creating even more tension in between you two. It soon became so thick, it was just waiting for one of you to slash it with a knife. You prayed that he would just do something, but you were almost positive he was not interested in you, like you were him. And god knows you weren’t going to make the first move, because what if he truly had no feelings for you? Your friendship would be wrecked and your self-esteem would be down the drain.

"Hey—"

"I like you,” you choked out.

"What?"

You took a deep breath and calmly repeated yourself. "I like you . . . like, a lot, Enzo."

More silence—a different kind that made your head feel all fuzzy. Your eyes were facing the ground so as to avoid him who had been shocked into submission by your words. You wanted to beat your own head in with a broom. What the fuck were you thinking? You had spent your entire life knowing Enzo, swearing you’d never tell him, not unless he said something first. And what did you do? Fucking tell him. Merlin, you were so stupid.

"Every time you sit there and joke around with Theo or Pansy, I feel like I’m suffocating. And I never knew how to tell you that, so I became desperate for your attention, figured that I was too needy, and started ignoring you. I was hoping you'd catch on but you never did, and, Merlin, Enzo, I’ve never wanted someone so fucking badly . . ." you vented, pressing your fingertips into your temples. You had started to feel a bit more confident when the words had started spewing out but now you felt like you were on a stage in front of the world and Enzo’s silence was only making it worse. Why didn't he say something? At least turn you down or punch you or something.

"You want me?" Enzo breathed, his voice cracking under the pressure of a whisper. You glanced up from your lap and looked at the older boy. His eyes were glued to his hands as he seemed to be processing some things.

"Fuck, I need you, En."

His eyes found yours. The dark-haired boy leaned forward, on hands and knees, and crawled ever so slowly over to you. His eyes were trained on yours until they slipped down to your lips. You shuddered as the boy balanced himself on his knees, towering over your small, huddled frame. He slipped his lower body between your legs and pushed the both of you back. He hovered over you, feeling your heavy breaths mix. Your eyes were dilated and half-closed, waiting for the other's touch.

"You need me?" he spoke barely above a whisper, the gravel in his voice sending shivers up the younger's spine. Your head dipped down to let your nose gently bump against his throat. He could feel your breath there, letting it tease his flesh.

"Please," you spoke, the pitch of your voice had an effect on Enzo like no other. He imagined the way his lips would feel on your skin just before he did so. You weren’t sure if the boy above you would live up to the fantasies you’d created in your mind but it seemed impossible for him not to. The boy's inexplicable scent and the way it filled your senses, his gently cracked lips and the way you’d imagine them scratching along your throat and chest. Everything about him made your heart leap into your throat.

He didn't give you a chance to take a breath before trapping your lips with his own. They were skilled and tasted like the orange soda you both had before bed. You closed your eyes at the taste and feeling of the boy over you. He was everything you could have imagined and more. The built arms that balanced on either side of your head and the way his tongue slipped against yours.

"You sure?" he whispered when your lips disconnected for a breather. You nodded, catching his breath with deep exhales.

He reconnected your lips with no regard for your border-line asthmatic symptoms. You placed a hand behind you and pushed yourself into a sitting position, gently backing him onto his knees. He captured your waistband in his hands and tugged you onto your knees as well, loosening the fabric in the process. Nimble fingers tugged on the tie of your sweatpants, lightly brushing against the core of your body. You hissed into his mouth at the feeling, your lips faltering a bit. You could feel him smirking.

He laid the two of you back down, now much more convenient that your pants were loosened. He trapped your lips again, catching the bottom one gently in his teeth. His hand traced your stomach before slipping between your flesh and the waistband of your underwear, slightly rubbing against the most sensitive part of your body. You moaned aloud at the sensation, feeling his free hand slide over your mouth to hush you up. There was a possibility the other boys and students would hear but you didn't care, all you were concerned with was Enzo’s skin moving against yours.

The black-haired boy severed his lips from yours and found comfort with the skin of your throat. The hand stuck beneath your pants and the one on your mouth never once faltered, staying astutely in place. The sounds spilling from your lips and muffled by his hand only tightened his jeans, making it a bit hard to breathe.

He pulled his hand from beneath your waistband. You struggled to catch your breath as his hips lowered down to yours. Your hips bucked up to meet his, his breath hitching in his throat, his lips faltering on your neck. It was your turn now.

You pushed your hands beneath his tee shirt and splayed your fingers against his warm back. The tips of your fingers traced down his spine, your nails catching his skin every once and a while. His lips on your throat never faltered, his tongue brushing against your skin gently.

You traced your hands down the rest of his back and curled them around his hips to the front of his sweatpants. The tips of your fingers trailed lightly over the small growth of hair just beneath the ties. His lips shuddered against your skin as your hand slowly, slowly slid between his pants and skin. His skin was hot and sharp, your fingers cold and soft. Like snow falling gently against his skin, it being like fire and melting it immediately on contact.

“Please, baby,” he begged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with every pant he took.

The very tip of your finger brushed over his most sensitive area—a whisper of a touch. He choked out a groan into your ear, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling tightly against your scalp.

A shrill scream pierced the pair of your ears. You flinched at the sound, pushing Enzo back as quickly as you could. The two of you stared, wide-eyed and panting.

“The Death-Eaters are here—they’re outside the school grounds!” A young, terrified first-year pushed through the hallway leading into the common-room where everyone slept.

You lept to your feet. Enzo slipped a hand into yours and squeezed tightly.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later,” he joked, his cheeks and lips still flushed. You rolled your eyes but when he looked at you, you both smiled nervously. It would be okay.

#enzo berkshire #creative writing #fanfiction #writing #fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #reader insert #slytherin #hogwarts fanfiction #harry potter smut

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jadewritesficshere · 1 month

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Shirts

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: you notice somethings changed about Steve's dresser (<1k words)

Contains: fluff, no gender description of reader, reader is called Honey

"Hey Steve?" You call, brow furrowed in confusion at the dresser. "Yeah?" Steve yells back from the bathroom. You peer into the dresser drawer," Where are your clothes?"

You can hear Steve turn off the light in the bathroom and the creak of the floorboard as he walks back into his bedroom. "Huh?" Steve appears at your side," Oh."

Steve's dresser drawers were usually stuffed to the brim. You would put the winter stuff away during summer and the summer stuff away during the winter. Unlike you, however, Steve kept his clothes out year round. The more often worn clothes ended up towards the top while the stuff rarely worn kept the bottom drawers full. He was stubborn too, arguing that it was a waste of time when he'd use the clothes again eventually ("Besides, Indiana weather changes so often one day it snows, the next it's so hot, and the next its a tornado. You got to be ready year round Honey").

But now? The drawer you opened had his shirts neatly folded on the left, but nothing on the right. You had peeked into the drawer beneath it and found the same with his pants.

"Made room for your stuff." Steve said it as if it wasn't a big deal. As if he didn't cause your heart to beat faster. As if the most stubborn and routine man you knew didn't just change something to include you in it.

Steve elbowed your side and gave you a grin," Got the winter stuff put away so you can't keep stealing my sweaters." You gasp in mock offense," I did not steal them! I borrowed." "Mmhmm and why is it i still don't have them?" Steve kisses your cheek, letting you know he isn't truly upset.

Steve leaves your side to head to the bed. You grab one of his shirts out of the drawer and pause again," Hey Steve?" "Yeah?" You flip through the shirts, "Why do you have the same exact shirt like...three times?"

"Well, sometimes you like shirts to fit you loosely so I got a shirt that does that. And sometimes you like shirts to be skin tight so I got one like that. And then the shirt that I already owned." Steve wanders back over, lifting each shirt as he mentions them. You can see the one he owned slightly faded compared to the new ones.

"You did that for me?" You can't help the sappy tone. Steve deflects," It's not that much. They had a sale on shirts. Besides, this way I don't have to fend off you and Robin for my own clothes." Steve won't meet your eyes.

Because Steve loves loud and has been called too much. Has been told it was "a lot". And he doesn't want to see that in your eyes. But if he looked up all he would see would be adoration. Love.

"Steve that's," you clear your throat," That's the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me." Steve's head snaps up to look at you. Whatever he's searching for in your eyes he must find, because you can see the tension fall from his shoulders.

"Well, I'll have to think of more things to top that." Steve grins at you. You smile back, heart beating fast. Your stomach alight with butterflies. You quickly change your shirt into one of his. Steve's eyes watching you the entire time sending shivers down your spine.

You walk over to where he is sitting on the bed, smiling down at him. "I love you." You declare as you thread a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "I love you more." Steve counters, a hand landing on your hip.

"I love you most," You beam down at him. "Impossible." Steve wraps his arms around you and yanks you onto the bed with him. You shriek before laughing as you both land on the bed on your sides.

Steve pulls you closer, his nose lightly nudging yours. "I love you so much words can't even describe it." Steve murmurs, looking into your eyes," Just hope i can show it." "You do."

Steve's lips lightly brush yours. Soft. Sweet. His grip tightens on you as your kisses become more firm, more passionate. He nips at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp. He doesn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth.

And as you kiss you can't help but feel overcome by the love you feel. And as your clothes end up haphazardly on the ground, you can't help but feel loved. And as Steve murmurs praises and holds you close, you know he feels the same.

#Surprise two things dropping at once #This isn't that long...but I need him #I also need to be held but thats besides the point #Can we talk about his hands like have yall seen his hands how big and-#steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington/you #Steve Harrington/reader #Jade Is Talking

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hiding-in-my-blanket-fort · 7 months

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A few headcanons for Captain John Price x anxious Reader (gender neutral) for self-indulgent reasons (sfw):

You tried so hard for so long to keep your anxiety hidden from John but he’s a smart man, he figured out something was wrong well before you ever let on.

If he sees your hands getting shaky, he’ll curve his warm, strong palm over the back of your neck to ground you.

“Just breathe, love. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? That’s it.”

In crowded places, he’ll hold your hand, or keep his hand anchored at the small of your back as reassurance that he’s there for you.

Will take your hand and tuck it into the crook of his elbow, too.

When you try to sneak away to ward off an impending panic attack that you can feel barreling down on you at 100mph, John had already clocked that something was off. You were fidgety, wide-eyed, and short of breath, so he kept an eye on you, even if he’d been distracted and his attention pulled elsewhere.

So when you disappeared, he goes looking for you.

Finds you huddled in the bathroom or a closet, hugging your knees to your chest, wheezing and hiccuping.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, what’s all this? No, don’t hide your face from me.”

He takes your hand as he sits beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into the solid warmth of his side.

“Squeeze my hand. Good girl/boy. Breathe with me. You’re all right. Everything is going to be fine, love. It’s okay.”

When you won’t stop apologizing, he doesn’t snap at you to stop it. He doesn’t lose his patience for repeatedly reminding you that it’s not your fault and you have nothing to apologize for.

At first, he’ll brush a kiss to your temple, his breath warm, his beard scratchy.

“We’ll work through it together, yeah?”

And if you continue to babble apologies, he’ll grasp your chin with a firm but gentle hand and he’ll tilt your head to look him in the eye.

“Enough of that now, love,” he says, his voice soft but his tone indicating it wasn’t up for debate. “You’re not a burden. You’re not broken. And this doesn’t change a damn thing about the way I feel toward you.”

When you start spiraling down a what if rabbit hole, catastrophizing, John will use that same soft, commanding tone to bring you back to the present. He won’t coddle you but he won’t berate you either. He knows the best way for you to manage your anxiety is confronting and changing your thought patterns on your own so you feel empowered to do it again the next time it happens.

But he will ALWAYS make sure that you don’t feel abandoned, that you know you have his support.

When he physically can’t be there, especially when he’s wrapped up in a mission, he leaves you a letter or a notebook “for emergencies” so that you still have his words with you even if he can’t be present with you right now.

When your thoughts are keeping you awake and your brain won’t calm down, John will roll over, drape the weight of his arm around your middle, and mumble tired words into your neck with a voice rough from sleep.

“Don’t think about that, love. Think about the first time I kissed you. Do you remember how tongue-tied you were? You were so bloody shy, it was adorable.”

When you tell him about something you were struggling with - like fighting off anxiety at work, or going into a new place by yourself even though you were scared to death - this man’s face gets SO SOFT FOR YOU. A warm smile spreads across his face and he envelopes you in a hug, kissing the top of your head as he whispers that he’s so fucking proud of you, love.

If you take medication for your anxiety, he’ll make sure you have a little dish for your pills at every meal so you don’t take them on an empty stomach and you start your day off right.

If you don’t take medication but you use other methods to cope, i.e. yoga, meditation, etc., he’ll make sure your space is comfortable, safe, and clean. Asks if you have yoga/meditation on your schedule today.

If you have a particularly bad day and all your progress feels like you’ve taken ten giant steps back, John won’t bat an eye. And he won’t pressure you to “get over it”.

He’ll order your food for you as soon as you give the signal.

He’ll cover for you seamlessly at parties when you need to excuse yourself early.

He’ll make that call you’ve been dreading for ages.

But John also recognizes when you need to face those things on your own, too. He can tell when you’re just not up for it because you’re exhausted and your headspace is Not Great.

He also knows you well enough to recognize when you could tackle the issue but you’re simply trying to avoid it. That’s when he’ll push you, because he fully believes in you, even if you don’t believe in yourself.

If you’re the type to get anxious about the news, or triggering topics in movies/tv shows/etc, he’ll gladly shift the conversation away from the news and onto more pleasant topics. And he’ll vet movies and tv shows beforehand, warning you exactly where triggers might be and offering alternatives if you’d prefer something else instead.

Sometimes, you get into a really bad headspace. You question why John tolerates all the work you put him through in this relationship. You question why a man like him in a high stress, violent, dangerous job would ever want to be around someone like you who struggles to make a phone call without freaking out.

John will turn his FULL attention on you in moments like that. Everything comes to a stop.

He takes your arms and loops them around his waist so you hold onto him like an anchor.

Then he cups your face in his hands as he looks at you.

And he reminds you that you are not your anxiety. It’s a symptom, a physical response, like a hiccup. He loves the person that you are, your kind heart and your laugh and your sense of humor.

He will gladly do the work required to keep you in his life because he thinks you’re worth it. It’s not your fault that you feel this way, and he sees how hard you try to manage it.

He doesn’t regret a moment of your relationship, even when your anxiety wakes him up, or when he has to repeat himself a dozen times because no, honey, I swear, I’m not mad at you.

John sees glimpses of confidence in you when you feel empowered and supported. He sees you grow stronger through his patience with you. That’s why he believes you’re worth the “hassle” as you call it. You’re not a hassle to him.

He compares it to managing his team - when any of them doubt themselves, it’s because they don’t feel supported, it’s because they feel like their team members don’t believe in them. His team thrives on hard won trust, mutual respect, and the psychological safety that comes with knowing someone has their back when things get ugly.

That’s what he wants to be for you.

“What if you get tired of me?” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “You know I’m too stubborn for that, love. I don’t give up easy.”

No matter what private war zone you have going on in your head, John is a fighter and he’ll always forge through the chaos to fight alongside you.

Masterlist

#cod #captain john price x reader #captain john price imagines #cod imagines #fics #recs #writing tag #john price x reader #john price #captain john price #john price imagines

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cantstoptheimagines · 11 months

Text

Attachments (Jamie Tartt | Ted Lasso)

Summary — When it came to having a one-night stand with Jamie, you expected to be nothing more than an additional notch on his belt. Unbeknownst to you, he had other plans.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Walnut Mist Jamie; coworkers to lovers; a touch of idiots in love (mostly on the Reader’s part); friendly teasing from the Diamond Dogs; references to sex, but no actual smut.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 1,038. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them).

You weren’t entirely sure what to do.

The way Jamie’s hand slowly traveled over your lower back sent butterflies throughout your stomach. You had woken up to find yourself wrapped in his soft linen sheets, limbs tangled up in his blanket with your face squished against a pillow.

Lying on your stomach, you admired him with a tired gaze. He was on his back next to you, eyes closed and blissfully unaware that you were no longer asleep. One hand rested on his stomach while the other continued creating patterns against your bare skin.

The gentle feeling nearly lulled you back to sleep. Jamie’s scent was overwhelming your thoughts. His bedding smelled of his favorite cologne. If it hadn’t been for his alarm, you would’ve felt as though you were drifting into a second heaven.

You quickly closed your eyes, not ready for the conversation Jamie might want to have about the previous night. Next to you, he turned off his alarm and let out a deep groan. You could hear every movement he made, thinking you were still dreaming peacefully without a care in the world.

He shifted closer until you could feel his skin against yours. His warmth surrounded you in an instant. He hovered over you with an arm on either side, balancing on his elbows. His chest was almost flush against your back. It took everything within you to not let out a surprised squeal.

His lips gently grazed your forehead, then your temple, then your cheek in a series of sweet kisses. He nosed at your skin before taking in the scent of your shampoo. You could feel him smile against your cheek before another kiss was layered there.

His affections traveled to your shoulders. He pushed himself closer. You tried not to smile at the feeling of him. His lips left a warm trail of open-mouthed kisses from your left shoulder to the right.

Finally, after one last kiss landed against your back, Jamie shifted away from you. The blankets rustled and, without him, you suddenly felt cold.

Opening your eyes once again, you admired the way the muscles in his back flexed with every tired stretch as he made his way to the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of water falling from the showerhead echoed through the open door.

With the knowledge that Jamie wouldn’t be back for at least a few minutes, you reluctantly shuffled out his bed. Within moments, your clothes were on and you were disappearing without so much as a goodbye.

You were busy sorting through some papers for Ted when Jamie slipped into your office. In an instant, you regretted choosing the workspace that was connected to that of the main coaches’, mostly due to the glass windows that allowed them to see everything.

As Jamie closed the door behind him, you could see several of your colleagues looking at one another curiously. It was the worst time for them to be having one of their Diamond Dog meetings. Not only would you be questioned by Ted and Beard, but potentially by Roy, Trent, and Higgins as well.

“Hey.”

Your eyes fluttered from your nosy coworkers to Jamie. He offered a bright smile, pushing back his hair with a black sports headband. He had already changed into his kit for practice. You leaned back against the front of your desk, waiting for him to carry the conversation.

“Missed you this morning,” he said, “wanted to tell ya goodbye. I was gonna make breakfast too, but you’d already gone, so...”

His voice trailed off, unsure of what else he should say. Your suddenly quiet demeanor was throwing him off. He thought about everything he could’ve done to make you upset, but came up empty-handed.

“I had to go home and get ready for work,” you replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Oh,” he nodded understandingly. “Well then, how about tonight? I’ll take ya out for dinner to make it up, alright?”

You blinked in surprise, “Jamie, you don’t have to do that. I mean, what we did last night was just a one-time thing.”

“It was?”

Within seconds, Jamie looked like a puppy who had just gotten treats taken away. His eyes dimmed and his smile fell, “I see.”

“Wasn’t it?”

Jamie shrugged. Your office had gone silent, save for the sounds of his boots shuffling awkwardly against the carpet. Through the glass, you could see Ted’s eyes going between the two of you.

“Don’t know,” muttered Jamie, finally breaking the long silence. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while. I kinda stopped all that one-night stand stuff, I guess.”

“Really?” you breathed, taken aback by his admission.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, hands fiddling with the hem of his jersey. “Look, I really like ya, but if this isn’t something—”

Panic built up within your chest. You hadn’t expected his desire to see you outside of his bedroom. Before he could break things off, you cut him off, “Pick me up tonight. We can go to Ola’s.”

His expression returned to its brighter self, “You’re serious?”

Heat rose beneath your skin when he grinned after receiving a nod in response. Quick as ever, Jamie moved closer. His proximity almost made you forget about the watchful eyes of the Diamond Dogs.

Once he was close enough, Jamie placed his hands on your cheeks. You could feel his smile against your skin as he leaned in to gently kiss your forehead. After giving you a tight hug as well, Jamie left your office with a skip in his step, leaving the door open as he returned to the locker room.

“So...”

You met the stares and poorly hidden grins of your colleagues, aside from Roy, of course. Ted, as usual, was the one who had spoken up first. He bounced excitedly in his seat.

With a teasing tone, Ted completed his thought, “You and Jamie, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, biting your lip in an effort to conceal a smile. Each of them began pursing their lips, dramatically kissing the air. This time, much to your surprise, Roy joined in. You scoffed at their antics, wondering what exactly you had gotten yourself into by agreeing to a date with Richmond’s star striker.

#2023 #ted lasso #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt imagines #jamie tartt x reader #attachments

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m0nsterqzzz · 4 months

Text

•A Sense of Impending Doom•

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader

summary: being forced to go to a Stark party, you just pray the last person you want to see, doesn't come up to you.

warnings: really shitty angst?, cussing, alcohol

a/n: I've never wrote angst so sorry if this is so terrible lol. I don't think I wrote pronouns like once and I used, "they" so other then that, gender neutral. let me know if its not

With a heavy sigh, you exit the elevator and into the huge room. There are colorful lights all over, and you slightly hear someone singing I Wanna Dance with Somebody over the loud talking of the party guests.

When you got the invitation to yet another Stark party about a week ago, you instantly threw it in the trash. You’re trying to put your Avenger days behind you after your breakup with one of them, but Tony has never been able to catch a hint. The next one came from a text from Steve, where your best friend tried to convince you to come with the promise, “Natasha won’t be there.” You know that’s not true, so you left the man on read until he changed the subject. Then Yelena literally came to your apartment, and the young woman literally wouldn’t stop “Rockin Around the Christmas Tree.” until you agreed to go. Random, but effective.

So here you are, all dressed in a fancy outfit and flask of vodka in hand. Of course Tony always provides drinks, but this was for the cab ride to the Compound.

You catch Tony’s eye from across the room, but he looks too far gone for you to even get a full conversation with him right now so you instead look around for anyone else. Suddenly, you're being picked up by two strong arms, and you instantly reach back to elbow them in the face. A harsh reaction, but Natasha would definitely be proud at the groan the person releases after months of trying to teach you self defense. Your attacker drops you on your feet, and you turn to see Bucky wincing as he holds his bloody nose. You let out something between a gasp and a laugh and Bucky glares at you.

“I’m sorry Buck! I thought you were attacking me!” “Why would someone attack you here? You’re literally surrounded by Avengers!” He makes a valid point, and that’s what you voice as you walk him to the bar to get the first aid kit always kept behind it. You guys learned your lesson after having to go search for one every time Tony drunkenly gets hurt and bleeds all over his nice rugs on the floor of the party room.

You try your best to clean up the blood and fix his nose, but something- or should I say someone catches your attention and you drop the flask you're holding in your hand. The metal makes a loud noise as it clatters against the ground, but you pray it’s too loud for your discretion to notice. Your prayers are not answered.

The woman a few feet away turns to face your direction, you pretend you don’t notice as the redhead gulps down her drink and continues staring at you even when you go back to fixing Bucky's nose.

“Natasha?” Bucky asks, and you sigh as you nod. “She’s staring. Get her to stop Buck.” He just chuckles and shakes his head. “What do you want me to do? Go over to her and demand she look somewhere else?” “Exactly!” You both laugh, and you give him a soft kiss on his forehead when you're done with his nose. The blood is mostly gone, and you know his super soldier serum will heal the rest of his nose in the next few weeks. He gets up, walking behind the bar and slinging a towel over his shoulder as he pretends to be your bartender, “What can I get you tonight?” You give him your order, and watch as he stares at you for a few seconds before you both burst out laughing. “I don’t know how to fucking make that! How about a glass of whiskey? Or two? Or five?”

Bucky is your best friend next to Steve and Wanda. Nobody can really tell why, but everyone knows it’s still a great pair even if you two don’t seem like people who would usually be friends.

You nod, and he pulls out the bottle of whiskey before someone takes it from his hand. You both turn to face the person stopping you from enjoying alcohol and your eyes widen. Natashas standing there, and her raspy voice that used to be your favorite speaks to Bucky. “I know what they're talking about. I’ll make it.” You plead for him to stay with your eyes, but he just hands her the bottle and leaves. Traitor.

You met Natasha when you were recruited for SHIELD and she was your partner before she was ever your girlfriend.

She doesn’t say anything for a while as she makes your drink, but when she's done she sets it in front of you and asks, “How are you doing?” Is she serious? You think, and it’s clear she knows that as she grimaces at her own words. “I’m alright.”

You’re not alright. You haven’t been alright from the day you came home from work to find Natasha standing outside your front door with a suitcase by her side. You haven’t been alright since she mumbled, “I’ve never really loved you.” You haven’t been alright since the day Natasha Romanoff broke your heart and left you sobbing in the hallway in front

of your apartment's front door.

She doesn’t need to know any of this though.

She nods, starting to awkwardly hum along to the song playing. There was never an awkward moment between you and the ex- assassin when you guys were dating, but with the feeling surrounding you right now, it feels like that's all that’s ever been between you two.

She suddenly starts to speak, but three loud voices boom from behind you before she can. You spin on your seat, and you come face to face with three of your favorite people.

Maria Hill, Thor Odinson, and Tony Stark.

They all look plastered, and Tony stumbles closer to you to put his arm around your shoulder. Your suspicions are confirmed true when you smell the alcohol reeking off of his breath as he leans down to whisper- quite loudly- in your ear, “You and Natasha huh? Yall getting back together? That sounds like it’s time to throw another party, baby.” You cringe, pushing him away from you as both you and Natasha look at anything but each other.

Thor and Maria drunkenly giggle behind him, and you reach out to pinch Thor’s arm as hard as you can. He shrieks, practically jumping a foot in the air as he backs away from you slowly.

Tony looks at you expectantly and you sigh. You are definitely going to beat the crap out of him

“No way in hell-” You start

“Well maybe-” She speaks at the exact same time.

Your eyes widen, and anger flashes through you at the look of pure sadness in her eyes. “What the fuck do you mean “maybe”?” She looks taken aback at your outburst, and so do the three behind you as they look at each other and begin stumbling away.

She begins stuttering out an answer, but you’re continuing on before she can. “There is no maybe Natalia! You messed it up!” People are beginning to stare at this point, and Natasha nervously looks around as she mumbles, and you can hear it now that someone has turned off the music, “I’m sorry.” You scoff.

“You broke my heart and the only thing you can think to say is sorry?” The redhead sighs, looking at the drink on the counter that is now covered in condensation. “I’m really, really sorry.” It’s silent for a minute, until you speak harshly, “Don’t be sorry. It’s my fault for not listening to the people that told me loving you was a bad idea.” Your words cut deep inside her, but she knows she deserves them.

When you first started dating, all her and your friends were thrilled. They were so happy for you guys. But they were also nervous. Your friends had concerns about her job and how safe you’d be with her- but you reassured them with the knowledge that there has never been a day you didn’t feel safe with her. Because she was your protector. At the time at least. And her friends have sat you down when she wasn’t around, telling you they were scared her being unable to show/control her emotions would take a toll on you. But it was easy to prove to them it would be alright, as they watched the way you slowly melted Natasha’s cold stone heart. In fact, you’d never once seen the side of her they spoke off. Well, until the day she left. When she asked you, “Who could ever love a person like you?” It was clear it was rhetorical, but you couldn’t think up an answer even if you wanted to.

You can hear Tony trying to figure out how to get the music going again, but other than that, the only sound that fills the party room is silence.

“Don’t you understand how much it hurt to let you go? You were the best partner I ever had. both in my career and in relationships.” You let out a laugh at her words, and it turns into a genuine cackle even while everyone looks at you like you're insane. She looks up from the counter and speaks loudly over your laugh, “I had to do it okay?! I had to!” “You don’t have to do anything Natalia!” She sighs, looking towards Clint who stands near the bar. He nods his head to the green eyed girl, and she takes a deep breath before revealing quietly,

“I still love you. And I want to try us again.”

Her words make you freeze, and you look to your best friends with tears in your eyes. “What?” She thinks you just didn't hear her, so she repeats, “I still love you.” You shake your head, slowly backing up from the bar. She comes around the counter, and you back up even more as she tries to take your hands in her own. “N-no. You don't love me.” “I do. I love you darling.” “Don't do that Nat…..please don't do that to me.”

You both stop, and you shake your head when she goes to caress her face. “You wouldn't have left me if you love me, Nat. You don't love me.”

You both stop walking, and the party music suddenly turns on, as if a ending to your conversation. A single tear falls down her face, and you fight the urge to wipe it away.

This time, when you begin walking away, Natasha doesn't follow.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #gender neutral reader #the black widow #black widow #angst #angst no comfort #marvel x you #marvel x reader

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bokutosbiceps · 11 months

Text

don't overthink it

tokita ohma x gn!reader | fluff | 1.3k words

prompt: ohma + “since when do you blush around me?”

warnings: some suggestive/18+ themes but nothing explicit

a/n: the more i write for ohms the more i fucking love him 🥺 it’s so pathetic. ALSO, AGAIN, OHMS IS NOT A TYPO. IT’S MY CUTE NICKNAME FOR HIM THAT NO ONE CAN TAKE AWAY FROM ME. also i’m p sure i made this gn, but please let me know if there are any gender specific identifiers so I can fix that 😉

18+ MINORS DNI

You scrunched your nose at a tickling sensation that woke you up. Willing your eyes to creak open, you squinted at the bright afternoon sunlight flooding into your window. Not really bothering to find out the source of the tickling, you made an effort to turn around in bed but a sturdy hold on your waist forbade you from doing this. You figured you had just wrapped yourself too tight in your blankets again and made a pushing movement to whatever was around your waist.

The feeling of your fingertips coming into contact with skin made you jolt from your stupor and you fully opened your eyes to see a mess of wavy, brown hair just below you. You knew exactly who this unruly head of hair belonged to. Looking down, you saw Ohma holding on to you tightly, his face nestled in your bosom. You felt your face heat up at the intimacy of the situation and wondered when you ever got this close. Then you remembered.

You had been invited by Ohma to come watch the Kengan tournament, and weeks of watching him train and watching him win matches had ensued, and you were always there after the matches to keep him company. You were one of the few people that Ohma could stand for more than a few minutes; he liked your personality and he liked your face. He really couldn’t complain. But he especially liked how you doted on him after his matches, always worrying over his bruises and scrapes or gaping in awe at his strength despite his injuries.

The events of last night flooded back to you as your brain sprinted to catch up with your thoughts. Ohma had showed up to your hotel room at two in the morning, completely unannounced. You quickly allowed him inside after seeing an unusual look on his face. You had only seen him like this once, and that was after meeting Setsuna for the first time after many years. He looked like he could’ve killed a god in that moment.

After an hour of him silently laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, you coaxed him into speaking. He started to talk about his childhood, his past. You were worried, he was not a sentimental person. You asked him about the future, since it seemed like he was specifically avoiding that topic.

“I don’t think about the future much.” Ohma blinked at the ceiling before turning his gaze to you.

“How can you say that? You’re always thinking about your next meal.” You teased, reaching over to flick him from where you sat cross legged on the bed with him.

“True.” He sat up and propped himself on his elbows still looking at you. “Thinking about the future is pointless, though. I don’t know what will happen and thinking about it won’t change anything.” His gaze was unusually soft.

“Ohms, what’s going on with you? You’re scaring me.” You scooted closer to him and placed your hand on his knee, almost pleading with him. “We’re friends. You can talk to me about anything.”

With speed that only Ohma could muster, he grabbed your hand from his knee and used it to pull you forward into his lap, keeping his eyes trained on yours. Before you could ask what he was doing, he moved your hand to the back of his neck and you gripped it, allowing Ohma to pull you to his lips.

He kissed you roughly, but with a slow sensuality that seemed almost like he was savoring it, drinking in every second. He laid back down on the bed, pulling you on top of him and continuing to move his lips with yours.

You placed your hands on his chest and pressed, effectively pulling your lips from his, only a thin string of saliva connecting you.

“What are you doing?” You panted, somewhat shocked that Ohma had just crossed that bridge with you but also somewhat pleasantly surprised.

“Kissing you.” Ohma smirked up at you, letting his head rest back on the bed, your face still in his large hands.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for a long time.” Ohma traced your lips with his thumb, still looking up at you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You muttered, and before you knew it, your head was dipping back down to connect your lips again. Ohma rolled over so that you were under him and separated his lips from yours to pull off his shirt before making quick work of yours.

You and Ohma had crossed the bridge that you never dreamed that you would cross, but you had always hoped you would. And you didn’t know it, but he had been hoping, too.

And now, here he was, cuddled up to you and snoozing peacefully.

You felt your eyelids begin to feel heavy once again and cast aside all of your frantic thoughts to welcome a short nap. You would deal with this later.

Two hours later, you woke up to an empty bed. You assumed you must have been dreaming about the romp you had shared with Ohma last night, or that you woke up in his arms, and turned over on your back to stare at the ceiling. You thought back to how nice it felt to be held by him, kissed by him, touched by him…

Once again, you were jolted from your thoughts by the bathroom door opening and shutting, producing a very naked Ohma.

You sat up quickly, blushing deeply once you realized this was real and you were also very naked, and gathered the sheets to cover your chest.

“Since when do you blush around me?” Ohma cocked an eyebrow as he approached you, standing next to the bed. You averted your eyes from his body, trying your hardest not to stare.

“Since you came in here last night and fucked me?”

“Was it that surprising to you?”

“Yes! I thought we were just friends! You never seemed interested in me, or anyone, for that matter!”

Ohma let out a dry laugh. “You didn’t know I was into you?”

“No, Ohma, I didn’t!”

“Well, now you know.”

Silence ensued for a couple of seconds, both of you wondering how this would continue. You were the first to speak up.

“So, what are we?”

Ohma frowned.

“Labels are stupid, you know? Isn’t it enough to know that I love you?”

Your mind was thrown into a frenzy. He loved you? You had barely ever seen emotions come from this man, but here he was, telling you he loved you?

“Ohma…love? What do you mean by love? As in, like, a friend or a girlfriend, because, we just had sex and—” Ohma shut you up with a kiss and a sigh, a small smile playing on his lips as they met yours. He held your face by your chin once he pulled away. You relaxed a little bit.

“You remember when you asked me what I think about the future?”

You nodded slowly.

“I think about you.” Ohma let go of your chin and gazed down at you. You tried extremely hard to avoid looking at his tanned and toned body before you, since the guy had just confessed to you, but you found yourself really struggling. He spoke again, snapping you out of your lustful daze. “Does that answer your question?”

You thought about it. Ohma was the type of man to mean what he said and say what he meant. If he was telling you he loved you, it must have been because he truly meant it. You stood up and placed your hands on either side of his face, watching your thumbs as they lightly skimmed over his cheekbones. You felt him staring at you as you took your time admiring his features, likely awaiting your response. You placed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Yes.”

#tokita ohma x reader #tokita ohma #ohma tokita x reader #ohma tokita #kengan ashura #kengan omega #kengan #ohma tokita smut #tokita ohma smut #ohma #ohma x reader #ohma x reader smut

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ollie-lolly · 1 year

Text

Royal sugar lovin 18+ (Diavolo x reader)

Sugar daddy! Diavolo x gender neutral reader

part one This is part two part three

Warning: Straight up smut love~

Started on 13th of march 2023

finished on: 18th of march 2023

Note: It looks like someone ordered an organ rearrangement. It wasn't me i swear

Contains: Sex (duh), getting babied, smut with plot, soft dom Diavolo, breaking the bed oops, insecure reader, is it obvious that i have a praise kink?

word count: 1218

You quickly rushed down the hallway to change. With excitement, you started unraveling the gift. In the small box was an outfit, matching your ring's colors. You were in awe of how beautifully it was made but also how…little material there was. Wait, what if he didn't like the way your body looked? "Monarch? Are you okay there?" you gasped when you heard him right outside the door. "Yeah just nervous as all" you slowly opened the door. You looked him in the eye as he drank in every feature. "You look beautiful, my monarch," he uttered. "Thank you daddy" he took your hand. "Would you mind if I picked you up, my love?". "If it doesn't bother you". He proceeded to gently pick you up as if you weighed nothing. "I have a surprise for you waiting in another room."

After a short walk, the both of you arrived in a room you have never seen. It centered a giant soft velvet couch. He sat down and placed you on his lap. Softly kissing the top of your head. You noticed that there was a lavish collection of your favorite foods resting on the giant wooden table. "Do you like it, monarch?". You were speechless "It is wonderful". You noticed an expensive bottle of demonus. "May I pour for you?". He stroked your hair "I would be honored". You slowly started filling his glass with demonus that was probably older than your whole human family combined. As you poured a question bubbled up in your mind. "May I ask a question?" his hand slithered around you grabbing the now filled cup in your hand. "Of course". Your body started heating up. "How did you know my size?" He swirled the demonus in his hand and rested his elbow on the frame of the couch. "I simply took the size of your uniform and made it slightly smaller. I couldn't help myself, dear human. I just knew you would look absolutely ravishing in it." He eyed you up lustfully. "And I definitely was not wrong". You lowered your head and looked at the outfit. "I understand that you are nervous, it's the first time you are so exposed to me like this. Remember you can change or stop at anypoint, just know I find you incredibly sexy". You looked back up to see the most genuine smile you have ever seen.

"Thank you. I just want to ease into all this you know " "Take your time my love" he gently kissed your hand. You took the time to eat some of the lovely food that was prepared and your nervousness started to fade. "Is it okay if I touch you?". You giggled and straddled his lap. "Is this better?". He dropped some of the demonus in his glass out of surprise, spilling it on you ."I am so sorry, may I clean it off you?" "Of course". What you didn't expect was that he leaned in and licked all the demonus off your body, whilst he pushed you further into him. He softly licked your neck. You started grinding on him for some friction."Are you sure you want this? You know how rather…large I am." You grabbed his hand and placed it on your heat. "I trust you-" you felt him smile against your neck "to go as hard as you want, please ruin me" he faced you with widened eyes "Is that so? Well let's not disappoint you then". He picked you up and took you to his room. Placing you on the satin sheets.

He started unbuttoning his shirt and pants, letting them drop to the floor. He slowly hovered over you, cupping your face gently. "What safeword do you want my dear?". You firmly felt his knee move between your legs. "Is red okay for now?". He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. "It's more than okay, my monarch." you let out a soft moan when you felt him litter hickeys all over your body. You felt him getting a bit rougher as time went on: biting, scratching, pushing his leg on to you and groaning softly. "May I take this off?" he played with a strap of your little outfit. "Please do" you whispered, starting to feel antsy. You could tell that it was not just you who was beginning to lose their patience. As he ripped your clothes off in one clean tug. "Excuse me, I got a little too excited dear, I have been wondering for an embarrassing amount of time how you would look like nude, how you would look in my bed, how you would look when you climax for only my eyes to see." He grabbed your hand and started tracing his body lower and lower. "Please don't think of me as a savage, it was always my intention to spoil you rotten, to pamper you, to make you feel comfortable" You reached his pulsating member, already seeing a pre-cum wet spot beginning to form. "I want to give all of myself to you and stuff you full." You stopped his hand and carefully tugged his underwear off. "I would really like that" you muttered trying to keep eye contact.

You softly started stroking him, gently pinching his tip. His hand began to play with your sex. "I am glad you feel the same way" he remarked when he felt how ready you were for him. He started slowly going in and out. Curving his fingers while his other hand twisted your sensitive bud. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you and slid himself in. He panted heavily, trying so hard too not to just absolutely pound right into you. You felt his hands on the side of your head dig further into the mattress. You pushed yourself further into him, earning an audible groan from him. His pace quickened, feeling your insides turn into mush. You moaned loudly, wanting to cover your face but you were suddenly pinned down at the wrists. "You are doing amazing darling," he praised. "Keep moaning for me". He swiftly folded you into a mating press. You scratched his back out of overwhelming pleasure. It was so much deeper than before. Your legs began to feel limb as you felt his tip prodding your insides. "I feel you tightening my monarch, I am close too". He let go of your wrists and gripped the bedframe tightly. You felt the bed shake when he painted your insides white and your climax arrived. You suddenly heard the bed break.

Your weight shifted, your body tipped towards the bed frame. Thankfully cushioned by a luxurious pillow. "Focus on me darling, you are doing so well for me." He kept thrusting as you rode out your orgasm. At the end of it you were a panting mess. He was a little out of breath. "Can I pull out now?" you slowly nodded. When he pulled out he carried you to another bed to calm down. "Rest here my little monarch, I'll make a bath for you. I will be right back" Before he left you tugged on his leg. "Hm?" he turned around "Thank you daddy".

Lets just say Barbatos was traumatized of the what was now called 'the broken bed incident'

Tag list <3: @l3viat8an @makotoarashi @bakusquadobsessed @yeahno28 @hxllprince

Please let me know if you have a problem with being tagged. If that is the case i am sorry in advance

#obey me shall we date #obey me #om!#om! diavolo #obey me smut #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo x mc #diavolo x mc #diavolo x reader #obey me x reader smut #obey me x reader #obey me fanfic #fanfic

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 month

Note

Hiya I remember awhile ago you did a blurb with autistic!reader and I was wondering if you’d be open to doing another one? I haven’t found many fics with an autistic reader and would love love love to see more ❤️

foreword: thanks for requesting, anon. autistic!reader is very close to my heart <3 this is based on personal experience with autistic shutdowns, I obviously do not speak for the entire autistic community as this looks differently for everyone, but hopefully some of you can find yourselves reflected here.

cw: descriptions of autistic shutdown, R goes nonverbal, gender neutral!R, pet names are used

___

You can feel it coming from a mile away- that slow, sticky, sinking feeling that starts in your stomach and ends trapped in your throat.

Words come fewer and far between, near the end of your shift- everything feels too loud and too bright and too much.

In the relative quiet of the driver’s seat, you idle in the parking lot, head thunked against the worn headrest, hands limp on the wheel. It’s like someone is walking through the halls of your brain, flicking off all the light switches as they go, leaving you empty and hollowed out.

Starting the drive towards home, you will yourself to feel something, anything, but know from experience that’s not how this works- you’re gonna have to ride the wave. Which normally would leave you feeling claustrophobic and panicky, but right now, you barely have the energy to keep your eyes on the road.

Hawkins is lush and blooming with spring, wildflowers growing alongside the roads, daisies poking out from the cool shade the row of trailers provides. It’s usually your favorite time of year, the sun easing any leftover aches from winter- but as you step out into the cool air, work bag slung over one shoulder, the sun can’t touch the dark shroud of your mind.

The trailer smells like heady herbs and spices, steam billowing from stovetop pots; Eddie’s monitoring them closely, wooden spoon dipping between the two to stir. When he hears the front door close, he half-turns to you, keeping his eye line on the stove- “Hey, sweetheart- pasta’s almost ready then I’ll kiss ya. Want parmesan on yours?”

“Mhm.” A soft noise, in the back of your throat, just barely louder than the buzz of the overhead fan. “I’m gonna… change.”

The words feel clunky, like you’re chewing on them before letting them out, leaving them thin and stretched; you don’t give Eddie time to engage in more conversation, moving at what you hope is a normal and not strangely-slow pace down the hall.

It’s quieter, in your room, the clanking of kitchen noises dimmed by the half-closed door. Your work bag drops with a thunk to the carpet. With movements syrupy-slow, you sit on the edge of the bed, toeing off your shoes, not bothering to strip off your jean jacket before curling onto your side, facing the wall.

Your hands cup the insides of your elbows, absently squeezing, your vision fuzzy with paint-chipped wall, the corner of a Dio poster. The overhead light is searingly bright, humming with energy, but you’re not ready to close your eyes and give in just yet, wanting to delay the strange and upsetting dreams that are sure to plague your sleep tonight.

Distantly, you hear the kitchen fan go quiet, then some more clanking, heavy footsteps down the hall- and then the click and subsequent gentle darkness of the bedroom light getting turned off.

With all the sources of indoor noise gone, you can track Eddie’s path through the room easily- first he cracks open the window, the far-off sound of birds twittering, a gust of sunset-tinged air breezing in; then he clicks on the bedside lamp, a glow much warmer and softer than the overhead light settling into the room.

”Oh, baby,” he murmurs, deep-timbered voice rich with compassion and worry. Under normal circumstances it’d bring you to tears.

You feel the mattress dip under Eddie’s weight before he asks, “Can I hold you?”

When you manage another hum, Eddie stretches out behind you on the mattress, your body molding easily into him. His arms wrap gentle but firm around your middle, legs slotting into the space made by your stacked knees, his chin resting securely over the crown of your head.

Your breaths come easier, with the pressure of his body; Eddie smells good, familiar- like spiced deodorant, cooking basil, lingering cigarette-smoke. You can feel his voice vibrating from where his throat is pressed into you as he speaks again.

”Thought something might be up when you got home- either that or you were trying a new method to break the time loop I was trapped in, ‘cuz that’s the only other reason I can think of as to why you wouldn’t kiss me immediately.”

He’s teasing, and while you can’t bring yourself to laugh, you slip your hand into one of his, fingers interlacing, giving him a little squeeze.

Eddie returns the gesture, rings cold but quickly warming against the back of your hand. “Your mean ol’ brain lock you out again?”

When you hum again in weary admission, Eddie clucks his tongue, pulling you into himself a bit tighter- “Gonna look around for that damn key, it’s gotta be around here somewhere. Y’know, if you wanted me on my hands and knees you could’ve just said so.”

Another squeeze from you, returned as Eddie lifts his head to press his lips to the side of yours. “I’m gonna help you out of this jacket, get you something comfy to wear, and then we’re gonna eat our pasta in bed because we are goddamn grown-ups with grown-up privileges. Sound like a plan?”

You nod, and Eddie reluctantly moves away from the warmth of your body, pressing another kiss to your exposed cheek before going over to rummage through the dresser drawers for some pajamas.

The tightness in your chest loosens, just slightly, but enough to draw in a full breath for the first time in hours.

The fog in your mind remains, but as Eddie starts telling you about his next campaign plans, filling the air with a steady and welcome stream of chatter, you feel light in the distance, a bit of hope leaking through the dark.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #e.m. thots from lu #eddie Munson x autistic!reader #autistic!reader #gn!reader

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x-reader-theater · 8 months

Text

Wanting

summary: There's something between you and Price, something that both of you want to act on, but you won't, because you're dating someone else.

pairing: John Price x Gender Neutral!Reader

word count: 2551

warnings: Domestic violence. The violence is not shown, but the aftermath is. If that is triggering for you, please do not read.

a/n: should i open my requests up again?

You sit in the boardroom listening to the CFO drawl on and on about something you care little about. You do your work, you get paid, you go home to your boyfriend, rinse and repeat. You’re not happy, not in your home or work life, but there is one shining silver lining to working at the place you work, and he’s currently pressing his thigh against yours. You feel the heat from his skin seep through his pants and yours, causing you to shiver when he adjusts and the pressure changes points, leaving your thigh colder in some places than others.

The meeting doesn’t last much longer however and soon everyone is filing out of the conference room, talking about how they’re going to be heading home for the evening, leaving you and John Price sitting alone in the conference room.

You clear your throat and stand up, putting your stuff away in your shoulder bag, when John stands as well, turning to you and holding a hand out, like he wants to touch you but doesn’t.

“[Y/N], wait,” he says, making you pause as you face him. He reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder, and you feel yourself unconsciously leaning into his touch. “What is this?”

You look at John from underneath your lashes as you ask, “What do you mean?”

He sighs, squeezing your shoulder before moving his hand to the back of your neck. “What is this that we’ve been talking around?” You sigh and tip your head forward. John massages your neck as he says, “I don’t know how much longer I can take this, [Y/N]. I can’t keep myself away from you, and I don’t think you can keep yourself away from me for much longer either.”

You lean forward and rest your forehead on John’s shoulder, shaking your head. “You’re right. I can’t.” You lean back and turn your head so your lips are millimeters away from John’s arm, the sleeve of his button-down rolled up to his elbow. “But I’m not a cheater. I won’t cheat on Adam.”

“Are you happy with him?” John asks, moving his hand from your neck to your chin, moving your head so you’re looking at him once again.

You sigh again, closing your eyes as you think about how you’re going to say what you want to say, but when you go to speak, all you say is, “No.” You pull back slightly, shocked at your own words, but as you think about it, no. You're really not. You’ve been fighting non-stop for the past however many weeks, he refuses to help you with anything, and furthermore,you keep thinking of a tall, mustached, handsome ex-military man. “No,” you repeat, finally looking into John’s blue eyes. “No, I don't think I am happy.” John goes to speak or maybe kiss you, but you lean back, shaking your head. “But I’m not a cheater. And nothing can happen while I’m still with Adam.”

John sighs but nods. “Alright. Alright.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be here when you do. I can even be there for emotional support, if you need?”

You shake your head. “No. I think I’ll be okay…”

John nods again and brings you into a hug. “Okay. Okay.”

You pull away from John and run a hand over your head, letting out a held breath. John looks like he wants to comfort you more, but one look from you makes him think again, and he takes a step back.

“Call me? Later today?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. Sure,” you say almost dismissively, though more distracted than dismissive.

You hear John leave, hearing him pause at the door for a moment, but you don’t look over, continuing to stare down at your sensible shoes.

—————

John is about to eat dinner when he hears a knock at the door. He gets up and slowly approaches the door, wary of anyone who would knock on his door at this late hour, but when he looks through the peephole, he immediately throws the door open to you, shivering and slightly wet, with a bruise forming next to your right eye.

“Adam didn’t like me trying to break up with him,” you say in between chattering teeth, unable to look John in the eye.

He reaches out and pulls you into him, clearly not caring about your dripping state, and you bury your face in his chest and cry. He just holds you, letting you cry out your emotions as much as you possibly can. When you feel you have a relatively more stable grasp on your emotions, you pull back, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. John reaches out and brushes gently underneath your eye with his thump before gingerly touching at the bruise next to your eye. When he touches it, you hiss in pain, and he pulls his hand back like he was burned, and looks down at his thumb like it wronged him.

Whatever he sees makes him stiffen, and he says, tensely, “Let’s get you inside.”

You nod and allow yourself to be led inside and to the couch that’s right inside the front door. When you sit, you watch John walk into the kitchen. You hear the tap run for a moment before he comes back holding a wet washcloth, and sits down in front of you. He holds up the washcloth next to your face and asks, “Is this alright?”

You nod, whispering, “Yeah,” and he starts cleaning your face with the cloth. When he pulls it back, you look down and feel your face go cold at the sight of it. “Is that… blood?”

“Yeah,” John says through clenched teeth. His hand grips the cloth tight in a fist as he spits out, “I’m gonna kill him.”

You put your hands out on John’s upper arm and sit up, pleading, “No, John, please, I- I don’t want this to escalate. I-I just want to move on. Please.”

John turns to you and you see the hurt and anger in his eyes as he says, “But, he hurt you…”

He brings his free hand up and captures your chin in his fingers. You close your eyes and lean into the touch, taking John’s hand and placing it on your non-injured cheek. “I’ll be okay. I just need you here right now,” you say, turning and kissing John’s palm.

John sucks in a breath, and you open your eyes, looking through your lashes at him. “I’ll be okay,” you whisper.

John leans in and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he kisses your forehead instead. Your eyes slip closed again in both relief and disappointment but flutter open again when John pulls back.

“Sit tight, okay?” he asks, and you nod, leaning after him as he gets up. He walks back into the kitchen and you sit in the livingroom, tapping on your knees and bouncing in your seat as you wait in silence, the only sounds the ones coming from the kitchen. You can’t see very well into the kitchen, even if you lean out of your seat, so you just sit anxiously, waiting for John to return.

When he does, he’s carrying two plates, and something underneath his arm. When he sets the plates down on the coffee table in front of you, you see he has a pasta dish. The portions aren’t that big, like he only had one serving for himself and just split it for you and him to share.

“Sorry the portions aren’t very big…” he says, trailing off.

“This is your dinner,” you point out simply, not touching the plate and even curling in on yourself.

John chuckles. “It’s fine. I probably would have had leftovers, anyway.”

You think he’s just saying this to make you feel better, but he grabs the plate and holds it out to you, so you accept it anyway and start eating. You didn’t realize how hungry you were and you devour your plate in minutes. You think you hear John chuckling at you but you ignore it as you feel yourself begin to feel a little better.

You set the plate on the coffee table, and say quietly, “Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” John says, still getting through his own plate. “Here.” He takes out what he was carrying underneath his arm before and hands it to you. It’s a bag of frozen peas. “I don’t have any ice so this is all I can give you right now.” he scratches the back of his neck nervously, and you smile at him.

“It’s alright, John. I appreciate it,” you say genuinely. You put the bag of peas gently against your quickly forming bruise, and John smiles that closed mouthed, pitying smile of his that both irks you, and endears you at the same time.

John finishes eating quickly and stands up once more, taking your plates back to the kitchen, coming back quicker than before. He sits back down on the couch, his thigh pressed against yours, and he slings his arm over the back of the couch. Taking the hint, you lean into John’s space, resting your head on his shoulder. He leans down and kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of it. You tilt your head up, moving the bag away from your eye.

“You’re not dating anyone right now…” John says, trailing off, and you shake your head, unable to say anything as you sit, enraptured by John’s bright blue eyes. “Can I kiss you?” John asks, and you nod, closing your eyes before you feel John lean in, his slightly chapped lips pressing against yours.

You gasp at the feeling, and John uses this to hesitantly extend his tongue, the velvety, wet texture pressing against your own lips, like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips through his tongue. His mustache tickles your upper lip, and you feel yourself huff out a laugh. John laughs as well, and you kiss him through shared laughter.

You kiss him quickly a few more times before pulling away, your eyes blinking slowly as you come out of the daze that was kissing John Price.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now,” John says quietly.

“Me too,” you admit with a whisper, feeling your cheeks heat at your admission. “I-” you cut yourself off as John leans in, but he freezes at hearing you talk, his eyebrows raising as he waits for your to continue. You sigh. “I don’t think I should… date… god that sounds so juvenile but I can’t think of a better word,” you ramble, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I- I think I need help… before I… date, anyone,” you explain.

John gives you that damned closed mouthed smile again, but genuinely he says, “Okay. I can wait.”

You smile at him and lean in, kissing him one last time before pulling away. You can see a slight flush on his cheeks and he smiles a genuine and open smile, before he pulls away.

“Alright,” he says, hands on his knees as he pushes off the couch. “Why don’t you take the guest room. I’ll show you where the towels are, and where the bathroom is, alright?”

You nod and John holds out a hand for you. You take it, and let him pull you up, and forward.

#my work #my writing #reader insert #cod mw2 #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price x gender neutral!reader #john price x gender neutral reader #cod john price #john price cod

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moon-fics · 11 months

Text

Face Masks-Peter Parker

A/n: I'm currently wearing a facemask and had this idea!

Summary: A night in leads to face masks and fun

Warning: Swears, fluff, gender-neutral reader

Peter enters his apartment through his window, his only injury being a pulled muscle. He's just glad he didn't get punched in the face. He lands on the floor with a soft thud, removing his mask. Within seconds you're peaking into the room, a smile on your face. Just seeing you brightens his night by a lot, relieving him of all his stress.

"How was patrol?" You ask, as usual, entering his room. You approach him, examining his face for any serious cuts or bruises. When you don't see any you relax.

"Actually, really easy." He laughs, running a hand through his flattened hair. "I only had to face five robberies!" He jokes, walking deeper into his room. He notices neatly folded sweatpants and a T-shirt on the edge of his bed. He's sure you've done more besides this, he can tell his room has been vacuumed and a few things reorganized. Of course, he'll just put his items back in place but he'll never complain. "Thank you," He mumbles, grabbing his clothes.

"Of course, Pete." you nod your head with a grin, sitting down on his bed. You wait for him to change before bringing up an idea you saw online.

Once he finishes changing, he sits behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his head on yours, wanting a calm moment. However, he knows better and can tell you're not even close to tired.

"Hey, Pete?" You hum, shifting in his hold. He knows you're about to suggest an activity, maybe one that requires effort. He's exhausted, but he'll do anything for you, especially when you've been waiting for him all night.

"Yes, honey?" He responds, kissing the back of your head. He tries to come up with the activity you're going to suggest before you speak, shuffling through movie night or video games.

"Can we do face masks?" You ask in a soft tone. How could he not think of that first? It's such a domestic task of course you'd choose it. Peter would never admit it, but face masks sound really nice right now.

"Only if they're the ones with animal faces on them." He chuckles as you wiggle out of his grasp and walk from his bed. You enter his bathroom that's connected to his room, open his sink cabinet, and pull out two face masks. You spread them apart like cards between your fingers, a playful smile spreading across your face.

He leans back on his elbows as you return to him, showing him the mask packets closer. You chose a tiger and an owl, both piquing his interest. Of course you knew he'd enjoy animal face masks, it made his heart warm.

"Which one do you want?" You ask, glancing between the two masks. He reaches for the tiger, obviously, but you pull your hand away. "Ok, which one do you want besides the tiger?" She corrects, leaving him with the owl. He can't help but chuckle, grabbing the owl.

"What options!" He laughs. You quickly climb back onto his bed, sitting on your knees. "The tiger really suits you." He teases.

"Oh, yeah," You agree with a playful tone, "I'm super scary and vicious." You nod with a sarcastic voice. Peter opens his mask first, the smell of coconuts and chemicals hitting him quickly. Yours smells of old strawberries but you don't seem to mind.

"Are you sure these will help our skin?" He puts his mask packet to your nose causing you to cough at the sudden smell. "Y/n, where did you get these?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Five Below, why?" You hum, taking your mask out of the packaging. It's slimy in your hands, but you don't mind. However, Peter seems to be struggling with the feeling, almost gagging. "Don't be dramatic!" You laugh, slapping his arm jokingly.

"Y/n, I think this mask is made of The Lizard's saliva." He tries to unfold the mask, trying his best not to rip it. "I mean seriously, I think my webs are less sticky than this." He glances at you with a fake look of disgust.

"No, trust me your webs are way worse. I had web fluid on my hand for at least two hours once." You remind him, unfolding your mask perfectly. You've used masks before, but Peter probably hasn't. "Need help there, bud?" You ask, already applying your mask.

"I think I can handle opening a face mask." He scoffs, still struggling. Without a word, you reach over and unfold his mask while yours slowly slips down your face. Peter notices it slipping, and he instinctively fixes it, smoothing it over your face as best as he can. While he does that you apply his mask to his face, doing the same as him. "Look at us being cute!" He breaks the silence.

"Oh my god," You laugh, the face mask stretching on your face. You can feel a part of it unstick from your face, Peter quickly pressing it back. His hands are warm and dry, reminding you that you need to buy more hand lotion for him.

Somehow, Peter's face mask seems to fit him perfectly even when his face moves.

"We are totally slaying right now." He speaks up and you cannot fathom what caused him to say that. Your eyes look directly into his, a deadly serious expression on your face.

"Get the fuck off TikTok." You demand and he bursts out laughing. You know for a fact he scrolls through it when there's a break period on patrol and you hate how he's somehow weaponized the slang. "No, actually get off before I delete your account!" You tease.

"I thought girls love that word!" He defends, throwing his hands up. "I swear it's all I see now!" He chuckles.

"Yeah, but it's insane to think that New York's famous superhero says it casually!" You point out, smoothing your mask once again. You finally take in Peter's face with the owl mask on, realizing how stupid he looks. You have to look just as dumb though.

"Oh, my bad I didn't know I'd have to speak formally even when I'm off duty!" He raises his voice but you know he's not being serious. You laugh, having to once again smooth out your mask. "Next time I'll only comment about serious topics like the economy or politics!" He suggests, shaking his head. His flat hair moves with him, it looks so soft even after a whole night of being squished under his costume.

"You comment on TikToks?" You realize what he's said, leaning closer to him. "Please tell me your name isn't something like the official Spider-Man!" You place your hands on his shoulder, starting on your knees now. You look down at him with a serious glare.

"What? No, of course not!" He rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap. You decide to get comfortable, adjusting yourself so your legs are parallel and you're facing him only inches apart. "It's Spider-Mans ass." He adds. You begin cackling, knowing that's a lie. "I also have like sixty Spider-Man edits and thirst traps saved on there."

"Peter, remove yourself from that app instantly!" You shout a smile still on your face. "I cannot believe you're inflating your own ego!" You actually can believe it. You should have come up with that idea sooner because, of course, Peter would find such things and save them

"I'm offended you haven't made a fan account." He pretends to be upset, "I mean you're my girlfriend you should be the most popular account!" He crosses his arms with a dramatic frown.

"I'm sorry, weren't you the one all for privacy and safety?" You defend, and he sighs. He doesn't have a funny argument to deflect your statement, but he doesn't actually want one. You're right, he'd rather have that privacy around you.

You notice the time, realizing it's past mask-removing time. You pat his thigh, exiting his lap and padding to the bathroom. Peter catches on instantly and follows you. You remove your mask, tossing it into the bathroom trash bin, Peter does the same.

You turn on the sink waiting for the water to warm but Peter wastes no time. He washes the slimy substance from his face with cold water. Once he finishes he grabs the hand towel, drying his face.

"It should be warm enough for you now." He kisses your head and stands behind you. He leans against the wall, waiting for you to wash your face.

Once you finish you stretch and dry your face, feeling cleansed. However, you're now slightly hungry. Peter automatically knows because you're always hungry around this time.

"I'm going to make us some popcorn." He pushes off the bathroom wall. Before he leaves he picks you up by your stomach, carrying you out of the bathroom. "You are coming with."

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tasm!spiderman x reader #peter parker x fem #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield x you

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starlightkun · 5 months

Text

❧ word count: 2.0k ❧ warnings: cursing ❧ genre: fluff, angst if you squint?, drabble, childhood friends to lovers, model jungwoo, normal person reader, mark is there but he doesn't pass the sexy lamp test so i'm not calling this a love triangle, also gender neutral reader on this one ❧ extra info: this is a reworked version of a drabble from an old multi-group writing acct of mine from years and years ago. it was previously about hyunjin from stray kids, so if you read this like six plus years ago and it feels vaguely familiar, that’s why! ❧ author’s note: happy new year!

“Oh,” you forced out a giggle, voice cracking awkwardly as you added, “You missed… again.”

“No I didn’t,” he declared steadily, closing the space between you two again.

December 31st.

New Year’s Eve.

Ever since you were little, you had spent every New Year’s with Kim Jungwoo. And he insisted that even though he was a very popular model now and his reputation could easily be ruined with any slight scandal, that fact wouldn’t change. You were his best friend, he insisted, which meant that you would keep your traditions.

And so that’s how you ended up on a balcony at some fancy hotel that his agency had rented out for the occasion, needing some fresh air for a moment. Being around so many people, not to mention that they were all incredibly famous, was overwhelming and exhausting to you sometimes. Checking the time on your phone, you winced when you saw that it was only 10 p.m. Jungwoo had told you that the party would probably last until 2 a.m. at least, meaning that you theoretically still had four more hours of this. Your feet ached from standing and the goofy dancing you had done at first with your equally goofy friend and his surprisingly down-to-earth coworkers. All you really wanted to go home and change into your pajamas and go the fuck to sleep. New Year’s never mattered much to you; it was always Jungwoo who made you have fun on the seemingly pointless holiday.

The thought of your handsome, bright-eyed, and caring best friend brought a familiar bittersweet pain to the left side of your chest. You’d realized the not-so-small crush you had on him last New Year’s, when he’d given you his routine Happy New Year’s kiss on the cheek, and missed, pecking the corner of your mouth gently. It had been pretty easy to ignore your agony-inducing feelings since you didn’t see him much while his model life kept him extra busy. But now that you were at this party with him, and he had pretty much glued himself to your side the entire time, it was difficult to push them away.

For the past thirty minutes, however, you’d had a completely different issue plaguing your mind. One that you knew you needed to talk to Jungwoo about. As if he could hear your thoughts, his voice suddenly manifested from behind you:

“You’re missing Johnny and Haechan’s drinking contest.”

“Their what?” You spun around, looking absolutely bewildered.

“I’m kidding, I needed to get your attention,” Jungwoo let out a melodious chuckle as he stepped closer to you, looking just as dazzling as before in his simple black suit, the jacket having been discarded long ago in favor of just rolling his sleeves up to just below his elbow. That, paired with the slightly-mussed up and wavy hair, gave no aid in calming your thundering heart. How was one man allowed to be that attractive?

“You could’ve said ‘hey.’ You know, like a normal person,” you snorted, going back to leaning against the balcony railing as he joined you.

“Since when have we ever been normal?” He bumped your shoulder.

“Oh, I’m perfectly normal—” You bumped his shoulder back. “It’s you that’s fucking weird.”

“You know, I’d tickle you if I wasn’t afraid of touching the art.”

Your skin heated up immediately, counteracting the chilling winter winds easily seeping into your skin. At your lack of response, Jungwoo spoke again, “So what’s on your mind? You’ve got your thinking frown on.”

Dropping your face into your hands, you mumbled, “Woos, I’ve made a grave mistake.”

“What did you do this time, Y/N?”

“I might have agreed to give Mark a New Year’s kiss.” You took your face out of your hands in time to see Jungwoo’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Like, kiss on the cheek?”

You shook your head.

He seemed more distressed than you, rubbing his face in frustration as he thought. Finally, he groaned and offered, “I’ll tell him that you know… he can’t do that, because you’re my best friend and that’d be weird for me.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about.” You ignored the twinge in your heart when he called you his friend.

Truth be told, you were doing this hoping that it’d help you get over Jungwoo. Not necessarily by getting into Mark, that wasn’t exactly what you wanted. But just a little extra push to forget about your feelings for your best friend.

Jungwoo’s eyes were nearly popping out of his face as he asked, “So is it like… the actual kiss, then? What, why?”

“I’m a bit rusty,” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck.

“So it’s been a few months since you’ve kissed someone, whatever. It’s like riding a bike.”

“More like a few years…”

“How many years?”

“Like… ten? I’ve only ever had my first kiss, okay?” You admitted, your skin prickling hot with embarrassment. “Got a bit… busy after that.”

Jungwoo crossed his arms. “And you’re really going to let Mark Lee be your second kiss?”

You shrugged.

“You don’t know him that well, Y/N.”

“I barely know anybody here,” you pointed out with another shrug. “Why are you making a big deal out of this?”

“I don’t know, don’t you want your first adult kiss to be with someone you know, and who actually cares about you, and isn’t just some guy who would get affection from a rock if he could?”

“Well yeah, but, who would that be?”

“Not Mark.”

“If you can find me someone like that within the next—” you looked at your phone again “—one hour and fifty-six minutes, then sure, Mark Lee won’t be my first adult kiss.”

As you had said that, you looked at him with a newfound fire in your eyes, waiting for him to respond to your implicit challenge. His jaw was clenched, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided to close it again, taking a step back.

“Fine.” Jungwoo shook his head, walking back into the venue and managing to disappear his tall form into the crowd.

Your friend’s cold departure from you had left you in a sour mood for all of five seconds before some of his coworkers had found you and provided ample distraction from the tears threatening to make an appearance. Never had Jungwoo ever looked so upset or disappointed in you, and it hurt. It really fucking hurt.

You had a feeling that Jungwoo’s friends had been able to surmise that something bad had happened, considering you wouldn’t even look in his general direction, a stark contrast from just an hour ago when you were laughing together while his arm had been around your shoulder. The ghost of his arm there was still present, and you desperately pressed yourself even further back into the couch you were on to try to rid yourself of it. You really only succeeded in tucking yourself into Yuta’s side, as you were crammed onto the couch with him and a few of the others, not including Jungwoo.

Mark was on your other side, trying to yell out a story above to the constant loud hum, one that Johnny on his other side could apparently understand, as his deep laughs reached your ears. The light tinkling of Taeyong’s laughter brought your attention to your other side, and you felt Yuta attempting to worm himself off the couch. You scooted closer to Mark to give Yuta some more room, and when he stood up, you saw that there was a dark brown stain all down the front of his light-colored suit. Realizing that your sudden jolt into his side must have caused him to spill his drink all over himself, you tried to apologize, but he waved you off and disappeared as well.

Now with more space, you scooted back away from Mark, only by a few millimeters, as the couch was definitely not meant to fit even four people like it was now. As you leaned in to listen to Johnny’s addition to the conversation, you felt someone slide in beside and slightly behind you again and were surprised at how quickly Yuta had returned. But then an arm snaked around your waist and an all-too familiar voice was beside your ear and you knew it wasn’t him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Jungwoo didn’t have to whisper too much, the room was definitely too loud for anybody further than a few centimeters away to hear anything he was saying. “If you want to fuck Mark—”

You snapped your head around to hiss incredulously, “I don’t want to fuck him! Jesus Christ, Woos, it’s a kiss on New Year's. I don’t even like him like that. Like you said, he’s just some guy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you scoffed.

“I’m sorry. Seriously.”

You elbowed him in the side. “Yeah, yeah, I forgive you. I know you were trying to look out for me. You’re a good friend, Woos.”

“Yeah, I know.”

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he sounded disappointed when you called him your friend. But when he rested his head on yours and your hopeful heart hopped painfully against your ribcage, you reminded yourself that all you were was his friend, and you had to learn how to be happy with just that.

You were towards the back of the large mass of people crowded around the huge TV announcing the countdown to the New Year. With Mark on your left and Jungwoo on your right, you blamed the heat for your sweaty palms instead of the idea of having your first kiss in a very long time in a very visible place and with a somewhat-random person. It would be just a peck, you had convinced yourself. Not a big deal.

The voices of everyone counting down in unison reverberated through your brain.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Before you could even turn to the man on your left, you were yanked to the right, a pair of lips descending onto yours in one fluid and firm motion. Jungwoo’s hands were gripping either side of your face and neck, his body pressing against yours, and his mouth meshing with yours in a way you could only describe as perfect. Your own hands grappled for something to hold onto as your breath was stolen from you, finding a somewhat suitable place clutching desperately onto his shirt.

Finally, Jungwoo deemed it necessary to breathe, moving his face back just a few millimeters from yours, a thin line of spit still connecting you two. You widened the distance, taking a few shaky inhalations as you tried to look anywhere except Jungwoo. Which was difficult considering he took up much of your vision, still being only a couple centimeters away.

“Oh,” you forced out a giggle, voice cracking awkwardly as you added, “You missed… again.”

“No I didn’t,” he declared steadily, closing the space between you two again. “There, you kissed someone who actually cares about you. So if you want to go kiss Mark—”

“No.” Shaking your head with determination, you looked him in the eye, “I don’t want to kiss him. Or anyone else…”

“Except me,” Jungwoo finished your implicit statement with a shit-eating grin.

Rolling your eyes, you nodded nonetheless.

“So, can I date you on a proper date, then?”

You pretended to contemplate this for a moment before grabbing his collar and tugging him back down for another kiss, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck. Jungwoo grinned into the kiss, pulling you closer by the hips.

The very amused voice of Taeyong startled you into nearly having an aneurysm, “You two might want to stop that before the CEO comes by to say Happy New Year to everybody.”

You folded your hands politely in front of you, nodding sheepishly as the rest of his friends could only giggle at your being caught.

Mark then complained, “I still didn’t get a New Year’s kiss!”

“Come here, then!” Haechan wrapped an arm around the older man’s neck, pursing his lips as Mark tried to get away. The whole group burst into laughter, taking enough attention off you and Jungwoo for him to take your hand in his.

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qveerthe0ry · 2 months

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Lions Ain't the Kind - Part Two

Summary: You and Frankie can't get each other off your minds'. He asks you on a third date. It's a success. Word Count: 5,741 Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom!reader, a few brief mentions of alcohol, talks about gender non-conformity, talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, amab terminology for afab genitalia, kissing, making out, oral (afab receiving), dirty talk, premature ejaculation, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader A/N: Special shoutout to @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar for letting me bother them about this part while I was writing, love you both dearly <3

Frankie calls you later that night.

You helped him clean up after, popped some popcorn, and rewound the movie. He snuggled sleepily into your side; the orgasm apparently settled his nerves from before. You both joked about how not-so-great the movie was over a few beers, and then you sent him off with a buttery goodnight kiss.

But your phone rings as you’re settling into bed for the night, and you think maybe something is wrong, like his car broke down, or he left something at your place.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. I just made it home.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, no, everything’s fine. I just— I wanted to thank you.”

You laugh. Sweet boy, calling to thank you for getting him off.

“Was it that good?” You joke.

“No— I mean yes, yes it was. That’s not what I meant though. I’ve never been… Well, you know, I’m not so good at this stuff. And I’ve never felt like… this. And I like it. And I like you. So… thank you.”

Your face burns at his words, at the thought you could give this man something he needs, this man that you’re quickly developing a habit for.

“That’s sweet, Frankie. I like you too. A lot.”

You hear him huff through your tinny phone speakers and in a moment of pure weakness you wish you would’ve asked him to stay over.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yes. I really do.”

He laughs, and you can imagine it in your head, what his dimple looks like, the way his curls would look as he shakes his head.

“That’s awesome.”

——

Frankie’s a busy guy, you come to find out. He works fairly long hours at his mechanic shop, and he has custody of his daughter every other week, and he also attends community events, he calls them, every Wednesday.

Your business is relegated to the eight hours a day you spend in your office, and maybe a few hours here or there when you need to take work home with you.

And you’re not blaming Frankie for it, but the distance makes you want him so much more. He texts you all day long, staggered back and forth when you both have the time. He’ll call you some nights, when his daughter goes to bed early, just to talk about your days. But it isn’t enough.

It’s not enough because you can’t stop thinking about how he looks in your lap, and how desperate his sounds are, and how his skin feels under your palms.

It’s driving you mad, replaying that night over and over and craving even more from him.

It really isn’t just about the sex, though, either. You find yourself thinking of him at the grocery store, wondering if he likes the scent of your favorite deodorant or if you should pick something new. You see an old Ford Ranger as you’re driving to work and wonder if Frankie’s inside. You find a new show on Netflix to watch but pause it after the first five minutes because you think Frankie would like to watch it too, with you.

And Frankie’s just as bad, if not worse off than you are.

His days are long and busy but occupied with thoughts of you, even as he’s changing brake pads and tinkering elbow-deep in the hood of another car.

When he picks up his daughter from school and asks how her day was, he sends off a quick text to ask you about your day, too.

And after he gets her to bed, and finishes laundry and the dishes and brushing his teeth, he crawls under the covers only to feel like his queen sized mattress is way too big, way too empty.

That’s when he texts you, Saturday night, heart beating just a bit too fast and feeling a tad heavier than normal.

I miss you. Are you free tomorrow?

I miss you too, sweet boy. I’ve got nothing going on all day.

Can I pick you up for brunch after I drop off the kiddo? Around noon?

Sounds perfect, can’t wait 😘

And he hardly sleeps because of the anticipation, wondering if this whole thing has just been a fluke. One whole week of not seeing you has his insecurities skyrocketing, despite the texts and phone calls.

The clock on his bedside table reads 5:36am and he can’t for the life of him tamper down the feelings to fall back to sleep. So he trims up his facial hair, and showers for longer than he usually likes to. He makes a big breakfast for his daughter, and dresses in his nicest jeans and a collared shirt while she giggles at some Sunday morning cartoon.

It isn’t until he’s halfway to her mom’s house that he realizes he’s a dead giveaway. He winces when she answers the door with her eyebrow raised, greeting cut-off halfway through.

“Are you going to church now?”

He laughs and rolls his eyes as she waves him into the foyer.

“Not quite. I think church usually starts earlier than noon, though.”

“So… court?”

“Oh my god, is it that unbelievable that I have a date?”

“At noon?”

“Brunch date,” he shrugs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“You haven’t dated since we broke up.”

He shrugs again, and can feel the heat beginning to rise to his cheeks.

“Is this new? Where’d you guys meet?”

He huffs at the interrogation, though he knows there’s no malice behind it.

“Um… Tinder… couple weeks ago now.”

An amused look spreads across his ex’s face, and he wants to die.

“Interesting. You’ve met in person, then?”

“Yeah, twice already. Last week.”

“Well, sounds like it’s going good then, yeah?”

He takes a deep breath in, and nods, and then shrugs.

“I hope so. Like… I really hope so.”

Her face softens, and she smiles a sweet smile that lets him know he looks even more vulnerable than he feels, which must be a feat.

“Then I hope so, too.”

——

When Frankie knocks on your door a little past 12, he surprises you. Gone is that apprehensive look you’ve grown so used to seeing on him. Instead, he’s beaming, a precious and pearly smile splitting his face when you open the door.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath, like he may have ran up the stairs at a less than leisurely pace.

“Hey, smiley.”

He huffs when you tease him, but his smile doesn’t falter.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Looks good on you.”

Everything looks good on him, actually. His shirt hugs his chest and his tummy, and his jeans are sucked tight to his thighs, and his hair is that perfect mess of haphazard curls that makes your fingers tingle with the urge to touch.

“You ready to go?”

He shifts in his spot on your doorway, and you bite your lip as you admire the view.

“Not yet.”

His mouth opens to respond, but the words don’t get a chance to leave his lips because you’re pressing your own to them.

Warm, soft, minty.

His hand finds your waist and yours cups his neatly groomed jaw, and the simple touches make the wires in your system short-circuit.

Simmer down, you remind yourself, you have to at least get through brunch.

His smile is still wide when you pull apart, softer now, but no less giddy. He gives you a once-over, taking in one of your favorite outfits you picked out of your closet just for today.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers.

“So are you.”

He shrugs, and you let your hand fall from his face to rest on his collar, and then farther down, where his top button lays open to reveal his smooth chest.

“Brunch?”

He squeezes your hip when he asks, and you try and fail to hold back a heaved sigh at the prospect of having to be decent in public with this man.

“Yep. Brunch.”

He chuckles, kisses the corner of your mouth as soft as ever.

“Back here for dessert?”

It shocks you, but it delights you.

“Francisco, you dirty dog.”

He backs away with his hands up as you make your way outside, letting you lock up.

“I’m just trying to ask for what I want,” he mumbles.

He looks sheepish when you turn back to face him, but also proud. You think he should be.

“I know. You’re being a very good boy for me.”

You smirk all the way to his truck at the way he tugs at his collar and clears his throat, and how his hand feels sweaty in yours.

——

He takes you to brunch by the river, a place you’ve heard about but you’ve never been to. He’s really sweet, opening doors for you and asking if the table on the patio is alright and turning his entire attention toward you while you wait for your food to come.

Though you’re both quite handsy, linking your calves together under the table and playing with each others’ fingers on top of it, you really don’t want to go home by the time the check comes.

He pays this time, of course, and when you’re standing up to leave you suggest taking a walk along the river. His enthusiasm for your suggestion makes your insides feel all sticky and hot, that you’re both on the same page, that even something so little can excite him like it does you.

The thing is, you don’t do this often. Okay, maybe you’ve had many dates that end up exactly like this, walking off a meal and chatting. But it’s very very rare that you get to do it with someone you click with, someone who gets you, someone who makes you feel comfortable in your own skin.

Frankie does just that, has since day one when you spent hours talking on that godforsaken dating app. And especially now, as he slinks one arm through the loop of your own and uses the other to caress where your sleeve rides up your bicep. His body is warm where it presses into you, only adding to that fuzzy feeling from the couple of mimosas you drank with brunch.

And when you turn to face him, the happy look on his face is everything. You get tripped up in the sunlight glistening in his brown eyes, the hints of ochre sparkling as his head shifts, before you determine you need to tell him.

“I like the way I feel with you,” you say earnestly, though the champagne has surely given you a bit of a push.

“What way is that?”

His pace slows on the little pebbled pathway, like he really doesn’t want to miss what you say next.

“Like I can just… turn my brain off and be.”

He chuckles, squeezes your arm.

“I feel the same. Like I don’t have to pretend to impress you or anything. Like I don’t need to impress you.”

You hum as you let the words sink in, and lean a little heavier into him as you walk.

“You do impress me though,” you tell him.

His breath hitches, you can feel it where he’s pressing into you from chest to hip.

“You impress me too. I uh— I think you’re probably the most impressive person I’ve ever met.”

“Weren’t you like, in the military?”

He laughs, then, full, you can feel it shaking his tummy against your arm.

“That doesn’t really count. Besides, my military buddies’ skills are limited to the field. I don’t think between the three of them they have more than a handful of civilian brain cells.”

“Harsh,” you laugh, pinching his side between your knuckles.

“I say it with love, of course. They’re good guys, you’d like ‘em. In a way you might like an annoying sibling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like you to meet them sometime. Maybe soon. If you’d feel comfortable.”

You don’t know much about this infamous group of guys Frankie’s bonded to, just that they’re his only real friends, and that they’ve all been through a lot. Another gooey feeling spreads through your guts at his proposal.

“I’d like that. Sometime soon.”

It does worry you a bit. You don’t know much about the military, but you’re aware of the stereotypes. Surely if Frankie’s friends with them, then they aren’t bad guys.

Frankie must see the fleck of apprehension in you,

Because he stops walking and releases your arm so he can face you squarely.

“I’m out to them. They’re cool with it. Pope— Santiago— he’s queer too. We’ve been to pride together, all of us. No bad vibes.”

You wonder if they’ve ever met someone like you. You wonder if Frankie’s told them about you yet. You wonder a lot of things in such a tiny amount of time that you sway a bit on your feet and Frankie reaches out to steady you.

“Shit— Are you okay??”

“I’m fine,” you’re quick to assure him, “just… I dunno. What if they don’t like me?”

Frankie scoffs.

“There’s no way they won’t like you. You’re you, you’re kind and funny and smart. What’s not to like?”

“Are you purposefully ignoring the elephant in the room?”

It isn’t heated, the way you ask it, but you’re genuinely curious. Is he beating around the bush, or is he naive, or is it really not a big deal to him?

“Cariño, it’s not an elephant. It’s a— I dunno. A neat… plant,” he shrugs.

You squint at him, and tilt your head at his explanation.

“You know what I mean? An elephant in a room is a giant pain in the ass. It’s much more like a cool plant. Maybe one some people aren’t familiar with, but it’s not— you’re not an elephant, is my point.”

You stare at him for a beat longer than you mean to, but once your giggle involuntarily bubbles up out of you, Frankie’s serious face is cracking into a goofy smile.

“You’re cute,” you tell him, “Jesus Christ.”

Your laughter mellows, and Frankie looks sheepish at your compliments, but he grabs you by the elbows anyway, leans in close to you so that you can smell the way the sun warms his curls and his skin.

“I mean it though,” he says, “I like you. Exactly how you are. The guys will too.”

Your eyes dart around to your surroundings as Frankie’s lips find your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Without anyone ogling, you shift your head just that much more to let his lips press against yours.

He hums, leaning harder into you, pulling you closer with his hands at your back. You melt, pliant and lax in his arms, until he huffs and pulls away.

“Frankie,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to take me home.”

His pupils grow comically large at your request, and this time he’s wobbling on weary legs.

“Anything you want, mi planta.”

Your walk back to his truck is… brisk. You’re not sure who’s leading who by the time

Frankie unlocks the doors, both too giggly to really worry about it. He kisses you breathless across the center console before he turns the key in the ignition, and you roll the flavor of him around in your mouth while he pulls out into traffic.

Frankie’s promise of ‘I like you exactly the way you are’ is rattling around in your head like a pinball in a faulty machine. You’re not sure he can even say that. If he even knows you exactly the way you are. It’s been two dates and a handful of weeks texting back and forth.

Granted, one of those dates had him shaking and crumbling on top of you, but still. He told you he’s never met someone like you. He said that, and now you have to pull the ‘Ol Talk out of your dusty little hat and you aren’t sure how he’s going to react. He’s given you no reason to believe it’ll be negative, but still. Sometimes it just makes you uncomfortable, to have to explain things that don’t often need explaining.

Instead of boiling over with nerves the closer you get, though, the anxiety simmers below the surface as you watch Frankie navigate back to your apartment. His side profile is criminal, with his wide eyes and strong nose and stubbly jaw, that dimple that just won’t seem to go away. His curls tickle the nape of his neck and whisp around his temple and you must twirl them between your fingers. So you do, and his answering hum has you squirming in the passenger seat.

The walk up your apartment stairs is when the nerves start to get the best of you. It takes you two tries to get your door unlocked, and you know Frankie is aware by the way he looks at you when you usher him through the door.

“Are you okay?”

It’s funny how just a week before you were asking him the same question, and now you’re the one who’s a bundle of frayed nerves when you’d only ever been so cool and calm and collected.

“I am, I just— Things are different… with me.”

His concerned brows turn back up when he smiles at you, the softness in his eyes working wonders to ease your anxiety.

“I like different. Different’s fun.”

You huff. He’s so sweet. It’s hotter than it should be.

“Really. I wanna learn you. Let me, cariño. Please?”

And god… those are gonna be a big, big problem, his wide, watery puppy eyes framed by long eyelashes that he breaks out like it’s no big deal. Like you wouldn’t murder someone for him if he made those eyes at you and asked nicely.

You sigh, and nod, and that gets him to drop the eyes at least, replace them with a toothy smile instead.

“Let me get us some waters, if you wanna get comfy on the couch.”

It gives you a second to breathe and gather your thoughts as you meander into the kitchen.

“I missed this couch,” he muses, wistful, and you laugh.

“I’m sure you did, Pretty Boy.”

You barely hear his huff over the trickle of your Brita filter, but then he speaks up.

“I love it when you call me that. Drives me crazy.”

Frankie’s full of this energy you didn’t expect from him, so much more forward now. You suppose the walls have been broken down a bit, ever since your last night together.

He’s sprawled out on the couch when you return with two glasses, leaning back against the corner of it, and his cock is straining at his jeans. You don’t pretend not to notice, and he doesn’t pretend that he can’t see your eyes tracing the shape of its outline in his dark denim. You place your waters on the coffee table, even as you feel your mouth go dry.

“Told you, drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.”

The way he looks up at you makes him look so small. Your pulse jumps about it, the way it makes you feel just minutely more comfortable with the conversation you’re about to have.

And it’s one that you want to have, no matter how un-sexy it feels, or annoying. Because in your experience, when you forgo the conversation until after, they always take it personally when you tell them what you didn’t like. And even though you know it’s bullshit, you can’t stand the thought of Frankie feeling defensive toward you, even if it’s unfounded.

So you curl up next to him, let his arm that’s slung over the couch rest across your shoulders. You bring your knees up to your chest and plant one hand high on his thigh. You’re so nervous that you almost miss the way it twitches under your palm.

“What’s on your mind?”

His thumb rubs tiny loops against your shoulder. Yours mirrors it on his jeans, and it soothes you enough to start speaking.

“Sometimes I don’t like… certain things. During sex. And sometimes I do. It just depends on my mood,” you start.

“Yeah, same. I think that’s everyone, right? Normal?”

You roll your eyes at yourself, because you know he has a point. But yours are a little different.

“Yeah but… You know how I said sometimes I’m both, and sometimes I’m neither, and sometimes I’m one or the other?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do.”

“Welll when I’m… y’know. Sometimes certain words just… turn me off. Make me feel weird, and get in my head and stuff, and then it’s not fun anymore.”

Frankie nods.

“And not like… What I mean is sometimes I like one word, and then another time I won’t like the same word. It’s always different. Depending on what I’m feeling.”

“Guapo, look at me.”

It’s then, when Frankie’s deep voice cuts like a searing hot knife, that you realize your eyes have been darting around everywhere but him.

He’s got a serious look on his face when you finally gaze back, but it’s soft, and it’s comforting, and for a second you think might cry.

“I think it’s my turn to make you ask for what you want.”

He smirks when he says it, and it’s so uneasy and so not at the same time.

You take a deep breath. Release it. Feel the squeeze of your heart unclench a bit.

“I want you to suck my cock. Today. And tomorrow maybe I’ll want you to eat my pussy. Okay?”

“Jesus Fuck—“

“I’m sorry—“

“Shut up, you’re so fucking hot.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs and make your face feel like it’s on fire. Even more so when his free hand presses against his erection over his jeans. It spreads, a dangerous flame that curls around your insides, high in your chest and low in your gut, and you tilt your head so you can taste the little whimper that falls from his lips.

Your hand finds his chest again, like it did that night, and something about his racing heartbeat eases you so much. That he’s just as nervous as you are, even if he’s a bit better at hiding it this time.

He cradles you when he kisses you back, one big, warm hand on the back of your head and his other on your back, wrapped around you, safe. And he’s gentle as he leads you to lie back, even as he growls and nips at your bottom lip.

Safe.

His thighs bracket one of yours as he holds himself above you by an elbow on the cushions. You feel his cock, hot and hard, pressed tight against you, throbbing when he shifts his hips for friction.

You let a noise sneak past your vocal chords, a deeper sigh, and instantly you feel even more vulnerable.

But Frankie just returns it, grip tightening on the back of your head. He pulls his mouth from yours and instead finds your pulse with it.

You gasp, and he curses. His hips jerk against you, and you know you’re about to soak through your briefs. His teeth find skin underneath your collar and you egg him on by lifting your thigh to press even tighter against his prick.

His muttered curse feels hot against your skin, but it quickly runs ice cold when Frankie’s hand sneaks under the hem of your shirt. You grab it quickly, separated by the material, and shake your head back and forth quickly.

“Not right now,” you whisper, “sorry.”

He looks up from his toothy assault on your skin to meet your gaze, hand slipping back out from under your shirt, and smiles.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, hand finding the crook of your thigh instead, “never for that. Always tell me what you need.”

Your breath stutters as he shifts back up to kiss your lips again, his thigh pressing just right between yours as his tongue tastes the roof of your mouth. You grind just like that, and he does too, a hot and damp rustling of fabric as he takes your mouth and whines into it at the friction.

Your hands get with the program, reach around to squeeze his ass and encourage his thrusts against your thigh. Sparks of arousal shoot through you every time you feel his cock pulse against you. It becomes not enough extremely quickly, especially with the noises you’re coaxing out of him and the way his tongue is sloppy and greedy inside your mouth.

“I need your mouth,” you gasp, your slick lips moving against his own as you speak.

He groans, licks at your bottom lip one last time.

“Anything you want.”

You’re hot, flustered and aching when he finally works on unfastening your pants. All the while his wide doe eyes peer up at you, waiting for any direction.

He shuffles a bit, settling between your open legs and huffing when he misses the pressure of your thigh against his prick. You thread your fingers through his curls as consolation, and smirk when he shudders and his eyelids droop.

He gets a hand under your pants, and both of your mouths drop open at the contact to the warmth between your thighs.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he sighs, “please let me taste you.”

His voice is gravelly, sends a wave of tingles up your spine as you grind down into his hand and tighten your grip on his hair. His fingers twitch against you as he gasps and pulls against your hold on his locks, and it’s fucking wicked.

Your curse and tug him by the hair to bury his face between your legs. You feel his nose squish against you first, then his lips, a hot breath of air released against you. He groans into you, inhales a deep breath, and you see his hips work frantically against the couch cushion underneath him.

“Frankie.”

He opens his eyes, but doesn’t dare pull his face away from your center.

“Take ‘em off,” you order.

He nods, face still pressed against you, like he’s nuzzling your package, and you have to tug his hair to urge him to get a move on.

“Sorry, sorry. Fuck— can’t help it.”

His fingers tremble, just barely, but noticeable nonetheless, as he hooks them under your briefs. One last look up at you, and you nod and tug at his curls, and then he finally pulls the damned things down your legs and off.

At this point, you don’t have enough wits about you to be shy. You spread your legs, one against the back of the couch, the other dangling off at the knee so your foot touches the floor. The air in your apartment is cool where you’re wet and slick, and your hips wiggle in anticipation.

All the while, Frankie stares at your center, just inches above you, so close you can feel his ragged breaths with every heave of his chest. He’s a fucking vision like this, between your legs, needy and ready to do what you tell him.

“Can I—?”

“Suck my cock, Frankie. Wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around it.”

A stilted breath escapes him as he opens his mouth to press against you. Your hips jolt at the first touch of his tongue through your folds, hot and wet and perfect. He wastes no time following your direction, though, tongue flicking over your cock before he gets it into his mouth and suckles.

Fuck.

It’s so fucking good, he’s so fucking good. Your grip on his hair only gets tighter as you watch his hips grind against the couch in a frantic rhythm. He whines and sucks harder, just shy of too much, tongue circling around your dick in between delicious pulses of suction.

You want to close your eyes and succumb to the pleasure, but you don’t want to miss a moment of this. The way his brow is creased in concentration, his silky curls bobbing up and down in your lap, the fucking noises he makes. The slurps and the grunts and the hums, like he’s getting just as much out of it as you are.

You suppose he is, the way he’s humping the sofa like he’s in heat.

His eyes flicker up to you, a silent question.

Is this doing it for you?

“So fucking good, Frankie. Just like that,” you tell him, fingers dragging through his hair, nails scraping at his scalp.

His eyes close as he hums around you, and yours do too, then, overwhelmed by the feeling. Your hips rock up into his face, fucking it, using him. His grip tightens on your thighs, and your body rocks from the from the way he’s grinding against the couch.

His tongue is wicked and precise, circling your cock, flicking it, circling then flicking, again and again and it makes your whole body buzz, has you out of your fucking mind.

And you suppose that’s why the words just fall from your lips; there’s no filter left, just raw, overwhelmed senses and adrenaline.

“Fuck, good boy Frankie. Letting me fuck your face, like the perfect little toy.”

“Hah— shit,” he whines, hips stuttering between your legs just for a moment as his lips lose their grasp on your dick.

“Prettiest mouth, all for me, right?”

You watch him as he looks up at you and nods, mouth hung open, his tongue sliding up and down your slit at the quick motion. He looks a mess, with his mustache glistening and his pupils huge and dark and his hair sticking up every which way. His eyelids droop and his brows draw up tight and he looks so so perfect between your legs.

With another pathetic noise, he sucks your cock between his lips again. You take mercy on his hair, let your hand find the back of his neck and cradle, massage the tense muscles under your fingertips. You feel him shudder against you, watch as his hips speed up in time with the bobbing of his head between your thighs.

And it’s building, blazing through your system, fiery static that has you breathing quicker, arching your back as your muscles tense.

Frankie’s noises only press you closer and closer to the edge, the way they’re muffled around your prick in his mouth, the way he’s clutching onto your hip and fucking your couch cushion as he slurps and suckles. It’s soaking wet and hot and much better than you’ve felt in a very long time.

“So close, don’t stop,” you beg.

Frankie’s answering noise is strung-out and his grip is bruising on your hip. You lift your hips into his mouth and your hand finds his hair again. You tug and encourage him to suck you off faster, just a bit, just enough.

You cry out his name as you shake. You hope the grip you’ve taken on his hair isn’t too tight, but none of your movements are your own until all the tension leaves your body. He works you through it as his breath puffs faster and heavier against your mound, gradually suckling softer, bobbing his head slower and slower while he groans around you.

Slowly, your muscles relax and your tendons unclench and your eyes open just in time to watch Frankie press a kiss to your swollen, twitching bud.

“Jesus,” you manage through a breath.

His grin is shy as he rests his cheek on your thigh. He strokes you through your comedown, quiet and calm, his fingertips soothing your thigh and your hip.

“How was that?”

You laugh at his question, and he hides his own chuckles in the crease of your hip.

“Incredible.”

He hums, and you ruffle his hair when his gaze turns sheepish.

“What do you need, Pretty Boy?”

He’s flushed, and his curls are a little damp at his temples as he shakes his head.

“I don’t need anything, Guapo.”

You try to muster up as stern a look as you can with your brain still fuzzy and your muscles still lax and gooey. His big brown eyes look up at you, pleading, and his shy look turns embarrassed.

Instead of speaking, he grunts as he sits back on his knees. You take note of the way his teeth scrape his bottom lip before you follow his eyeline, down his still heaving chest and belly.

You try not to let your eyes widen when you see the substantial damp patch soaked through his denim, but you must not have been subtle, because he makes a high, cut-off noise from the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” he says with a grimace.

“Shut up, you’re so fucking hot,” you chirp.

Those little dimples you’ve come to adore rear their heads even as he shakes his.

You sit up to press a kiss to one, then the other, and then his lips. You savor the heady taste of yourself on them, hum happily into his mouth as his trembling fingers stroke your skin.

You both change into comfier clothes. The sight of him wrapped up in your things has a whirlwind of emotions wreaking havoc in your chest. Something primal and something domestic all at the same time, and you have to tug him close in your grasp to tamper it all down to a manageable level.

His body weight tucked half into your side, half on top of you works wonders to calm you, especially as your hand finds his silky curls once more and you feel each strand slip through your fingers.

Frankie sighs, big and heavy, and it tickles your neck.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

He chuckles and nuzzles his nose into the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“Thinking it’s kinda crazy, being so into someone I met a month ago.”

Your pulse jumps at his words. You wonder if he can feel it where he’s pressed against you.

“Yeah, kinda crazy,” you agree.

“Feels stupid.”

His curls brush against your face when he shakes his head, huffs again, but you hear the smile in his voice.

“Life’s kinda stupid.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

You chuckle at him as you watch his fingers tap an incoherent rhythm on your stomach.

“Seems fair, doesn’t it? To lean into the stupid when you get the chance?”

He turns to you then, a soft smile crinkling the edges of his wide eyes.

“Sounds fair to me,” he mumbles.

last part / next part

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