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dadsbongos · 7 months

Text

then, and again, and once more

6.9k words

Summary - Yuuji tries to impress you and win your heart, with the help of Sukuna… who seems weirdly knowledgeable about and interested in you.

Warnings - p in v sex, FULL NELSON BABY!!!, yuuji eats pussy :), oh yeah fem reader btw, sukuna is here too (and his cannibalism is mentioned), idiot friends pining for each other, very vague timeline idk but yuuji is aged up

sukuna-centric part 2

There it is again.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

That unbearable thick bass in his chest, banging so tirelessly against his ribs that it threatens to make him nauseous. A quick inhale and yep - scratch that - he’s definitely already nauseous.

Yuuji sinks his sweaty palms deeper into his pants pockets, eyes darting sharply down to his beaten sneakers. The once vibrant ruby shade is now marred by dirt and aging threads - and if he turns his right foot just so, then he can see an old, blackened stain from pizza sauce he spilled while eating out with you. The memory, or more specifically how you’re giggling in his memory, makes him smile.

And in the real world, Megumi is watching his friend grin ear to ear while looking at a black, crusty splotch on the inside curve of his right shoe. After having just wide-eyed stared at you from across the room while you and Nobara heatedly debate where to go for dinner.

He glares at Yuuji, lashes narrowing, “You look insane. Knock it off.”

That snaps the boy from his reminiscing, and it takes him three long seconds before he registers the insult, “I was thinking!”

“Obviously,” Megumi scratches the side of his nose, more to just have something to do with his hands than anything else, “What were you thinking about?”

Humming quietly to himself, Yuuji shrugs, “Oh, the usual.”

“You’re hopeless,” Megumi maintains his efforts to keep his hands busy by scratching the back of his head, “Just tell her already. What’s the worst that happens?”

“She rejects me and avoids me,” Yuuji pouts, “Honestly, ‘gumi, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic - being a standoffish and awkward guy yourself.”

Swatting at his friend’s shoulder, Megumi shakes his head, “The hell is wrong with you? Was that just sitting in your mind?” he shakes his head again, glare growing stronger, “And don’t call me that.”

“I thought you had anxiety or something,” Yuuji shrugs, “Why else would you be so weird in public?”

Any previous concern regarding Yuuji’s well-being immediately flies from Megumi at that. He folds his arms across his chest with murmurs of hatred floating out from his lips. All as he waltzes over to where you and Nobara are seated around your laptop at the chipping hardwood table.

Yuuji has no problem shrugging off Megumi's irritation, but when it comes to the mere idea of your face stretching in disgust at him - God, isn’t that the worst?

“You’re the worst, brat,” comes that rumbling, terrible voice in the back of his head. The nagging used to sound more like him - and when he’s really stressed, it still sometimes does - but now his own voice has faded into the King of Curses’. Now his own voice is sweeter, more prone to praise and positives - in a weird way, Sukuna has made Yuuji better.

But in a lot more ways -

“Oi, don’t ignore me.”

He’s made Yuuji’s life so much worse.

“You like that one, right? I can help.”

You’re sitting back, allowing Megumi to take the reins on shooting down Nobara’s suggestion for sushi. Normally, that demand isn’t a problem, but this would be the fifth night in a row she’s tried roping you all into ordering sushi for her. You lean into Megumi a little, and Yuuji hates the way his chest tightens at the display.

It isn’t even affection. It’s just…

“You want to be the one she’s on, right?”

Yuuji sighs to himself and sneaks out of the kitchen, though it’s hardly a challenge when Nobara raises her voice to defend her long-lasting cravings.

With tense shoulders and a red face, Yuuji glances down each side of the hall to ensure nobody is nearby, “How could you help with this?”

Sukuna’s eye on Yuuji’s cheek has flitted up to stare into Yuuji’s, and that sickly crawl of his skin stretching to accommodate Sukuna’s wide grin makes his stomach turn, “You’re just a child, you don’t know anything about women.”

Yuuji could double over, hands on his knees and breathless in sputters of laughter, but he refrains - unwilling to let anyone hear his schizophrenic ramblings, “And you do?”

Sukuna’s eye rolls and Yuuji hates the way it feels under his cheekbone, nearly retching in response, “Of course.”

And that strings up some different terrible question in Yuuji, “But why would you help me?”

Sukuna has been so unwilling to do anything useful for Yuuji despite the fact he’s allowed to reside in this body - so what could possibly possess him to do this now?

“Do you want my help or not, worm?”

Yuuji sighs through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, thinking hard about the offer. He’d come to the conclusion not too long after swallowing his first finger to simply not question many of Sukuna’s motives, mostly since his goals are: chaos, women, and chaos.

“This better not be some gross pass at my friend,” Yuuji sneers, body electrified on the ready to smack down his own cheek should he hear an answer he doesn’t like.

Sukuna is too quiet for too long, and Yuuji is fully prepared to swipe at the parasite on his face when finally, that deep voice rattles again. It buzzes in his flesh, uncomfortable and itchy and so quiet he barely hears what the curse mumbles into him.

The boy pauses and lets the words melt on his tongue, he turns them between his molars and laves the roof of his mouth with the remaining implications. He wasn’t expecting Sukuna to be honest, not to that degree at least.

And Yuuji smacks Sukuna’s bulbous eye down anyway.

“Fine then,” Yuuji pulls his hand down and curls his fingers into a fist, another great big awful ragged sigh roughing over his tongue like barbed wire, “I’ll listen to you, but if you ruin this for me- “

“Calm down, brat,” the mouth pops back up stubbornly, bitterly spitting out his version of a promise, “I don’t plan on failing.”

Yuuji pushes himself off the wall and spins back into the kitchen unnoticed, hands locking behind his head as he saddles up beside you at the table, “So, what’s for dinner?”

He snorts at how you groan, looking up at him from your seat with tired, low-lidded eyes and gesturing across the table to where Megumi and Nobara are still arguing, “You tell me.”

“Why don’t we just go out?” Yuuji shrugs, grinning broadly despite the way his two friends both twitch their necks over to glare at him, “Come on, it’s not even dark! We can walk around and do a little looking; get some air!”

Nobara’s pitched shoulders drop, pinched expression falling into her usual lax, she looks over at Megumi again with a raised brow. Megumi shrugs, his own eyebrows still scrunched together, “If it’s fine with you two, I don’t care.”

You snicker, standing up against the stiff wood supports of the chair legs, one elbow digging into the table to further help hold you up while your spare fingers dance up to smooth out the crinkled space, “I think it’ll be fun.”

Megumi snatches you by the wrist and tosses your hand to the side while Nobara hops down from her own chair, stretching out her back until it pops obnoxiously. She’s already bouncing out of the kitchen to snag her shoes before shouting back, “Well, come on! We’re on a timer now, people!”

“Jeez,” you slip off the chair pegs, bumping slightly into Yuuji’s side - entirely oblivious to the sparkly fireworks you sweep across your poor friend’s body at the contact, “Should’ve just suggested that from the start, huh?”

Shrugging, Yuuji waits for you to begin walking out of the kitchen before following, “Sometimes you just need fresh eyes on a situation, you know?”

“I guess,” you fold your arms, evidently frustrated, “Just feel like that was something I should’ve seen.”

Yuuji feels that disgusting, familiar thumping in his chest just by looking at you now. Heat radiating from his cheeks to the expanse of his chest, throat swelling with the uncomfortable need to spill his guts - dump every little thought and feeling he’s ever had for you into your ears until you force him to shut up. Like how he can’t even look at Jennifer Lawrence the way he used to simply because she isn’t you.

Maybe then he’d tell you that this hasn’t happened in the six years since he first saw Silver Linings Playbook. Maybe you’d tell him to stop talking, and that you two would never happen.

Maybe then he can move on, when you crush his hope. But he doesn’t really want that.

And he doesn’t really know why he agreed to let Sukuna lend him any advice.

Oh well.

It’s when you’re rushing out the door to keep up with Megumi and Nobara that Sukuna opens his mouth for the first time.

His voice stabs into Yuuji’s ears, but it isn’t exceptionally as cruel as he usually finds it, this, instead, is purely instructional, “When you two are out tonight, tell her about that cat you saw around the garden today.”

Yuuji scratches through his messily filed memories, “I saw a cat?”

“Yes, twit, a black one. Tell her about how its fur changed color in the sun.”

“Okay…?” Yuuji huffs in his daze, finally putting effort into walking alongside you and the others, “Hey! So, I just remembered something.”

“Oh yeah?” you smile at Yuuji, purely encouraging, and he’s disgusted at the way he almost trips over his own feet.

Nobara and Megumi pay the both of you little mind, instead pointing out different potential favorite hotspots they could creep into for the night. Well, Nobara points out, they could even stop at two places if they’re feeling adventurous. And Megumi says they can do whatever the rest of you think is best.

But Yuuji isn’t listening, and you’re hardly lending an ear, he swallows down the rock in his throat and nods, “I saw a cat this morning - a black one! - and it made me think of you,” the gentle warmth spreading through him could either be the way you’re lighting up at him, or Sukuna silently congratulating his good line, “Its fur was all brownish red in the sun, it was…” your eyes are so starry and sweet, solely on him - it makes his tongue tie up in knots, “It was beautiful.”

“Bummer I wasn’t there, then,” you pout a little, “You need to get me for things like that!” he laughs at the way your face has morphed, all stern and strict business, “Seriously!”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, both hands up in playful defense, “I promise to call you if I see another cat.”

“Could’ve at least taken a picture for me,” you histrionically sigh, “And I thought we were friends.”

A sudden thought invades the back of Yuuji’s mind. Some hidden, more primal part of his mind that he doesn’t usually listen to flashes back to a time he doesn’t remember.

We used to be more.

You and him are sitting out in the sun with a fluffy little Bombay cat tucked into your lap. It paws at the buttery dandelions that bloom between you both, his own legs are sprawled out impolitely and your own are crossed to wall around the feline in your hold. His knee knocks against yours whenever he shifts his leg. You lean in, shoulder digging into the meat of his muscled arm and temple resting on his shoulder.

Your body is entirely at ease. His is, too.

Yuuji knows exactly where the thought comes from. And if that dark, creepy place weren’t so infested by evil then maybe he’d feel a little pity for it. But you’re in front of him now, and you’re excited to be here, and your pinky keeps knocking into his as you two walk side-by-side - so there’s no room for pity in his heart.

Your quartet winds up squished into a teal leather booth towards a back corner of Nobara’s selected diner. You and Nobara sit on the interior seats, pressed into the windows, with Yuuji and Megumi caging the both of you in. Megumi having shoved Yuuji down next to you before the boy could even see who was where.

“What were you thinking?” Nobara sits up, jabbing your arm with a manicured finger just to annoy you.

Flicking at her hand, you shrug, focusing on the boards plastered behind the front bar counter for any eye-catching special offers.

Yuuji can feel the tightening of his cheek skin as the eyeball threatens to pop out, it stings when his cheek is forced to split for Sukuna’s eye. His cheek below that parts as well for his lips.

And Sukuna is kind enough this once to be quiet, “Tell her to get the wildfowl bowl,” as if sensing his arising questions, Sukuna continues, “And tell the kitchen worms to make sure the vegetables are soft. Not well, not sturdy,” he sounds disgusted as he says it, “Soft.”

“Hey,” and against everything he’s been told by Gojo, Yuuji puts his entire trust into the curse inside him, “that wildfowl bowl looks good, right?”

You lean closer to Yuuji, arm brushing his as you try to see where he spotted that, “What’s in it? Duck?”

He gives a conformational hum even though he has no idea, “Probably good with soft vegetables.”

Megumi shakes his head, “What does that even mean?”

“When they steam the veggies for longer than usual,” you pat Yuuji’s shoulder while defending him, “I get what you mean, Itadori. Sorry Fushiguro is so judgemental.”

“I was just saying…” Megumi’s voice flutters out of Yuuji’s focus.

Instead, another memory he never made begins to flourish from that black, mushy, rotted back of his brain.

You’re sat in his lap, large thighs perfectly bracketing around your own. A neglected bowl of slim slivers of perfectly browned duck meat sits atop cooling rice, carrots, and green beans. No doubt soft and easy to chew. In your hands is a steaming bowl, larger than the one in your lap, weighed down by thick cuts of juicy meat slabs. Almost like steak, but there’s no outer hide tanned by flame. It’s red, almost raw, and even after trimming the fat - it’s still bathed in pink, fleshy trails.

Grinning so lovingly, you pinch the slabs with your bare fingers and merely giggle when Sukuna’s sharp teeth prick at your skin. His long tongue works to clean your fingers of the excess meat juices as he eats. Two of his hands are on your hips, holding you steady, a third is steadied beside him against the cold bone of his throne, and a fourth resides at the back of your head. Almost big enough to palm the whole of your skull like a children’s ball - he pats and pets and smooths his fingers over the slope of the back of your neck.

Preening under gentle attention, you’re sure to empty Sukuna’s bowl before picking your own back up.

People watch with blood at their feet, none dare to move. Fearful to become the next hot meal in your hand should they disobey Sukuna’s silent command.

As your hands wrap around your cold bowl, a deep grunt reverberates behind you in Sukuna’s broad chest. He tugs the dish from your grasp; plucks the duck meat between his forefinger and thumb and holds it above your nose, forcing you to look up.

He waves it in front of your face, “Open,” and you follow his order, lips parting yet still pitched up in the impression of a pleased smile. And when he flattens the meat to your tongue and you begin chewing - you’re still smiling. That earns another fond stroke down the back of your head, pausing at your shoulder and digging his thumb into the muscle just to hear you sigh, “Good girl.”

Yuuji doesn’t see all of that. He can grasp some vague sense that you two have shared meals he’ll never get to taste, but he never sees the gristle left behind on your fingers or the saliva webbed between your fingers after feeding Sukuna.

That - Sukuna ‘hmph's proudly as he watches you beam at Yuuji over your modern interpretation of your favorite meal - the King of Curses keeps to himself. Selfishly, just as he always has.

That next morning, you sheepishly prattle into the dusty, creaky classroom with only four rusty, barely used desks and slip into the one by Yuuji. You’re toying with the tips of your hair, eyes bouncing from where Yuuji sits on the desktop beside you and the classroom door.

Nobara sits backward at the desk directly in front of you, arms coiled around the back support of her chair as she speaks and Megumi sits normally beside her - attention solely on his book. Yuuji watches you fiddle with the ends of your hair while pretending to listen to Nobara.

And then he sees it. The new cherry shade decorating your lips, and before Sukuna can sprout and tell him to - Yuuji’s leaning down with his best smile, “New lipstick?”

Jumping at the sudden voice, your rigid posture melts under the boy’s gaze, “Yes, actually. You like?”

It could be puke green and Yuuji would still want it smeared across his face from your kisses.

But despite housing Sukuna Ryomen and battling dreadful curses, Yuuji fails to muster the courage to say that to your face, “Yeah! It’s really pretty.”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

There goes your annoying heart, hammering just from the sound of Yuuji’s overtly positive lilt. It makes your cheeks burn and fingers skittishly tip-tap against the pencil-scratched desk, “You think so?”

But he’d never lie, you know that.

So even though it shouldn’t be a surprise when he doubles down, your annoying heart won’t stop dramatically tossing itself around when Yuuji nods with a determined, boyish grin, “Definitely.”

It’s all so saccharine and perfect, it makes Sukuna nauseous. Which, in turn, makes Yuuji nauseous.

Face paling, Yuuji jumps onto his feet and excuses himself, rushing out of the room (with no Gojo even in sight, by the way) towards the bathroom.

“Is he okay?” Nobara murmurs, stretching her neck to see outside the door frame, “What a weirdo.”

“Yeah,” you sigh dreamily, “He is sometimes, huh?”

Megumi gags at your tone, “Seriously…?”

“What was that?” Yuuji’s question is spikey and venomous while he stares into the cracked, water-spotted mirror - straight at the little eyeball on his cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Sukuna stares back into the glass, low-lidded and unimpressed, “Get this over with and ask her out, brat.”

“But what if she says no?” Yuuji reaches up and toys with the little pink hairs at the back of his head, eyes suddenly unable to meet Sukuna at all, “It’ll totally ruin everything.”

“Enough whining. She won’t say no.”

He doesn’t know how it took so long to recognize, or maybe he just needed an excuse to display his old, unbroken knowledge of you before your fleshly little weakling friends even knew it. But he’s seen the little bursts of color and stars and sparkles and all that cute mess before.

He’s seen it many times. It was the only way you used to look at Sukuna.

That puppyish, lovesick wonder as you fluttered your pretty eyelashes at him.

Even when he would return to you in blood and sweat and muck and smelling of the death and despair he expertly wrought.

You were always at least five paces ahead of Uraume, hands bunching up in the pretty flowing silks that decorated your body. Excitedly, you’d pounce and he would hold you. Sapping up your energy and feeding off the way you’d press cherry-tasting kisses all along his hardened face. You served yourself up to him on a silver platter, all your heart and soul and mind devoted entirely and without ulterior motives. That’s why you were always his favorite.

Nothing before or after you was ever up to par. And he felt disgruntled at every turn into different worshippers and concubines and lovers - somehow wronged simply by the fact they were not as you were. It was all so disappointing.

And every now and again he’d flash back to you while with others. He imagines it’s how children feel when they remember a lost or broken or tossed-out favorite toy. That ache of times lost and never feeling quite fulfilled again.

Which is why when he saw you again through this brat’s eyes, he could instantly remember those nights with you. Full-bellied and raw-lipped and your pulse between his teeth.

But Yuuji knows nothing of that, and so when he returns to the classroom - neither of you says anything.

It’s only the two of you. Everyone else was cast out in the violent, unwilling acceptance that they had done all they could. With no open wound, there was a horrific list rattled off in Sukuna’s ears. Illnesses and infections that attacked the lungs and nervous system and skin and heart - things that would eat you alive from the inside. And when all could be done about that, you remained in bed.

In and out of consciousness and delusional, proclaiming twisted lights and shadowy creatures trying to rip you from yourself.

Perhaps, one of the women called to care for you shyly spoke up, perhaps she’s just too old.

And that was something he avoided admitting to himself.

But it was time now.

With dew still moist on the blades of grass and morning sunlight streaming through the window beside your bed - the bell tolls. Your fingers are stiff in the sheets, limbs cold and stiff when you’re found. Wide, puppylike eyes gaze up at the ceiling and Sukuna has you buried beneath the tallest, most twisted tree he could find in the surrounding forest. And when Sukuna returns from your grave that night - alone - he crosses into a dark tunnel.

It’s cold and solid beneath his feet, paces echoing back for his ears. He keeps his eyes down to avoid maddening himself over the plainness - the displeasure of even glimpsing this tunnel’s repetitive nature.

Until there’s light, golden, with the shrouded, clumsy shape of twisted branches and lanky trunks coming into view at the far open end.

And faintly, like the sweet singing of a beloved music box, he hears the tune of your voice. A high scoop towards the end.

“Itadori, right?”

Sukuna’s feet move faster before he even fully knows he’s moving.

On the other side is you, a hand jammed out in front of you in a polite wave - as if the both of you are strangers. Then that name creeps back up his spine.

Well, it’s not truly his spine, is it? It’s this new brat’s.

But then there’s your honeyed voice again, “Huh, third eye.”

Right. You wouldn’t remember it, would you?

You wouldn’t remember any of it.

Yuuji shoots up, dark sheets tangled around his ankles and cold sweat beading down his forehead - strings of pink hair matted down to his skin uncomfortably. His wide eyes scramble across the shadows of his room, slowly refamiliarizing himself with the expanse and soothing his pounding heart.

He smoothes back his hair, running through the small kinks and knots, “What the hell was that?”

That slicing pain along his cheek shocks him awake further, but no sore, deep voice follows. The eye sits there, downcast. Sitting inside this body is one of the last things he saw for himself, but to exist beside you again is liquid gold just flowing in a river. A river his new body refuses to swim in.

“She’s still awake.”

Yuuji looks over to the red numbers lighting up from his bedside alarm clock, “It’s midnight.”

Sukuna inhales sharply, irritation scorching a hole in his tongue, but he withholds the many sudden hateful thoughts he has towards Yuuji and simply repeats himself, “She’s still awake.”

“It’s weird how obsessed you are with this,” Yuuji swings his legs over the edge of his bed and slips his feet into the slippers you’d gifted him. They’re cheesy and themed after fire engines and just barely fit, but he wears them at any given opportunity.

The eye sinks back into his skin, lips sealing shut, and a thick sludge boils in Yuuji’s stomach. Quiet King of Curses is an unsettling King of Curses, and Yuuji barely finds himself able to tune out the exhaustive wave of Sukuna’s criticisms. That is much preferred to this buzzing silence.

Creeping down the moaning wooden panels to your room, Yuuji raps his knuckles against your door before immediately shuffling his fists into his gray sweatpants.

Something clatters against hardwood, sheets ruffle, and your footsteps thump, thump, thump up to your bedroom door. Your face peeks out from the sliver of cracked doorway, and there’s no hint of sleep in your gaze. You seem alert, if a little lazily slouched against your doorframe.

“Itadori?”

Oh, right. He was here to say something, wasn’t he?

But he can’t possibly find the strength in his tongue, not when you look at him like that.

With some impossible adoration, like you simply can’t wait to hear whatever stupid bullshit he’s about to spout. He feels so unworthy of it all, and he can’t wait to find out more about you and mold himself to it. To become someone you can’t imagine waking up without. To study and be studied, he’s ready to throw himself into the horrors of being known - if it’s you he’s known by.

The air is punched out of him as he speaks, “Can…” you nod him along, opening your door wider, “Can I kiss you?”

Now that he’s so close to the sugary river, he can’t wait to dive in.

“Seriously?” you laugh in shock at the outburst, but when his face persists, you fling the door open entirely, “Seriously?”

Yuuji winds his hands tighter, to stop himself from desperately clawing his way down your throat, “I like you. I’ve liked you…” he’s unnatural like this, red in the face and dodging your stare, “I don’t even know.”

But you do, you felt it when you first saw him. However, you’re not plagued by the chains of past lives, so the implications are lost. Winding your arms behind your back and grinning at Yuuji with toothy glee, “Me too.”

His eyes nail you with that doughy, desperate plea for attention - the need to be seen as himself. And you’ve always been glad to lend it over in plentiful bounties.

That buzz of silence stabs the both of you.

Until Yuuji can no longer tether himself to his pockets, his big hands gentle as he cups both your cheeks. He molds himself to you, hoping that those troublesome flashes of times he never lived will at least serve his muscle memory now.

Your hands twist into the front of Yuuji’s shirt, nails biting into the black, soft, loose fabric and tugging him closer. Yuuji’s lips are slightly chapped, and you can feel the imprints from where he’s bitten them raw. He hisses when you peek your tongue at the smooth spots.

Wrenching your hands back, you quickly run them under and up his sleep shirt - his skin is warm and he gasps against your lips when your fingertips skim along his sides.

Yuuji pulls back, cheeks flaming, and shoulders his way past your bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him and placing his hands over his shirt - finding yours through the material. He grins, chuckling at how you grope his muscle, squeezing around your hands, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Whatever,” you huff, embarrassed, then ripping your hands out from under his shirt and twisting your fingers between his before - just to prove a point - planting his palms below your own shirt, “You try being normal like this.”

Yuuji’s broad palms are still only burning into the soft flesh of your stomach, but his heart is terribly out of whack.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“You can go higher,” your voice lilts higher, a mere soft whisper as if anything louder could entirely break the poor boy’s brain, “If you want…”

Of course, he does. He’d trade a thousand years with that Sisyphus guy Megumi mentioned to him just for twelve seconds of his hands sizzling up your body. Maybe even just for the chance.

His hands scope higher, palms glued to the planes of your body like he’s trying to scar himself along your skin. The sudden need to leave some lasting impression that he was there - here with you.

Yuuji does his best not to jump when Sukuna’s voice slithers into his ear, polite enough to whisper so he doesn’t alarm you, “Get her on her back. Tongue her cunt.”

You look at him all sweet and concerned when Yuuji’s nose scrunches, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

But he has no idea how to tell you that Sukuna’s words make his stomach churn, and by the time he even tries to form the words he’s thinking about it. Imagining himself on his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands tangled in his hair, and eagerly trying to annoy your friends as much as possible with how loud he can make you. And he feels so, so lightheaded at that.

Yuuji’s eyes are wide, staring into yours with such fire that it almost makes you shy away, “Can I eat you out?”

But you brave his dissecting gaze, heart pounding in your ears.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

And, oh, Yuuji could just about die happy right now.

On his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands screwed into the twirls of his tousled hair and (hopefully) annoying at least a nosy Nobara should she be listening to your soft moans next door.

Yuuji wiggles his tongue into your weeping hole, nestling his nose against your clit with a wheezy little whine. His eyes flutter up at you through the gaps between your shaking arms.

“Get your hands in there,” Sukuna’s voice is muffled against the thickness of your thigh, “Thumb her clit, don’t rely on your nose.”

Crinkling his brows, Yuuji has to bite back his remarks about how Sukuna could’ve told him that sooner. Snaking his right hand over your leg, Yuuji flattens his large hand against your lower stomach and pins your bucking hips. His thumb taking residence on your swollen clit, the bridge of his nose still saddled beneath it.

Your back arches, hips grinding down into Yuuji’s thumb and tongue. He’s messy with it - head shaking just to tease and feel the wetness of your pussy slip and slather across his chin. He tongue-fucks you in earnest, practically moaning into you as he grinds against the mattress. Swishing his thumb against your clit faster when he can feel you tighten around him, chasing the feeling of you cumming all over his face.

He can hear it despite his desperation - the way your breath hitches and throat cinches out a squeal. Your thighs squish around his head and Yuuji has to force his hips still lest he be submitted to the horrors of cumming in his pants.

And it isn’t even the fear of your reaction - no, he knows better than to think you’re capable of making him feel shame. It’s just-

“Yes,” Sukuna’s voice is husky, tongue lolling out along Yuuji’s cheek to lather up your juice, “Yes!”

Yuuji knows exactly who will be making fun of him instead. He smacks at the unwanted presence and takes it as pure luck when Sukuna actually stays down.

He works his tongue out of you slowly, letting you whine and huff the way off your high naturally before peeking up at you. He’s grinning, eyes wide and hands retreating to dig hungrily into the meat of your thighs.

“Hey, I wanna try something,” Yuuji’s shamelessness in licking at his soaked lips makes heat flush all the way to your forehead, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

You nod sheepishly, body jittery with the little bugs crawling beneath your sweltering skin. Yuuji bends to the sudden thought he’s sure has something to do with the curse inside him with a mysterious catalog on all things you.

Yuuji slips onto his back beside you, curled against the cold wall corning your bed with his feet flat against the mattress and legs bent. He uses the unnatural well of strength he’s harbored since birth to squeeze at the fat of your sides and lift you atop of him. He can feel the warmth of your cunt on his pelvis and it wracks him with a shiver, you whine helplessly when his right hand immediately welds to your slit. His index and ring fingers part your lips so his middle can swipe coyly over your clit.

“Hah,” you watch his ring finger abandon its post to join the rude teasing, “Yuuji…”

“I know,” Yuuji sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes glued to where your wetness drips onto his skin, his hard cock peeking up between your legs, “I know, I’m sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry. Especially when he’s continuing to tease you while pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Okay, serious now,” but he dips his fingers lower and prods at your hole, “Serious.”

You giggle, hot-faced, at his focused gaze, “Yuuji!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he spreads your lips again just to stare from over your shoulder, voice hoars when he finally speaks up, “Alright. Serious now.”

Reaching between your legs, Yuuji grabs hold of his cock - hissing at the contact - and is internally grateful when you raise your hips to meet his head. He presses his forehead against your shoulder when his tip pushes inside you. You feel the hot puffs of air he sends against your back as you continue lowering yourself. He whimpers, the hand at his base flying across your abdomen and gripping your breast. He squeezes and pinches and tries suffocating the embarrassing little noises escaping his lips when you rock your hips down on his pelvis.

“Okay down there?” you twist your head to look back at Yuuji and you’re so glad you did.

He’s flushed down to his chest and his lashes are kissing his cheeks to keep himself together, when he finally opens his eyes fully and looks up at you. His bottom lip is red and puffy from how hard he’d been biting it, “Now I’m gonna do something new.”

This wasn’t new?

Yuuji’s arms stretch under the backs of your knees and come over your shoulders before winding behind your neck, pressing his palms flat against the back of your head. Your arms dangle uselessly at your sides, hands stretching out to graze his ribs and legs bouncing limply as he manhandles you.

His cock bullies itself in your cunt, hips jerking up into the fat of your ass.

Yuuji tries to suffocate down his groans in favor of your sweet moans being punched up from your gut every time he sweeps deep inside you. His lips press tightly just as your own pop open for adorable “ah, ah ah!”s - fighting to maintain his pace despite how badly he wants to pin you to his body and wallow through the wetness sucking him back in for every thrust. Feel your sweaty skin slide and stick against his and whine at the pulling sensation when you peel apart.

Another sudden idea pops into his brain and it’s almost instinctual how he follows it. Besides, it isn’t like he’s going to complain about being brain-blasted with memories that aren’t his if it means not having to hear Sukuna’s voice while fucking you.

Hips never falter in their snaps up into you, Yuuji cranes his neck to teeth at the meat of your nape. He bites possessively and grunts in response to your immediate pitchy moan. Then licking over the marks apologetically.

You try to smother down your breathless moans as Yuuji bullies his cock repeatedly into that spongy spot shooting stars behind your eyes. With an angle and drive and care you’re sure would be lost on any man other than Yuuji - and you’re dumbly struck by the hope that maybe this hard work is only because he’s here with you. And that coherent thought is fucked out of you with Yuuji’s next whimpered request.

“Don’t do that,” he gasps when you tighten around him after a particularly rough thrust, “Please don’t keep it down- wanna…” he moans and the sound flutters straight to your tightening gut, “Wanna hear you so bad, pretty girl.”

Unlatching your teeth from the plush of your bottom lip, flames lap through the wiry twists of your veins - burning through the stretch of your skin and scarring Yuuji. And he eats it up and greedily begs at your feet for more. It shames Sukuna just as much as it excites him to taste the salt on your skin through his vessel’s tongue and watch the way your legs shake and bounce under his vessel’s iron hold. His favorite way to have you and your favorite way to take him.

Yuuji unwinds one of his arms from behind your neck, lowering half your body slightly to swipe his fingers between the junction of your thighs. Right over the slippery spot where you’re creaming on his cock and taking the soaked fingers to your clit. His canines and soft lips battle for a monopoly of your neck and shoulder, swiftly circling your clit with his middle and ring fingers as his hips continue fucking you stubbornly.

“Hng, Yuu…!” you gasp, head throwing back and narrowly missing his - the coil winding tighter and tighter and your walls milking Yuuji tighter and tighter, “Yuuji!”

“I know, baby,” he kisses up your bent neck and presses his flaming cheek against yours, “God, please, cum for me. Cum for me,” his hips stutter, and his breath hitches and oh, he’s so close, “I wanna feel you cum on me, baby- I need it. Need it so bad.”

“Oh, Yuuji,” you dig your face closer to his as if trying to meld yourselves into one body, “‘m cumming,” you clench and he’s damn near wheezing, the knot in his lower belly popping as he feels you cum and drips down his balls, “‘m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming…!”

And just to avoid embarrassing himself from admitting he’s in love with you while spitting his own cum in your warm, wet walls, Yuuji strangles down his own final cries with a coppery, abusive bite to his bottom lip.

It starts to hurt, how he overstimulates himself through his slowing thrusts - letting you slip down onto his thrumming, sticky chest. Your legs sprawled across his sides, Yuuji slipping his softening cock from your hole.

You lazily roll off of Yuuji, landing face-first into your sheets at his side.

Yuuji can hear it again, that terrible, grating voice telling him, “Clean her, brat.”

And what’s the most terrible is he knows Sukuna’s command is entirely warranted. Flopping a hand onto your back, Yuuji traces heart shapes into the skin as he talks, “I’ll be right back.”

And when Yuuji’s wetting a soft, clean cloth he braved the hallway (nude) to retrieve from his room, he hears that voice again. It echoes in your bathroom.

“I want a turn when she’s awake,” a pause, “Fully awake.”

“Aren’t you charitable?” Yuuji rolls his eyes.

And that same utterance from hours before rings through Yuuji’s ears once again. Why Sukuna cared so much about petty crushes. Why Sukuna bothered himself by actually giving genuine, helpful points. Why Sukuna was fascinated by you.

“She was my most devoted and favorite lover in her past life.”

The way he says it inspires no respect for Yuuji - underlined in his thriving desire to be worshiped, as he imagines he deserves. Yuuji wouldn’t dare uphold you to that.

When he tenderly presses his thumbs into stiff muscles with a red flush and warm smile, Yuuji knows that for sure.

“Can I stay the night?” he whispers, folding his discarded towels and lazily tucking them by your bedpost on the floor. He feels that same hurried ache in his chest, awaiting for your impatience.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

You hum, lifting your head off the pillow and snickering, your drowsy face pinched to look at him like he’s stupid, “Duh.”

Giddy, Yuuji slips under the blankets he’d slid over you after cleaning the mess from between your thighs, and slots himself right next to you.

Rolling again, you twist into an open space against Yuuji’s chest and under his thick arm. Warmth drapes across your shoulders when he rests that arm over you. He circles his other arm around you and squeezes, grinning so hard he can feel it burning in the balls of his cheeks. Your ear rests against Yuuji’s chest, and you soothe yourself to slumber on the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Blissfully unaware of the fact that when your bones are rotten and six feet deep, two more people will be curled into each other’s arms. With your same starry eyes that some pink-haired kid falls in love with every time they’re on him.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #yuuji fluff #yuji x reader #yuji itadori #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori smut #yuji itadori fluff #and sukuna too i guess

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f1goat · 1 month

Text

more than friends ; lando norris + part nine

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight

You don’t even know what you’re doing here and why you’re spending your time like this. Lando and you flew back to Monaco only yesterday, just to flight back to the last race of the triple header tomorrow. He insisted that he wanted to go back home for a bit, so you naturally followed him. Today he told you he needed to fix some Quadrant things with Max, meaning you’d be left on your one. A bit weird since you normally join them when they’re doing stuff for Quadrant. Not wanting to do nothing for the whole afternoon, you asked some friends to lunch together. Which is why you’re sitting in a small lunchroom in the centre of Monaco.

You shouldn’t have asked them for lunch. The last time you saw your friends, they kept going on about their sex life and the non-existing one of you. This time it’s almost the same, expect that they don’t stop about yours.

“You really should just get drunk, find some guy and let him fuck you,” one of your friends state. It’s too bad that it’s too early in the afternoon to start drinking, because being drunk sounds as a solution to make this lunch ‘date’ better. Another friend of yours laughs, “You’d feel better with a bit of experience,” she says. You don’t know what to reply to them, you simply roll your eyes.

You remember what Lando told you when you were drunk and he picked you up. According to him boys would like it, maybe even preferred it if you’re a virgin. You wonder why he said that, was it to make you feel better or is there a truth hiding under it?

“Guys stop,” another friend says. You didn’t even pay attention to the rest of their remarks. Not that you have to hear them to know what they’re saying. “Why don’t you ask Lando to do it?” Your friend asks, “He seems like he’s pretty vanilla during sex, so he probably won’t hurt you,” she adds. It causes you to let out a soft chuckle. They should know.

“Why is everyone so concerned about my virginity?” You ask annoyed when they still continue to make jokes about it, “It’s not even that I’m this concerned about it.”

“It’s just that probably no boy wants someone who’s as inexperienced as you,” is one of the answers you get within seconds. Your friend gets slapped on her arm by someone else for being this direct. “Maybe some guys like it,” you sigh as a response.

“Girl, no boy likes it.”

“When you finally find some guy and act al prudish with him, he will probably cheat on you in no time,” another friend adds.

“Prudes get cheated on.”

Reality crashes down on you. Annoyed but mostly sad you get up from your chair, you walk up to the register and pay for you own lunch before turning back to your friends. You can barely stop yourself from crying. Fuck, why are you even friends with them? Lando told you multiple times that they don’t deserve your kindness. “I’m leaving,” you state before turning away from them and walking out of the cafe. No one stands up to follow you, not that you’re surprised of that.

When you walk further away from the place, you realize that you have no idea what to do now. All of your stuff is still at Lando his place, since you’re sleeping at his. But Lando isn’t home, right? You sigh. A couple tears run down over your cheeks. Should you just call him? Maybe he can pick you up as well. Without further thinking about it, you search for Lando his number and call him.

“Hey babygirl,” Lando greets you within seconds of you calling him. You don’t know why, but when you hear Lando his voice more tears start to roll down on your cheeks. Before giving Lando a proper greeting, you can only let out a sob. “What’s going on?” Lando is quick to ask you, “Did your friends say something mean?” He doesn’t even need to ask, he already knows. You let out another soft sob.

“Can you come get me?” You ask Lando.

“Yes, yes of course,” he replies, “Send me your location, I’m already walking towards the car.”

Lando doesn’t know what to say, or maybe how to express his feelings and thoughts into actual logical sentences. You’re sitting next to him in his car while he’s driving back to his apartment. Since he picked you up, you haven’t said anything about what happened. He can only guess, but his best guess is that your ‘friends’ said something completely unhinged and mean what caused you to get like this.

When Lando parks his car and opens your door for you, he doesn’t know what to do. He wants to take you into his arms and cuddle you until you feel better, but he has no idea if that’s what you want as well. Today was suppose to be ‘the’ day. Fuck, now that he thinks about it - his apartment is a mess. He lied to you about his meeting with Max, there was none. He just needed you gone for a bit, so he could surprise you. Before you called he was busy with lighting candles, throwing around rose petals and creating a nice, cozy atmosphere so you would feel at home. He was almost done when you’re called, but left in a hurry to come and get you. Most of it is in his bedroom, but he’s pretty sure that you can find some hints in the living room as well.

Together you walk inside of the apartment. “Want to talk about it?” Lando asks you.

“Not yet,” you answer honestly, “I’m taking a shower first.”

Lando shows you a simple nod, giving you your time while cursing your friends in his head. He presses a small kiss against the top of your head, before he lets you walk off to the bathroom. Lando wachtes when you walk away from him. He wonders what your friends said that causes you to be sad like this. He can remember multiple times that this happened, last time it was about your sexual inexperience but before that it could be about anything. That you weren’t making time for your friends, that you didn’t treated them nicely enough and he can go on like that.

When you walk into Lando his bedroom to grab some clothes for after your shower, you don’t know what you’re seeing. There are lit candles around his bed, rose petals on the floor and on the sheet and a slow song is playing. The atmosphere seems cozy. You wonder what this is about. Before you can say something, Lando is already showing up behind you.

After watching you walk away, Lando decided to walk to his bedroom and do the last finishing touches. Hoping he could still show you it, without expecting anything back from it. That you’re not in the mood right now is pretty clear and he understands it. When he walks to his bedroom, he almost bumps into you. You’re standing in silence and watching the room.

“Fuck,” Lando mutters when he sees you, “This wasn’t how I planned it.”

“What’s this Lando?” You ask, “Did I interrupt something when I called?”

Lando takes a few seconds to think about your words. Are you suggesting that he was here with another girl? That this was for another girl? Fuck. He doesn’t know if he should become mad or sad with you.

You don’t dare to watch at Lando. You can only wonder about what this meant. Was there another girl here before you came? Did Lando do this for someone else? You can only think about the words from your friends about being prude and what will happen. Were they right? Lando and you aren’t dating, but there was a understanding between you two about not doing anything with others. Tears are rolling down on your cheeks again. You let out a loud sob.

“Fuck babygirl,” Lando mutters, “Of course not.” He hears your sobs and decides to leave the remark for what it was. “I wanted to surprise you,” Lando explains, “I thought that I could surprise you with dinner tonight when I picked you up from your friends at the time we discussed and then when we would get back, I could surprise you with this. And if you were ready, I uh I thought tonight could be the night.”

“You wanted to surprise me?” You ask Lando confused. “Why?”

“I wanted to make your first time special,” Lando confesses.

“Is that why we’re in Monaco?” You continue to ask. A blush is spreading on your cheeks and tears are still rolling down. This time not because of your so called friends and their comments, but because of Lando. Your best friend. God, you don’t even know how the universe ever thought you deserved someone as Lando but you’re thankful for it everyday.

“Yeah,” Lando admits, “I didn’t want your first time to be in a hotel.”

“But you have the most luxurious hotel rooms,” you laugh.

Lando shrugs. “Go shower baby girl, we’ll talk after.”

You grab the clothes that you came for and turn back to get to the bathroom. Lando is still staring at you. You show him a small smile. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you tell Lando. Before walking off you press a small kiss against Lando his cheek. Lando doesn’t take that as enough, he takes you into his arms and presses his lips against yours.

All flustered you walk to the shower.

+++

“Did you lie to me?” You ask Lando without any sort of context. Lando shows you a confused look, waiting for you to continue your question. “You told me that some guys would even like it that I’m a virgin, did you mean that?” You continue to ask.

“Yes!” Lando is quick to exclaim, “I meant that.”

“Would you like it?” You question further. When Lando doesn’t answer quick enough, you continue to talk. “Suppose I’m your girlfriend and you find out that I’m a virgin, would you like that or think it’s weird?”

“Baby,” Lando sighs, is he really going to confess this to you? “If you were my girlfriend and I would find out that you’re a virgin, I would be fucking happy.”

“You would be happy?” You ask Lando.

“Which guy wouldn’t be happy if his girl wasn’t touched by any other guy?” Lando asks you, he knows he sounds possessive right now - but he really can’t help himself. “It’s okay if she’s not a virgin, but I always liked the thought of having a virgin girlfriend more. There’s something about exploring everything together. Being the only guy who she’s going to do those things with.”

“Promise?” You ask. “Promise,” Lando answers directly, “but now you’re going to tell me what your friends told you because I think that this has something to do with it.”

It doesn’t take you long to get everything out in the open. All the remarks your friends made about you’re still being a virgin. Lando knows how to react perfectly, he lets out a couple annoyed huffs and mutters some remarks about how pathetic they are. When you tell him what they said about prudes, he feels himself fill with rage. “That’s bullshit,” he states, “not that you’re a prude and even if you were a prude, I’d never cheat on you.”

For one moment he forgets that he isn’t your boyfriend and that your friends have no idea about what’s happening between the two of you. He feels personally attacked, not because your friends thought he was vanilla at sex, but because they are filling your mind with their awful opinions. If you were his girlfriend, he wouldn’t even know what cheating meant. Who would cheat when they have you?

“Maybe we can watch something in bed?” You eventually ask Lando. You’re done with talking about it and want to relax for a bit, tomorrow you’ll have to leave early for the flight. Lando shows you a nod and takes you with him to his bedroom.

The both of you forgot for a moment how the bedroom is looking. You still can’t believe that Lando did this for you. Lando lets out an awkward chuckle, he also forgot about this. This day went a whole other direction then he thought it would, but he’s fine with it. Al though, having sex with you still would be the best outcome of today.

“I’m sorry for fucking up today,” you tell Lando softly, “It’s so sweet that you planned this and I really fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” Lando quickly replies, “If anything, you can’t do anything about what happened.”

“I could stop being friends with those girls,” you sigh.

“That sounds like a good plan.”

You let out a soft laugh. It’s no secret that Lando doesn’t like them and now you can state that he’s more then right about it. The both of you are laying in Lando his bed, casually clothed and ready to watch some dumb YouTube videos. But you change your mind about that, you move yourself closer to Lando so you can feel his body against yours. Why would you let your morning stop how the rest of the day is going?

Lando is silently watching you. He knows nothing is going to happen for the rest of the night, but he can’t stop thinking about the way today was supposed to go. He shouldn’t have brought you to your friends, maybe then it would have gone better. Lando lets out a soft sigh. Since he came up with this idea he has been horny. He can’t stop thinking about how it would be to have sex with you. How tight would you feel around his cock? Fuck, he needs to stop thinking about this.

“Lan?” You ask suddenly.

“Yes babygirl?”

“I’m still ready,” you confess.

“What do you mean?” Lando asks confused. Do you mean what he thinks? Are you talking about having sex? Now?

“Maybe we can still continue with your plan?” You suggest, “We might have missed the dinner part, but it would be a shame if you put on all those candles for nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Lando asks surprised. “Yes,” you answer him, “I want you to take my virginity.”

In no time Lando is hovering above your body. He looks you in your eyes while asking the same question again, this time you still answer him with yes. “I don’t want you to regret this,” Lando continues, “Are you really sure?”

“Lan, I’m sure and I swear to God that if you ask me that again I’ll call Pierre Gasly to come here and do something about it.”

Lando firmly grabs one of your tits underneath your clothes, squeezing it until you let out a soft yelp. “Don’t say that ever again,” he states. He releases your breast. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him down onto yourself, getting close enough to properly kiss him. Lando smiles through the kiss. Is this actually happening? He feels himself getting more excited then ever before. Crazy isn’t it? He had sex with the hottest models, the most famous influencers, but he has never been so excited to fuck with someone as he is right now.

“Lan?”

“Yes?”

“You’re going to be careful right?” You ask a bit unsure.

“Of course baby girl,” Lando replies honestly, “We can stop anytime you like, just say the word.”

“You’re the best,” you say with a relieved sigh.

It’s a sign for Lando to continue. He pulls your shirt - or better said his own shirt which you’re wearing, up and removes it from your body. He presses multiple kisses on your neck, shoulders and keeps moving lower until your nipple is in his mouth. He feels it stiffen in his mouth. In the mean time he lets his hands wander around your body. He toys with the waistband of your sweatpants. This time you’re the one who pulls them down, causing you to lay in only your string for now.

“Eager babygirl?” He asks you.

“Maybe,” you confess.

Lando slides his fingers over your string. Making sure to tease you a bit. He moves himself lower on your body, slowly he presses some kisses on your stomach before lowering himself even more and kissing your more private parts. It doesn’t take long before you let out the first couple of moans. When Lando hears the moan falling from your lips, he can’t stop smiling.

“Don’t tease,” you mutter when Lando is still toying with your underwear.

“Want you as wet as possible,” Lando replies. You grab his hand, move away your string and let his hand feel the pool of wetness between your legs. “I don’t think you have to do much for that,” you tell Lando. You move your own hand towards Lando his private parts, slowly tracing the outlines of his boner through his sweatpants. He grunts lowly and finally pulls of your string. Lando lowers himself again, causing you to lose the feeling of his boner on your hands.

He takes a minute to look at your vagina before pressing his lips on it. Multiple soft kisses are pressed around your pussy before Lando gives his attention to your clit. Slowly he laps onto it. His goal is to make you as horny as possible, so you might even cum when he fucks you. It doesn’t take him long before you’re close to your orgasm. It’s his cue to stop. You let out a soft whine when Lando removes his mouth from your pussy and looks at you.

“Still sure?” He asks you while pulling down his sweatpants and underwear. His boner springs free, you notice how it softly slaps against Lando his stomach. You wonder if you have ever seen him this hard. Lando on the other hand knows for sure he has never been this hard. The things you’re doing to him, without actually doing something, are insane.

“Yes,” you state. You look at Lando trying to grab something out of his nightstand. When you see him with a condom wrapper, you slowly shake your head at him. “Are you clean?” You ask Lando. He is fast to tell you a yes, “I’ve never done anything without a condom,” he adds. “Then this will be a first for the both of us,” you reply. Lando asks you a couple more times if you’re sure about it, which you keep answering with yes and green.

Then he throws away the condom and moves closely to you. Gently he spreads your legs. “You can tell me to stop anytime,” he softly says. “Please just fuck me already,” you whine. It causes Lando to let out a deep chuckle.

He positions himself in front of your entrance. In a weird way he’s nervous about this as well. He wants to ask you if you’re ready (again), but you’re already nodding at him. It’s the sign for Lando to start with slowly pushing himself inside of you. When he you clenching around his dick, he almost loses it. As soft as he can manage he pushes his dick inside of you. You don’t say anything. Lando closely watches your face, but doesn’t spot many signs of discomfort. When he’s fully inside of you, you let out a soft moan. Lando does the same, but only a lot harder.

“Fuck babygirl,” he mutters, “You feel so fucking good.”

You show Lando a small smile.

“Can I move?” He asks you.

“Of course Lan.”

Lando slowly starts to move inside of you. You feel him pulling back a bit before going all the way in again. He does so a couple times. His movements are slow but steady. It doesn’t hurt, but that can also be because of Lando who’s distracting you. His lips has found their way back to your tits. He sucks on them, leaving all kind of marks. When he moves his lips higher and starts to make a mark on your neck as well, you wonder how you’ll ever hide that during the race week in another hot country.

“You can go a bit faster,” you eventually tell Lando. He is quick to act out your instructions. When he increases his pace, things are starting to feel better and better.

“Fuck, it’s insane how good you feel around my dick,” Lando mutters. He isn’t surprised that he already feels his orgasm coming close to him. This has been on top of his mind for the last weeks and now he finally gets to feel you like this. Your pussy clenches on his dick. It causes him to let out a hard moan. “Such a good girl,” he tells you, “taking me so well.” He increases his pace a bit more, asking you for your color after doing so. When he hears you almost moan out the word green, he increases even more.

You feel your stomach tighten. Everyone always said that the first time wouldn’t be a nice experience. You’ve always been afraid for it, maybe that’s why you waited this long. But Lando, fuck, Lando takes away all the pain. Maybe it’s pure because he is the one that it doesn’t hurt. Nobody knows your body as well as Lando does, he can surprise you with what he does. When he increases his pace, you let out a soft moan. You’re close. For the first time you don’t ask Lando for permission, you don’t tell him that you’re close. It just happens. Your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you in a state of pure bliss.

Lando is quick to follow. “Can I cum inside you?” He asks. You tell him a yes, you’re on the pill so it’s fine. That’s all it takes for him, you feel him empty himself in your vagina. When Lando slowly pulls back, you let out a soft whine.

“Was it okay?” Lando asks you. You turn yourself a bit more towards him, laying your head on top of his chest. “Yes,” you confess, “more then okay.”

You start to doubt about what will happen now. Will this be the end of your lessons with Lando? You certainly don’t hope so, but what if he thinks it is? You start to get a bit nervous. How will things ever go back to normal? Is that still possible? You’re head over heals for your best friend, but you have no idea how he feels. Maybe this was just sex for him and the chance of it being done now is kinda big. You want to ask Lando how things will continue for now, but you can’t find the right words.

“Fuck,” Lando mutters, “I can’t wait to feel you around me again.”

That makes your worries go away for a bit.

part ten

a/n; it finally happened!!

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#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #formula one #ln4 #f1 #lando norris imagines #lando norris smut

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headkiss · 2 months

Note

hellooo, hope everything's okay with you:) i was thinking of a hotch request, of bau!reader being "his favourite" in the team (in a way that the team can see he has a soft spot for her). maybe the members of the team seeing little interactions between them two and noticing it <33 i just *loved* the one you wrote about hotch helping her in a bau party, and would love to see more of hotch protecting her and being soft with her, during the jobs as well!! thank you so muchhhh, hope you have a good day x

hiii thank u so much baby!!! this has been in my drafts since september i’m so sorry for the delay!! i hope this is okay <3 | 0.6k of fluff

Aaron Hotchner was never one to play favorites. He’s always loved his team, has always felt fond towards its members in one way or another, but none ever seemed to outrank the other.

Until you.

You’d joined the BAU as a temporary replacement, and then, you just stayed. You fit right in, which wasn’t hard to do considering how welcoming everyone had been, but it still felt like the kind of luck that isn’t easy to come by.

Hotch has felt a sort of pull towards you ever since you stepped into the bureau, your shirt a little wrinkled, smile nervous and beautiful. He’s grown to feel for you in a way that doesn’t compare to how he feels towards the others. It’s completely different; incomparable.

Even now, over a year since you’ve joined the team, Hotch can’t help but feel like he has to protect you, has to make sure you’re okay.

The others know it, too.

Derek has taken to doing his very own Hotch impression, a lovestruck version of him, that is. Spencer tells Aaron daily that he should just tell you how he feels. Emily likes to say, ‘you’re going soft, Hotchner.’ And all he can do is fight a smile and shake his head.

Even now, in some town in Indiana, Aaron can’t help but look for you in the busy station. It’s early in the morning, he’s got two cups of coffee in hand. One for him, the other for you.

“Aw, thanks, you shouldn’t have,” Derek says, reaching for one of the coffees.

“You know that’s not for you, Morgan.”

Pretending to be hurt, Derek walks off towards Spencer, a ‘can you believe him?’ look on his face. Hotch vaguely registers Spencer’s voice saying something like, “I believe that’s what they call favoritism.”

Then, the conversation goes quiet for Aaron’s ears, because he sees you. You’ve got a sweater on today, the sleeves long enough that only your fingertips poke out. His feet are walking towards you before his brain processes it.

Before he reaches you, an officer from the station does. “Hey, miss, reporters aren’t allowed inside.”

You take a step back, eyebrows furrowing at the man questioning your presence, “I’m not a reporter. They cleared me at the door.”

“Nice try, sweetheart, I’ve heard it all before-“

“Agent,” Hotch steps in, trying not to squeeze the coffee cups too hard. “Good morning, coffee for you.”

Your gaze softens as soon as it flicks from the officer and over to Hotch. Your fingers brush when you grab the drink from him, sparks shooting up your arm.

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“Is there a problem here, officer?” Aaron asks, tilting his head.

“No, no, sir. Thank you for coming down and helping out.”

“It’s what we do,” Hotch emphasizes the ‘we,’ like he’s making sure the officer knows that you’re as much a part of this as he is.

The officer nods and walks off, leaving the two of you as alone as you can be in the station.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you say, nudging your elbow against his arm gently. “I totally could’ve handled it, though.”

He smiles because you’re the only one on the team who calls him Aaron. He likes it that way.

“I know, honey.” And he’s the only one who calls you honey. “But I didn’t really feel like explaining why one of my agents punched an officer today.”

“I was not going to punch him!” You laugh, your morning getting better by the second. “Maybe berate him a little. That’s all.”

“Sure it is.”

When you and Aaron walk into the conference room where the rest of the team is waiting, you’re met with the same type of stare from all of them. Knowing, expecting, secretly admiring.

You duck your head and take a sip of your coffee, forever grateful that you joined this team, that you found these people, that Aaron is beside you where you always seem to want him to be.

“They’re hopeless,” Emily whispers to Spencer.

Aaron’s too busy looking at your face to hear.

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ceilidho · 4 months

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 3) part 1, part 2

“Neglecting your husband already?” he asks when you pull away from the arm curling around your waist. It’d migrated there from your back during the walk away from the courthouse.

“You know I’m not—I’m not some horse that you can just…break in,” you seethe, glaring up at Price. Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, putting the slightest boundary between you and him. It’s more of a mental boundary than anything, a self-soothing gesture; you know it hardly even registers to him because the man still looks down at you with that unimpressed expression, like dealing with a particularly vexing child.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he says dryly, looking you up and down. It’s a scorching, hungry look and it makes you shift from foot to foot.

The two of you stand outside the front door of his house, the front door still shut tight. You put up a fuss on the walk from town as the reality of your situation finally sunk in, squirming in his hold until he threatened to just load you over his shoulder and carry you off. His tone leaves little for you to doubt. Nothing about him brooks skepticism; until the end of time, you’ll look at John Price and think, this is a man of action. This is a man that will move heaven and earth.

You clam up after that, lips pursed shut though turned down at the corners.

It’s a bigger house than you might’ve expected for a single man, but perhaps it was built with a wife and children in mind. The thought makes you swallow. A wooden two-story thing with a porch out front and an adjacent stable for his two horses with a pen around back. Speckled Appaloosas that look up at the sound of his boots and keys, attentive for all of a few seconds before losing interest.

You know without asking that Price must have built this house with his own two hands. It’s not shoddy by any means, but his house has that indefinable quality that some places have. Organic. Homegrown, almost. It’s hard to put up against the houses of your youth, but then again, you grew up in the cramped quarters of the city, apartments thick with the scent of sewage on bad days and dust on the good. The two are hardly comparable. It’s even harder to put up against the estates that you’ve spent the better part of the last few years cleaning and learning inside out, but at least his house doesn’t make your stomach turn at the sight.

There’s a moment when you first turn to him where you wonder if he’ll look for approval in your face, some sign to set him at ease, but when you meet his gaze, it’s steady and impenetrable. Quietly self-assured. It’s incongruent with the machismo you were raised around, the constant need to impress or transcend. It puts you on edge. It makes you almost feel like baring your teeth.

Your comment had come from seeing the horses and the house and the porch with the two rocking chairs, your hackles raising every step closer. Price built his house big enough for children because he anticipated a baby in his future. Children he’d have with his wife, which, though a fuzzy memory as far as memories go, you quietly stepped into the role of not half an hour ago.

You’ve thought about it before. Motherhood; marriage, domestic living, settling down with a man to start a family. The reality of your life has always made it seem like a problem for the future. Years chipping away like flakes of faded paint off the walls of your bedroom, still living with your aunt and uncle well into adulthood, trying desperately to scrimp and save and stay afloat. Disappointing but not surprising that you’d never been considered the marriable sort, not with scrubbing other people's toilets for a living.

And now look at you, ring on your finger and whisked home to be bedded. A shiver roles down your spine at the thought and you scowl at Price instead of sinking into the strange thrill.

When he wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you towards him (his fingers easily overlapping; another thrill), you snap.

“That is quite enough with all the touching!”

His eyes narrow. “I’ll have more than my hands on you by the end of the night.”

A more proper woman would gasp. You barely hold yours back.

You know in the back of your mind that you’ve already lost any semblance of an upper hand in this situation. It has long spiraled out of your control. His ring sits on your finger all nice and pretty, and though you signed your marriage license under a different name—your own rather than the name of his actual intended—that Price hadn’t even bothered confirming, you are, for all intents and purposes, his to touch as he pleases.

“I’m—” your eyes dart around, the urge to bolt a sharp and sudden compulsion lodged in your chest, “—I know I said yes, but I—there’s always the possibility of an a-annulment if we don’t…if…”

You flinch, startled, when he pulls you into his chest only to cup your face again. He has big hands with callused fingers, rough against your skin. Up close, you can see the way his beard is cropped closer than his mustache and mutton chops. It gives him a grim air, almost somber until you catch his eyes staring down at you with an affection that feels unearned, meant for someone else.

“Deep breaths, darling, there’s nothing to fret about just yet. You’ll work yourself into a state like this,” he murmurs, dropping his head to sip a kiss from your lips again.

You’ve been in a state since the moment you walked into the sheriff’s office and laid eyes on this man. Turned around and knocked sideways, like you’ve walked into a storybook without noticing. If only it hadn’t all been so sudden, you might’ve been able to approach the situation with a clearer head. You might’ve been able to think up some other way out of it beyond giving Price a fake name and waiting anxiously for your true identity to be painstakingly drawn out over the course of a week.

“Don’t know why you keep working yourself up,” Price says softly, then slots your lips together for another tender kiss. “Figured you might be a little skittish, but…’m gonna be such a good husband for you, honey. Not gonna want for nothing.”

His slow kisses drag out longer than back in the courthouse, languorous and decadent. As if he has all the time in the world now. In a way, he does, now that he’s helped collect your belongings from the inn and brought you home. When you think of pulling away, the hand wrapped around your wrist lets go and slides to your back, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breasts flatten against his chest, pulse skittering like mad when you feel the hardest of his chest against yours and the muscle holding you in place.

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when the hand on your cheek slides to the nape of your neck and grips, holding you in place. The kiss deepens, the heat on your cheeks feeling palpably hot, vision swimming until your eyes have no choice but to flutter shut. Your suitcase sits forgotten somewhere in the dirt, toppled over onto its side. You pant low, hot breaths into his mouth when he breaks the kiss, letting his lips just hover over yours.

“There we go, darlin’,” Price mumbles against your mouth, sliding the hand on your low back down to grip the plump flesh of your ass through your dress, lips twitching when you make a broken, affronted sound. “Isn’ that better? Not thinkin’ so hard?”

You can’t think at all, in truth. When he kisses you again, your thoughts evaporate up into the clouds, the tongue licking into your mouth dispelling any ideas or notions you might’ve had. It disappears into the heat and lust and the fingers digging into your backside, groping at the flesh there without shame or compunction. You go with him when he clutches you closer, gasping again into his mouth when you feel something hard press against your low belly. He grunts when you twitch against it.

“John—John—” you gasp, pulling your mouth away and whimpering when he chases after you, letting him steal another wet, slick kiss before your trembling hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. “Enough—it’s not—it’s not proper—”

“No prying eyes around here,” he grunts. “‘Sides, who’s going to tell a man he can’t kiss his own wife?”

Trembling all the harder at his words, you dig your nails into his shirt sleeves and hope you pinch the skin underneath. All twisted up inside. The ring on your finger glimmers when it catches the light, brighter even than the sun this close to your face. When Price feels your nails dig into his arms, he groans, fingers pressing harder into your bottom and making you squeak. All the pent up lust finally trickling out of him and into you.

“C’mon, honey, let’s get you inside.” He finally lets you go after giving your bottom lip one last wet suck, pulling it into his mouth while his half-lidded eyes stare into yours. It’s somehow more intimate than kissing.

You’re still reeling when he turns around to pick your suitcase off the ground, certain that your knees will give way and send you tumbling as well. Every point of contact on your body sizzles, aches. You watch from outside of yourself as he turns back to you, suitcase in his hand now, eyes still dark and fixed on you. Hungry. Your eyes widen when they flit down to find a thick bulge at the crotch of his pants.

Like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head, you hiss and back up three steps when he takes a step towards you. “Oh no, you don’t take one step closer! I won’t have anything to do with—with that!”

You must look like some feral barn cat, back all puffed up, teeth bared to the man trying to coax you towards him. Price must see it too because he grins, amused. “Still spittin’ mad, huh? Felt those claws in me before, darlin’…gonna love feeling them with nothing between us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Price doesn’t bother clearing anything up, but you intuit it the second he takes another step in your direction, whirling around and sprinting towards the house. It feels counterproductive to seek shelter in the man’s house, but dusty plains stretch out in every direction apart from back into town, where you know not a soul will lift a finger to help you. His house is the only shelter you’re going to get.

You hurry up the porch stairs, tearing open the door before glancing over your shoulder to find Price not far behind. He advances on you at a walking pace, but each stride of his long legs matches two of yours, making you shriek and scurry up the staircase. You dart for the first open door you see, slamming it shut behind you and leaning your whole weight against it. Glancing down, you perk up at the sight of a lock on the door before flipping it.

It’s not long before the sound of boots clomping up the staircase meets your ears, headed straight in your direction. You shake when you hear him pause right outside the door, then startle when he tries the knob.

“You gonna let me in, darling?” Price asks, grin in his voice. Even raps his knuckle against the door for good measure.

“No,” you snap.

“Not even for your things? Got your suitcase right here.” You hear him set it down, a little clunk against the wood floor.

“I can manage like this. I’ve slept in my dress before.”

He pauses. “Have you?”

You tilt your chin up proudly despite the door blocking his view. “Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again. You can just stay on the other side of that door until you…until you put that thing away.”

“Can’t do much about that thing, darling; it’s sort of grown on me over the years anyway,” Price chuckles. “Well, not much I can do with it behind this door. I’ll go tend the horses ‘till suppertime comes ‘round and then come back to tend to you.”

“Licentious…reprobate,” you hiss through the door.

He laughs, the sound deep in his throat. Your stomach flips.

The stairs creak under the weight of his boots as he descends back downstairs. You wait until you hear the front door open and shut behind him, until the house is completely quiet save for the blood pumping in your ears before you hastily unlock the door and dart a hand out just to pull your suitcase in. You shut and lock the door as soon as it passes the threshold.

It takes a while to settle your nerves and for the trembling to subside. In the meantime, you sit on your bottom at the foot of the door, with your back still pressed firmly to the wood, and take stock. There’s a bed in the room, one you hadn’t noticed in your mad scramble to lock yourself in. A bigger bed than the one you’d slept on back at the inn, but just as sparse, with gray flannel sheets and a blue quilt folded and draped over the end of the bed.

The rest of the furniture in the room—two end tables, a chest of drawers, a desk, and two chairs situated in the corner of the room—appears so consistent in its design that you have to wonder if Price made them by hand as well. Hardly a reason to question it. You think to yourself that you’ll have to ask him how he finds the time only to quickly shake that thought away. Can’t be getting too chummy, certainly not if you don’t expect to be around in a month’s time. Hopefully less than that.

You chew on your lip at the thought of fleeing in the night.

It trickles into your thoughts while you open your suitcase on the bed and riffle around for your nightwear. Price will likely keep you under lock and key for at least the first week of your marriage, giving you little opportunity to take off any time soon. If only you’d held your tongue and played the demure bride, he might’ve had some cause to trust you. Certainly not now, after your most recent display.

Your own stupid fault, as usual. It’s not the first time your temper has gotten the better of you. You’ve faced worse consequences for it.

Outside the window on the far end of the room, a horse whinnies. You pause, remembering that Price hadn’t gone very far. When you glance out curiously, you see him letting the horses into the pen, giving one a good rub down the bridge of its nose. The horses seem to melt under his touch.

It’s strange watching him from far away. From a distance, it’s hard to reconcile him with the man that bent you over his desk not an hour ago and tanned your bottom. You cringe at the memory. It’s not that Price doesn’t seem like a man that would take his wife over his knee if he saw fit to do so, but you still can’t imagine yourself as that woman. When you think about it, it feels like a play, something you saw happen to someone else. Not you wailing and squirming like a cat in heat.

As if feeling your stare, he glances up at the window and winks when he catches your eye. With a squeak, you leap away from the window, scurrying back over to the bed.

A couple hours pass in restless contemplation, practically biting your nails to the quick. Eyeing the windowsill like you still might go over there just to check on what Price is up to outside. You hear him come back into the house once or twice, tensing up at the sound of his boots, only to be left vaguely disappointed when you hear him leave and the screen door slam shut behind him.

You spend so long holed up in the bedroom that you miss lunch entirely. Below you, you hear Price puttering around downstairs in the kitchen—the sound of a knife chopping vegetables and then the sizzle of meat on a pan. The hunger pangs nearly make you break, but you’ve gone without food before.

Your heart skips a beat when you hear him ascend the staircase again and place something just outside of your door. He doesn’t try coaxing you out this time, just heads back down the stairs and out the front door. Again, you ignore the pang of disappointment; ignore the urge to open the door and holler down the stairs for him to stay gone.

He leaves anyway.

Curiosity needles at you though, so you open the door up a crack when you’re sure you’re alone. There’s a plate at the foot of the door with vegetables and meat, slightly cooled but still fresh, the plate still warm. He must’ve known you wouldn’t try coming downstairs and fixed you up a plate.

You eat in silence at the desk, bad mood ripening. Angry at yourself and everyone else. Even John. Especially John. The audacity of fixing you up a plate, of thinking of you in the first place. Irritated enough to stand boldly by the window this time, hand clutched in the curtain, tracking the movement of his shoulders and hips when he moves with the horses and fetches water from the well. You lose sight of him a couple times as he finishes up the day’s chores around the house, but the flutter in your belly always settles when he comes back into view.

It’s easy to let yourself admire him from afar, somehow less humiliating without his eyes on you. He’s a solid man, body carved into its shape from the rough labor that’s part and parcel of living out on the frontier. A wide back tapering down to lean, narrow hips and thick, muscled thighs hewn from lifting and pulling and all manner of physical work. You bite your lip when you remember what it felt like to cling to that back and dig your nails into his arms.

You give your head a shake. It’s dangerous to let a thought like that latch on.

In the few hours between lunch and sunset, you occupy yourself by reading one of the books stowed away in your suitcase. Then get bored and refold your clothes. The horses bray when they’re taken into the stables for the evening. The crickets out in the bushes in the yard chirp as the sun sets pink in the far distance. It’s quieter out here in the plains than back in the city, you think, something you haven’t yet had the time to appreciate.

When Price comes in for the night, you’re firm in your resolve to keep the door shut. If lunch at the door was just an attempt to butter you up, he has another thing coming. In a house this big, there’s likely a guest room or somewhere else to sleep—a sofa or a sleeping bag tucked away under the stairs. He’ll just have to make do while you take the bedroom. There’ll be no sharing a bed with the man that grabbed your backside like a piece of meat.

He doesn’t come up the stairs right away. Like before, you hear him rustle up supper, spatula scraping against a pan and knife coming down on a chopping block again and again. Not enough time has passed since lunch for you to feel more than peckish. You’re thankful for that when you hear him sit down to eat.

The knock at the door startles you. You hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “Ready to talk now?”

You stare balefully at the door. “No.”

“We have to figure this out sometime, darling.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright earlier, but, honey, that’s how husbands kiss their wives. Nothing improper about it.”

“I’m not frightened, I’m just not—we don’t need to do any of that,” you huff, embarrassed all over again. “You’ve hardly given me any time to even think. I didn’t know you from Adam this morning and now we’re married.”

Price sighs, the sound muffled through the door. “What am I going to do with you, honey?” It’s said to himself, a fond exasperation that puts you on edge all over again. He has no right to be amused with you, no right to be delighted and charmed by your ire.

“Well, you can sleep somewhere else for the time being. I’d prefer the bed to myself.”

He lets out a low, dark laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell that I’m sleeping anywhere but with my wife from this point on. You oughta come to terms with that quick.”

“Well then, you can sleep out there because I’m not unlocking the door!”

He lets out a mean sound, almost mocking. “Yeah, ‘bout time I addressed that, huh?”

His words make you frown until you hear a floorboard creak as Price does something on the other side of the door. Then the doorknob jiggles. Horrified, you watch as the door unlocks and the knob turns, your husband’s body filling out the door frame. You’d forgotten how well he could fill one out. He almost has to duck to come inside, mused hair from working outside all day brushing against the top of the frame.

“Always put a key on the top of the door, just in case,” he explains, pinching the little silver key between his thumb and forefinger before shutting the door. Your heart jumps when he locks it behind him. “Ready to talk now, honey?”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #cod price #price x you #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #mail order bride au

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samkerrworshipper · 21 days

Text

she’s on the run

beautiful girl series part 4 -> pt.1 -> pt.2 -> pt.3

leah williamson x daughter reader, jordan nobbs x daughter reader

this was created whilst i listened to so long, london and florida!!!!

You waited until Leah had fully descended the stairs, waiting patiently until you heard Lia and her talking in the kitchen before you started to creep off of your bed and towards your open window. It was a easy climb, one you’d made hundreds of times, you hardly batted an eyelid as you climbed out of the window, your legs swinging out and over until they hit the tiling of the roof. After that it was a simple jump from the roof too the gravel drive way, your only concern was trying to be as quiet as possible, so instead of jumping as normal, you stepped to the edge of the tiles, being ever so careful to make sure that you didn’t slip and fall. Once you got to the edge you sat down, scooting until your feet were hanging over the edge, turning onto your stomach and sliding down until your feet found one of the tresses on the side.

It was a odd form of rock climbing but with some arm strength and dodgy footing, you managed to eventually get your feet onto the gravel of your moms driveway.

You didn’t look backwards as you tiptoed across the driveway, the only think you focused on was turning your location off before starting to jog away from your mom’s house.

You didn’t know where you were going, you just knew that you needed to get far enough away that your moms friends who crowded all of the surrounding neighbourhoods couldn’t find you, you needed a way out of here.

You didn’t have a lot of options, and the options you did have were shitty, but there wasn’t really any others that would work.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket as you rounded the corner of the block, ducking into the first alleyway that you spotted.

There were a couple of numbers that were options, some better than others, you went with the first one that came to head.

The phone rings out for a few seconds, your fingers jitter against the sides of your plastic case, whether you feel prepared to admit it or not, you’re going through withdrawals, it’s around now that you’re body is accustomed to shooting up, to getting a hit of drugs and right now it’s becoming more obvious by the minute how desperate your body is for that high that your body is used to receiving.

Maya had become the older sister that you never had, she cared about you, she treated you with more care and love then anybody else in your life, there wasn’t really any hesitation in your mind as you pressed down on her contact, the ringing noise being the only thing to register in your mind.

It rang out for a while, before your phone went silent for a few seconds.

Originally, you thought that it had rung out, but then there was a groan and something else from the other side of the phone.

“Babygirl?”

You don’t know where the nickname had come from, but along the way it had just become the way that Maya had chosen to address you.

“Hey, I need your help, where are you?”

You heard some rustling, and then Maya’s voice.

“I’m still at Matt’s house, what’s happened?”

Fuck. Fuck.

Matt was a problem, but he was one of the only people who could solve your main problem right now, that was all that was at the forefront of your mind.

“Mom found out about the drugs, she took them off me. I’m crashing, can you come get me?”

More rustling, then someone talking in the background.

“Fuck, kid. I’m gonna come get you alright, we’ll get you to Matt’s house and he’ll look out for you, it’s gonna be okay, we’ll look after you, I always look out for my girls.”

More rustling, accompanied by more background talk.

“Just send me your location alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You nod your head, taking in the information and finding that your hands and body seem to relax with the knowledge that there is a resolution coming.

“Okay, okay, thank you, thank you, I love you.”

Maya’s like you, or at least you try to tell yourself that. She’s never had anyone who loved her, she’s all by herself. That’s what you tell yourself, that nobody’s ever loved you, that you’re all alone, she tells you the same. That nobody will love you like a good high, that your all alone, that you always will be. To start with, you thought it was all nonsense, that to her you were just a means of getting money, but after hearing it enough, after realising the truth behind her words, you thought it must be true, she was older than you, she’d seen more of the world than you had.

You stayed hunched over in the alleyway, ignoring the buzzing on your phone that meant your mother had realised you were gone. You felt a pang of compassion in your heart, just briefly. You didn’t want to worry her, you didn’t want to think about the anguish that would have crossed Leah’s face when she’d returned to your bedroom to find it empty, even worse if it was Jordan.

Consciously, you didn’t care, not really, all you cared about was the fucking high that you were missing out on. But the eight year old version of you, somewhere in the lowest pit of your heart felt horrifically bad.

It took fifteen minutes of you being hunched against a brick wall, hiding from the view of the street, shaking and shivering before you were hit with the light of headlights, coming from the end of the alleyway.

You stayed hidden, just in case it was your mother or somebody else, staying crouched down behind a bin.

“Babygirl, let’s go.”

You stood up properly, your body straightening out and beginning to walk towards the far to bright white lights.

You sat down in the passenger seat, closing the door behind you as swiftly as possible.

Maya captured you in a hug before you could do anything, her arms wrapping around your neck and torso.

“I’m so proud of you, you’re in good care, I’ll look out for you, me and Matt and the girls, you’re in good company.”

You nodded your head against her shoulder, slowly pulling yourself from her embrace.

Her pupils were dilated, your brain didn’t consider the danger behind her being high, more jealous that she was riding on a happy cloud that you were craving to be on.

The drive felt longer than it should have, your phone buzzed relentlessly the whole way there, it took everything in you not to look down and block the numbers that you knew were ringing, but you didn’t have it in you.

You didn’t like the feeling that hit your gut when you rolled up to the same house that you’d stumbled out of a couple nights ago, you loved Maya, you loved drugs, what you didn’t love was the overwhelming fear that you felt at having to face the same man who had done those horrible things to you days ago. Maya must have noticed, or seen something was up with you.

“Something wrong, darlin?”

She was 23, closer to your Mom’s age then yours, she cared about you.

“Matt, he didn’t want money for the drugs, he wanted something else.”

You expected, or you hoped that Maya would be shocked, but she wasn’t, not in the slightest.

“I think you’ll find babygirl that your body is the most powerful form of payment, men will do anything for a woman’s body, it’s good you learn that young. Matt provides a lot, drugs, care, a house, give him what he wants and he’ll treat you well.”

You stuttered on your words.

“W-what if I don’t want it?”

Maya put her hand on your cheek, squeezing firm enough to make it sting slightly.

“There is no such thing as not wanting it. We’re primal, we crave to be touched and wanted, he’s just teaching you that. It’s an eye for an eye. You get your high, he gets what he wants. It works out for everyone. He’s just trying to keep you safe, just trying to make you feel loved, it’s the only kind of love there is.”

In your core, in your brain, you know it’s untrue, Maya believes in what she’s saying though, or at least she appears to.

“Now c’mon, let’s get you upstairs, get you some artificial assistance.”

She pats you on the shoulder, before opening up the door on her side of the car and stepping out. You let go of the breath that you’d been holding in. Maya is like your big sister, she cares about you, she would never intentionally hurt you, she’s the only person who really gives a shit about you.

You open the car door without much more hesitation, having convinced yourself that she’s right, and more that once you shoot up that your brain will quiet down and all of your doubts will be silenced.

Maya leads you into the house, it’s a lot emptier than it was the other day, a lot less people sprinkled across all of the surfaces, instead there are a few girls and Matt, who’s right in the middle of all of them.

“Pretty girl, didn’t think I’d see you back so soon.”

He’s voice is drawling, slightly tilted.

You didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t come off as rude, so you simply smiled at him, as well as you could considering the bile that was in your stomach just at the thought of the man in front of you.

“She got kicked out, needed some place to go, I told her there is always room for her here.”

Matt nodded and smiled, his hands were all over the women around him, you tried your hardest to keepy your eyes on his face and not the company he was keeping.

“Of course, I look out for my girls. You craving pretty girl? You need something?”

You nodded your head, hopefully, you were desperate, the emotional nature of what you’d just been through with your mother enough to be slowly pushing you towards the edge.

“Maya take her upstairs, the speed is in my bedside draw, I’ll be up in a bit.”

Maya smiled and nodded, grabbing you by the shoulder and pushing you towards the same stairs you’d stumbled down just a few days ago.

You tried not to feel completely daunted as you were tugged upstairs, your shaky legs carrying you the distance to the bedroom that you’d been in less than twenty for hours ago.

It was the same position, same place, same everything.

It was hard not to feel completely terrified.

Maya led you over to the bed, sitting you down whilst she rustled in the bedside table.

It was silent, calm, as peaceful as you could feel in your current situation, until your phone started buzzing again.

“Answer it, let them know you’re fine.”

You looked ay Maya like she was crazy, she sure seemed it.

“Excuse me?”

Maya looked up from her spot rustling through the drawer.

“They’ll leave you alone if you answer, let them know you’re fine and not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

You gulped, pulling your phone out of your pant pocket and looking at the flashing contact of your mom, your finger hesitating over the green button before clicking on it.

“Bubba? Bubba? Jord, she answered, I’ve got her.”

The exhale of relief that you heard leave your mom’s lips was one of pure happiness.

“Mom, please don’t ahte me, please don’t hate me.”

You could always deal with the thought or realisation that your mom didn’t love you, but having her hate you, it would do things to you that you couldn’t handle.

“Bubba where are you? I don’t hate you, I could never hate you, I love you so much bubba. Just let me know where you are, we’ll come get you, we’ll sort this out.”

Your mom sounded more desperate than you’d ever heard her.

“I’m okay mom, I’m okay, I’m safe.”

Another exhale of relief.

“Look bubba, all your aunties are out looking for you, me and Jord have been worried sick, just let me know where you are, please. I’m so worried about you bubba, look, just come home, we can figure out the drug stuff, me and mama will get you all the help you need, we’ll make it all better, just come home.”

It had been hardly two hours since you’d slipped out of your window, you didn’t want to know how stressed your mom would have gotten had it been six or twelve.

“Mom I know I did wrong, trust me, I know. But you want me to go to rehab, you want me to get better, and trust me I want it, but I can’t do it, please.”

You heard something being dropped and then a button being pressed.

“Chick, listen to me, your mom and I are worried sick, you need to come back home. We’ll sort it all out, we’ll get you the help you need, but you need to come home, just tell us where you are.”

The feeling of the rubber tourniquet being tied to your upper arm and a needle prodding at your vein distracted you slightly.

“Look mom, I’m in good company, I’m safe, I love you both but I can’t do rehab, I can’t do getting better, I’m not ready, I’m not strong enough for that, I’m not like you and mom, I can’t be strong and brave, I can’t tough it out when it gets hard. I just need you to love me from a distance and understand that I’m doing whats best for me.”

Maya looks on proudly, it feels like your saying things to appease her and that makes you feel good, the validation of having her smile at you and nod her head at you, it wasn’t love but it was something close, the closest you felt in a while.

“Bubba, listen to me. You are so strong, everything you’ve been through in your life, it’s nothing in comparison to this. You don’t need the drugs, you don’t. This isn’t you bubba.”

You think that deep down, Leah and Jordan have no idea who you are anymore. The injection into your bloodstream only solidifies those thoughts.

“This is me mom, this is who I am now. I was like you and jord’s perfect little child, your perfect girl but that’s not me anymore. I’m not the same kid, this is me.”

You swore you heard a sob, or sniffle from the other side of the line.

“Bubba, we’ll sort this out, just come back home, please.”

You shook your head, enjoying the feeling of your blood circulating the drugs that had just hit your system.

“I can’t do that mom’s, I love you, and I’m so grateful for you but I can’t come home, I just can’t mom, bye.”

Before either of them could reply to you, you pressed down on the hang up button, throwing your phone to the end of the bed and leaning back, letting the high begin to sink in.

The bed sunk down next to you, Maya’s arm snaking around your waist.

“Good job babygirl, I’m proud of you, you’ve got me, I’ll look out for you, I look out for all of my girls.”

If you were sane, you’d probably ask yourself the question of what kind of person looked out for their people by giving them drugs and subjecting them to sexual assault, but with the drugs running through your veins and the relief starting to hit your brain, you couldn’t find you in it to care.

“Feels good.”

Maya brought your head to her neck, it was warm, happy, nice.

“I know babygirl, feels so good doesn’t it?”

You nod your head, the bliss starting to really get to you, your whole body feeling the affects of it.

Everytime you get high you think it’ll last forever, that the overwhelming numb happiness will last permanently. Every time you shoot up, you think that maybe it’ll all get better, that the feeling you’ve been searching for, will finally set in. It doesn’t though.

You come to the conclusion that it must be a more pure solution, or more concentrated because it’s getting to your head a lot quicker than normal.

You don’t even notice when Matt slips into the room, too busy processing the overwhelming feeling of the drugs rushing through you. It’s good, it feels good, until the bed dips on the other side of you and a hand is on your waist.

Your body is too numb to try and fight back, even if you had the energy or will to, you doubt you’d be strong enough.

There are words being spoken around you, hands all over your body.

You can’t open your eyes, can’t even try to understand what is happening to you.

You bite down on your lip, as your pants are tugged down.

You dissasociate it, disassociate the hands on you, dissasociate the feeling of being violated, enjoy the fact that the mixture of the drugs in your system and pain coming from your lip manage to be enough to distract from the pain being inflicted on you.

It’s primal, it’s an eye for an eye, it’s a form of payment.

Some time during the process, you drift off, whether it’s from the drugs or pain you aren’t sure, you just know that the sweet mixture of the meth seems to be enough.

You wake up with an arm around you, your silently terrified to open your eyes and find out who, but you’re also in pain and a little bit too curious for your own good. You’re grateful that the hands are Maya’s, it’s a small win. Your head is still dazed, it feels good, but you’re itching for something, itching for more.

“Hey babygirl.”

It’s light outside, it has of been a couple of hours and based on the pain between your legs you don’t want to know what’s happened in the couple of hours you’ve been unconscious.

“You feeling a bit better?”

You nod your head, focusing in on the daze and not the itch across your body and the pain your experiencing.

“You’ve been such a good girl for Matt and I, doing exactly how we pleased, we’re so proud of you.”

It’s the kind of praise you’ve been searching for months. Growing up, for your mom’s, you’d always been the perfect child, a pathological people pleaser. You’d always been told you were independent, in the end though it had all just been loneliness. You grew up to quickly, from the moment you were in foster care, passed around like a piece of trash, there was no option but for you to be lonely. Then you moved in with Jordan and Leah, and they had each other, you were still alone. You didn’t allow for yourself to make mistakes, you had a chance with them, if you were anything less than perfect then how could they want you? You were a student, a star athlete, polite, a perfectionist to your core. You took on all of the burden during the breakup, you were there for both of your mom’s through it all, yet you were the one who was always at the brunt of their anger and discontent. You weren’t worthy of their love, not when the perfect child stopped being perfect because of the pressure, because of the self-hatred that had manifested inside of you since the first people to show you love had broken apart, leaving you empty on the inside.

You blamed yourself for a lot of it, Leah and Jordan had been fine before you, it was like as soon as you entered their life it was just a ticking time bomb, you wrecked everything, you were a semi truck that drove through people, pulled everyone and everything in it’s way a part.

Maya knew how it felt, she’d broken people a part, she knew what it felt like to be all alone, she’d taught you that it was okay, that it was okay to be lonely.

She cared about you, she understood you, she wanted you.

“More, need more.”

She looked into your eyes and you felt understood, like she knew exactly what you were going through and knew how to patch up and fix all of your problems.

“Alright babygirl, just give me a second and we’ll get you juiced up, huh? You deserve it, you’ve been such a perfect girl for us.”

Maya removed her body from yours, reaching over to the bedside table, rummaging through it the same way she did last night.

Your body was still vibrating with the endorphins, the dopamine was filling your head, replacing everything in you that felt dead and broken, it felt so good, it was the feeling that you craved, the reason that you’d given everything else up, because it made you feel more content and fulfilled then anything else.

You were scared of losing it, scared of losing touch with the feeling that you were relying on.

You craved her praise, craved the drugs, craved the nothingness that came from having everything around you turn into nothing, all of the feelings, all of the struggle, all the pain and suffering turned into dust.

It was what made your life worth living, without the high you didn’t think your life would even remotely worth living for, you had nothing, you had nobody, you were alone.

Maya was quicker with her mannerisms, she knew what she was doing.

You’d never seen her do needles before the last twenty four hours, but you also weren’t that shocked. She had the tracks along her arms, the attitude that seemed like she could. She was the one who’d introduced you to drugs, it had started with a bit of pot, then coke, then heroin, then any pill that you could find and eventually, speed.

You’d been tentative at first, speed was more addictive than any other drug, speed did bad things to a body, methamphetamines were a druggies worst enemy. You’d met cokeheads and some of the most addicted heroin junkies and yet plenty of them had told you that they would never touch meth, that it was too intoxicating.

Meth took control of a persons body, penetrated the system faster than most drugs, meth got into your head, it changed a person for the worse.

You wanted that though, you were seeking for that. You were seeking for something to take control of you, something to change you, something to change the way your brain was wired.

It felt so good, you’d never been into needles either, avoided them like they were the plague, but with the plastic tourniquet strapped onto your arm and the cold point of the needle pressing against your inner arm.

It was the best feeling in the world, the best feeling known to man.

You felt like you were on the peak of Mount Everest, like you were unstoppable.

It was the same feeling you’d once gotten from just being in a room with your moms, the same feeling you’d gotten after a good game of football, the same feeling you’d gotten out of getting a good mark back on a test.

A while ago, a time that you don’t like to think about anymore, it all came naturally. Your body did hunger for that kind of attention because it received it naturally, it didn’t have to worry about when the next burst of serotonin would come. You didn’t have to create your own sensation, like you do now, you didn’t have to put yourself on a constant calendar to keep yourself sane, to make sure that you stayed happy enough to stay alive.

You didn’t think about the fact that you’d shot up a couple of hours ago, that you’re body was only just now learning to absorb intravenous drugs, that you were more dosed up then you had been in your entire life and now you were adding gasoline to the fire inside of you, you didn’t care, all you wanted was for this feeling to keep lasting, for the pain in your stomach from everything that you knew had happened but couldn’t recollect to be numbed by the drugs that you were craving.

You felt alive when the needle pressed into your arm, it made you feel like you were unstoppable, enlightened, like nothing could stop you. It was a strak contrast to how you felt when you were sober, when you were sober, you felt like the weight of the world was resting on your shoulders, that you were responsible for all the people that were around you and if you failed them then you were no better than the little traumatised girl that had been handed to your moms all those years ago.

You tried to ignore the odd chest pain that set in as the drugs mixed in with your blood, or tried your very best at least, it was hard though, when the initial pain started to turn into a skin splitting sensation you tried your best to pay no mind to it.

It was odd, you figured it might be a new effect you were unearthing, needles gave a different high in comparison to your normal, it was understandable that their would be different effects.

For the first time though, in a long time, you weren’t overcome with the near overwhelming relief that normally flooded you, the pain in your chest was to strong, instead of your heart slowing, your pain subsiding and all the thoughts quieting down, it felt like you were going into overdrive, hyperaware of everything that resided inside of you. Your chest was hurting, your heart was beating at a abnormally fast pace and your brain hurt, like it was rattling around inside of your head, bruising the inside of your skull and cracking it into pieces as every second passed.

“Maya, maya.”

It was a croak, yourr eyes being forced open as you took sharp, short breaths.

“You’re okay babygirl, deep breaths, it’ll feel good any minute.”

Except it wasn’t feeling good and it was feeling worse as every second passed. Your skin was prickly, hot and red and burning all over, your heart felt like it was beating faster than it had ever before and everything about how you were feeling felt so inexplicably wrong.

“Not good, not good, not good.”

Maya’s hand was on your face, patting at you like you were a dog, like you were a pet to her.

“Ride it out, you’ve got it babygirl, it’ll pass.”

It wasn’t passing though, it wasn’t, nothing about how you felt was passing at all.

You could feel your control of your body start to fade, you didn’t understand how or why, you didn’t understand what was happening, you knew though that whatever this was, whatever you’d taken or been given, it wasn’t good. It felt like poison inside of you, slowly taking control of every thing inside of you, like something was eating you up from the inside, as every moment surpassed.

You wanted to think that it was going to be fine, that you were just experiencing some kind of heightened high from the buildup in your system, but there was something overwhelmingly odd and wrong about how you felt, it was real, realer than any drugs had made you feel.

Drugs were artificial, and they made you feel artificially happy, or numb, somewhere between those two. Drugs had never made you feel real and tangible, like you were more of a human than anybody else, but right now, you felt more personified then you ever had, like you were so synched with your body that it was too much, too much feelings, too much pain, to much of everything.

You struggled to get out anymore words, between the feeling of your heart beating the speed of light and your chest being too tight for any oxygen to enter your airway.

You supposed she got the message when your body started to shake, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as your body struggled to cope.

You heard her scream, felt her pick up your body, in blinks of your eyes you made out the staircase, the entryway, Matt in your line of sight.

You get traded into his arms, arms that make you feel tense and uncomfortable, something your body seems to react to because the tremors or seizures, or whatever the fuck your experiecing only worsens.

You blink in and out of consciousness as you’re taken from the house, into the backseat of somebody’s car, Maya and Matt seated in the front, murmuring to each other as you violently shook in the backseat, your consciousness fading as your body became less connected to you.

You weren’t sure where you were going, where drug addicts thought it was a good idea to take a person fucked up out of their minds, you hoped it wasn’t back to your mothers, or rehab, you seriously doubted the latter considering that two addicts themselves were more likely to take you to a fucking graveyard instead of rehab.

You knew neither of them were talking to you, just talking between the two of them, you hoped they were getting you some kind of help, that the two of them would stick by you and find you some help, Maya loved you, Maya was the only person who cared, she would get you help, she would stop this feeling, she would fix it.

You couldn’t see, you couldn’t control your body, you couldn’t feel any sensations across your skin beside the burning created by the lack of oxygen being circulated throughout you. It was like the drugs were slowly infiltrating every part of you, that the veins which mapped out your body underneath your skin were being pumped full of the toxic substance that you’d been so desperate to fill yourself with.

It must have been a bad reaction, or something you’d taken was laced, probably with fentanyl or something that was mixing badly, fentanyl was renowned for being one of the worst things to combine with meth, opioids and stimulants were bad together, it was probably the two forms mixing together inside of you, creating a horrible chemical concoction of reactions inside of you.

You couldn’t keep yourself awake for most of the car ride, there were patches of consciousness, patches where your eyes would open just for them to close once again.

You were awake when the car stopped, not awake enough to catch a glimpse of where you’d stopped at but awake enough to hear the car engine turn still on. The passenger door opened, then footsteps, then the backseat door beside you opened.

Maya picked you up, or at least that’s who you thought had your arms around you, your eyes were forced shut so you didn’t have any confirmation.

A few steps were taken, fast ones, and then she was squatting like she intended to put you down, and then she did.

You didn’t know how or why or where, you just knew that it was cold, there was rain drizzling down on your face, your body was shaking more than ever and you could hear the footsteps getting further and further away from you, then the sound of a car door being opened and shut and the car pulling away.

You were in agony, there was no other way to put it.

You’d been abandoned before, it was nothing new for you, it only reinforced the idea that you were simply incapable of keeping people in your life, nobody wanted you long term, you weren’t made for long term love, you were like a toy to a child. Fun and entertaining for a short amount of time, before you were forgotten and then eventually, thrown away.

You passed out before you could think more about the toy comparison, cold, alone and forgotten.

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs x reader #jordan and leah #jordan nobbs #golden retriever leah vibes #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson fic #woso fix #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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littlemarianah · 2 months

Text

Katniss is canonically an doting mother.

She has no problem carrying them as many times as they ask. Never ignore them when they are crying and never get angry when they're acting like children. She doesn't care about wet beds or glasses of juice spilled on the table.

Peeta finds it a little strange at the beginning. He was raise with punishment for the smallest accidents. His parents were never very affectionate with any of their children.

One day Katniss is tying Willow's shoes and he says something like "It's time to do it yourself, young lady"

"Take your time, Willow" Katniss say.

Which makes Peeta reflect. It reminds him of all the times he walked to school with his shoes untied because no adult wanted to tie them for him. It reminds him of how he used to be punished for his dirt-stained shoelaces when he came home from school.

When Rye wets the bed at almost five years old, Peeta's first instinct is to warn him, but Katniss says it first:

"Maybe we should drink less water before going to sleep"

Which reminds Peeta of how angry his mother would get when he wet the bed. The first time he remember being physically punished was after an incident like this . Remember how after that he tried to hide the wet bed with blankets and pillows and never spoke to anyone again.

And how Rye, in contrast, would wake him up in the middle of the night saying, "Daddy, I did it again." And Peeta let him sleep between him and Katniss instead of him lying in the wet bed like Peeta did when he was a child.

He shares some of these feelings with Katniss and she makes and he realizes how dysfunctional his family was. And how difficult it is not to repeat the same mistakes.

Peeta felt triggered when one of his children cried... He remembered how much worse it was for him if he cried. But Willow was only six years old and it was normal to cry like that, Peeta learned to wipe away her tears and teach her to regulate her emotions.

One day he caught her stealing some coins from the bakery's cash register. He stopped in complete shock looking at her. He felt fear spread through his body. He remember that it was for this reason that his mother beat his older brother. She took a wooden spoon from the kitchen and hit his hands fourteen times. The number of letters that are in the phrase "I shouldn't steal".

She made Peeta and his middle brother watch. Remember Bran's face turning red as he held back tears and spelled "s-t-e-a-l". When his father came home and saw Bran's hands red at dinner time he didn't ask what happened. Remember hearing Bran cry at bedtime that night.

He felt afraid for Willow.

"What are you doing?"

"I just want to buy some gum on the way to school" she said innocently, not seeming to realize the problem.

"You shouldn't take the coins from there. These money are from the bakery. If you want money to buy something you should ask me or your mother"

She returned the coins to the cash register and nodded.

One day Peeta realized that his children saw no other purpose for a wooden spoon other than stirring the food in the pan.

#the hunger games #katniss everdeen #everlark #peeta mellark #thg #fanfic #headcanon #epilogue #rye mellark #willow mellark

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apuckishwit · 1 year

Text

When Your Boyfriend's a Reformed Mean Girl

100 percent inspired by this tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTR75sjkf/

Time seems to do wierd things for Eddie Munson.

It's something Steve has gotten used to, in the year they've been dating. Eddie is attentive and affectionate, always makes sure Steve needs are being met, always goes the extra mile to let Steve know how much he loves him, how much he cherishes their time together. In many ways, he's the best partner Steve's ever had.

Just...sometimes things like approaching deadlines and important dates seem to literally not register in his brain until it's almost too late. And not even then, sometimes.

Eddie acknowledges that it's a problem. He puts every effort into finding workarounds. There is a calendar hanging at both his (brand new, government-funded) trailer and Steve's house, hanging right by the door with color-coded schedules and a pack of Post-It notes and a cup of pens sitting on a little table below it in case something changes or comes up. Steve has a dedicated half hour every night where he's allowed to remind Eddie of things they have coming up, or ask if they've been added to the calendar and Eddie is one hundred percent not allowed to gripe about being nagged in that thirty minutes. Not that he would, because most of the time there's at least one, "Oh, shit, forgot about that." When something slips through the cracks, he apologizes promptly and sincerely if it's something that affects someone other than him and he is always trying to do better.

Steve understands. Hell, after as many concussions as he's had, details get away from him too sometimes. There's several color-coded blocks on the calendar for Steve, as well. Sometimes, Eddie just forgets things despite his best efforts.

But their anniversary? The date that Steve has been carefully planning for almost a month to celebrate their first (of hopefully, many) year together as a couple? Really?

Eddie is going to be horrified.

He is going to feel so bad, and so guilty, and he is absolutely going to go all out to make it up to Steve. Steve knows this. He knows Eddie loves him, and that Eddie was looking forward to tonight as much as he was, and that this is just an instance of Eddie's brain betraying him, and not him actively trying to hurt Steve, or be dismissive of him. Eddie is going to feel awful when he realizes that he stood Steve up on their one-year anniversary to fight imaginary dragons with the boys. Hell, the boys are probably going to feel awful when they realize they gave Eddie something else to focus on in the lead-up to his one-year anniversary.

Well. Dustin, Lucas, and Will are going to feel awful. Mike will probably think it's hilarious.

The point is, Steve knows Eddie didn't do this on purpose, and it's not that Eddie doesn't value his time with Steve enough to remember the date, and so he's merely irritated. Maybe a little exasperated. Not truly angry.

All he has to do is radio over to Wheeler's place and remind Eddie what the date is. His boyfriend will literally drop everything, will probably not even bother to pack up his precious miniatures and dice before he's tearing out of the driveway and breaking every traffic law imaginable to get to Steve's house. Steve doesn't actually want Eddie to get a ticket or anything, though. Besides.

He's feeling a little petty.

There's steaks waiting to be tossed on the grill, twice-baked potatoes in the oven, and a fucking homemade chiffon cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream chilling in the fridge. Eddie's gift is sitting on the counter, in an elegant little gift bag tied with black ribbon.

"Hey Rob, you wanna come over for dinner?" he says into his walkie, deciding to let Fate decide if his boyfriend is listening and catches a clue.

"Do I get a piece of that cake you made?" Robin replies immediately, amusement already dancing in her voice because she's his (platonic) soulmate and she can read his mind.

"You can take the leftovers home," he says.

And then his (romantic) soulmate, who can usually read his mind, comes over the channel as well. "Have fun, babe!" Eddie says brightly. "This is probably going to run later than I thought. I'll probably just pick you up for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. "Okay."

"Love you!" Eddie says, and signs off.

Robin brings a bottle of wine she stole from her parents' pantry and they demolish the dinner and half the cake. Steve does get another package of steaks out to thaw in the fridge for tomorrow, though, and blows out the fancy candles he'd lit before they burn too low to be used again. Fuck if he's making another chiffon cake, though, persnickety little thing. He calls Enzo's and orders a chocolate marble cheesecake to be picked up tomorrow.

"So you gonna milk this for a nice present or what?" Robin asks as Steve is packing the remains of the cake for her to take home, as promised.

"Nah. He's fucking perfect like 90% of the time...I'm not gonna get mad at him for the other ten." Robin smiles at him, a little gooey-eyed. Steve returns it with a smirk. "But I'm not letting him off the hook entirely."

He has just finished putting the dishes away when he hears the rumble of Eddie's van in the driveway. He glances down at his watch, laughing to himself a little when he notes that while late, it is far, far too early for a gaming session to be done. He scoops his little gift bag off the counter and saunters to the front door just in time for a frantic knocking to sound. He schools his features and opens the door.

"Steve! Stevie, baby, I am so, so sorry. I swear to God, I had tonight written down in like five different places, but Dustin wanted to try a new character class and we haven't done this campaign yet, and I got so excited...I'm so sorry I forgot, but I'm here and I SWEAR I will make it up to you!" Eddie pauses for breath, wild-eyed and panting.

Steve holds the silence for a moment, and then shakes his head, leaning forward to drop a kiss on Eddie's cheek. "You're such a nerd," he says, affection dripping from his words. He sighs. "I hope you know, now I'm expecting flowers tomorrow. And I get to pick the movies for, like, two weeks with no complaints."

Eddie almost wilts in relief. "Absolutely none," he promises, reaching out to grip Steve's hand. "I will make tomorrow night AMAZING. I promise."

Steve smiles at him, his chest aching with the love he feels for this man. But he's still feeling just a little bit petty. He holds the bag out to Eddie, tilting his head coyly. "You can still open this tonight, though."

"Babe! I thought we said no gifts." He takes the bag in his hands, plucking at the ribbon.

Steve's smile turns just a little sharper. He worked fucking hard on that cake. "It's kind of for both of us, really. It's what I was gonna wear up to bed tonight."

Eddie peeks in the box, his brow furrowing. "Stevie...there's nothing but strawberry lip gloss and a bottle of lube in here." He looks up, and freezes as his brain catches up with what his mouth just said.

Steve leans forward and kisses him, hard, long, and absolutely filthy. "Suffer," he whispers against his boyfriend's lips.

Then he shuts the door in his face.

#Steddie #Steddie fic #stranger things #Stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #adhd eddie munson #My writing #I couldn't resist!

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suppose-i-was-worm · 10 months

Text

Like A Lamb

**Idea taken from @nerdpoe's post- What the hell is this "Infinite Realms"?**

John Constantine would never call himself a kind man, much less a good man, but the kid at the corner table of this fast food restaurant was making him want to be both.

Not that John’s kindness would really help the kid, in the long run.

He’d seen so many things in all the time he’d been alive- wondrous and horrific in equal measure, but this boy- this teenager, barely out of childhood, was probably the most heart-breaking.

John had known sacrifices- marked by both men and demons. He’d seen the crumpled bodies after the fact, and sometimes he’d been able to save them beforehand. None of them were like this boy. Marked like a sacrificial lamb down to his bones by the universe- an inevitable end.

The teen was the beginning and the end of worlds- his death would shake the foundations of all that was, could be, and is. Time would stutter to a stop before restarting with a different beat, and John could do nothing to delay or stop what was coming.

How in the world could this kid still smile and laugh with his friends? How could he not feel the weight of an entire reality on his shoulders? If John, sitting across a dining room from him, could feel the pressure, why wasn’t the boy buckling under it?

John’s phone alerted him to a text from Zatanna- he was needed by the JLD.

With a sigh, he fished out the strongest protection amulet he had on him. It wouldn’t save the teen, but maybe it would make the rest of his life a little easier.

The kid looked up at him as he approached, all smiles and young innocence. John Constantine thrust the amulet into his hand and then turned, stalking out of the Nasty Burger.

He needed to tell the Justice League. Amity Park needed protection- there was a kid there whose death would change the world.

~~~

Danny flipped the little charm around in his hands, trying to figure it out. The sad trenchcoat man had handed it to him before leaving, and he had no idea why.

“What do you think it is, Danny?”

He shrugged. For some reason he didn’t want to hand it over to Sam for her to inspect it.

“Dunno. It feels important, though. I might take it to Pandora- she’s been teaching me a bit of magic stuff, so she can probably parse it out.”

For some reason, Danny knew he would recognize that man again if he ever saw him, despite only having looked at him for a moment. Something in his core rumbled contently as he tucked the amulet carefully into the back of his phone case.

The next few weeks, Danny found himself having suspiciously good luck. The food at home didn’t come to life, ghosts didn’t attack as much, Dash wasn’t a problem at school, and even the Fentons hadn’t been as insistent on catching Phantom.

That was another weird thing- His brain didn’t seem to compute that Jack and Maddie were his mom and dad anymore. He knew he’d been creeping toward that ever since his death, but it was like a switch had been flipped overnight. The Fenton adults no longer registered as his parents.

Finally he had a chance to slip into the Realms and head for Pandora, who took one look at the amulet he held out to her and laughed.

“You have been adopted, young one, and your core accepted.”

“Adopted?”

“Your nature is to protect- it sings in your blood and guides your instincts. An adult offered you protection, a safe haven, and you took them up on it. Had someone your own age done the same, your relationship with them would be vastly different.”

Danny frowned at the charm, but he didn’t put it down- it didn’t even occur to him to get rid of it.

“Why did he- what made him do that?”

Pandora ruffled his hair.

“He saw someone who needed protecting, I assume, and acted as he ought.”

~~~

“Bats, I don’t know what the Infinite Realms are. Yes, I know they exist. I just don’t know when they started to exist, and when my knowledge of the afterlife became outdated.”

Batman glared, and John rolled his eyes at the other man.

“Magic shit happens all the time. Zatanna can tell you just as well as I can that the Realms didn’t exist a year ago- and also that they’ve existed for millenia.”

“I’ve found a summoning spell for the king of the realms, but it requires a magic user. Zatanna is off-planet, so you’re up.”

John looked over at the speaker, Red Robin, whose slight form and dark hair made him think of the boy he’d left to die.

He’d thought of the boy more often than not- any research into the kind of sacrifice that would have so much power came to a dead end, and John Constantine hated that there was really and truly nothing he could do for the kid.

Maybe this Infinite Realms person might know something?

“Fine. What are the details?”

Red Robin perked up and handed over a heavy tome.

“Batman and I already set up the ritual space in the conference room, and a few other heroes are there to help out if the king is hostile.”

“Of course you have. Let’s go, then.”

The two bats swept off down the hallway, and John followed behind, studying the spell he would need to cast. It was fairly simple, and luckily wouldn’t require blood. He hated the ones that required blood.

As he stood over the sigils and spoke the ritual spells, the floor inside the protective circle began to writhe and bubble a toxic neon green. It was all John could do to stand straight as a rush of air spilled from the portal into the wide room, bringing with it the heavy taste of caution.

The Justice League took a step back as the first clawed hand reached out from the green, white and stretched beyond humanity. It scrabbled for purchase before finding it and pulling.

The creature that exited the swirling mass was something John had never seen before. If the situation wasn’t so tense, he might describe the creature as catlike, with a black body and white legs, as well as piercing green eyes. The similarities stopped, however, when the inky body flickered and lit up from within with the pinpricks of millions of stars and endless void.

This was a baby god, filled with the dreams of deities long forgotten and fueled by the hope of those still clinging on to life.

Its green eyes swept over the gathered heroes before coming to rest on John, and for a moment he felt as if his tattered soul was being judged by the cosmos.

And then the creature folded in on itself, the tense air around it changing from bitter caution to sweet relief, and John found himself face to face with the teenager from Amity Park.

“Hi.”

The boy sounded winded, but happy, and he reached inside his shirt to pull out a small chain necklace. John’s amulet was hanging off it, obviously well treasured and cared for.

“Did you know that you’re technically my dad now?”

Something on John’s face must have told the boy- the god, the sacrifice both dead and alive- that he was unaware of this fact. The kid shuffled a little, looking sheepishly at the floor.

“You- uh. Unintentionally offered safe haven. And I accepted without realizing what was going on, and- it’s weird. I collected your soul for you! Didn’t bring it with me, but I’ve got the pieces you’re missing.”

“I think you both need to sit down and discuss this.”

Bless Diana.

“Can you leave the circle, young one?”

The teen beamed at Diana and stepped out of the protective circle, smudging the sigils as he did and closing the portal.

“I can, yeah. Pandora says hi, by the way.”

John watched as the boy chattered away about his ghost friends to Diana while she led him to a seat, and then sighed, moving to join them. If he needed help with being a new dad, surely Bats could help, right?

#dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #danny phantom #john constantine #eldritch danny #dp x dc crossover #ghost king danny

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jarofstyles · 2 months

Text

Buttercream

Hello my loves! This is the first part to our Patreon exclusive series, Buttercream. The ready is available on Patreon (over 18 parts) and is still being updated. You all asked to see what’s available to read and I’m giving you sneaks of it!

A series featuring an Alpha Architect Harry, a bossy bakery owning omega Y/N, the sweetest treats taste tested and some steamy smut.

Check out our Patreon for all parts of the series and 150+ exclusive writings.

——-

The smell kept him coming back.

In his life, Harry had been to a quite a few bakeries. He could be considered an expert on fudge brownies, a specialist on cupcakes and the swirls of icing, a connoisseur of croissants. He treated himself a bit too often, if his mother had anything to say with it. His sweet tooth had always been prevalent in his life.

The new bakery down the road from his job, though? That had made him a true problem.

Every day before work, he stopped. Suit and all, pulling into the parking lot and nearly drooling the moment he got out. His feet carried him towards the door and the smell hit him immediately. Sweet buttercream, frothy vanilla, spiced cinnamon, and… something else. That something else that had him nearly vibrating, and now on a mission to have the whole menu to figure out just what the hell that scent was.

It was intoxicating. Mesmerizing. If Harry didn’t have work, he would spend hours just sitting here to smell it. It had a weird hold on him, and he didn’t quite know how to ask if it was an air freshener. That was unlikely for anywhere but restrooms anyways considering how offensive it could be for the noses of alpha’s and omegas alike. A bad scented one could send them into moods. Or even sickness. The sense of smell was very important.

“Mr.Styles.” The teen manning the cash register saluted him. He came in every day and was known to the cashiers, so he had ruled out it being one of them. Thank god. They were either young enough to not have a scent or too old for it to be possible. “What will it be today? Y/N’s been whipping up a storm for the holidays. New recipes. We’ve got a peppermint bark brownie that would go well with the peppermint mocha you like.” She chirped, watching as he scanned the cases.

Harry was a little intimidating but he was exceptionally charming. He smiled, he conversed, he tipped well, but he always seemed to be looking around. Trying to find something that no one could really place. The bakery was empty besides a mum and her friend with their kids, munching on treats and coffee as they watched the traffic go by. It wasn’t them. Harry’s ears did perk up when he heard an unfamiliar name.

“Y/N?” He asked, tilting his head as his attention went back to the cashier. “Who’s that? The owner?” Harry had never met the owner. For some reason, every time he came in the morning she had stepped out for her own break. It didn’t bother him so long as his compliments to the baker got passed along, but hearing her name stirred something in his chest.

“Yep.” She popped the p in her word. “She’s awesome. She started this all on her own after she went viral on the internet. She got the funds from online orders. You see the custom cakes and stuff but she does awesome experimental flavors. She doesn’t care if they’re hits or misses and let’s us go home with leftovers.” There was obvious pride to be working for someone like Y/N. It peaked his interest.

“Oh?” He asked, leaning his body against the counter. “That’s incredible. I’d be very happy to taste some of the new things.” He flashed a smile, tapping his card against the wood of the counter. “What would you think Y/N would suggest?” And why did saying her name make him feel silky and hot? Like it was meant to live on his lips? They tingled as the word left his mouth, making him shift his stance slightly. His skin was buzzing slightly as he heard someone else come from the back.

“She would suggest the peppermint bark brownies, the s’mores donut, the lemon cream cookie and the chili chocolate cupcake. Spice and sweet work surprisingly well together.” The airy voice went to his bones.

Harry could smell it fully now. The scent that laced the bakery was now engulfing him. Filling the space, making him inhale it with each breath. His hand tightened on the card, curling into a fist at his side as he caught a glimpse of her. She had been the source. It wasn’t a baked good or a cashier, but it was the baker herself that was making him addicted to the sweets laced with her scent.

He was silent as he observed her, a smile quirked on her lips. Slightly glossy and deliciously plump as she greeted the cashier with a simple hey and asking her to go to the back to grab the other new tray of cinnamon buns. Sliding them on to the rack, she used her hip to gently nudge the counter open and grabbed one for Harry.

“Here. On the house.” She slid the bag over to him with her soft simper, hands tapping on the wood.

She was marvelous.

Harry was speechless. Something he never usually was- the alpha could talk to a brick wall if he needed to- but this sweet little omega has been slowly hypnotizing him with her scent over the course of a month and now he was finally seeing her. He loved delayed gratification, a fan of edging, but this? He wished he had seen her far earlier.

“Hi.” He peeped. His face looked like he saw a ghost. The woman in front of him was like a mirage- and he wasn’t trying to be dramatic. He swore she was familiar to him in some way. Some how. She was all omega in the ways that called to him. The curve of her face and her soft voice… he could have started purring if he didn’t have some semblance of self control in his body.

“Hi.” She returned the greeting with a soft chuckle that heated his chest. “I hope you like the suggestions. I recognized your voice. You’ve been in here every morning we’re open and I figured it was about time to meet the loyal customer.” She chirped, brushing the stray hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ears. The adorably disheveled look added to her appeal.

A candy apple red apron was dusted with various baking material, tied around her waist snug. It showed the curve of her waist went deeper than what he could tell under her sweatshirt that appeared to have the bakery name printed on it. A swipe of flour was decorating her forehead, like she had wiped hair from her face and simply forgot about flour coated hands. Little details he was memorizing to think about later.

“I love the smell.” He blurted out. Immediately, he winced. That hadn’t been what he had meant to say, at least how he had meant to say it. Heat crept up further under his cheeks as he opened and closed his mouth, watching her giggle a bit as he tried to find his bearings.

“Fucking hell- I meant to say, I love your bakery. It smelled amazing when I went past it so I decided to stop in a few weeks ago and now it’s become a part of my daily routine. I bring in pastries for the office.”

“Aren’t you a star coworker.” She cooed, turning from him with a wink as she grabbed one of the red boxes and began to construct it. “They must love you at the office. I have on good authority that the one that brings the snacks, gets the pats on the back. Especially hand made, beautifully crafted baked goods.” She teased, opening up the case and beginning to place some sweets into it.

“I’d hope they like me. I’m their boss.” He laughed quietly, scratching the back of his neck. Never has he felt more like a schoolboy talking to a playground crush. He was head to toe in a suit good enough to meet his best clients, and a girl with flour on her face was sending him to his knees. Each time she moved, a gentle waft of her scent was given his direction and made that ever loved self control hang by a thread.

“Ooooo. Bossman.” She grinned, wiggling her brow as she placed another iced brownie with crushed peppermint bark sprinkled on top into the box. “Should have guessed. Love the suit, by the way. You look very handsome.”

That little compliment made his day. The pretty omega with the prettier smile and mouthwatering scent thought he looked handsome. That would be lingering in his brain all day. How she thought he was handsome. The casual compliments.

“Thank you.” He preened. “We do interior and exterior design for businesses. Up and coming places and remodels. So if you ever need a guy- I’m here.” He placed his hands in his pockets and lifted up on his toes rocking back and forth.

“Oooo. Is it that bad in here? Do I need a renovation?” She sucked her teeth, tilting her head. It had him freezing, mouth falling open to grovel. He hadn’t meant to offend her at all, hadn’t tried to insinuate it needed a remodel.

“Shit- no, I’m sorry. It’s very cute in here, I didn’t mean to insinuate it needed any help. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how it would sound-“

“Cool it, bossman.” She cooed, laughing at how he had nearly fallen over himself. “I’m just messing with you. The place does need some exterior work, actually. I hadn’t had the budget when we first started, nor the time. But I didn’t take any offense to it. You’ve got to market yourself. Don’t worry.” Her reassurance made him melt into relief, leaning into the counter. This whole encounter had him feeling a bit on edge in the weirdest way. He wanted to snuggle this woman, yet he was almost afraid of her. An omega. He was afraid of an omega.

Anyone else would laugh at him, perhaps, but he felt the nervousness creeping in his bones. He wanted her to like him. He wanted her to think he was cool and want to know him better. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. She had unarmed his normal charm and made him feel like a nervous bundle of sweat and it was exhilarating.

“I’ll take a card, though.” She placed her hand out flat. “If you’ve got one. I’m gonna check out your website.”

Harry fished one out of his wallet, thankful he kept them on hand. It had his office number, and part of him wanted to offer his personal cell but he knew that would be a bit weird. Especially if she wanted to use his services. He almost hoped she didn’t- asking a client on a date wasn’t good for the image, was it? He wasn’t sure.

“If you’ve got any questions you can reach out on the email there, it’s a direct line to me- or uh, I come in every day so.” He shrugged. “Around this time. You’ve got very good coffee too. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good hazelnut. People put a lot of syrups and things… but your shop does it the best.”

“Thank you.” She seemed chuffed with his praise. “I taste test everything with the crew here. You’ll be in for a treat. If you’re coming in every morning, do you think you’d want to be a bit of a guinea pig for me?” She slid the box across the counter. “I’ve been experimenting like my lovely employee was saying. But I’d love a real customers opinion. Even if it’s bad. I want to know what the consumer likes.”

Harry was shocked. Y/N was kind of treating him like a friend, like she valued his exact opinion. He couldn’t deny he felt exceptionally special. Having not only the owner of the bakery but an omega he had some sort of crush on suddenly want to sample the new things she sells and get his opinion on it.

“Oh- uh. Alright. Of course! I can do that.” He grinned shyly, handing his card over for her to pay for the things she had put into the box. “I come in every morning during the week so… you can just let me know what’s new to taste.” There was a giddiness in his stomach. An excuse to talk to her every day. Or at least a few times a week. He’s never really reacted this way to an omega before, the scent craving, the shyness he suddenly felt, all of it was so new to him and he was unsure how to navigate it but he didn’t want to stop. He only wanted more.

“Perfect. What is your name, by the way?” The card was handed back to him and there was slight disappointment their fingers didn’t brush, but Harry took today was a victory.

“Harry. Harry Styles. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Y/N. I’m glad to meet you too. I hope to see more of you soon.”

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bradshawsbaby · 3 months

Text

Sprinkles of Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: It's Bob's birthday and you want to do something special for him. The problem is that you've only been on two dates, and you can't get out of your head about making that first move.

Word Count: 6.6k

Author’s Note: Happy Birthday to my #1 Guy, Lewis Pullman! I thought we all deserved some sweet Bob fluff to celebrate!

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, featuring the jitters and nervousness that comes with a new relationship.

You glanced at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, your fingers itching to reach for it where it sat taunting you on the counter near the cash register.

Biting down on your lower lip, you peeked surreptitiously over your shoulder before finally picking it up, your finger hovering hesitantly over the green messages icon.

“Are you finally going to text him or are you just going to keep staring longingly at your phone all day?”

Your cousin’s teasing voice startled you, pulling you out of your silent reverie as you fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it to the floor in your haste to get a grip on it and shove it inside your apron pocket.

Alexandria just laughed in response, her dark eyes sparkling as she slid a tray of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies onto one of the display case shelves. Normally, you would have complimented her on how amazing they smelled, but given the knowing smirk she was sending your way, you stuck your tongue out at her instead.

“Stick your tongue out at me all you want,” she told you, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But I know you, and I know how badly you want to text him. So why don’t you just do it already and save yourself all the torment?”

“Lexie,” you groaned, your phone suddenly feeling like a rock inside your pocket. Why did your cousin have to know you like the back of her hand?

You were saved from having to elaborate, however, when one of the timers dinged in the kitchen, signaling that the newest batch of muffins you and Lex had put in a little while ago was finished. She shot a pointed look in your direction, making it clear the conversation wasn’t over, before turning on her heel and going to take the muffins out of the oven.

Since it was the usual mid-morning lull and the only customers currently inside the bakery were a college student working on her laptop near the window and two elderly ladies enjoying conversation over scones and tea, you figured you should be both a good cousin and a good employee and go help Lexie in the back.

Despite the fact that you had already been working at the bakery for a few months now—ever since you had moved to San Diego—you still couldn’t help but be blown away whenever it hit you that your cousin had really accomplished the dream she’d been chasing since you were little girls. For as long as you could remember, Alexandria had been wanting to open up her very own bakery, a cozy little spot where people could come to read, hang out, and relax, all while enjoying some homemade treats and delicious coffee. It seemed like just yesterday that the two of you were playing with her Easy-Bake Oven, and now here she was—living the dream as a successful small business owner. You couldn’t have been more proud of her. Or more grateful that she’d given you both a job and a place to live when you’d decided to follow in her footsteps and make the move out to California.

Lex was like the big sister you never had. She gave the best advice and she knew you inside and out. Which was normally a good thing, but judging by the way she was looking at you from under her dark lashes, you knew today was going to be one of those days where she insisted on pushing you out of your comfort zone.

You sighed in exasperation as you helped her set the freshly baked orange cranberry muffins—a favorite among her loyal customers—on the cooling rack. “I wish I hadn’t even mentioned it. It’s not that big of a deal,” you insisted, supremely conscious of the weight of your phone pressing against your thigh as you worked.

“If it’s not that big of a deal, then why do you seem to be making it one?” Lexie replied with that razor-sharp wit of hers, winking when you shot her a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I’m not!” you insisted, although you knew that was a complete and total lie. You were being ridiculous and you knew it, but every time you even thought about sending him a message, your heart started pounding inside your chest and your palms got all gross and clammy.

Lex crossed her arms over her chest, throwing an exasperated look heavenward. “Babe, you’ve already been on two dates with him and he wants to take you out on another. Do you seriously think you’re going to send him running for the hills if you send him a text wishing him a happy birthday?”

When you heard it out loud, it did sound pretty stupid. He was such a great guy, so sweet and attentive and caring, and he had done nothing to indicate that he was losing interest or that he would be freaked out by such a simple message. But still…

“I do want to text him,” you confessed, biting your lip as you carried the empty muffin tray over to the large sink where your cousin washed all her baking supplies.

“So what’s holding you back?” Lexie asked, her voice gentler this time as she leaned her hip against the counter, clearly trying to understand. She’d seen your heart get broken enough times to know that you were much more cautious now when it came to entrusting it to other people.

You sighed softly, fiddling with the strings on your pink-and-white striped apron as you tried to put your feelings into words. “It’s just—we’ve only been on two dates. I mean, they were really amazing dates, but still. Only two. And our birthdays only came up once in passing on our first date. He never mentioned it again, even when he called the other night to ask me if I’d like to go out this weekend. So on the one hand, I do want to text him to wish him a happy birthday, but on the other hand, what if it weirds him out that I remembered? What if he thinks I’m some kind of obsessive stalker and gets the ick and then ghosts me?”

“For wishing him a happy birthday?” your cousin questioned skeptically, her eyebrows rising until they were practically touching the edges of her blunt bangs.

“I’ve been ghosted before for less,” you muttered in embarrassment, knowing that your love life was a disaster compared to your cousin, who had been with her soon-to-be-husband since high school.

Lex softened immediately, stepping beside you and wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. “I know,” she murmured soothingly, rubbing your arm with a gentle hand. “But those guys were jerks who didn’t deserve you. From everything I know about this guy, he sounds so great. He seems like the kind of guy who would be happy that you remembered his birthday.”

Honestly, you couldn’t argue with her there.

Bob Floyd was unlike any man you’d ever met before. He was everything you’d ever hoped to find but had feared you never would, the kind of perfect that seemed too good to be true, the gentleman that you had thought existed only in fairytales.

It had been over a month now since he’d stepped off a storybook page and walked into your life.

You could still remember that afternoon so clearly. It was a Saturday, and the bakery had been surprisingly dead. Lexie had decided to run to the bank, leaving you in charge of things in her absence. You’d been rearranging some of the pastries in the display case when the bell over the front door chimed, signaling a customer.

Stepping up to the counter, the words of greeting died in your throat when one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in your life approached, a shy smile stretching across his face.

“Hi,” he greeted you in a soft-spoken voice, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, and yet you’d never seen a guy look better.

“Hi,” you echoed, your eyes widening as you got lost in a gaze as blue as the cornflowers that grew in your grandparents’ backyard.

The two of you just stared at each other for a couple minutes, neither of you saying anything, even as the air between you seemed to spark and hum with electricity.

“Um, I was, uh, hoping that you still had some cupcakes left. I know it’s a little later in the day and my neighbor who recommended this place said that you should always get here early, but, um, I have a little barbeque that I’m going to and I wanted to bring some dessert. I’m hopeless at making anything myself,” he rambled, his eyes crinkling as he laughed somewhat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was only when he cleared his throat awkwardly a moment later that you realized you hadn’t yet responded to him.

“Oh! Cupcakes!” you exclaimed, your voice coming out a little louder and squeakier than you had intended. “Of course!” Running your hands down the front of your apron, you shook your head slightly to try to knock some sense into it. You walked over to the display case, indicating that he should come take a look. “Normally we’d already be sold out of a lot of these, but it’s been quieter today than usual, so we still have plenty left. I guess it’s your lucky day.”

“Seems like it,” he smiled, his blue eyes latching onto your face.

Something about the way he said it made your insides feel as gooey as the batter Lexie used to make her double chocolate fudge cake.

“How many cupcakes do you need?” you asked, working overtime to keep from getting flustered.

“I think two dozen should be fine,” he replied, his eyes roaming over the display case shelves. “Hmm, they all look so good, I wouldn’t know where to start. Do you have any recommendations?”

“The lemon zest cupcakes are really popular. So are the red velvet and the coconut cloud. Oh, and the German chocolate.” You laughed sheepishly. “Honestly, they’re all really good.”

He laughed in response, a small dimple appearing in his cheek that only further endeared him to you. “Which one is your favorite?” he asked, his voice so earnest it made your chest ache.

You didn’t even have to think about it. “The funfetti,” you told him, indicating the vanilla cupcakes baked with rainbow chips and topped with swirls of vanilla frosting and an extra dash of sprinkles.

“I’ll take a dozen funfetti cupcakes then. And you can surprise me with the other dozen,” he grinned, making you smile.

“I hope you and everyone at the barbeque enjoys,” you said after you finished ringing him up, sliding the two boxes of cupcakes towards him.

“I’m sure we will. This place comes highly recommended,” he replied with a smile. “Are you Lexie, the owner?”

“No, no, I’m her cousin,” you explained, introducing yourself by name.

“I’m Robert Floyd,” he said, holding out his hand to you. “But everyone calls me Bob.”

“Very nice to meet you, Bob,” you beamed, sliding your hand into his and shaking firmly. His hand was large and warm and calloused and it felt like yours had been made to fit inside it.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he murmured softly, holding onto your hand for another second or two before slowly releasing it. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m sure I’ll be back again soon.”

“We serve really good coffee,” you said suddenly, desperate to find a reason to get him to come back. “And we open really early. You know, if you want to get some on your way to work.”

Bob’s beautiful blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.” He picked up his boxes of cupcakes and turned towards the door. Before he left, he shot you one last smile that melted your insides. “See you around.”

After that, Bob Floyd had found plenty of reasons to stop by the bakery. The following Monday, he’d stopped by in the morning to grab coffee for him and his friends on his way to work. That was when you’d learned that he was a naval aviator stationed at North Island.

“You were right about those funfetti cupcakes,” he told you, patting his stomach with a grin. “I think I ate about half the box before I thought to share them with anyone else.”

Your eyes crinkled and you felt your skin grow warm as you smiled in response. “Good, I’m so glad.”

You made sure to slip a cupcake in with all his coffee orders, a gesture which he didn’t fail to notice, judging from the extra large tip he left in the jar.

“See you soon,” he smiled, balancing all that coffee in his large hands as he backed out of the bakery.

From then on, he was there practically every day, stopping in for coffee or for some cupcakes after work. He often picked up things for other people—his friends or his neighbor who had recommended the bakery to him. But for himself, he always stuck with the funfetti cupcakes.

“I know I should branch out and try something new,” he told you one day through a mouthful of sprinkles. “But I can’t help it—these are just so good.”

It had taken nearly two weeks for Bob to work up the nerve to finally ask you if you might be interested in getting dinner with him sometime. You’d had to bite your tongue to keep from immediately screaming, “YES!” in his face,

The two of you spent your first date at a gorgeous little seafood restaurant right on the water, and then went for a long walk on the beach afterwards. It was truly the best date you’d ever been on. Bob was a perfect gentleman, attentively listening to everything you had to say and making you feel as though he actually cared about what was important to you. He’d even draped his jacket over your shoulders as you walked by the water, noticing the way you were shivering slightly in the dress you’d worn. You had been hoping he would kiss you at the end of the night, but like the gentleman that he was, he’d simply brushed your cheek with his lips, asking in a hushed voice if you’d like to see him again.

You wanted that very much.

On your second date, Bob took you mini golfing, something you’d told him that you hadn’t done since you were a little girl. You didn’t think you’d ever laughed so much as you did that night, no matter how terrible you turned out to be at miniature golf. Just like on your first date, Bob walked you to your door at the end of the night, his hand resting on the small of your back as you turned to look up at him, your eyes begging him to give you a proper kiss goodnight.

He had to duck his head slightly as he leaned in closer, a lock of his honey-colored hair draping across his forehead as his gaze latched onto yours, your breath mingling as the two of you inched closer and closer.

It was a soft kiss, sweet and chaste. His lips just barely brushed against yours, sending a shock of electric currents up and down your spine. When he pulled back, the both of you were flushed and stammering.

“C-can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, still so shy even after two dates.

“I hope you do,” you whispered with a smile, squeezing his hand before slipping through your front door.

Faithful to his word, Bob had called you the next day. The two of you were supposed to be going out again this weekend.

But that brought you back to your current dilemma—his birthday. You knew you were being stupid about this. Texting him for his birthday wasn’t tantamount to a marriage proposal. It wasn’t like you were trying to throw him a surprise party or invite yourself over for cake. It was a text message for crying out loud. And even though it had only come up once, he had told you when his birthday was. It wasn’t like you had gone to North Island and asked to see his personnel file.

The truth was, you were just terrified of screwing things up. You’d gone on plenty of dates with guys who had seemed really nice, who you had really thought were into you, only to be ghosted or flat-out rejected. Deep down inside, you knew that Bob was different from all those other guys, but still—the thought of sending him running made your stomach twist into knots.

“Babe, you know what I’m going to say,” Lexie murmured, your cousin’s voice pulling you out of all your convoluted thoughts. “If you never take a risk, then nothing’s ever going to change. I know you’re nervous, but just go for it. The worst that happens—seriously, the worst case scenario—is that he ghosts you. But you know what? If he does that, then he wasn’t worth your time anyway. And if he doesn’t? Well, maybe he’ll start to fall even harder for the gorgeous girl who remembered his birthday.” She grinned, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug.

“Ugh, why do you always have to be right?” you grinned ruefully, pulling back from your cousin’s embrace and fiddling nervously with the scrunchie on your wrist.

“It’s a gift,” she replied with a wink, turning to look over her shoulder when the bell over the front door chimed. “I’ve got it,” she told you, squeezing your arm before heading back out to the front.

That left you alone in the back kitchen, your phone burning a hole in your apron pocket and your heart hammering inside your chest.

“Okay, don’t be an idiot,” you murmured to yourself. As far as pep talks went, it was far from the most inspirational, but it did the job as you pulled your phone out. “It’s not too much too soon. It’s just a text,” you breathed out. “It’s just a text.”

Opening your messages, you found Bob’s name—he was right near the top after texting you just yesterday—and opened up your conversation thread, chewing on your bottom lip.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you tapped out a quick message that you hoped was short, sweet, and to the point and hit send.

Happy Birthday, Bob! I hope you have a wonderful day! 🥳🎉

You felt hot all over as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, your pulse stuttering in your veins as you wondered how long it would take him to see it. From what he had told you about his job, he often spent hours in the air each day, so chances were good he didn’t even have his phone on him right now.

You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and determined not to think about it. A task that was much easier said than done. But as you walked back out into the main part of the bakery, you found that a small crowd had formed, so you jumped into assisting your cousin behind the counter.

“Well?” Lexie asked under her breath as you helped her fill a couple boxes with a dozen cinnamon chip muffins.

“I sent it,” you murmured in reply, purposely avoiding her direct gaze. “But I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

As much as you had tried not to, you’d been compulsively checking your phone every five minutes.

Lex shrugged and waved it off. “It’s still early yet,” she said confidently, carrying the boxes over to the patiently waiting customer.

You threw yourself into various tasks around the bakery, anything that would keep your mind off your phone. You restocked the shelves in the display cases, organized the money in the cash register, wiped down the counters in the kitchen, scrubbed the baking pans, frosted cupcakes, replaced the coffee beans, and waited on any customers who walked in.

A couple of times, your phone buzzed in your pocket and your heart jumped into your throat, only to sink down to your stomach when you pulled it out and found that it was just an email notification or a text from your mom.

The longer you went without hearing from Bob, the harder you had to work to convince yourself that he wasn’t ignoring you.

No. He wasn’t ignoring you. Bob wasn’t like that. You were sure of it.

It was a little after noon, just when you’d taken a cup of coffee into the back for a short break, when you felt your phone buzz again, vibrating against your thigh through your apron. Swallowing nervously, you put your coffee down and reached into your pocket, a small gasp escaping you when you saw Bob’s name on the screen.

You could scarcely unlock your phone fast enough, opening up the text thread to read his reply.

Wow, you remembered! That means so much to me. Thank you! ☺️ Sorry it took me a little while to respond—we were doing some test flights, but I’m on my lunch break now and I’ll be on the ground for the rest of the day. How are you?

It took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to scream and jump up and down like a little girl. It felt like a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders. You hadn’t freaked him out! He hadn’t ghosted you! It was just like Lexie said—he was happy that you remembered.

Grinning like a fool, you leaned against the counter and typed out a response, not caring that your coffee was getting cold.

I’m doing great! Glad to hear you got some flying in on your special day ✈️ Doing anything to celebrate?

It was only after you had sent the message that you began to fret that it sounded like you were being nosy about his plans, or worse, trying to insert yourself into them.

But then Bob responded a minute later and put your worries to rest.

Nothing too fancy. My friends ordered lunch and got me a cake. They sang “Happy Birthday,” too, even though I begged them not to lol. I usually keep it pretty lowkey on my birthday.

You smiled as you wrote back, Was it a funfetti cake?

His next response came in no time at all, and it made your stomach flutter to imagine that he was focusing entirely on you and your conversation during his lunch break.

If only! It was really good, but I don’t think anything compares to those funfetti cupcakes 😋

At that moment, Lex walked into the back, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the huge smile plastered on your face. It felt like it was going to get permanently stuck there.

“Well, well, well,” she grinned, sidling up next to you. “Should I take that glowing smile to mean you finally heard back from your lieutenant?”

You ducked your head shyly, your cheeks growing warm. “He isn’t my lieutenant,” you insisted.

“Mhm, sure,” your cousin grinned, laughing loudly when you nudged her in the side. “So it worked out after all? He didn’t say you were a freaky stalker? I shouldn’t be expecting the police to burst down the door any minute?”

“Okay, okay,” you groaned, realizing how ridiculous you’d been behaving that morning. “You were right. It all worked out. He was very touched that I remembered his birthday,” you murmured, sheepishly scuffing your sneaker against the floor.

“I’ve gotta say it—told you so,” Lex smirked victoriously, wrapping her arms around you and planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, feigning annoyance even as you grinned and returned your cousin’s hug. “You know, Bob was actually just texting me that his friends at work got him a cake, but that it just doesn’t compare to your funfetti cupcakes,” you told her with a proud smile.

“What can I say? They are pretty damn delicious,” she winked, her chest puffing up with pride. A sudden thought struck her as she looked at you. “Hey, what time does Bob get off from work?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Usually around six or seven, I think,” you told her, your brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why?”

“Hmm, perfect,” Lexie mused, tapping her chin as she glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. Your older cousin was always plotting something.

“I mean that the bakery closes at five-thirty,” she said, as if you weren’t already well aware of that fact. When she realized that you weren’t exactly catching her drift, she went on, “Which means you could invite Bob over for a little after hours birthday treat if you’d like,” she grinned.

“Lex!” you gasped, scandalized.

Your cousin threw her head back laughing. “I didn’t mean that you should jump his bones in the middle of the bakery! I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t do that,” she chuckled teasingly. “I just meant you could surprise him with something sweet, on the house. Something we make here,” she added with a pointed look that made your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“Oh,” you mumbled, nodding your head slowly. “Right. Of course.” You cleared your throat slightly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not! Anyone who makes my cousin this happy is welcome to free cupcakes anytime,” Lex said firmly, cupping your face in her hands and beaming at you.

“You’re the best,” you told her, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her in a tight hug. “I’ll text Bob now and see if he thinks he’ll be up for it.”

“If you’re the one asking, I’m sure he will be,” she winked, nudging you playfully before turning to go back to the front counter.

Once she was out of sight, you turned your attention back to your phone and bit your lip, trying to think of the best way to phrase what you wanted to ask him.

Speaking of funfetti cupcakes, any chance you’d want to swing by the bakery on your way home from work? We close at 5:30 today, but we make special after hours exceptions for our best customers 😉🧁

Was that stupid? That probably sounded stupid. Would he think that you were suggesting a quickie on the bakery floor the way you thought your cousin had been suggesting? Oh God, could you unsend that message before he got it?

I would love to! Is 6:45 too late?

This man didn’t cease to amaze you.

No, that’s perfect!

See you then ☺️

You tried your hardest to smother the smile that was threatening to completely overtake your face, but you couldn’t do it. This man gave you butterflies like you’d never experienced before in all your life, and the thought of getting to see him in just a few hours made you feel like you were going to burst from excitement and anticipation.

You didn’t even have to tell Lexie what Bob had said. The second she saw your face, she just smiled knowingly and told you, “I’ll be out of here by six.”

Time had never seemed to move so slowly as it did that day while you waited for closing time to finally come around. Lex observed your growing impatience with amusement, giving you as many odd jobs as she could to hopefully make the minutes go faster.

When the clock finally chimed five-thirty, you practically sprinted towards the door, locking it and flipping the closed sign around to ward off anyone who might have tried to stop by for a last minute treat.

“Good thing business is so good or I might get mad at you for scaring off customers,” Lexie teased.

True to her word, your cousin helped you clean up and then was heading out the door by six o’clock.

“Have so much fun,” she told you, blowing you a quick succession of air kisses. “And tell Bob happy birthday from me,” she added with a wink before slipping out the door.

With your cousin gone, that left you about forty-five minutes to finish getting ready before Bob arrived. You quickly set a playlist of classic 60s tunes to play softly through the speakers—you and Bob had discovered you had a similar taste in music about halfway through your first date—and then hurried into the bathroom to fix up your hair and apply a little bit of make-up. You usually didn’t bother with much when you were working, but you wanted to look nice for Bob.

Once you were done getting ready, you went into the back to get his little birthday treat set up—Lexie had made a fresh batch of funfetti cupcakes towards the end of the day just for the occasion. You had just finished placing one of the cupcakes on a small plate with a lace doily and inserting a candle into it when you heard a faint knock on the front door.

Your heart rate immediately began climbing as you ran your hands over the T-shirt and jeans you’d worn today, hoping you looked halfway presentable. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you stepped out into the main part of the bakery and felt your legs instantly turn to Jell-O at the sight of Bob standing at the door, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. You’d only told him once in passing how much you loved them, and he had remembered.

Wow, that really did mean a lot.

“Hi,” you greeted him, standing in the open doorway and beaming up at him.

“Hi,” he echoed, that little dimple making an appearance as he smiled down at you. After a beat, he seemed to suddenly remember that he was holding the flowers in his hand. “Oh, these are for you,” he said, holding them out shyly.

“They’re beautiful, Bob,” you breathed out softly, accepting them with a smile and pressing them to your nose. “My favorite. You remembered.”

“Just like you remembered my birthday,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, but which you knew you felt just as much as he did.

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, just gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling dreamily. Then you came to your senses.

“Come in, come in,” you told him, stepping out of the doorway so that he could enter and then closing the door behind him. “Gosh, these really are such beautiful flowers. That was so sweet of you. You didn’t have to get me anything. It is your birthday, after all,” you said, guiding him to a table in the center of the room.

“I wanted to,” Bob replied, taking a seat. He was still in his flight suit and he looked so handsome. “I’m happy that they made you smile.”

“It’s hard not to smile when I’m around you,” you told him, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could think twice about them. Your cheeks grew warm when you realized how vulnerable they were, and you buried your face in the bouquet once more.

Bob’s cheeks had grown rosy as well, and you noticed that his leg was bouncing nervously underneath the table. “I feel the same way,” he murmured softly.

You could have thrown your arms around him and kissed him right then and there, but then you recalled the actual reason why you had invited him over.

“I have a surprise for you,” you said suddenly, smiling brightly as you laid the bouquet of flowers down on the counter. “Wait right here and close your eyes,” you told him, waiting until he had done so before hurrying into the back and lighting the candle you’d tucked into his cupcake.

When you stepped back into the main room on quiet feet, you found that Bob was still patiently sitting with his eyes closed. Your heart swelled with deep affection—and was it possible something even deeper? You had never met anyone like him and you were certain you never would again.

It was at that moment that you realized “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes was currently playing through the speakers, as apropos a sign as you could imagine.

You cleared your throat slightly as you approached the table, the candle sparkling in front of your face as you brought it closer to the birthday boy.

“I know you said you weren’t a big fan of being serenaded with ‘Happy Birthday,’ so I’ll spare you my vocals,” you teased, setting the plate down in front of him. “But Happy Birthday, Bob.”

Opening his eyes, Bob glanced from your face down to the cupcake and then back up to you again. He seemed at a loss for words, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses.

“This is—this—thank you,” Bob finally said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

You smiled, sitting down beside him and gently resting your hand over his. “Blow out your candle before it melts into your cupcake,” you giggled.

He grinned at the sound of your laughter, leaning in closer to blow out the single candle, though he kept his eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Lexie baked them fresh this afternoon. There’s a whole bunch more in the back that I’m going to be sending you home with,” you told him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his face lit up.

“What did I do to deserve all this? This is the best birthday present ever,” Bob chuckled, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing lightly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you murmured, glancing down at the table shyly. “The truth is, I was a little nervous to text you earlier.”

Bob looked surprised at your admission. “Why?” he asked, astonished.

You bit your lip and hesitated, but then decided to be honest. Like Lexie said, if you never took a risk, then you never got to see anything change. “I know this is going to sound so stupid, but I was worried you would think it was too much if I texted you for your birthday.”

“Too much?” he repeated, his brow crinkling in obvious confusion.

“You know, just because you had only mentioned your birthday once. I thought maybe I would seem too desperate or clingy or something if I reached out. I thought it would freak you out,” you confessed. “I know that sounds pretty dumb when I say it out loud.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bob assured you, shaking his head slowly. “I know what you mean. To be honest, I think I’ve had that problem myself. Y’know, coming off too eager and scaring girls away,” he admitted, blushing as he ducked his head.

“Oh, Bob,” you murmured in understanding, lacing your fingers through his. With all the other things you two had in common, it shouldn’t have surprised you that a crappy dating history was something else you shared. “You could never scare me off,” you promised him.

Lifting his head, he smiled at you and reached out slowly, his fingertips stirring a few wisps of your hair as he brushed your cheek lightly. “And you could never freak me out. It meant so much to me that you remembered my birthday. It made my whole day, in fact. Even more than the funfetti cupcakes,” he said, his eyes crinkling. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then added softly, “I remember everything about you.”

“You do?” you whispered, feeling a sudden surge of emotion well up in your throat.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your favorite movies, the fact that you like tomatoes but hate ketchup, the way you throw your head back when you laugh really loudly. Your favorite flowers. I remember it all.”

“Bob,” you breathed out, the tears brimming in your eyes as your gaze dropped from his eyes down to his mouth.

You weren’t really sure who moved first, but soon enough, Bob was holding you in his arms, your lips pressed together in a kiss that was much less chaste than your first one, but just as sweet. Your arms snaked around his neck, one hand burying itself in his soft hair, the other resting on the nape of his neck. He let out a soft groan in response, one of his large hands resting on your hip and the other splaying across your back, holding you close.

It was a kiss that was so much like Bob himself—gentle, kind, tender, sweet, affectionate, attentive. He didn’t demand more than you were willing to give, he didn’t try to take anything from you. He just wanted to make you feel how much he cared about you, wanted to make you feel special and cherished. And he did. You hoped more than anything that you were doing the same for him.

Because the truth was that you were already falling for Bob Floyd, and falling hard.

When the two of you finally pulled back—a mutually hesitant parting borne solely of the need for oxygen—you smiled breathlessly, closing your eyes as Bob rested his forehead against yours.

“Okay, maybe that was the best birthday present ever,” he chuckled quietly, his lips brushing against your temple.

“I think so, too, and it’s not even my birthday,” you grinned, resting your head against his shoulder. “Are you going to have your cupcake?” you asked, glancing down at where it sat on the plate, still untouched.

“Mhm,” Bob nodded, wrapping an arm around you and brushing his fingers up and down your arm. “But there actually is something I’d like to ask you first,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous.

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, trying to figure out why he suddenly looked so flustered.

“Of course. What is it?” you questioned, resting a hand on his arm.

“Well, all of this has been amazing,” he began, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. You had noticed they had a tendency to slide down when he was particularly nervous. “But there actually is one more thing that I’d really like for my birthday this year.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. “What is it?”

Bob swallowed deeply and then looked directly into your eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your lips parted as a little gasp of delighted surprise escaped you. It may have been Bob’s birthday, but it felt like you were the one being showered with gifts today.

“Oh, Bob, yes! Yes!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Yes?” Bob repeated between kisses, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes,” you told him seriously, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed out, the term of endearment falling easily off his tongue in that adorable midwestern accent of his. He pulled you into his arms once more and kissed you soundly.

You giggled softly as you reached for the funfetti cupcake and removed the candle, holding it up for him to take a bite. “Happy Birthday, Bob.”

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 9 months

Text

almonds, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You're having a really shitty day and it ends with Jeon Jungkook cumming on your ass. Oh, some stuff happens in the middle. You eat some almonds. Yeah.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; acquaintances-to-lovers; mentions of fasting (restricted eating for the day); reader is the hot girl bro of her friend group (yup); so much TENSION; JK is def a shy mess and reader teases him just because he's cute; smut w/o penetration (fem reader, semi-public sex in a rented photo studio space, m-receiving oral, handjob, fingering, forearm kink, nipple play, m-masturbation, cum-eating, multiple orgasms, overstimulation); non-idol!BTS – hobbyist photographer!Jungkook x model?reader

“You seem annoyed.”

“Just had to tell someone I didn’t want to date them and then had to deal with a grown man’s hissy fit. Well, I guess that doesn’t make him grown, does it? Hmph. Anyway.”

You threw your jacket aside with too much force and exasperation. It flew off the chair and shot into Jeon Jungkook’s legs.

Oops.

“Um…”

“Sorry,” you muttered, hurrying over and yanking your black-and-scarlet leather bomber off the ground, dumping it firmly on the seat of the foldable chair. “Sorry. It wasn’t that serious. It was simply unnecessary and a waste of time. I also hate being late. Sorry, again.”

“N-No, I mean… we don’t have to do this today. If it’s too much trouble for you.”

You didn’t know Jeon Jungkook that well and yet here you were. You knew of him. He was friends with a lot of your friends, but both he and you were introverted and were the type to be in own your own worlds. There wasn’t much chance to interact with him and you didn’t think to. Also, your male friends got a little weird if other guys approached you too readily, even if they personally knew them. Some macho man shit or something. You didn’t know.

“It’s no trouble. Really.”

You rubbed your forehead and placed your backpack on the table. Maybe you needed a snack. No, now was not the time. You hadn’t eaten at all today. Specifically, for this. You didn’t know Jungkook well, but you did know he was helping another of your friends who was a tattoo artist. He had a photography hobby and he had tattoos done by said friend, so they asked him to take some artsy shots for their tattoo and piercing studio. Your forward helix was done by the same guy on a drunk night (not that the customers were going to know that… also the piercer was the drunk one and you were the sober one, so, honestly, who was the problem), and so were your double helix piercings (sober day and you paid him like a responsible human being), all on your right ear. Since you didn’t have tattoos, you didn’t think you would be asked, but.

As your friend put it, “I don’t want to look at only dudes on my walls. I’m sure my customers don’t either. I need at least one hot girl. Be a bro.”

Okay, bro.

“I was only trying to buy some almonds and I got accosted by this guy I was talking to, then I had to stand there through this guy’s sobbing as the register was malfunctioning and it was all very annoying,” you sighed, then put a pin in the (literal) sob story. It (he) was irrelevant anyway. “But I am free of him.... hopefully… and I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t expect that to happen today, hah, I simply wanted some fuckin’ almonds.”

You had bowed with your apology. Upon finishing your last remark, you yanked the small packet of almonds out of your bag and slapped them on the black canvas accusingly as if they were the ones that caused you a lot of trouble. As if it was the almonds’ fault, not some dude that couldn’t take the hint and comprehend that you didn’t want a relationship with him.

Maybe you male friends getting a little weird were on the right track.

Also, maybe you should stop trying to sneak behind their backs and meeting guys through apps.

Sigh.

The silence lasted a few seconds.

Then.

A very tentative, “You like nuts?”

You suddenly remembered Jeon Jungkook was standing next to you. Oh, right. “Ah, I heard models eat raw almonds on shoots to curb their hunger,” you chuckled sheepishly, looking up at him and realizing, once again, that there was a lack of closeness preventing you from being too comfortable. He was taller than you and was gazing at you with big, round eyes and a curious expression. You cleared your throat before speaking again. “Since I’m wearing a crop top, I didn’t want to…” You trailed off, hoping he understood.

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, mussing up his hair. “Oh, yeah, I’ve been doing intermittent fasting so I would…”

Then.

Your eyes connected with Jungkook’s and you both stopped talking.

It was only then that you fully processed the man in front of you.

He was wearing a ribbed white tank top that very much showed off his built frame. Whenever Jungkook happened to be at the friend gatherings, he was the type to always wear baggy shirts and loose pants. You had heard before that he worked out a lot, but you had never really thought about it because he preferred to be a fabric mountain in public. Understandable that he enjoyed being comfortable. But now you were taken aback by the close-fitted top and his tapered, straight-leg, dark blue jeans, complete with messy black hair falling over his forehead and grazing the nape of his neck. He typically wore beanies and baseball caps at the get-togethers, probably to avoid styling his hair. All that to say that you weren’t prepared for Jeon Jungkook to look…

Like a model.

Yeah.

He seemed to sense your visual analysis and started, placing his arms over his chest awkwardly as if that was going to block anything. His arms were muscular too. There were no tattoos on his left arm – for now (you knew his type). His entire right arm was a sleeve of them. Deep black and vibrant color, lively tattoos that spread all the way up to his shoulder, ending with crowning petals resembling a floral mandala reaching almost to his collarbone. His hand even had a few small tattoos, the most notable being the sheepish emoji with the squiggly smile.

“Oh, y-yeah, I t-thought… er…”

You didn’t interrupt.

You simply stared at him.

It was unnerving him and it was beginning to greatly amuse you.

“I mean, to take photos of my sleeve and stuff… and you’re so… uh.”

You looked down at yourself. “You said I should wear black and white if I could.” Tight white cropped tank with a thicker, more rigid construction so you didn’t have to wear a bra. Exposed midriff and mid-rise black jeans with a slight flare to accommodate your high-heeled black ankle boots with silver buckles suggestively coffin-shaped.

Hey, you had to have some personality even in a bland outfit.

Jungkook was malfunctioning a little.

“Y… Yeah…”

He also had two rings pierced on the right side of his lip now. He only had one when you saw him last. When had he gotten the second? Your eyes tracked the silver hoops interestedly as Jungkook gulped, revealing the little mole underneath his lips. He had another one on his nose, several on his right cheek, and one on his neck. Hmmmm.

“I was thinking the m-majority of the photos would be black and white… and I would just take some shots of my arm in color later.,” he was saying, backing away from you and into the rented studio space, to the white backdrop and bright lights. There was a camera tripod and monitors set up already. In the center of the white background was a rectangular white pedestal. Probably to sit on to aid with posing. Everything was going to be torso up it seemed.

You followed him, scanning the room. “Oh, I should check my make-up, huh,” you thought out loud.

Sudden heat.

“No, I mean, it’s better if it’s natural, there’s a little–”

You were still standing absolutely motionless as Jungkook brushed his thumb against your left cheek, leaving a trail of prickling skin and a hot sensation pouring down your spine. When did he–? And what was with this earnest, concerned expression? Not quite making eye contact yet, but suddenly realizing what he had done as the silent seconds ticked by. His shaking irises slid towards you, immediately apologetic, but too embarrassed to speak.

Jaw completely slack, mouth open, completely frozen.

“I, um,” you coughed, waving a hand loosely. “It’s a mole. Next to my lip.”

It seemed, to the shock of neither party, that Jungkook had understood that way before you even said it out loud. Probably because he had attempted to wipe your moles away with his finger. Awkward. His thumb was still lingering by your ear.

“O… Oh.”

Yeah. Oh.

“I don’t really wear foundation,” you tried to clarify. “Only on special occasions.”

Jungkook’s face was quite close to yours. He had to bend down a little to be eye-to-eye. He was really staring, similarly to how you were analyzing his body earlier. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable and you didn’t view it as invasive since you had partaken in the same act earlier.

It was just…

Giving you a racing feeling throughout your veins.

“Your skin is so smooth and pretty already,” he murmured in that deep, dreamy voice of his, almost inaudibly, like he hadn’t meant to say it.

The tops of your ears were abruptly on fire. You had to force the word out.

“T… Thanks.”

You were still clutching the packet of almonds as if they were life support.

The sharp crackle of the plastic cut through the silence. Jungkook jerked, pulling his hand back, and you let out a silent breath, surprised at the suspension of the unpredicted moment. Both looking away from each other, and you didn’t dare look back to check how he was doing because you were internally scolding yourself. It was only the current circumstances. The way the chips fell today was throwing you off your game. You weren’t being professional, not that this was an overly professional setting, but you expected yourself to be professional or at least not intimidate the shit out of someone you were about to work with.

Wouldn’t want weird vibes the entire time.

You wanted to say you were sorry again, but it seemed unnecessary and you would rather show your apologies with action. You shoved the packet of almonds in your pocket.

Damn almonds.

“So, um, what would you like me to do? I’m not a model, but I can follow instructions.”

You forced yourself to face him and not make it weird. It wasn’t a shameful moment and there was no reason to act ashamed about it. At first, Jungkook didn’t move, big peepers and all, but you firmly walked over to the white background and stood there in front of the camera lens, seeing one of the monitors was facing you. You weren’t in focus. You backed up to the rectangular pedestal and now you were, skin glowing under the bright lights, looking inquisitive at the arrangement. Raised a hand. The image was flipped rather than mirrored. Ah, okay. You played with your reflection for a moment while Jungkook hurriedly went behind the camera and fiddled with the settings.

Neither of you said anything about the…

Uh.

Tension.

You left the spot for a moment to hurry back to your backpack. Water, extra clothes in case an outfit change was needed, pocket hand sanitizer for the bus, another package of almonds. You fished out your makeup bag and felt around, taking out the two black hair clips inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Lotus flowers. After a moment of consideration, you unhooked your white gold hoop earrings on your lower lobe piercing and put on the pearl lotus flower earrings you had brought with you. They were tiered and dangled on thin silver chains, waterfalling against your neck. You placed your other earring set in a small black velvet pouch and pocketed them in your right jeans pocket, just in case Jungkook thought the dangling ones were too distracting. As a last thought, you plucked the hand sanitizer from your bag and squirted some on your hands, rubbing them together swiftly.

You had messed with your piercings, after all.

You hurried back, pulling your hair away from your right ear, peering at the monitor. Tucked your hair behind your show ear and placed the hair clips accordingly so all your ear piercings were on display.

“Oh!”

“I thought it would be good to show off a little,” you mentioned absentmindedly, frowning as you noticed the chain connecting one of your helixes to your higher lobe piercing was tangled. You carefully pulled the strand of hair away and swept it back. Hadn’t thought of bringing hairspray, shit. Hopefully–

You froze, your hands framing your ear.

Looked up and Jungkook was gawking at your narcissistic use of the monitor.

“Ah, it’s just… there’s no mirror…” Your eyes shifted, rueful in your vanity. “I could go to the bathroom and…”

“N-No, it’s totally fine,” he sputtered. You sensed movement and looked back to see him waving his arms frantically. “I didn’t even think of any of these things, like accessories and hair and stuff… I was kind of hoping that you already knew what you liked… and stuff…”

Even though you weren’t originally close with Jungkook, there were parts of your personality that you just couldn’t hold back.

Like teasing.

“You said and stuff twice,” you snickered.

Immediately, Jungkook gave you this look of puffed cheeks and indignation. “Hey!” Then he seemed to realize his childlike outburst and flushed, shaking his head quickly. “Argh…”

You laughed, dropping your hands and relaxing your shoulders. Better to move along with this newfound tension than the previous one. You straightened and turned your body, right side with all your piercings facing the camera, the ornate earrings catching the light.

“Come on. Let’s start.”

You had thought it would be weird, modeling like this, but it was much easier since you weren’t supposed to look at the camera. With a purpose and your willingness to continue, Jungkook instructed you to tilt your head and move your body. It was quick considering it was primarily your right profile. He asked for movement of your hair and head so there was some life to the photos rather than just the stills. Once you sat on the pedestal and moved your head, he brought the camera tripod closer and stepped around it, holding the small remote in his left hand.

“I did a few solo shots before you arrived,” he was saying, concentrated on the task at hand. “Just to test lighting and stuff. Do you want to review? Or should we move on?”

“Do you like at least one of them?” you chuckled, turning your head back.

Jungkook was bent over the table, bringing the wireless mouse over so he could change the window and scroll through what was taken. You had a brief moment of looking at his shoulder blades and back muscles before ripping your gaze away, seeing your own face in a filter of black and white. Oh. It hadn’t really sunk in that this was photography until this moment. You almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Was that you?

Whoa.

“This one is good. And this one.”

Lips. Jawline. Lowered lashes. Hair curling along the other shoulder, creating that kind of wild devil-may-care fantasy. The choice of mother-of-pearl shone even in the black-and-white. For some reason you had thought of your role in this as quite small – Jungkook was the tattooed one, after all – but there was a mood created here. Calm yet definitive. On the edge of rebellious.

Maybe you had been chosen for more than just being the bro hot girl.

Hm.

“Do you think we need more?” you asked, not knowing the answer.

Jungkook chewed on the left side of his lower lip, puffing his cheek cutely. A thinking face. “I don’t think so? There’s going to be mostly drawn art and finished tattoo photos on the walls. As far as I know, our full-body pictures are going to be blown up but used very sparingly. We’re just there to be pretty.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “So, you think you’re pretty.”

You saw his shoulders flinch. “T-T-That’s just what I was told,” he stammered, tongue-tied.

“It’s okay, I think you’re pretty,” you casually interrupted. “Then this is probably enough. How do you want to pose for the couple photos?”

“C-C-Couple?”

You took a second to stare at yourself for another moment and turned your head, lifting your gaze. Not trying to make it weird. Round, dark brown eyes with curls of black hair over his brows. Lips parted and quickly shutting as you made eye contact. Someone was silently telling themselves to get a grip.

Well.

You were about to get close.

“Um…”

It was already weird just standing in the frame with him. Deep breath. It would be no good to stand here like self-made scarecrows. Come on. It wasn’t like you would be forced to interact with him every day after this. Plus, you already started with a bad impression. The sooner you finished, the sooner you would be able to go home and treat this like any other day.

Right?

“What about…”

You backed up. Jungkook squeaked but you ignored it, taking his right arm and placing his hand on your left shoulder so it crossed over your body and he held you against his torso. Again, you didn’t have to look at him or the camera. You only took a moment to adjust his forearm and not think about how solid it was before turning your head to the left and pulling back your shoulders to lift your chest.

Your ass touched the front of his pants.

Ahem.

You tapped his thigh impatiently.

“Ah, r-right…”

You tried not to think about how deep his voice was or how you could feel his chest vibrate from the tops of your shoulder blades against his pecs. Nope. You heard the sound of the camera and tilted your head again, raising your chin, and did not think about how nice he smelled. Like fresh laundry detergent but not overpowering. You swept your hair back so your collarbones were bare, putting your hair between him and you.

Jungkook angled his body so he wasn’t chest-to-back anymore.

Oh.

Then you attempted not to stiffen as his arm slid across so that his elbow was above your breasts, no, pressed against them, the grip on your shoulder tightening and suddenly his bicep and forearm were pushing your tits together through your crop top.

Um.

The right side of his body pressed against your back and you felt his breath against the crown of your head, his chin resting on you, um, but still you didn’t say anything, his leg shifting forward and now his thigh was pressed to your ass and the back of your leg, UM?!, and Jungkook exhaled, slow and with a shudder.

You did not interrupt.

Stood shock still.

It didn’t so much bother you as it confirmed some things.

“Ah, s-sorry, I should have as–”

“It’s fine,” you replied automatically, not wanting to get into it, glancing at the monitor. The preview was small but even at this distance it was effective. Worth it. “Do whatever you think would give a good result. We have to try things,” you muttered, untangling yourself a little. “Let’s…”

Fuck it.

You turned around.

For a brief glimpse, you spotted Jungkook’s shocked expression, but you avoided it, planting your hands on his waist. No, that wouldn’t do. Your arms felt like they were in the way. You slid them back, over his sides and up, fanning your fingers out. Centimeters between your body and his. His right arm was now along your back, but only loosely, and with his musculature it wasn’t laying quite right if you kept this current distance between each other. You could tell from the way his upper arm was positioned against your shoulder.

You pressed to him.

Chest to chest.

Angled your head so your cheek faced his face and your eyes fixated to the side, not looking at him. But you could feel him. Feel the shallowing of his breath against your cheekbone. Feel the solidness of his body in your arms. Feel his shoulder muscles under your fingertips tense. Like you were really hugging him, except you weren’t.

Not really.

Right.

“Put your arm around me,” you said softly but firmly.

“T-This…?”

“With your thumb in my right back belt loop.”

You felt Jungkook’s entire body stiffen.

“E-Eh…?!”

Your eyes darted to the side and you glared at him from your peripheral vision, seeing beautiful expressive eyes far too close but never mind that. “Come on. It’s a tattoo and piercing shop. Provocative, remember?” You looked away again, to your right. Steeled your voice and sharpened it. You could feel the damn almonds in your left jeans front pocket. You should have put them in your bag.

For fuck’s sake.

“Do it.”

You had asked him to do it but you still weren’t prepared for his fingertips to brush the top of your ass and his palm rest against your hip. You lifted your pelvis away from him, pressing more into his torso, involuntarily closing your eyes. Too weird to stare out wide-eyed anyway.

“Just tell me when you’ve taken it.”

Seconds that felt like hours.

You could tell he was taking the photos. You felt his arm shift. Tilt. Another. His hand moved up and you managed not to shiver. Nudging your head with his nose. You followed the movement obediently. You weren’t going to make this any weirder than it already was. His touch barely on your hot skin. Held your breath.

“O… Okay.”

You moved back and you felt Jungkook also release a tense exhale. He didn’t back away from you though. You tried to think of another pose. Maybe if you just laid your hand on his shoulder as if you were about to walk past him and.

Wait.

You jerked back as Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest and yanked his white tank top up and over his head. Arms flexed, tan skin and inked patterns. You bit back the surprised sound that threatened to escape, looking away quickly and snapping your jaw tight.

“Wha–What are you doing?” you forced out as evenly as you could, snapping your head as Jungkook flung the article of clothing aside like it was goddamn litter. Um, hello? You gawked after it as it skidded across the floor, missing the table just so.

“Shit, I missed–”

You whipped your head back and Jungkook froze, as if he only now noticed you were real human being and not a prop. Now you were aimlessly standing there with a shirtless Jeon Jungkook that you had been getting closer to, but wasn’t this too close, he was too fit and attractive to…

To?

Oh, fuck.

You really hoped he hadn’t noticed your glance at his hard dark nipples and toned abs. It wasn’t exactly something you could ignore. You weren’t curious. Really. His pecs were right in front of your face. Still, you didn’t want to be seen as disrespectful or creepy.

Your jaw was slack.

On cue, an inappropriate thought popped into your head.

And you said it, because, well, you never missed an opportunity to tease.

“This is exactly how all porno vids start, Jungkook.”

Oh, come on. Not that casual tone. And why did you add his name with familiarity like that? That was so unnecessary. Now he was turning fifty shades of red. Great. None of that helped. Of course not. And you chose the crass term over adult films. Maybe you were too much of a bro. You cleared your throat and looked away, trying to break the tension with a soft chuckle.

And, of course, you both spoke at once.

“Ah, why did you…?”

“I mean, you said provocative, so,” Jungkook blurted out way too fast. “I had fasted because I thought it would be good to take off my… uh…” And now you witnessed the processing of that idea in real time. Hm, taking off your shirt for a photoshoot? Great idea. Taking it off in front of a woman you only kind of knew? Er. And in front of a woman that he…

You looked at him.

Jungkook immediately shut up.

You could see he was mildly regretting yeeting his tank top so far.

This couldn’t end if you didn’t get a grip. So, you got a grip and stepped up, half of your body covering his chest, your left side to his left side. You saw him stiffen, but you ignored it, looking straight ahead to the white paper backdrop behind him. Told yourself to breathe. Then you turned your head and you were staring at Jungkook’s left ear. He had three earrings on this side, but they were plainer compared to the five thicker huggies on his left. He stood shock-still, unsure of what to do even though this was his idea.

“Turn your arm so it shows the tiger lily.”

His head jerked and suddenly Jungkook was looking back at you.

You were so close that you could see his moles clearly, especially the one underneath his soft parted lips.

“You… You noticed the tiger lily?”

It was on the inside of his forearm. You had seen the vibrant orange under your lashes and immediately recognized the distinctive shape. You stared into those chocolate irises, barely moving your lips.

“You like them?” you whispered.

Your breath and his breath, mixing.

“It’s… It’s my birth flower…” Jungkook mumbled, dream-like.

He was both a striking and adorable man.

You smiled.

Not breaking eye contact.

“Take the photo.”

A second of hesitation.

“Ah, r-right.”

But Jungkok didn’t look away.

You felt his left hand by the bulge in your jeans pocket. Those damn almonds. Felt him press the button and wondered why the fuck you were still carrying deez nuts, but those thoughts came and went, not dawdling because you were under Jungkook’s gaze. Not overbearing, not trying to feel you out, but, rather, relaxing as you watched him, curious. That was the word.

Curious.

You leaned in closer, pressing your hip to his.

These goddamn almonds.

Placed your fingertips on his collarbone, casting shadows over his neck and jaw.

His chin tilted down, and now your lashes were lowering and so were his. Heavy with a mood. Acting. Just acting, you reminded yourself. Your brow barely touched his. Nearly nose-to-nose. You felt his hand shift a little, but at this point that was his job to press the button and your job to pretend like this chemistry was natural. His scent really was lovely. His sheets must smell just like him. Must be nice to lay in them and wake up with him beside you.

You whispered into the still air between you and him.

“I don’t really like this side of my face,” you murmured.

Those dark eyes flickered to yours.

“Looks good to me,” Jungkook said delicately.

Your fingertips slipped over the curve of his muscle.

He gasped under you and he tried to hide it, letting his eyelids slide shut. He couldn’t see you now. Couldn’t see you tilt your head just a little more. The faintest movement. His hair brushed against your forehead and temples. The distance between your lips and his was so narrow that you could feel the metal of the silver rings as you spoke once more.

“You can’t hide from me just because you close your eyes.”

A moment of closed lids.

Then.

Those brown irises rising beneath coy lashes.

A second.

You took a step back, mid-smile.

Jungkook’s right hand shot out and gripped your waist, pulling you back.

It happened all at once. The wispy exhale leaving your lungs. The warmth of his touch and strength of his tug making you collide with his body. Your hand stopping yourself, pressed against his sternum, molding to the curves. Your face suddenly centimeters from his, a soft gasp falling from your lips, and those round brown eyes went wide as if he only now realized that actions have consequences, as if this wasn’t the expected result, as if his bold move wouldn’t be met by a bolder one.

The movement had been so fast that strands of his black hair were still falling back onto his forehead.

You angled your head and kissed him.

Not the quick flitting peck that toyed with emotions but the press-to-heart, inhale-and-caress kiss, your hand sliding down, the pad of your middle finger stopping on his nipple. Not moving it, but he shivered against your touch, muffled whine under your lips, and your other hand grazed his hip, fingers dancing along the waistband of his jeans. No hesitation. Mature and sensual, his hair against your temples, yours whisking over his arm, your crotch to his hip.

You moved your left thigh forward.

Jungkook yelped into your mouth and drew back, his cheeks flushing pink.

Your hand slid across his bare back and pulled him back against you. You and him now entangled in a ying-yang embrace, no one able to escape. Traced a circle around his hard nipple and you could feel the trembling against your chest, hear the sharp inhale, watch him bite back a whimper. Your lips and breath followed his jaw as you spoke.

“Now, where do you think you’re going?”

His hand on your waist tightened.

You raised an eyebrow to his stunned expression that seemed more like a cover-up than it was honest. Not a cover-up for ill intentions, no. He was trying to hide something else. Excitement. Ah, that wasn’t it either. You stared into those expressive eyes. Read him like a book. He was…

You smiled.

Pressed your thigh against the hard bulge between his legs.

Jeon Jungkook was horny.

“I…” He completely paused with his mouth open. You waited, dancing your nails over his spine. “I was… I was going to…” His face was getting redder. He was still clutching you, his expression telling you that he couldn’t believe that you had taken that last moment from him. You ticked your head.

Challengingly.

“Go on then. Kiss me like you mean it.”

You wouldn’t have held it against him if he didn’t. Wouldn’t have been salty about it. You could be wrong, after all. Could be, but weren’t, because Jungkook’s brows furrowed, a spark of annoyance flaring through his expression. Flint to flame. You tilted your head back. Making him reach for it.

A sliding clatter.

Your head whipped to follow the sound. The small camera remote shot behind your bodies, hitting the backdrop, stark black against white, and then you felt strong fingers slide into your hair, turning you back to a playful smirk adorned with two silver lip rings.

Jungkook kissed you.

A little bit of desperation, a lot of defiance, and the electric taste of uncertainty, the fear of coming on too strong, but you did him one better, rolling your body into his and pressing back to him. Breathing in his scent, running your fingertips over his skin. Hooking two fingers on his belt loop and pulling him closer even though he couldn’t be any physically closer. It wasn’t enough. The tip of your tongue flitting between his lips, gently asking for more.

His sweet gasp addictive, saturated with the wind of the butterflies in his heart.

You ran your thumb along the top of the waistband, stroking his hot skin, and slipped your tongue into his mouth. His tongue brushed up against yours, sending a delicious wave of shivers through your chest, and you exhaled into his throat, low and slow, tasting him, savoring his quivering whimper, trapped in the heat under bright lights and electric tension. His left hand cupped your head, deepening the kiss, more, another, tongue against tongue, body against body, pulse beating in harmony.

You broke the kiss, but only to breathe and cross your arms.

Pulled up, inside out, stripping off your top and casting it out of the way, your hands already taking Jungkook’s wrists before it hit the ground. He stared down, wide-eyed, sputtering, and you pressed his palms to your sides, shivering at the contact of another. Guided him up, up, gliding your fingers over his and closing them around your breasts.

Jungkook gawked at you, jaw completely slack.

You smirked. “Wanna take a photo like this?”

His eyes narrowed. A touch possessive. It made your smirk grow.

“Fuck no.”

Your chuckle was cut off by another one of his kisses, respectively hard and soft from his piercings and his lips, insistent and heated. His hands squeezing, and you sighed approvingly, letting go so he could explore, running his fingers over your hard nipples. Moaning with you, kiss after kiss, breaking the chain to look down and awe at the way his hands framed your breasts, following the curve, pushing your large nipples with his index fingers, and he groaned, his eyes hazy, kissing you again, harder, hips to hips, that hard bulge fitting between the space of your thighs. Rolling his body into yours, chasing your lips despite you not moving away. Pleas hidden in his thin breath. You hooked a leg around his thigh and you saw his eyelashes flutter, moaning into your mouth, needy and wanting.

“What’s wrong?” you purred.

Grinded against him, lightly thrusting, way past suggestion at this point, stings of pleasure racing through you as his fingers flicked at your nipples, those brown irises glassy and unfocused, struggling to get his bearings.

“O-Oh… fuck…”

You fanned your fingers over his sides, sliding down his shapely back, your touch slipping under the top of his jeans.

“Don’t you wish?”

A shadow of confusion, but you simply rocked his hips into yours, digging your nails into the top of his ass and making him gasp, pressing up against you. Your lips hovering over that trembling mole under his lips, placing a single chaste kiss on his skin.

Airy chuckle.

“I didn’t plan to fuck you, so I didn’t bring protection or anything,” you explained, bouncing your breasts into his muscular chest. “I’m sorry but I can’t take that risk just because you’re cute and I like the way you taste.”

His defeated whine was too delicious to resist.

“But.”

You wanted to feel this heat a little more. Stare into those eyes a little longer. Too fast, other people would say. Fuck off, you would say. Those large brown eyes, that dreamy curious expression, that racing feeling from two electric hearts entangled with lustful friction down below, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“I have some ideas of things we can do.”

You led him back, making him lean against the rectangular pedestal.

“Poses, if you will.”

The way Jungkook smiled make the world sparkle with mirth.

“You cool with that?” you asked, not wanting to continue if there was no desire. His erection threatened to rip his damn jeans, and yet you wanted to hear him say it. Took his hands from your chest and placed them behind him, helping him catch the corners so he didn’t topple over. Placed your hands over his, stroking his knuckles. You lifted your head and Jungkook caught your gaze.

Biting the side of his lower lip and wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“I’m cool with you.”

Couldn’t help but smirk, leaning in. Lips and tongue and the slow fuck of his soft mouth, devouring his whines as you traced his body lines. His thighs. His sides. Down the center of his chest, your fingertips grazing, your lips leaving his and feathering down his neck. The tremble of his pecs now under your kisses, even the raging beat of his heart, his shallow breath skipping as your tongue tasted him, intoxicated by his scent and the way his body followed your every touch, wordlessly begging for more.

His moan was low and throaty, tapering to a whimper as you unbuttoned his jeans.

Unzipped them, breathing hot over his clothed section, pressing your lips to the strained fabric.

“P-Please…”

Even here, he smelled intentionally clean. Pure. Physically, anyway. Mentally, you doubted it, mostly because Jungkook was practically humping your face in impatience as you wiggled the top of his jeans down his tense thighs.

“Please… anything you want… please, please, do it…”

You pushed his black boxer briefs down.

Washing a burning hot exhale over taut skin and straining veins, making sure to look up at him to see Jungkook checking to see if you were satisfied with what you discovered, then immediately turning red when you caught him, tucking his chin against his shoulder to avoid your gaze. Black hair falling over his eyes. Biting his lip hard, trying to keep his cool.

You licked the dark red head expectantly.

His hips bucked. Gasp torn from his lips. The strong taste spread over your tongue, pre-cum and lust, and you cocked an eyebrow as Jungkook carefully ticked his head back, looking down at you from his peripheral vision, the left side of his lower lip caught between his teeth. He was a sizeable length and girth. Nothing you couldn’t handle and dismantle.

You closed your lips around the swollen head and teased the slit.

“Nrgh…hah…”

Tongue swirling, taking him deeper. Slow, wet, running wet muscle up and down from tip to base, rubbing that thin skin just under the head with persistent pressure and then all the way down to flick out against his balls. Hard then soft. Fuck. That prickling sensation sliding down your back was not a good sign. Molding your tongue to his cock, taking him deep, digging your own grave in the way that everyone hoped for when touching someone for the first time.

The taste, the scent, the lust.

The earnestness of him trying to hold himself back, wanting to succumb to your tight mouth and persistent desire rather than heedlessly chase his own pleasure. Trusting you and trusting that you could get him there.

Fuck.

You wanted to hiss, have some common sense, but your mouth was full of his dick so that wasn’t happening.

“You’re so hot, oh, fuck… fuck…”

Glanced up and saw Jungkook was staring down at you, your face, your tits, your knees planted down firmly. Your hands were on his thighs, keeping him steady as you took him in your mouth, deep to hit your throat and squeeze around the head, up across the roof of your mouth with your tongue rubbing against the underside, your lips catching at the base of the tip and brushing against the throbbing skin, his moan hitching, so sexy, so dreamy, so sublime in its rawness, unfiltered and untainted by expectation.

Well.

You hadn’t expected to suck off Jeon Jungkook in the middle of the photoshoot either.

Life finds a way.

There wasn’t room or time to laugh at your inappropriate thoughts so you went back to focusing on keeping that pressure, that building pace, pulling your shoulders back and driving them forward to diffuse the impact of the force you were exerting. Close, hearing it in his rough voice. Seeing his head tilting back, black hair and tan skin glimmering with sweat. His toned chest flexed, his shoulders strained, and suddenly you realized that it was your name in that needy, desperate tone. Your name falling out of shaking lips, followed by so good, fuck, you’re so good. Your name melting into his moan, filling his lungs, each breath drenched with potent, carnal desire. You were used to that.

What you weren’t used to was this sudden unbearable craving to hear Jungkook say it again.

And again.

Him, specifically.

Fuck.

He came with a groan, his head falling so far back that you could barely see his face, his hips thrusting up and your lips closing in. Thick spurts, messy spasms, squishing saliva and cum into the back of your throat. Strong and surprisingly delicious. An obvious tingle dispersing up the insides of your spread thighs, the pulse of his shuddering length mirroring your lower body.

Want me more.

Licking all around, swallowing, gripping his shaking hips so he couldn’t escape you, encouraged by his delicate but still compliant whimpers. There was an undertone here. How long? How long had he felt these sparks? How long had he dreamed for them to become fire? Was it after your bodies had touched or after you walked in and took off your jacket?

Before that?

You pulled back, your tongue lingering, swirling around his stiff, twitching length.

Those glassy brown eyes would tell you anything right now.

“I don’t want to stop here,” you murmured, staring into the windows of his soul.

“Please, d-don’t…” Breathless, panting, erotic. “I–”

Your fingers wrapped around his girth and pumped him.

“A-Ah!”

Calmly leaned in and curled your tongue around his balls, scooping them into your mouth, all while twisting your hand. Base to tip, creating a tight seal with the residual saliva. He wasn’t prepared. You could visibly watch the ecstasy ripple up from his core to his shocked expression, his eyes rolling back and his head falling, flushed lips quivering, hardly breathing as you held both with his balls with your lips and danced your tongue over them. Rapid strokes. Wet slick. Switching from one and then the other, humming to provide a strumming vibration. Changing the direction of your tongue and the pressure of your lips before switching again, from left to right, all the while keeping a firm, steady pace on his cock.

“Oh, s-shit, what, a-aaah… Your m-mouth is insane, wha…?”

Chasing a feeling.

His high and maybe it could be your pride, your ego, whatever. Sin. The immense satisfaction of watching someone unravel. Jungkook made it beautiful, surreal with his deep but clear voice, dreamy with his hard body lines and soft trembling against you, trying so hard to be so good and not disturb your hard work so he could get the most out of it.

So he could savor your desire for him.

So he could bask in it.

So he could want it more.

“I-I, ah, I’m gonna cum again, please, please, please let me cum in your mouth, ple–”

The fuck was Jeon Jungkook so stupid hot for?

The slight irritation must have shown on your face and it did nothing to stop him, his head snapping back and suddenly he was burning under your gaze. You popped your mouth off and left a trail of spit down his legs, sliding your tongue out to hover under the dark purple-red head of his throbbing cock, pushing him to the edge, hard, fast, racing, I’m so close, you’re so sexy, oh, fuck, that racing prickling down your spine and a heady haze invading all your thoughts, the kind of haze that made you forget common sense, forget the earlier events of the day, and forget even the previous apprehension of being so close to someone you didn’t know too well.

Now you knew a lot.

Heh.

He could see it and you could feel it, the warm streak streaming across your tongue, another splattering before you pressed the flinching head to your mouth, hearing his ragged moan and hiking whimpers, oversensitive and overstimulated and willfully drowning in it, feels so fucking good, your lips are so soft, a-ah, swallowing and grazing your lips over him, faint but so wet, sucking off your saliva and replacing the wetness with kisses, making his body twist and writhe, unable to take it all but wanting to, needing to so damn bad that he thrust into your face, smearing your cheek with leaking cum and spit.

Jungkook moaned so fucking loud that you swore security was about to walk into the rented studio space and catch you pinning him down.

“Hey, hey,” you chided, crawling back up his body, gripping his shoulders. “Don’t lose your mind–”

His lips collided with yours and silenced your words, lip piercings electrifying the contact, kissing you again and again, surely tasting himself but you had no time to warn or complain, suddenly feeling hurried hands fumbling with your jeans, slipping, stumbling, too much haste and too much lust, mumbling against your lips.

“Stop me, stop me if you don’t want it,” he was saying and there was no need, but you appreciated him saying it all the same, fighting with his grasp to undo the fastenings yourself, and then his fingertips found your hot skin. You sucked in a tight breath. Jeans heavy enough to fall down your thighs, and then two fingers hooking on each side of your barely-there, bikini-cut black panties, a second and then gone, now shivering at the rush of cool air on your damp heat.

The moment before he touched you.

Your gaze caught his under lashes, and his eyes shifted back up to you, his lips brushing against yours.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone this fast and this bad,” he gasped.

Honestly, you couldn’t really think about anyone else but Jeon Jungkook right now.

“Me neither.”

You grabbed his right hand and shoved two of his fingers into your pussy.

Middle and ring finger, gasping at the full feeling and the slick ease, pushing him up to his knuckles right away. The response was immediate. His eyes widening, your inner walls closing in around them, your juices dripping onto the silver ring on his index finger, hoping he was okay with that. Thankfully, it was a plain band so there wasn’t much irritating friction when you began to roll your hips into his hand. He thrust upwards, shooting a wave of pleasure through you, and you snapped your head up, exhale laced with the sting of hunger.

“S-Sorry, I got excit–”

You grabbed his head and shut him up, driving his fingers into you to indicate the deep and intense pace you desired before diving into his lips, catching his tongue and sucking on it. You had expected him to be strong and he did not disappoint. It was a rough ride and you rode it with ease, with wild greed, with commitment of your full body, hips and back and teasing his tongue, one hand tangled in his hair and the other gripping his hard forearm just in case you needed to tell him to adjust or stop.

His muscle was like iron.

You glanced down, seeing ink shadowed by your vicious grip. He must work out. Had to with this amount of control and how hard he was flexing right now. Looked back up and Jungkook was watching you, curious of your attention shift, and then you felt his forearm pulse.

Teasing you.

A flash of mischief in those dark brown orbs.

You narrowed your eyes and nipped at his lower lip.

Still felt him smirk though.

Punk.

But there was no time, inhaling sharply as you came in violent pulses, your pussy molding around his fingers and squeezing tightly. Your slick juices sticking to the inside of your thighs despite his hand being there, your skin tingling hot even with the aggressive air conditioning, your lips pressing into his. Shuddering, eyes closing, heartbeat pounding in your throat, alive.

Fuck.

“F… Fuck…”

Jungkook didn’t scold you about your unladylike language, at least.

“Can I…?”

He asked you something but the afterglow was leaving you lust-drunk, simply agreeing and turning around. His wet fingers trailed over your hip, your thigh, and then back to where they had been between your legs. His other hand on your lower abdomen, pressing your ass back and you finally understood, half-smiling when you felt his semi-hard cock sliding between the dip in your ass. His whimpering gasp, letting go of your torso to adjust himself behind you. Now the wet head was tucked in the space just under your tailbone. An obscene scene, his two fingers sliding back into your pussy, ah, so full, and his hand returned to your chest, pinching your nipples. His forehead hit your shoulder, forcing you to arch your back.

His moan heated your shoulder blades, desperation pitching as he rolled his hips into your ass.

“F-Feels so good, your skin is so soft–”

You reached back and pushed the sides of your ass together, creating a deeper channel.

“A-Ah, oh, fuck, fuuuuuuuck…”

You were about to say something but then you realized the camera was still on.

The remote was meters away so no photos were being taken. The monitor was still on though, and you could clearly see yourself with Jungkook’s left hand all over your breasts, your hard nipples pinched and tugged at, his tattooed forearm over your lower belly and crotch while you held your ass in position for his hardening cock to rut behind you.

Your hair was a gotten mess, leaving your face in tangled shadow.

The top of his black hair was balanced on your shoulder.

His forehead was pretty damn sweaty but you didn’t even care.

His hand between your legs slipping, the two fingers now atop your swollen clit, rubbing softly, harder, your voice hoarse with exertion, and he did exactly as you asked, building up the pace, your nipples stiffening even more at his actions and causing sparks to dance in your blood, your breath shallowing, falling into it, letting go, your hair tumbling back onto his shoulder and closing your eyes, diving into the pleasure, wave after wave, feeling him harden against you, his strong thighs behind yours, somehow holding you up through sheer willpower.

You gasped his name, delicate and breathless, and Jungkook moaned behind you.

Slick becoming slicker, the scent of sweet-sour lust saturating the air, sticking to the insides of your thighs.

Should have brought a damn condom.

His hand left your tingling chest and you felt the head of his cock throb, smearing even more pre-cum between your ass. The aftershocks of orgasm stung through you, leaving you faint and woozy. He kept rubbing against your skin, rock-hard, whimpering, mumbling under his ragged breath.

It took you a moment to realize he was talking to you.

“Can I… Can I cum on your ass? Please? Please, I…”

Was it possible to fall in love with someone for being an insatiable horndog?

You had to laugh. It sounded more like an airless wheeze. Nice. If that didn’t lock him down, you next words had to be the ticket.

“Are you a freak?”

You turned around to face him and Jungkook shrugged, chewing on his lower lip.

“I am now?” he admitted in uncertain question.

You grinned. “Lucky you, ‘cause so am I.”

Then you pointed to the active monitor to remind him that the camera was, in fact, still on, enjoying every second of his face turning shades of deeper and deeper pink with his hand still around his hard dick. He had such adorable wide-eyed shock. You yanked him up, both of you still entangled with your pants down your shins, and yet it was just a fun obstacle at the time (although much later you would wonder why you hadn’t simply kicked them off). Shuffled to switch places, balancing your lower abdomen and crotch on the top of the rectangular pedestal, bending over with your ass in the air.

This was probably the best action this studio was getting in its entire existence.

Blessed, truly.

You turned your head to make sure you were in frame, not putting much pressure but just enough to not fall over, arching your back to have your breasts look their best, exposing their full perky shape, reaching back to spread your pussy lips for Jungkook to look at as he jacked off.

You were, as they say, a generous sex goddess.

“W-Woah!”

You smirked as his attention was completely diverted from the equipment, forgetting to be embarrassed, his jaw dropping as you flexed your opening, letting out a shaky breath as you heard the wetness echo in the silence. Tightening your core, releasing, and you could see his grip tense, moving, his lashes lowering. The pleasure was palpable from the heavy scent of sex to the sound of hand on taut skin. Jungkook was standing slightly beside your legs, every so often grazing the dripping, tender head to the top of your ass, moaning wantonly at the contact. You could clearly see the rapid movement of his arm, could sense the speed and power and desperation, fiercely chasing orgasm with his eyes roaming over your back, ass, pussy, back up to the monitor to stare at your obviously hard nipples, and if someone walked in right now you would most certainly snarl at them to wait for Jungkook to finish.

They would probably be too shell-shocked at this literal porno-vid-to-real-life to even say anything but never mind that.

You stiffened reflexively as you felt his searching fingers glide over your slit. Checked and his eyes were rolling back, groaning as he felt your muscle control, mumbling something about wanting to put his cock in your pussy so bad, not right now, I can’t, I can’t, I w-wouldn’t last, a-ah, I have to be good for you, shivers racing through your body at the suggestion, a craving created, and you gave in, sighing dreamily, his finger circling your sensitive clit, the pulse thudding under his touch, and you moaned for him, asking for it.

Which was how you ended up orgasming again with Jungkook stroking your clit and shooting out a stream of hot cum over your ass, pitching forward and smearing it up your back.

Dripping all over you.

“D-Don’t stop…” you gasped out.

Not shying away from the overwhelm and instead aching for it.

His fingers pumped in and out of your wet tightness, your walls spasming at the extended pleasure, barely registering him lifting himself up so he didn’t crush you into the pedestal, rocking your hips back so he struck deeper, harder, and then you yelped, hazy vision clearing suddenly at the feeling of hot tongue to your back.

The surprise made you freeze as you spotted Jungkook in the monitor.

His dark eyes followed yours as he licked his cum off your ass, devious mouth trailing kisses.

Well.

Shit.

An intense high bolted through you and you gasped, knees buckling, pussy clenching around his fingers and throwing your head back, drawn-out moan bursting out of your lungs, clutching the corners for balance and perhaps just to orient to reality, the impossibility and sinfulness of the situation blossoming into a vicious orgasm that crawled up your legs, your arms, chewing throughout your lungs, mounting pleasure as Jungkook pulled a finger out to press against your clit.

He must have felt it.

His warm moan heating your lower back, the delicate pad of his fingertip sensing the brutality of the throbs ransacking you. Even you were witness, the camera monitor revealing everything, seeing the tendons of your neck pop and your collarbones prominent. Lashes low, pink tongue sliding out of your flushed lips, the memory of his unique kiss lingering and making you dream of him already.

You had run out of witty things to say.

Thoughts in general currently obsolete.

“H-Hah…”

Your hands slid down, still shaking from the fallout of the afterglow.

“L-Let me… Let me go to the bathroom and get you something to c-clean up,” Jungkook panted, attempting to get to his feet very unsteadily. You made a noise of agreement, breathing hard although not very loudly, pushing your hair back. It was doomed. You were hunched over and the tousled wave simply fell back, but you let it be because at the moment post-nut clarity was setting in.

Bro.

You just fucked Jeon Jungkook in the middle of the photoshoot.

Pushing off, standing on legs that had the structural integrity of soft tofu, wondering why you also had brains of soft tofu as well. For fuck’s sake. What happened to getting a grip? You yanked at your jeans, not quite pulling them all the way up yet. How old were you now? Surely true adults aren’t this deranged. Surely over the years you would have learned to not fuck a guy you barely knew. And completely sober!

Your stomach growled.

The hunger was not only sexual, it seemed.

Your hand hit the left pocket of your jeans. The crunch of plastic. You frowned, reaching in and pulling out a small package of almonds. You stared at it. Wow. Seriously. The mascot on the almonds looked way too jovial for how disheveled you were right now. You stomach clawed at your insides upon seeing the food.

Fuck it.

Jungkook came back to you holding the handful of almonds and chomping away.

The plastic was on the ground. Actual litter. You would pick it up later. Eat first. He was still shirtless. You wondered if he ran into anyone. You found that you didn’t really care as long as he only thought about you. Seemed like he did, because he skidded to a stop, looking terribly concerned.

You popped another almond in your mouth.

“Uh…”

Shit, you really liked him.

His brows knitted together. “I got some tissues. And paper towels, in case your back…”

You took the tissues and wiped between your legs, still holding the unsalted nuts with your left hand. “I probably need a shower. No one is gonna know you came on me anyway.” Chew, chew. Damn, you super liked him. Shit. Jungkook hovered next to you, not wanting to leave. You usually hated that but not with him. Oh, no. You pretended that you weren’t going to give up all responsibilities to fuck him seven days a week even though you barely knew him. Well, you knew what he was like in bed.

Really fuckin’ good.

Heh.

Technically not in a bed yet, but, eh, semantics.

“I’m really hungry,” you remarked.

“Me too,” Jungkook nodded, but he was still stuck to you, as close as he could be without clinging onto you. Trying to be cool about it. You glanced at him and he looked away quickly, feigning like he hadn’t been staring. Your jeans weren’t buttoned, but they were hanging off your hips. Ah, that explained it. You hadn’t handed him the wad of used tissues despite him clearly showing that he would help you with that gladly.

You fisted the rest of the almonds.

No, not actually.

Fine, you dumped the remainder into your mouth. Chewed thoughtfully. “I have a question and I want a truthful answer,” you mused, directing your gaze at him. Jungkook peeked back through his curls of mostly dry black hair. Must have wiped off his sweat. “Did you plan this?”

He shook his head very quickly and straightforwardly. “No, I didn’t. I swear.”

You believed him. “Never thought about it?”

His hesitation was glaringly obvious.

“Um…”

You waited.

“Y-Yeah… but it was hard to approach you… and I didn’t even think you remembered me.”

You frowned. “Of course, I remember you. I’ve seen you often. You’re not easy to miss.”

His ears were bright red. “O… Oh…”

You thought about it. There weren’t many opportunities for Jeon Jungkook and you to be alone. Then… The cheerful trickster face of the tattoo artist popped into your head.

You frowned slightly. “Did he plan this?”

The possibility seemed to have dawned on Jungkook. He looked surprised and then confused. “I never said… was it that night, when we were drinking at four in the morning…?” His dark brows furrowed. “I don’t remember what happened that night…”

You stared at him.

He slowly slipped from his thoughts and looked back at you, somewhat terrified at your intensity.

You told him exactly what you thought.

“You’re an idiot.”

He sputtered. “H-Hey!”

You shrugged. “Still wanna fuck you though. With condoms. Wanna come back to mine?”

“W-Wait…what?”

“Actually, we should grab something to eat first because I can’t live off only almonds. I’ll die.”

It wasn’t until you were fully dressed and Jungkook was yanking his tank top back on did you look more closely at the monitor screen. After clean up and kisses and light teasing (much to Jungkook’s dismay but he better get used to it if he wanted to be around you), you peered at the narrow column of previews on the side, tilting your head at the last one taken.

Uh.

“Jungkook?”

He was scrambling around behind you, snatching something off the ground. Oh, right, the camera remote he threw. “Huh? Ah!” You heard a thud and swearing. Must have run into the pedestal in his haste to get to you. You ignored his chaotic grumbling and used the mouse to click on the preview, expanding it.

Oh, you know.

Just you and Jeon Jungkook kissing for the first time in high definition.

You raised your eyebrows as he bounded up behind you, what, what, what, then skidding to a dead stop, centimeters from your crouched form. You stuck your tongue in your cheek. He must have pressed the button when it happened.

“Accident?”

Turned your head to look at him.

Those big peepers shifted awkwardly.

You blinked again, agonizingly slow.

“Uh… Yeah…?” he cautiously answered.

Believable.

Not.

You straightened and crossed your arms, giving him a look. Thoroughly intimidating. Jungkook blinked very fast and looked like he was trying not to enjoy it, which did not help you in maintaining the front. This fucking little shit. Or, rather, tall and muscular – never mind. You clicked your tongue and ticked your head to the screen.

“What were you gonna do with it? Frame it?”

He shrugged veeeery slowly. Raising his hands with his shrug as he replied.

“Maaaaaaaybe?”

You tried not to snort in laughter. It was very difficult. Sigh. He was so freaking annoying. And what was worse was that you liked it. Fuck. Maybe you hit delirium. Damn almonds. You wouldn’t have been so weak for Jeon Jungkook if it wasn’t for those fuckin’ almonds creating your aggravating morning.

Hm.

That had to have been the fattest lie you have ever told yourself.

“Can you just have a meal with me so I don’t have to tell everyone the reason we’re dating is because we fucked during the photoshoot?”

He started speaking very fast and stumbling on his words, Busan satoori slipping out. “Oh! We’re dating? Yes! I mean… yes, please! Wait… are we going to your place too, I mean, I would like to but I understa–”

Well.

You should remember you got yourself into this, bro.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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ceilidho · 5 months

Text

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 2. (read part 1 here) tags: dubcon

There’s a photo of you taped up on the inside of his locker.

The glimpse you catch of it is quick. Not like you aren’t meant to see it, but more like Johnny’s so unconcerned with whether you see it or not that he doesn’t bother to make a show of it. Just reaches into his locker to grab his lunch and shuts it while you’re still gaping at the polaroid of someone that looks suspiciously like you in your store uniform. You hear someone clear their throat and you glance up, flinching when you meet Johnny’s eyes.

“Missing me already?” he teases, winking. “I’ll be back on the floor as soon as possible. ‘Promise, hen.”

“It’s not—”

He’s already out the door and on the way to the lunchroom before you’re able to get the rest of your sentence out.

Johnny seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re about to spurn his advances. Any other day he would have stuck around to listen to the rest of your sentence, but when he has an inkling that those words will be tinged by the flavour of rejection, he’s quick to book it. You privately have to admit it’s not a terrible strategy. It’s not often that you’re able to get the words out.

It’s one of those rare shifts where you’re clocking in later than Johnny, missing his lunch break. Small mercies. It doesn’t mean much because your schedules still overlap a significant amount, but it does mean that you won’t be forced to choke down your lunch while Johnny sits opposite you at the lunch table and stares you down the entire half hour.

“Wait, that was so fucking cute,” someone says from behind you. You turn on your heel to find a coworker staring at Johnny’s locker, properly enchanted by whatever she saw. Practically swooning.

“What is?”

“Didn’t you see the picture he has of you? In his locker?” She says it with emphasis, giving you a significant look.

“Yeah…I…don’t you think it’s a bit…like, weird?” you ask her, making sure to keep your voice low in case Johnny is still around the corner. You can’t help the way you glance down the hallway.

She frowns. “It’s cute. He’s like, smitten with you. I’ve never seen him with a crush on anyone before and I’ve worked with him for over a year. I think it’s kind of nice. Do you not like him or something?”

“Well, I just…we aren’t even dating and I think…I think he even has a photo of me as his lock screen—”

“Because if you aren’t interested in him, you should let him down now. It’s not fair of you to just string him along, you know. He’s a really good guy.”

You’re not sure about the whole good guy thing. Johnny acts like a nice guy most of the time, but you’ve had the unfortunate luck in getting to experience the other side of him.

The problem lies in the fact that Johnny is, you think, a genuinely likeable guy to everyone else. It’s not like your coworkers are all collectively wrong in their opinion of him—he really is an excellent coworker. A good sport, a funny guy; he lends a hand whenever someone needs help. He helped Jeff move two weeks ago, drove Daryl to the airport last Saturday, and looked after Sonya’s cat while she was away on vacation that one time.

It’s with you that his good-time nature evaporates; his lazy, drawled predilection for joking around and indulging himself and others in a good ribbing replaced by a weird, manufactured kindness. Almost sickly sweet. He lays it on so thick around others that they think you experience the same friendship with Johnny that the rest of them get to enjoy.

Not so.

None of them catch the way he’s always hovering, always staring at you. Eyes half-lidded; bedroom eyes in the middle of your shift, in the middle of the workplace.

None of your coworkers are around when you’re at the register one day and Johnny takes his break to make a couple purchases, coming to your cash with a basket full of chocolate, wine, condoms, body butter, and batteries. No one except him notices the way you pause at the last item.

“Dinnae ken if your vibrator was rechargeable or not,” he says when you look at him funny, a big grin stretched across his face. Blue eyes gleaming almost feverishly. “Thought I’d be prepared either way.”

You scan his items in silence. When you hand him his bag, you try not to shudder when he purposefully glances his hand over yours.

Worse are the days when Johnny comes in as a customer, the days when he’s off the schedule. When he shouldn’t even be at the store at all. No one notices the way he pesters you the entire time he’s in the store, insisting on you helping him with his purchases. If a coworker does happen to notice his presence (and how could they not when he’s such a formidable presence in any room, when he almost glows from the energy stockpiled in his body with nowhere else to go), he’ll make polite conversation, just long enough to not seem rude, before shifting his attention back to you.

His conversation borders on interrogation. He asks you about your childhood and your friends and whether you have a partner or any previous partners. He makes you follow him to the bed section where he tries out all the mattresses and then asks you increasingly inappropriate questions like what mattress you have, what it feels like, how you sleep at night, what you wear to bed.

When you rebuff him one too many times, he’s not shy about telling you off.

“Ye just need a good fuck ta sort ye out,” Johnny snarls when you brush off another invite out to lunch one day. It’s not often that he loses his temper with you, so his anger makes your eyes widen, your pulse pick up. During morning shift assignments, he’d corralled your manager into pairing the two of you up on curbside pick-up orders, meaning that you’ve been stuck with him for hours, nowhere else to go.

“Excuse me?” you say, voice going up a decibel.

He leans across the front of the cart loaded with flowerpots and gardening tools. “I get it, hen. No one at home ta play with your pussy, huh? No choice but ta come into work all pent up and frustrated—”

“This is in like, the outer Hebrides of ‘none of your business’—”

“—clit’s probably all swollen too. Fuck.” He breathes out heavily through his nose, eyes darkening. “No wonder you’re always pissed off. I’d be too if I dinnae have a little replacement pussy at home.”

“You’re the reason I’m upset in the first place, Johnny.”

“Aw, I ken, bonnie,” he says with a pout, eyebrows slanting down like he really, truly pities you, the gesture immediately contradicted by his next words. “Promise I’ll make it better. Wanna meet outside my truck in a half hour?”

You storm off before it comes to blows. Not that it’d ever be a fair fight. Johnny would probably hold you away with his palm against your head while you swung at him uselessly. You try not to think of that too often. Of him toying with you. Most of your interactions feel like that these days. Like he’s a big cat holding your tail down when you try to scramble away.

When you beg your manager to switch shift assignments, the look you get could wilt flowers. It’s not completely your fault, even if your request is a bit inconveniencing. Johnny has your coworkers and management so wrapped around his finger that no one can even hazard a guess as to why you might be uncomfortable around him.

It’s the only reason you haven’t complained to HR yet. There are channels and protocols for dealing with his behaviour, but watching people practically trip over themselves to please him reminds you that the likeliest outcome would be them transferring you to another store. It just doesn’t seem worth it.

You don’t think about how frazzled his words leave you for the rest of your shift. You don’t think about it because there’s nothing to think about.

You know from the second that your manager reassigns you to women’s apparel that you’ve probably made a mistake. Customers buzz around you like gnats, like swarms of flies, and it’s only natural that you’d be compelled to swat a few. You hold on to the fraying edges of your patience with little finesse. About halfway through your shift, you get a stern talking to from your floor supervisor and put on an extra long break. You’re no less irritated when you get back though, somehow still agitated and snappy.

Big hands clamp over your shoulders and squeeze like he’s giving you a massage, thumbs digging into the grooves of your upper back. He ignores the way you tense up.

“Hen, you’re making the customers uncomfortable with all your huffin’ and puffin’,” he whispers into your ear, a light chuckle falling out with his words. Amused by your attitude this time instead of ticked off. “If ye want, I could take ye ta the back room ta loosen ye up a bit. Make your day a little better. Dinnae think anybody will even notice if we dip away for a bit—’sides management will probably send me a gift basket if ye come back perky after a good shag.”

You shrug him off to go clock out, ignoring the way he chuckles as you storm off. No one knows if you go home and wear out the battery in your vibrator while thinking about Johnny’s words. Thinking about Johnny guiding you to his truck with a palm flat on your low back, pinkie teasing just under the waistband of your pants, before laying you out across the backseat and climbing on top of you.

You come when you think about how he’d have to keep the door open to fuck you in his car.

Unfortunately, you’re more than familiar with his sweet side as well.

On your birthday, he comes in early with a sheet cake and organizes the employees so that the breakroom is dark when you come in. The entire staff is there when you switch on the lights, shouting your name and happy birthday, decked out in party hats and blowing into noisemakers.

It catches you off guard. Hits you right in the solar plexus and leaves you winded. You stand in the middle of the room like you’re under a spotlight and that spotlight is Johnny’s stare burning a hole in your head. For once, it doesn’t rankle. It leaves you feeling light, feathery, like floating down to earth. A coworker hands you a noisemaker and you smile until your eyes crinkle when you blow into it.

You’re in a good enough mood that you don’t argue when he insists on sitting beside you. He got you the cake after all. Maybe it’s the least he deserves. Your goodwill lasts until Johnny tries to feed you a piece of cake with his fork; he winds up getting cake smushed all over your cheek when you turn your head away.

“Johnny, ‘m not a baby,” you complain, wrinkling your nose when cake and icing slide down your face. “I can feed myself. This is so gross.”

“Shucks, hen, lemme get that. Shouldnae have turned your head,” Johnny curses, leaning over to scoop it off with his fingers. He holds them out to you, an offering. “Here ye go, kitty.”

You stare, horrified, until he shrugs like ‘suit yourself’ and pops them into his own mouth. Then drags the same spit covered fingers over your cheek again to keep cleaning you up.

You can tell that it’s hopeless to complain by the way your coworkers giggle and gossip, eyes drawn to the two of you. Maybe it would be better if you were transferred. You only have so many ‘I’m not his work wife’s left in you. Something’s bound to give. You have a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to be you.

On the walk to your car after your shift, which Johnny insists on doing like he does every time the two of you work a closing shift together, he jokingly asks if you’ve gotten your birthday spanks. He says it in that same awkward joking tone, just a bit too excited, staring at you too eagerly. Unblinking. Tuts his tongue when you tell him you’ve never heard of that before.

You jolt and squeak at the pop on your ass when he insists on opening the door to your car and helping you in. The betrayed look you shoot him hardly penetrates through his shit-eating grin.

“See ye tomorrow, kitty,” Johnny calls out, walking backwards away from you to where his truck is parked just a few spots away from yours. You think he would’ve parked right next to you if you hadn’t chosen a spot conveniently between two other cars. “More where that came from.”

Your hands shake against the steering wheel your whole drive home. Dreading tomorrow’s shift.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x you #soap/reader #ikea soap #soap cod #john mactavish #x reader

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saltandburnheathens · 2 months

Text

Good morning Miss Winnie.

Part II

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader.

Rating: Gen.

Summary:

You've just given birth to Dean's baby and are a enjoying a quiet family moment in the days afterwards.

Notes: Non-canon, no time line. And I don't ever want kids. But I just became an aunt and I sort of need to get this out of my system! Short and I'm not promising that I won't continue this. Who knows really. Finally this was written after I'd taken my usual nightly gummy.

The bunker was quiet first thing in the morning except for the usual hum of the circulation fans. You’d been there so long that they barely registered anymore, and you were extremely thankful that the consistent noise wasn’t a problem for the baby. That would have been a horror show. Trying to navigate parenthood with a baby awoken by the simplest of sounds.

You shuddered at the thought.

Life was always loud when you lived with Dean Winchester and his posse of colour characters. Between unexpected visitors and the brothers coming and going at odd hours, there was something new every day and often that new wasn’t good.

But in that moment things were perfect. The monsters outside didn’t exist and you were a regular mom with a new baby and a husband who loved you. His bother Sam and best friend Castiel were an added bonus, the former serving as an unexpected asset when both you and Dean needed some rest.

You crept carefully out of bed, your body still feeling weak, and quietly crossed to the crib by the wall. A set of hazel eyes stared up at you and your heart melted.

“Good morning Miss Winnie.” You cooed, “Let’s get you up and at ‘em before you wake daddy.”

You heard a small scoff followed by the shuffling of blankets.

“Winnie?” Dean asked with a sleep-laden voice, “We ain’t calling her Winnie, sweetheart. I’ll accept those new-agey-hippy-names like Kendell and Kloe with a K before I’ll take Winnie.”

“I’m just calling her that until we choose a name.” You laughed, lifting the little girl up into your arms, her head coming to rest on your chest, “And Winnie is short for Winchester in case you hadn’t pieced that together.”

“I don’t care if it’s short for ‘daddy’s-little-angel’, it ain’t happening.”

“I’ll cross that off my list then shall I?” You sat back on the bed, Dean coming up to nest beside you and his eyes immediately going to the baby in your arms.

He smiled, creases forming at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re not a Winnie, are ya’ princess?” In that voice he seemed to only have adapted five days ago after the birth of your daughter; that voice reserved for her.

“Maybe not. What about Meghan?” You suggest.

“Oh nope. No can do. Knew a Meg once. Demon.”

You nodded knowingly. No one wanted to name their child after a monster.

“Stevie?” Dean carried on, his eyes still fixed on the baby.

“Like Stevie Nicks?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not seeing it. Samatha?”

“Already got one Sam in this bunker and that’s more than enough. Alice?”

“Can’t do it. All I’ll keep hearing is ‘who the fuck is Alice’, and I don’t want my kid to be subjected to that for the rest of their life.”

You both laughed, interrupted only by the whine building in the little one’s chest. You quickly jumped to action and proceeded to the morning routine you’d been adjusting to since getting back home. Dean followed you, rubbing at his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve had hangovers that made me feel quite as bad as waking up five times at night.” He yawned.

You handed him a dirty diaper and smiled as he grimaced.

“You can go back to bed if you want. I can manage by myself.”

“Sweetheart, you just damn near broke your pelvis giving birth to my kid a few days ago. I’m in this from start to finish, and if that means running on caffeine and a prayer, then I’m game. Even for the diapers.”

Dean rummaged through the first drawer of their dresser and pulled out a small onesie covered in colourful dinosaurs. He held it up in front of him and smiled.

“It’s hard to believe how small she is, huh?”

“She didn’t feel so small coming out of me.” You quipped, taking the clothing from him to finally cover the squirming child on the changer, “I’m pretty sure my vagina will never be the same.”

“That’s blasphemy.” Dean gasped playfully, “But seriously, baby, the doctor said that it’ll take a few weeks before you start to feel normal.”

“Normal is subjective when you’re postpartum.”

Holding his baby tight to his chest, Dean lent down and kissed you softly on the lips. His green eyes fluttered up to meet yours.

“Let’s face it, ain’t nothing normal about either of us in the first place.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dad!dean winchester #dad!dean

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floralpascal · 1 year

Text

The Best Lies

Summary: After you join the 141, Ghost does everything he can to fight his growing feelings for you. But during a night out with you, he finds it harder and harder to ignore.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.9k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: a little angst, Ghost agonizes over having feelings, canon-level violence, blood, alcohol/drinking, kissing, semi-public dry humping, fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), secret relationship

A/N: This truly is 50% Ghost trying to ignore the fact that he's down bad and 50% depraved smut. Writing Ghost losing his mind over having feelings is truly so fun. I hope you all enjoy!

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

Ghost had convinced himself that he had done more than just nip his issue at the bud. He thought he had pulled it out by the roots and set it aflame, never to bother him again.

And why would he think otherwise? He had done that same thing time and time again, and it had always worked. This time, he thought, would be no different. He had washed his hands of the issue and could continue on like before.

The problem was that he was dead wrong. This time was different.

You were different.

You were the newest member of the 141, a sniper and one of the best hand-to-hand combat specialists he had ever seen. You were a strong woman who fought hard and fast, with an eye for precision. Price had been trying to get you onto the team for months, telling Ghost that he was convinced you were the perfect addition. Price had been right; you were perfect. You fit right in with the guys, kept up with their banter, and were as tough as nails. When you worked, you had a focus that was so zeroed-in that Soap and Gaz had started to liken you to Ghost.

By all means, you were the best addition to the team that they could have asked for. You weren’t the problem. Ghost was the problem.

What had started as a small acknowledgment of your attractiveness had slowly grown into something more. It was your quick sarcastic quips that battled with his own, your soothing demeanor and featherlight touch as you patched him up, your ability to make a terrible situation seem better than it was - the list went on. There was something there between the two of you, a connection that he had never experienced before. No, his attraction wasn’t just surface-level, it was something deeper.

It was something that he wasn’t supposed to feel - on many levels.

Ghost never got involved, period. He could acknowledge when a woman was attractive, have a night where he gave in to the physical aspect of it, but it never grew to anything. He didn’t let it. He would dispose of those feelings as soon as he registered them. In his line of work and in his experience, feelings were a liability - a luxury that he would always pay the price for. They complicated everything and unusually ended in pain. In short, they were a weakness that needed to be disposed of.

What was more, you were his subordinate, his teammate. He was a professional, he never let himself feel anything like that for his subordinates. Hell, he barely even had what could be classified as friendships with his subordinates. Soap and Gaz had been the first he had ever shown his face to, and that was after fighting by their side for years.

The bottom line was that Ghost didn’t let himself get distracted, much less get distracted by a subordinate who was just doing her bloody job. Yet, in a few short months, you had flipped everything Ghost thought about himself on its head. It was disorienting.

Once he realized what was happening to him, he tried to put a stop to it. He worked with you when he had to, interacted with you when he had to, but besides that, he largely steered clear of you. Whether it was downtime at the base or a night out with the other 141 guys, if you were there, Ghost wasn’t. It was the only solution he had.

If only it had worked.

Even staying clear of you couldn’t stop the spread of whatever had taken hold of him. He slipped one day, imagining what your lips would feel like against his while you talked to Price, barely even realizing that he had been staring at your lips the entire time. Not too long after that, you had tried to get his attention while on an assignment, opting to whisper a low, breathless “Ghost!” into the comm. Going straight to the comm in his right ear, the low drawl of his name from your lips was almost like a siren’s call, sending a shiver racing down his spine as he responded back to you. Another day, he caught a glimpse of you training with Soap, watching as you passed his guard and kneeled between his legs as you continued to fight. The sight shouldn’t have sent his blood boiling or sent his thoughts straight into the gutter - you were just training. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw you look up at him as he swiftly left the training room, your piercing gaze following him as you helped Soap up from the floor.

He didn’t feel anything for you. He didn’t feel anything for you. He repeated it like a mantra, like he could make it come true if only he said it enough, with enough conviction.

So why did he still have a knot in his chest every time he saw you? Every time you spoke through the comms directly into his ear, your voice strong and smooth as honey? Every time your eyes locked with his, an unreadable expression on your face?

He didn’t feel anything for you. He almost made himself believe it.

“Styx, get the fuck out of here!” He bellowed at you. “Leave me! That’s an order!”

It was a stealth job gone south nearly a year and a half after you joined the team, their intel leading them into a pretty nasty situation. Almost everyone had long retreated to safety.

Ghost was hit, blood streaming from his right thigh. The bullet was still in the wound, making it bad enough to where he could barely put weight on it, considerably slowing down the two of you. He was a liability now, putting you both at risk of being killed or captured. You stayed with him nonetheless, shoulders set with determination.

“Like hell,” you scoffed as you crouched down to where Ghost sat. Your face was dirty from the fight, your clothes scuffed and torn with a slice cutting through your sleeve from a bullet graze. He tried to push you away, continuing to order you to fall back with the others, but you refused, your burning gaze snapping up to meet his. “Either I get you out of here or we keep bickering right here until they find us and kill us! Your choice.”

Of course you wouldn’t leave him behind. It’s who you were. It’s what made you you, even if it was infuriating to Ghost. Even if he would have done the exact same thing you were if it was you with a bullet wound instead of him.

His head starting to go fuzzy from the blood loss, his focus wavered.

“Hey,” you called, snapping your fingers in front of him before you started to check his wound. “Eyes on me, Ghost. Stay with me.”

After examining his thigh, you clicked your tongue before finally deciding that the makeshift bandage he had fashioned would be enough to suffice for now.

Ghost let out a groan, finally letting you pull him up and wrap one of his arms around your shoulders. You took some of his weight, helping him limp a little faster now. He was putting you in more danger, that he knew. If you would’ve just listened to him, your chances of going undetected and making it out of there would’ve been drastically higher. But your grip on the strap of his belt to help ease the weight off of his leg was firm, refusing to let him go.

That same feeling nagged in the back of his mind as you dragged him with you, the blood loss making it harder to ignore the thoughts that he usually shoved down.

You murmured words of encouragement to him as you walked for what felt like a lifetime. “Come on, big guy, just a little more. Just a little faster.”

Ghost huffed a small laugh. He was in a haze now, letting words slip past his lips that he would normally have guarded against. “Can’t be sayin’ stuff like that, love. Might give a man the wrong idea.”

Your head snapped to look at him, surprise written in the pinch of your brows. Ghost found enough clarity then to shut up, the reality of what he had just said slowly setting in. Not only had he voiced a sentiment he had barely been willing to admit to himself, he had voiced it to you.

You examined him for a moment with a confused, analyzing eye. Finally, you huffed out a laugh, your grip tightening on his belt as you readjusted his arm on your shoulder. Your eyes slid over his masked face, a flicker of amusement creeping into your gaze before you turned to look at your surroundings again.

After that, Ghost tried to hold on to every bit of self-control he had left to keep his mouth shut.

You both made it out that day, the two of you banged up and worse for wear, but alive. Ghost had been pretty out of it by the time you got him back to the exfil point. How you had managed to drag the both of you out of there while holding up a man as large as Ghost, he could barely remember, the whole event becoming fuzzier in his mind past the point when he had let those words slip to you.

The shot to his thigh had been a nasty one, leaving him bedridden in the medical area for the next few weeks, per the doctors’ orders. Price made sure Ghost didn’t try to disregard them.

Ghost told Price what you had done, wanting you to get the credit you deserved for your bravery. Still, it didn’t stop him from thinking that you very well could’ve gotten yourself killed for him. The thought pulled at the familiar knot in his chest.

“What’re you in for?”

Ghost followed the voice to the doorway of his room only to find you leaned against the frame, a small, teasing smile on your lips. You were cleaned up now. Having donned a fresh set of clothes, you now wore a plain black T-shirt tucked into camouflage tac pants. Despite your teasing attitude, your eyelids were heavy, like you had barely slept in the two days you had been back on base. A thick bandage poked out from under your shirtsleeve, covering the area where you had been grazed. Other than that, you seemed like you were in one piece from the entire ordeal.

Why did that revelation alone release some of the tension in his chest?

“Jus’ a scratch,” he rumbled. He couldn’t help but humor you a little. He gestured to the hospital bed and monitors surrounding him as he huffed, “Bit of an overkill if you ask me.”

You chuckled, pushing yourself off the door frame before coming closer. Voice laced with sarcasm, you said, “Yeah, okay, tough guy.”

It was quiet for a moment, the silence thick and heavy over the two of you. Your eyes slid over him, taking in his condition, your gaze almost too much to handle.

He didn’t feel anything for you. Under the weight of your scrutiny, the thought was more like a pleading prayer.

“You should’ve left me out there,” he asserted, trying to ignore his own thoughts. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

You rolled your eyes, your hands moving defensively to your hips. “I made a call and saved your life. You’d think that would count for something.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

“Listen, just because you can’t stand me doesn’t mean that I can’t make a call. You-”

“Is that what you bloody think?” Ghost spat, surprise creeping into his voice.

For the first time, he saw you hesitate. You blinked for a moment.

“How could I not?” You finally retorted, stepping closer to him, your tired eyes alight with anger. “You avoid me like the damn plague, it seems like you can barely stand me, and you second-guess every call I make. Yet you treat all the guys like your brothers. You trust them when they make a gutsy call. And what? I’m supposed to think you respect me at all?”

Of course that’s what it looked like to you. You had taken his distance to mean that he didn’t want you here, that he didn’t think as highly of you as he did the others.

“I’ll only say this once.” Ghost leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours through the holes in his mask. “You’re wrong. You’ve got my damn respect - have had it for a while, even before this mission. I think you’re one of the toughest people here. But I still gave you an order. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. And that would’ve been on me.”

Whatever you were expecting to hear from him, it wasn’t that. You appraised him, squinting a little as you did. When you finally spoke, your voice was quieter, but still even. Still strong. “I’d do it again.”

Now, it was Ghost who was at a loss for words. He tried to ignore the intensity in your voice, the certainty. As if that wasn’t exactly his issue - that you would be willing to put yourself on the line for him again.

“Y’know,” you mused as you turned and walked back to the door, “usually people just say ‘thank you’ when you save their life.”

With one last glance at him over your shoulder, you were gone.

~~~

In the months following your confrontation, Ghost stopped avoiding you at all costs, letting himself be closer with you again. The fact that you had taken his distance to mean that he thought less of you gnawed at him in a way that was damn near painful. Ghost’s issues were his own - he wasn’t going to take them out on you anymore by avoiding you. He shoved those thoughts for you down into the recesses of his brain, thinking that this time, the tactic might actually work.

You seemed happy about his change in demeanor. While you said nothing to point it out, he saw how you gradually relaxed around him over time. You were quick to joke with him now, your sarcastic quips as precise as your aim, as if you knew that your banter made it easier for him. You were lighter with him now, ignoring the weight of that mission. Most of the time, he could, too.

Most of the time.

I’d do it again. The words rang in his ears each time he saw you now. They dug at him, called to him. It was maddening. The weight of those words remained heavy on his chest, their meaning something he was wary to look too closely into.

Tonight, he found you at a small pub a few streets over from the hotel the 141 had been staying at in some small Irish town, your elbows resting on the sleek wooden bar as you swirled a whiskey in its glass. You seemed deep in thought, your eyes only half-watching the amber liquid spin under the pub’s dim, warm yellow lights.

“The guys all leave?” Ghost asked, pulling you from your thoughts. A small smile played at the edge of your lips as you turned towards him, gently placing the glass back on the table.

“Yeah, they all left me,” you sighed dramatically. “Price went to see an old friend here in town. Soap and Gaz wanted to go check out a pub a couple blocks over from here.”

Ghost paused for a minute to order a bourbon from the bartender. “And you didn’t wanna go?”

You shook your head. “The place sounded a little too loud for my liking.”

Ghost made a noise in solidarity, picking up the glass the bartender had placed down for him. Your taste in pubs, he had learned, was close to both his and Price’s: laidback and quiet. Sure enough, this pub was just that. It was an old vintage-style pub, one that didn’t attract a loud, rowdy crowd. The small number of patrons were mostly older people - locals, by the looks of them - laughing softly as most of them paid attention to the football game on the television. It was the kind of pub people went to when they were looking for a warm, peaceful night. It made it easier to relax a little in this strange pub in this strange city. In your line of work, that was a difficult feat to accomplish.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a while, both of you nursing your drinks.

But something was on Ghost’s mind, something that had been sitting with him for months. He broke the silence to say only, “Thank you.”

You turned to look at Ghost, an eyebrow raised. You hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure that you had heard him correctly. “Huh? What for?”

“I never said it,” he explained simply, voice even and calm. “For savin’ my life ‘n all.”

You appraised him for a moment, taken aback by his admission. The two of you had barely talked about what happened that day. Finally, you nodded. “Still think I was wrong for disobeying your order?”

“No,” he admitted, quickly adding, “just don’t make a habit of it, yeah?”

You nodded, chuckling a little before you took the final sip of your drink. “Of course.”

It was quiet for another moment before you set your empty glass down with a clink. When the bartender came back around, you handed him enough money to pay for both your drinks and Ghost’s. Then, you turned back to Ghost and said, “You sure are… talkative when you get shot.”

Ghost averted his eyes from you at that, opting instead to watch the other patrons as they celebrated their team’s goal. His only response was, “It was blood loss.”

When he looked back to you, your piercing eyes were trained on his. You seemed like you were trying to piece him together, to figure out the puzzle of him.

“Blood loss or not, I never took you as the kind of guy to have his head in the gutter like that,” you teased, your tone light. Underneath the teasing tone though, laid something more serious. Something Ghost hoped he was wrong about.

“I’m not.” It was a lie. He knew it. The worst part was that you knew it, too.

A smirk played at the edge of your lips at that.

“Sure you’re not, Ghost,” you teased. You stood from your seat then before you leaned in close to Ghost’s ear, your hand gliding along his shoulder. Voice near a whisper, sweet and honeyed, you added, “Can’t be saying things like that, then. Might give a girl the wrong idea.”

With that, you were gone. By the time Ghost turned around, you were halfway to the door, shooting him a sultry, burning look over your shoulder. It was a look he had never seen from you before, a look he was sure was aided by the whiskey you had been drinking. It was an invitation extended to him under the dim yellow lights of the pub.

It was the first blatant sign he had seen that you were interested in him like that - that it hadn’t just been him afflicted by whatever this was.

In the split second your eyes locked with his, a million thoughts ran through his mind, all saying that he definitely shouldn’t take the invitation, shouldn’t follow you. For one, it would undo all the work he had done to ignore his own thoughts about you. Not to mention the fact that he was your superior and all the hardline rules that very clearly stated that he shouldn’t unless he wanted to risk his entire career.

But what if he did? What if he gave in to you this one time? What if all he needed was a night with you to finally get you out of his damn head? He could have you once and finally be able to get over the hold you had on him. To let go, maybe all he had to do was give in.

Fuck.

Ghost abandoned his seat in a moment. Weaving his large frame through the tables and patrons, his eyes were trained on you as you slipped through the front door. He caught it right as it swung closed from you, hot on your tail. Pushing out into the cold, crisp night air, he found you barely two steps away from him. You turned when you saw him, a small smile blooming across your face.

Ghost was on you, his hands grabbing your hips as he pulled the both of you into the alley. Shrouded in darkness, he pressed your back to the brick wall of the pub before shoving the lower part of his mask just above his mouth. Before he could even move again, your hand came to wrap around the back of his head, pulling his lips to yours in a rough, messy kiss.

It was better than he imagined. You were better than he imagined, the feeling of your plush lips on his almost making him forget why he had held himself back from you for so long.

He caged you in against the wall, one hand grasping against the rough, scratchy surface as he leaned in while the other held your head in place. You pulled at him, fervent and insistent as you drew him ever closer to you. Shifting in your hold, he slotted his knee between your legs, maneuvering so that his large, muscular thigh rested against your clothed center. When you gasped against him, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue along yours, the thick, heady taste of your whiskey mixing with his bourbon. It was the taste of you, though, that was intoxicating. More so than any drink he could have ordered.

As you ground down against his thigh, your tongue met his with equal fervor. And while you grasped the back of Ghost’s mask in your desperation, he knew you would make no effort to pull it from him. How he knew that was a mystery even to him. All he knew was that the way you tugged at his hair through the mask sent him careening over the edge of a chasm that he couldn’t see the bottom of.

His hand left the wall beside you to firmly grasp your waist, urging you to increase the speed of your hips against him. Flexing his thigh, another gasp fell from your mouth. It was maddening, a sound he knew he had to draw out of you again, only louder and unobstructed. The sound shot through him like adrenaline, fast and exhilarating.

For the first time in a long time, Ghost felt truly awake. It was like a fire had been lit in his veins and you were the gasoline fueling the raging flames.

Suddenly, a loud group of people passed by the alley on the adjoining street, voices ringing out in conversation. All at once, Ghost was reminded that you were both out in the open, albeit tucked into a dark alley. You broke from the kiss, your mind seemingly on the same track.

“My room,” you offered breathlessly. “At the hotel.”

“Lead the way, Styx.”

You made the quick walk back to the small hotel with Ghost in tow, winding through the dimly illuminated streets and alleys with an illicit sort of stealth and swiftness, the both of you keeping an eye out for any of the other guys along the way. While you both knew that you wouldn’t see any of them again tonight, neither of you could seem to help it. You both knew you weren’t supposed to be doing this.

Yet, neither of you put a stop to whatever this was either.

Ghost had you pressed up against the door to your room the moment you locked it, your back to his chest and arms extended to brace yourself against the sleek black wood. His mask once again pushed to just under his nose, he lavished hungrily at your neck just below the ear, earning another sharp gasp from you. His hands dipped to the front of your jeans, racing to blindly undo them. Movements deft, efficient, and precise, his fingers were quickly past the undone line of your jeans and slipping under the band of your underwear.

“You want this?” he rasped, both because he needed the confirmation that you were completely in and because he wanted to hear the way you would sound.

“Yes,” you rushed almost immediately, a newfound desperation lining your voice. You moved your ass back against him, pressing yourself against his covered erection and he had to hold himself back from rutting into you. “Fuck, Ghost…”

Ghost nipped at your ear as he stilled your hips, his right hand drawing lower under your underwear.

“Easy,” he warned. ”Gotta open you up first.”

With that, his fingers finally met your core, gliding through your soaked folds. He groaned at the feeling of you already dripping for him, your underwear even damp with your arousal. He dragged some of your slick up from your entrance until he found the small bundle of nerves that had you rolling your hips forward in his grasp. Completely encircling you from behind with his body, he held you flush to him while he rubbed hard and fast circles between your thighs.

Melting into his touch, you started to move your left hand from the door to grasp for him. His free hand stopped you in only a moment, grabbing your wrist and replacing it back in its previous position.

“Hands stay there,” he ordered. For once, you actually listened, opting instead to claw your fingers against the wood as he slipped two fingers past your entrance and into your heat. He moved achingly slow at first, letting you feel the way his fingers dragged along your walls, filling and stretching your tight cunt already. You moaned, your head falling back to rest against his broad chest.

“Ghost… Ghost, faster,” you pleaded, voice airy. The satisfaction he got from your desperate request was all too strong, more than he had ever experienced before. It shot through him like a drug, fast and disorienting.

He picked up the pace, steadily building up to a pace that had your knees ready to give out. Wrapping his free arm around your middle, he held you steady while he wrecked you with his fingers. He tried not to think about the fact that it had only been a few months ago that it had been you holding him up, that now he got to return the favor to you in a much more pleasurable way.

When you cried out for him, Ghost whispered into your ear, parroting your own words from that fateful mission, “Just a little more.”

With that, he added a third finger, holding his blistering pace. The sounds you made were utterly debauched, utterly sinful. He should have been worried about how loud you were - surely others in the hotel could hear your moans. You would be lucky if there weren’t complaints to the management by morning. It was reckless… but Ghost couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too enraptured by the ringing of your voice as you fell apart beneath his touch.

It only took another minute for you to come undone around him, your muscles tensing around his fingers, squeezing him as your mouth fell open in a silent scream while he worked you through it.

After you had begun to relax, a sweet whine leaving your lips, he finally slowed his pace to a stop. He pulled out of you then, drawing his hand up to his mouth to suck them clean. Eyes blown wide with lust, you turned to watch him as he slowly pulled his fingers out of his mouth, the tang of your cum one that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget. You watched his display until the tip of his middle finger left his lips. Then, you turned so swiftly he could barely register it and pushed up to kiss him again, your tongue dipping into his mouth to taste yourself as you threw your arms over his shoulders.

A groan left Ghost, one that surprised even him. It was so much. The taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your body under his hands, and the way you grasped at his back to pull him closer all had his head swimming, his usual cool-headed clarity quickly becoming muddled. His heart was hammering in his chest, his cock so hard it was aching in his jeans.

Alarm bells rang in his head, telling him that he was in too deep. Never had he ever been this… wrecked from sex before he had even gotten his cock out of his underwear. Something was different this time. That feeling was back in his chest - the one he wouldn’t put a name to.

But he couldn’t turn back now. His sense was far too gone for that.

Ghost effortlessly lifted you up from the floor before carrying you to the bed. When your back lightly hit the mattress, your mouth open in a surprised oh, he was already on top of you. He helped you peel the clothes from your body, his own clothes soon joining yours on the floor, save for the mask.

You looked so beautiful like this, spread out under Ghost like a dream. It was like every one of his long-ignored thoughts about you had come to life. Your hungry eyes, the way he could see every dip and plane and curve of your body like this, the way you practically glowed in the moonlight that poured into the darkened room… the sight made him finally let go of all his inhibitions about having you. He would deal with the consequences later.

Suddenly, he realized that he had just been staring at you.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, an easy smile on your lips. “Enjoying the view?”

In lieu of a reply, he leaned down, grabbed your chin, and smashed his lips into yours as he ground his hips against you, his cock sliding along your slickened folds.

“Ghost,” you breathed against him. He wished you wouldn’t say his name like that - like he was something good for you. Yet, it still only made his cock ache more. “Just - fuck - just fuck me already.”

“This isn’t gonna be soft, Styx,” he warned, lining his cock up with your entrance.

You gave him a small smirk, eyes full of mischief as you replied, “Good.”

Fucking hell, you were trying to kill him.

Ghost pushed inside of you slowly at first, reveling in the way you felt around him as you squeezed him, all molten heat and velvet. He draped himself over you, one hand planted on either side of your head, and watched as your eyes rolled back, your breathing becoming ragged once again. Your nails bit into his shoulder blades as you tried to adjust to him, the sting ever so satisfying against his skin.

“You’re s-so - ah - so big,” you mumbled, almost to yourself.

Buried to the hilt in you, he waited until he felt you begin to relax.

Then, Ghost threw himself into the flames.

He almost drew out of you completely before slamming back into you. And if he thought your sounds before were something to behold, the moans you let out now were nothing short of divine. Again. And again. And again.

He fucked you into the mattress so hard the bed shook and groaned with the force of each thrust, devolving into one never-ending cacophony as his speed increased. Your tits bounced with each impact and he dropped his head to take one nipple into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue before moving to the other. Using one hand to hold onto his shoulders for dear life, you roughly fisted the sheets with the other, searching for any point of stability you could find as your world rocked.

When he lifted from your chest, he found your head tilted back on the mattress, neck outstretched and straining. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your face contorted in pure pleasure.

Yet, something gnawed at Ghost, an urge so deep and so powerful he was useless to hold out against.

“Eyes on me, Styx.”

Your eyes blinked open, fluttering for a moment as you tried to refocus your gaze. Finally, your eyes locked with his, as piercing as ever. That feeling flared in his chest again, his next few thrusts even harder than before. It was like he was drowning, only in the best possible way.

He watched the force of each thrust as it rocked through you, every twitch of your face and desperate grasp of your hand in the sheets. He watched the way you drank him in, eyes hooded and hungry as they held his gaze.

“Ghost.”

It was a plea. A demand. One he was all too eager to give in to.

Connected your lips again as one of his hands wound up to the hand you had fisted in the sheets. His fingers wrapping around your wrist, he guided your hand above your head and pinned it to the mattress. He felt you groan into the kiss before you slipped your tongue into his mouth, heated and messy.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was all too much. He was enjoying this all too much. You were too good, too addicting.

You were taking him deeper than he had ever been. Your cunt threatened to pull him under, the pleasure of your tight walls too intense. He was only a step away from the edge, having to hold himself back from going over before you.

Ghost used his free hand to grab one of your legs and hook it over his hip.

Like this, his movement told you.

Taking the hint through your haze, you brought your other leg up around his hip and locked them together behind him.

Instantly, you broke from the kiss, a broken moan ringing in his ears and vibrating against his lips. They flowed freely from you now, the beautiful sound filling the room. He couldn’t hold in his own grunts anymore, one for every snap of his hips against yours.

Ghost felt you tense a moment before it happened, your body going rigid and your moan abruptly cut. Then, you were squeezing him so tight, it ripped a deep, guttural moan from his chest. The force of your orgasm rocked through you, seeming like you were trying to pull him over that same edge with you. Surely enough, with a few more rocks of his hips, he felt that heat as he released, coating your walls with his cum, your release taking every bit of him with you.

Before he could pull out of you, spent and panting, your hand found his covered cheek, the cloth warm under your touch, and guided his lips back to yours again. Your kiss was slow. Deliberate. Heavy. A hint of something deeper on your lips.

And as he ducked out of your room that night, the moonlight seeming dimmer in his room than it had been when it was illuminating your face, Ghost tried to push all his thoughts of you away for good.

He had his fill and now he was done.

He could move on.

He didn’t feel anything for you.

They were all good lies. For the best lies were the lies he told himself.

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